Welcome to Paradise II + III
Title: Welcome to Paradise (3/?)
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Author: sweetest_ink
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3, 865
Warnings: Mild language, and violence, pre-slashy acceptance.
Disclaimer: Harry, beautiful blonde Draco and all their little friends belong to JKR. Not me, no $$ gained.
Author's Notes: Harry's obliviousness to his own thoughts is a little over the top, no one could possibly be in that much denial...
Summary: Harry finally encounters Malfoy in Potions the following week and confronts him.
Two hours, Harry lay on his bed, starting straight up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his dream and he wished, for once, that he had paid more attention in Divination. Ron had hastened quickly back to sleep and left Harry to sit there, veins contaminated with all the feelings that had rushed through him in the dream and then drained away abruptly as he woke. There was always something anticlimactic about dreams that stayed with one like that, like ghosts.
“I barely got a chance to kiss him back...” he said to himself in a stupor, before realizing what he was even saying. His arms thrashed at his sides, grabbing the sheets and wrenching them into a flurry. He didn't even remember what it was like. It wasn't like Cho, that was for certain. Draco hadn't resolved to start bawling whenever someone mentioned Cedric. Harry giggled, it was rather naive of himself to all worked up over Cho, and he remembered all the times that excited, squirming feeling had twisted up in his stomach and made him utterly incapable of talking to her.
Draco. His face was haunting Harry in a continuous loop now, and briefly he entertained the thought that Malfoy had slipped him some kind of potion. It was unlikely.
Harry flung his feet over the side of the bed and sighed, going for a walk would clear his head. He put his clothes on relatively quickly and thought while he was tying on his trainers, that if Ron woke up right now, which was unlikely, Harry would have to think of an excuse to keep him here.
But Ron didn't wake up and Harry went like a robot out of the Common Room and down to the ground level, taking breaths like a dying man as the cool air of dawn hit him on the face. This refreshing air did little to move his thoughts from Draco, and Harry started wondering about weird things, like why Malfoy had even started talking to him in the Room of Requirement; why he had showed Harry his dark mark; and why he got so defensive once Harry had pushed him away.
He was actually beginning to think that Malfoy was a girl, because he sure was acting like one. Why would he say all those things, reveal all those things about himself if he didn't want to? Every day in school was made a living nightmare because of Malfoy, so why, away from everyone else could he be more cordial than Harry thought possible. No. Sense.
“This hasn't helped.”, Harry said to himself bitterly, and he swiftly turned on his heel and headed back to the school. In the Common Room of Gryffindor there were still very few spectators, so he didn't mind who was watching when he collapsed down on the couch before one of the windows, staring out it in a trance.
Days seemed to be passing by before his eyes and only the chatter of more people gathering told him it was just an illusion. The sun finally hit the window pane and he shut his eyes in protest of it's brightness, so he didn't even notice when he fell asleep.
>>><<<
The next thing he knew he was being shaken wildly, and his eyes sprung open, washed over with sunlight which now flooded the Common Room. But he couldn't stop himself from yelling as he woke, his thoughts still dwelling on Malfoy, even in sleep, “Draco!”
Hermione pretended not to hear him, though that was impossible, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and guided him back down to the cushions of the sofa before speaking in a perfectly polite whisper, “Harry, it's time for class, you should go change.”
He had missed breakfast, but the thought of food was moot. The only thing that occurred to him was that meals were the one place he could catch a glimpse of Malfoy, and he wondered briefly if he had been absent from breakfast as well.
Ron approached them then, slightly confused by the looks of it, perhaps because Harry wore an expression of contempt for his sleeping thoughts. He didn't say anything, but he just stood there, waiting for something useful to say.
Harry couldn't bear this. Even his friends were looking at him like he were crazy. He shot up from the couch and ripped off to get his stuff for Potions.
>>><<<
The potion they were to brew today was the last thing on his mind, and he ran many a nervous hand through his more than unusually tussled hair as the rest of the class came in and took their seats. The infamous trio of Slytherins had yet to show up, compelling Harry to think they had skipped, and a bit of disappointment settled in his stomach.
As if in answer to his thoughts, however, Malfoy and his goons stepped through the door and took their seats. He looked no different than any other day, blonde hair perfectly placed, silver and green adornments right where they should be, Harry noted, trying desperately to look away. The Slytherin would not make eye contact with him and Harry found himself ripping harder at his hair as he wondered suddenly why he wanted Malfoy to look at him.
Class settled down relatively quickly, and at once they began work on cooking up this new draught. Harry didn't even catch the name of it, and this was his first clue that Potions was going to be dreadful. The second came when Draco, relaxing into his usual morning bitch, struck up a conversation with Zabini about the usage of valerian. It didn't have anything to do with Harry, but the casual nature of the whole thing rubbed him the wrong way, knowing that Malfoy had not been thinking about him at all.
Hermione could tell that something was under his skin and began helping him cut up the ingredients, carefully not to say anything that would set him off. “Here, put these in now and in minute I'll come back and help you again.” she squeezed him gently on the shoulder, but he didn't notice. He was still making sure to glance over at the Slytherin table every chance he got and try to catch Malfoy's attention.
Hermione came back very shortly and practically threw the ingredients in Harry's cauldron. “Harry!” she whispered furiously, “What's wrong with you this morning?” She finally caught where he was watching and grabbed his jaw, jerking him back to reality. “Harry! Stop it, you're starting to worry me. Just work on getting this brewed, and then you can think about...Quidditch.” She put the remaining ingredient in his hand and curled his fingers around it, “Are you alright?”
He nodded solemnly and looked down at the cauldron. Hermione was so concerned she had practically made the potion for him. He forced a smile out, silently promising her that he would try to work harder. She took this as a good sign and went back to her own potion.
“Herm?” he asked quietly all of a sudden, leaning inconspicuously across the table.
She looked up briefly, “Yes, Harry?”
“What does it mean when someone talks to you?” She scoffed a little, and Harry quickly revised his question, “I mean, if they talk to you like they trust you...like, when you're alone, they talk to you like you're friends?”
She busied herself cleaning up her area, and it was clear she was thinking about asking who he was talking about, but instead she said, “It's time for those leaves, Harry.”
He tossed them in without a second thought and lowered his voice a scant, “I need your opinion...as a girl.” he whispered the last part very carefully.
At these words Hermione seemed wrongly, but conveniently enlightened as to Harry's attitude this morning. “Well, if someone came up to me and started talking to me like they were my friend I would assume it was because they liked me.”
He leaned forward more, whispering even lower this time, “But what if they don't like you at all?”
“I don't know what you mean, Harry.” she said, slightly annoyed.
Ron, suddenly interested in the conversation, leaned in next to Harry, “What's this all about?”
“Charms, Ron.” he lied, and it quickly shut his friend up.
“WELL DONE, MISTER MALFOY!” was abruptly bellowed across the classroom. The three of them looked up and their professor was standing happily over the bubbling pot of potion sitting on Malfoy's table. “Fifty points to Slytherin, for this perfectly brewed draught of living death.”
Harry felt the steam rise up in his throat, and before he knew what he was doing, (not that he was consciously controlling it), every silver knife in the room was trained on Malfoy, swiping like butterflies at his black robes. Shrieks began around the Slytherin table and before Draco had a chance to see who was so anxious to slice him up, he was down on the floor, fainting at the sight of his own blood.
A spontaneous bile rose up in Harry's gullet and the silver knives dropped carelessly to the floor. He leaned over his cauldron, not even realizing his friends were looking at him as if he had just exploded and then flew back together.
Ron was the first to speak, “What the hell was that!?”
Harry felt a flutter in his head and the bitter taste in his mouth assembled and rose up like a tidal wave. He quickly leaned over his cauldron and promptly vomited.
Potions was let out early that day.
>>><<<
The two boys were quickly shipped off to the Hospital Ward under the watchful and curious eyes of Madame Pomfrey. So when Draco finally woke from his slumber, Harry's was the first face in view.
He rubbed his head stupidly, trying to will the memories of Potions back from the depths. Pomfrey had long since healed any slices to Draco's skin but that didn't stop the first words out his mouth from being, “You maniac! You stabbed me!”
Harry pretended not to hear from his seat a bed over from Malfoy, focusing adamantly on the far wall instead.
Draco did a quick once over of the room, and upon realizing that they were alone, continued fuming, “I mean, I knew you were crazy, I just didn't know how crazy." Harry shifted a little more in the bed, keeping his gaze anywhere but towards the spouting words. “I manage to brew the best potion in the class, out of sheer talent might I add, and Potty just can't handle it.”
Harry sniffed, the potion had been the last thing on his mind when those silver blades went straight for Malfoy, but he held his tongue. Nothing he could say would make this situation any better.
Draco was silent for a moment and Harry could tell his eyes were on him, boring a fiery hole through the back of his head. “I never knew a kiss could cause so much damage.”
So Malfoy was quite aware of the stakes here, Harry hid his surprise. He twisted his face into his most aloof sneer, and turned around to face Malfoy, “Well it wasn't my mistake!”
If Draco was shocked by this remark his face didn't reveal it, it merely remained in steely apathy. He cast his eyes away from Harry and leaned back on the headboard, showing nothing but loathe for the world.
Harry suddenly remembered that he had been the one who was only too happy to start the gossip that painted Malfoy a hand-holding, leather-wearing, handcuff-toting, twink. He felt oddly compelled to apologize but forced himself to remember all the times Malfoy had shown him only wrath. “You deserve all they have to taunt you with and more.” he said spitefully, only it came out in a whisper and so sounded like a plea.
Draco crossed his arms and looked at Harry again, his face visibly torn between beating the tar out of him, or just returning with one of their more normal insults. He didn't make a move however, and ended up just sighing.
Harry felt his heart skip a little, but was unsure of why, he swallowed down his reluctance and spoke once more. “You were the one who was going to tell anyways...”
Malfoy twitched in his seat, and Harry thought he looked like Hermione when she didn't want to do Ron's and his homework. It was kind of cute in a grumpy elf sort of way. He wrenched the sheets in his hands to stop himself from thinking such silly thoughts and trained his eyes on the far wall once more.
But just then, Malfoy said something he never thought he would hear him admit.
“I was lying.”
Somewhere in London, three pigeons pecked the eyes out of an unsuspecting tourist.
“What?” Harry heard himself stutter.
Draco shifted uncomfortably, “You heard me, Potter.”
At that moment, Pomfrey, arms full of queer looking potions bustled into the room and looked over at the two boys. “Well neither of you is bleeding or throwing up, that's a good sign.”
She set her things down and neared them, first examining the light spots on Draco where the knife slashes were fading, and then turning to Harry and feeling his forehead. “Quite an interesting show in Potions, Harry, are you feeling sick anymore?”
But Harry's eyes were fixed on Draco and his answer was delayed, he looked at her in a daze, “No, Ma'am.” The vomiting was a simple side effect brought on by the sight of his magic holding Malfoy back with twenty silver knives. He felt stupid just for feeling that badly about it.
“Well then,” she said politely, “I'm afraid you're both free to leave. And if you're feeling sick again, Harry, just come back and we'll give you a potion for it.”
Malfoy flung the sheets off his legs violently and strode quickly to the door. Pomfrey was busying herself with the new stock of potions and didn't notice as Harry copied Draco's motions and took off after him like the snitch.
Outside, Malfoy's strides away from the Hospital Wing turned unambiguous, and even slightly cruel. Harry quickened to catch up with him. “Tell me right now why you said all those things to me!”
Draco didn't stop to respond, “Go fuck yourself, Potter.”
“I don't just randomly decide to reveal my innermost to people I hate, and then...”
Malfoy stopped abruptly, turning and setting a death glare on Harry. First years passing by noticed and began to cross to the other side of the corridor. “I never said I hated you.” there was poison in his eyes. Harry didn't believe a word of it. So many times he had adequately used the word hate to describe his relationship with this blonde. “Just quit pretending like you know me.”
He turned on his heel and sped off again, leaving Harry in the dust to continue his vacant pondering. “Hadn't Draco hated me?” He thought. But seeing Malfoy walk off jerked him back to reality in a flash and he was following him just as quickly. “Well, I guess that explains all the pranks, and attempted murders, and oh, all the pureblood-zealot insults.”
“Quit following me.” he griped.
“Not until you tell me why you did the...things you did.” Harry spoke softly as he continued to walk a pace behind Malfoy, who was obviously on his way to the Great Hall.
But Malfoy clearly didn't want to talk about it, he clearly wanted to forget anything ever happened. He shoved some more small students out of the way, and grimaced, “Why the hell do you want to know so badly?!”
He stopped mid-stride and turned around to face Harry, a superior arch in his eyebrow, his arms crossed in annoyance. Harry noticed how concentrated his face was and realized for the first time how much he had come to recognize that particular expression, scheme for it even.
“Because-” he cut off abruptly, all too ready to tell Draco how much it had surprised and intrigued him, and haunted him for the past week, even invading his dreams, but quickly thought better of it. “I thought you might be trying to spy on me or something...” it was a pitiful excuse.
Malfoy's expression grew a little more annoyed, “Don't flatter yourself, I have much more interesting things to do than spy on you.” but he made no move to continue on to lunch.
Harry found his feet moving in nervous little circles on the floor, “Why then?” he asked, sounding regrettably more vulnerable than he had intended.
Draco's face went taught, and he drew in sharp breath as if contemplating whether or not to say anything too revealing.
Harry's hands twisted madly in consternation, but once he noticed they returned to his sides and yanked on his robes instead, “Well?”
Two blue eyes locked with his like an arrow on target, Harry's breath hitched and his hands squirmed in his robes a little more. The voice of doubt previously heeded by all Harry's emotions was silenced without a second thought, and he found himself anticipating Malfoy's next words with tingles running up and down his arms.
“Look, Potter. I might have said all those things in the Sanctuary because...” obviously Draco was unused to talking to him in such a casual way. It was foreign and unpleasant, “We were alone...and..uh..” Draco himself didn't even seem to know why, “Only in the Room of Requirement...ok?” He turned around again and started off down the stairs to the great hall.
Harry was left standing frozen once again, watching a splash of blonde hair begin to blend in with the colorful crowds of Hogwart's.
“Was that an invitation?” he yelled after the Slytherin, other students turned when they heard as well, but clearly didn't understand.
The blond hair stopped suddenly and Harry could see Draco shrugging his shoulders and throwing his hands up in surrender, and then continuing on to the fastly filling hall before them.
A warm wash rushed over Harry's face and he knew it to be a blush. He was blushing over Draco Malfoy.
His feet moved a little in their place and he knew Hermione and Ron would be looking for him right about now. He took off for the stairs, hoping to meet them on their way down, but as his foot came down on the first step a body slammed into him and they both toppled to the floor.
“Harry!” Hermione yelped. Ron was on top of him and so he couldn't see her face. “Are you alright?”
Ron smirked down at his friend, “Next time watch where you're going, mate.” He sat up and brushed himself off, giving Harry a hand up from the ground. “Pomfrey let you go?”
Harry immediately recalled his conversation with Malfoy. “Uh...yeah.” he said to cover up his contemplation.
They started to lunch and Hermione began in with the questions, “Are you sure you're alright though, why would you throw up like that? It's wasn't Voldemort was it?”
Harry thought it might actually make things easier if it had been, but he shook his head as they headed for the Gryffindor table.
He grabbed himself a turkey sandwich and pretended not to hear the rampant whispers of his housemates about his famous digestive kinetics.
The sandwich was crammed roughly into his mouth.
“I heard Malfoy's keeping third year Hufflepuff's in his dorm room at night.” Only Ron could repeat something so ludicrous.
Harry scoffed and choked down his food, “Ron, I don't think Malfoy's the Hufflepuff type.”
Hermione smirked and looked up from her plate, “And how would you know what Malfoy's type is Harry?”
Again he pretended not to hear her, and acknowledge that she had some idea of what was going on with said Slytherin.
“Besides, I'm sure that rumor's about as reliable as the Prophet anyways.” he looked quickly over his shoulder to the Slytherin table to eye Malfoy taking dainty little bites of his sandwich.
Ron wordlessly looked where Harry was looking and continued his rant, “I'm not so sure Harry, I got it on good authority that Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement the other night.”
Harry's gaze darted quickly back to his friend's, and he attempted to contain his glee, “What?”
“Yeah, the Fat Lady said she was up late last night and caught the git sneaking around.”
Harry felt a warm realization start at the base of his spine and climb up to the bottom of his neck. “So he's been going there after all?” Not even comprehending that his words might be a bit confusing to his friends.
Hermione's eyebrow quivered, her lips pursed and Harry caught a intangible smirk in the corner of her mouth, “Well, I'm going off to the library to catch up on some studying.” She choked down the rest of her lunch and skipped out of the Hall.
Harry was utterly confused why she hadn't said something to him after all, especially after she asked him how he knew who Malfoy would go for.
He really didn't have any idea what type Malfoy was interested in. Slytherin, of course. But recent events told him he might be wrong about that. Then again, Harry was a possible Slytherin, under the Sorting Hat, years ago.
He swallowed hard and crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, mumbling some excuse to Ron about catching up on homework. His friend was currently occupied with making lunch disappear and was entirely uninterested in catching up on work.
Hermione had indeed headed off to the library, but she didn't look at all surprised when Harry took a seat beside her, panting from his run after her.
She wasted no time, “I know you started the rumor Harry.”
Any hope to keep his involvement a secret was dead in the water. “How?” he gasped.
“Harry, Ravenclaw girls are hardly good at keeping secrets. I imagine thats's why you went to them in the first place, but really.” she closed the lone book and set it on the table, crossing her arms, “I should be asking you, 'Why?'”
Harry's hands fidgeted in his lap, “Uh..uum...” they mirrored his search for a believable explanation, without incriminating himself. “I...uh..hate..Malfoy?”
He was lying to Hermione.
“That's never compelled you to spread gossip before.”
For a split second he thought of just confessing the truth to be out with it, but decided against it in the end. “Does Ron know?”
“You think Ron is bright enough to figure that out?” Hermione had managed to compliment herself in the process of enlightening Harry. “I gather you don't want him to know?”
“Ron would love that I burned Malfoy like that.” he didn't even know where was going with this anymore.
“Is that what you want, Harry?”
Slowly, solemnly, he shook his head. All he had wanted was to show Malfoy, that he, unlike the Slytherin, had the courage to follow through with his promises.
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Author: sweetest_ink
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3, 865
Warnings: Mild language, and violence, pre-slashy acceptance.
Disclaimer: Harry, beautiful blonde Draco and all their little friends belong to JKR. Not me, no $$ gained.
Author's Notes: Harry's obliviousness to his own thoughts is a little over the top, no one could possibly be in that much denial...
Summary: Harry finally encounters Malfoy in Potions the following week and confronts him.
Two hours, Harry lay on his bed, starting straight up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his dream and he wished, for once, that he had paid more attention in Divination. Ron had hastened quickly back to sleep and left Harry to sit there, veins contaminated with all the feelings that had rushed through him in the dream and then drained away abruptly as he woke. There was always something anticlimactic about dreams that stayed with one like that, like ghosts.
“I barely got a chance to kiss him back...” he said to himself in a stupor, before realizing what he was even saying. His arms thrashed at his sides, grabbing the sheets and wrenching them into a flurry. He didn't even remember what it was like. It wasn't like Cho, that was for certain. Draco hadn't resolved to start bawling whenever someone mentioned Cedric. Harry giggled, it was rather naive of himself to all worked up over Cho, and he remembered all the times that excited, squirming feeling had twisted up in his stomach and made him utterly incapable of talking to her.
Draco. His face was haunting Harry in a continuous loop now, and briefly he entertained the thought that Malfoy had slipped him some kind of potion. It was unlikely.
Harry flung his feet over the side of the bed and sighed, going for a walk would clear his head. He put his clothes on relatively quickly and thought while he was tying on his trainers, that if Ron woke up right now, which was unlikely, Harry would have to think of an excuse to keep him here.
But Ron didn't wake up and Harry went like a robot out of the Common Room and down to the ground level, taking breaths like a dying man as the cool air of dawn hit him on the face. This refreshing air did little to move his thoughts from Draco, and Harry started wondering about weird things, like why Malfoy had even started talking to him in the Room of Requirement; why he had showed Harry his dark mark; and why he got so defensive once Harry had pushed him away.
He was actually beginning to think that Malfoy was a girl, because he sure was acting like one. Why would he say all those things, reveal all those things about himself if he didn't want to? Every day in school was made a living nightmare because of Malfoy, so why, away from everyone else could he be more cordial than Harry thought possible. No. Sense.
“This hasn't helped.”, Harry said to himself bitterly, and he swiftly turned on his heel and headed back to the school. In the Common Room of Gryffindor there were still very few spectators, so he didn't mind who was watching when he collapsed down on the couch before one of the windows, staring out it in a trance.
Days seemed to be passing by before his eyes and only the chatter of more people gathering told him it was just an illusion. The sun finally hit the window pane and he shut his eyes in protest of it's brightness, so he didn't even notice when he fell asleep.
>>><<<
The next thing he knew he was being shaken wildly, and his eyes sprung open, washed over with sunlight which now flooded the Common Room. But he couldn't stop himself from yelling as he woke, his thoughts still dwelling on Malfoy, even in sleep, “Draco!”
Hermione pretended not to hear him, though that was impossible, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and guided him back down to the cushions of the sofa before speaking in a perfectly polite whisper, “Harry, it's time for class, you should go change.”
He had missed breakfast, but the thought of food was moot. The only thing that occurred to him was that meals were the one place he could catch a glimpse of Malfoy, and he wondered briefly if he had been absent from breakfast as well.
Ron approached them then, slightly confused by the looks of it, perhaps because Harry wore an expression of contempt for his sleeping thoughts. He didn't say anything, but he just stood there, waiting for something useful to say.
Harry couldn't bear this. Even his friends were looking at him like he were crazy. He shot up from the couch and ripped off to get his stuff for Potions.
>>><<<
The potion they were to brew today was the last thing on his mind, and he ran many a nervous hand through his more than unusually tussled hair as the rest of the class came in and took their seats. The infamous trio of Slytherins had yet to show up, compelling Harry to think they had skipped, and a bit of disappointment settled in his stomach.
As if in answer to his thoughts, however, Malfoy and his goons stepped through the door and took their seats. He looked no different than any other day, blonde hair perfectly placed, silver and green adornments right where they should be, Harry noted, trying desperately to look away. The Slytherin would not make eye contact with him and Harry found himself ripping harder at his hair as he wondered suddenly why he wanted Malfoy to look at him.
Class settled down relatively quickly, and at once they began work on cooking up this new draught. Harry didn't even catch the name of it, and this was his first clue that Potions was going to be dreadful. The second came when Draco, relaxing into his usual morning bitch, struck up a conversation with Zabini about the usage of valerian. It didn't have anything to do with Harry, but the casual nature of the whole thing rubbed him the wrong way, knowing that Malfoy had not been thinking about him at all.
Hermione could tell that something was under his skin and began helping him cut up the ingredients, carefully not to say anything that would set him off. “Here, put these in now and in minute I'll come back and help you again.” she squeezed him gently on the shoulder, but he didn't notice. He was still making sure to glance over at the Slytherin table every chance he got and try to catch Malfoy's attention.
Hermione came back very shortly and practically threw the ingredients in Harry's cauldron. “Harry!” she whispered furiously, “What's wrong with you this morning?” She finally caught where he was watching and grabbed his jaw, jerking him back to reality. “Harry! Stop it, you're starting to worry me. Just work on getting this brewed, and then you can think about...Quidditch.” She put the remaining ingredient in his hand and curled his fingers around it, “Are you alright?”
He nodded solemnly and looked down at the cauldron. Hermione was so concerned she had practically made the potion for him. He forced a smile out, silently promising her that he would try to work harder. She took this as a good sign and went back to her own potion.
“Herm?” he asked quietly all of a sudden, leaning inconspicuously across the table.
She looked up briefly, “Yes, Harry?”
“What does it mean when someone talks to you?” She scoffed a little, and Harry quickly revised his question, “I mean, if they talk to you like they trust you...like, when you're alone, they talk to you like you're friends?”
She busied herself cleaning up her area, and it was clear she was thinking about asking who he was talking about, but instead she said, “It's time for those leaves, Harry.”
He tossed them in without a second thought and lowered his voice a scant, “I need your opinion...as a girl.” he whispered the last part very carefully.
At these words Hermione seemed wrongly, but conveniently enlightened as to Harry's attitude this morning. “Well, if someone came up to me and started talking to me like they were my friend I would assume it was because they liked me.”
He leaned forward more, whispering even lower this time, “But what if they don't like you at all?”
“I don't know what you mean, Harry.” she said, slightly annoyed.
Ron, suddenly interested in the conversation, leaned in next to Harry, “What's this all about?”
“Charms, Ron.” he lied, and it quickly shut his friend up.
“WELL DONE, MISTER MALFOY!” was abruptly bellowed across the classroom. The three of them looked up and their professor was standing happily over the bubbling pot of potion sitting on Malfoy's table. “Fifty points to Slytherin, for this perfectly brewed draught of living death.”
Harry felt the steam rise up in his throat, and before he knew what he was doing, (not that he was consciously controlling it), every silver knife in the room was trained on Malfoy, swiping like butterflies at his black robes. Shrieks began around the Slytherin table and before Draco had a chance to see who was so anxious to slice him up, he was down on the floor, fainting at the sight of his own blood.
A spontaneous bile rose up in Harry's gullet and the silver knives dropped carelessly to the floor. He leaned over his cauldron, not even realizing his friends were looking at him as if he had just exploded and then flew back together.
Ron was the first to speak, “What the hell was that!?”
Harry felt a flutter in his head and the bitter taste in his mouth assembled and rose up like a tidal wave. He quickly leaned over his cauldron and promptly vomited.
Potions was let out early that day.
>>><<<
The two boys were quickly shipped off to the Hospital Ward under the watchful and curious eyes of Madame Pomfrey. So when Draco finally woke from his slumber, Harry's was the first face in view.
He rubbed his head stupidly, trying to will the memories of Potions back from the depths. Pomfrey had long since healed any slices to Draco's skin but that didn't stop the first words out his mouth from being, “You maniac! You stabbed me!”
Harry pretended not to hear from his seat a bed over from Malfoy, focusing adamantly on the far wall instead.
Draco did a quick once over of the room, and upon realizing that they were alone, continued fuming, “I mean, I knew you were crazy, I just didn't know how crazy." Harry shifted a little more in the bed, keeping his gaze anywhere but towards the spouting words. “I manage to brew the best potion in the class, out of sheer talent might I add, and Potty just can't handle it.”
Harry sniffed, the potion had been the last thing on his mind when those silver blades went straight for Malfoy, but he held his tongue. Nothing he could say would make this situation any better.
Draco was silent for a moment and Harry could tell his eyes were on him, boring a fiery hole through the back of his head. “I never knew a kiss could cause so much damage.”
So Malfoy was quite aware of the stakes here, Harry hid his surprise. He twisted his face into his most aloof sneer, and turned around to face Malfoy, “Well it wasn't my mistake!”
If Draco was shocked by this remark his face didn't reveal it, it merely remained in steely apathy. He cast his eyes away from Harry and leaned back on the headboard, showing nothing but loathe for the world.
Harry suddenly remembered that he had been the one who was only too happy to start the gossip that painted Malfoy a hand-holding, leather-wearing, handcuff-toting, twink. He felt oddly compelled to apologize but forced himself to remember all the times Malfoy had shown him only wrath. “You deserve all they have to taunt you with and more.” he said spitefully, only it came out in a whisper and so sounded like a plea.
Draco crossed his arms and looked at Harry again, his face visibly torn between beating the tar out of him, or just returning with one of their more normal insults. He didn't make a move however, and ended up just sighing.
Harry felt his heart skip a little, but was unsure of why, he swallowed down his reluctance and spoke once more. “You were the one who was going to tell anyways...”
Malfoy twitched in his seat, and Harry thought he looked like Hermione when she didn't want to do Ron's and his homework. It was kind of cute in a grumpy elf sort of way. He wrenched the sheets in his hands to stop himself from thinking such silly thoughts and trained his eyes on the far wall once more.
But just then, Malfoy said something he never thought he would hear him admit.
“I was lying.”
Somewhere in London, three pigeons pecked the eyes out of an unsuspecting tourist.
“What?” Harry heard himself stutter.
Draco shifted uncomfortably, “You heard me, Potter.”
At that moment, Pomfrey, arms full of queer looking potions bustled into the room and looked over at the two boys. “Well neither of you is bleeding or throwing up, that's a good sign.”
She set her things down and neared them, first examining the light spots on Draco where the knife slashes were fading, and then turning to Harry and feeling his forehead. “Quite an interesting show in Potions, Harry, are you feeling sick anymore?”
But Harry's eyes were fixed on Draco and his answer was delayed, he looked at her in a daze, “No, Ma'am.” The vomiting was a simple side effect brought on by the sight of his magic holding Malfoy back with twenty silver knives. He felt stupid just for feeling that badly about it.
“Well then,” she said politely, “I'm afraid you're both free to leave. And if you're feeling sick again, Harry, just come back and we'll give you a potion for it.”
Malfoy flung the sheets off his legs violently and strode quickly to the door. Pomfrey was busying herself with the new stock of potions and didn't notice as Harry copied Draco's motions and took off after him like the snitch.
Outside, Malfoy's strides away from the Hospital Wing turned unambiguous, and even slightly cruel. Harry quickened to catch up with him. “Tell me right now why you said all those things to me!”
Draco didn't stop to respond, “Go fuck yourself, Potter.”
“I don't just randomly decide to reveal my innermost to people I hate, and then...”
Malfoy stopped abruptly, turning and setting a death glare on Harry. First years passing by noticed and began to cross to the other side of the corridor. “I never said I hated you.” there was poison in his eyes. Harry didn't believe a word of it. So many times he had adequately used the word hate to describe his relationship with this blonde. “Just quit pretending like you know me.”
He turned on his heel and sped off again, leaving Harry in the dust to continue his vacant pondering. “Hadn't Draco hated me?” He thought. But seeing Malfoy walk off jerked him back to reality in a flash and he was following him just as quickly. “Well, I guess that explains all the pranks, and attempted murders, and oh, all the pureblood-zealot insults.”
“Quit following me.” he griped.
“Not until you tell me why you did the...things you did.” Harry spoke softly as he continued to walk a pace behind Malfoy, who was obviously on his way to the Great Hall.
But Malfoy clearly didn't want to talk about it, he clearly wanted to forget anything ever happened. He shoved some more small students out of the way, and grimaced, “Why the hell do you want to know so badly?!”
He stopped mid-stride and turned around to face Harry, a superior arch in his eyebrow, his arms crossed in annoyance. Harry noticed how concentrated his face was and realized for the first time how much he had come to recognize that particular expression, scheme for it even.
“Because-” he cut off abruptly, all too ready to tell Draco how much it had surprised and intrigued him, and haunted him for the past week, even invading his dreams, but quickly thought better of it. “I thought you might be trying to spy on me or something...” it was a pitiful excuse.
Malfoy's expression grew a little more annoyed, “Don't flatter yourself, I have much more interesting things to do than spy on you.” but he made no move to continue on to lunch.
Harry found his feet moving in nervous little circles on the floor, “Why then?” he asked, sounding regrettably more vulnerable than he had intended.
Draco's face went taught, and he drew in sharp breath as if contemplating whether or not to say anything too revealing.
Harry's hands twisted madly in consternation, but once he noticed they returned to his sides and yanked on his robes instead, “Well?”
Two blue eyes locked with his like an arrow on target, Harry's breath hitched and his hands squirmed in his robes a little more. The voice of doubt previously heeded by all Harry's emotions was silenced without a second thought, and he found himself anticipating Malfoy's next words with tingles running up and down his arms.
“Look, Potter. I might have said all those things in the Sanctuary because...” obviously Draco was unused to talking to him in such a casual way. It was foreign and unpleasant, “We were alone...and..uh..” Draco himself didn't even seem to know why, “Only in the Room of Requirement...ok?” He turned around again and started off down the stairs to the great hall.
Harry was left standing frozen once again, watching a splash of blonde hair begin to blend in with the colorful crowds of Hogwart's.
“Was that an invitation?” he yelled after the Slytherin, other students turned when they heard as well, but clearly didn't understand.
The blond hair stopped suddenly and Harry could see Draco shrugging his shoulders and throwing his hands up in surrender, and then continuing on to the fastly filling hall before them.
A warm wash rushed over Harry's face and he knew it to be a blush. He was blushing over Draco Malfoy.
His feet moved a little in their place and he knew Hermione and Ron would be looking for him right about now. He took off for the stairs, hoping to meet them on their way down, but as his foot came down on the first step a body slammed into him and they both toppled to the floor.
“Harry!” Hermione yelped. Ron was on top of him and so he couldn't see her face. “Are you alright?”
Ron smirked down at his friend, “Next time watch where you're going, mate.” He sat up and brushed himself off, giving Harry a hand up from the ground. “Pomfrey let you go?”
Harry immediately recalled his conversation with Malfoy. “Uh...yeah.” he said to cover up his contemplation.
They started to lunch and Hermione began in with the questions, “Are you sure you're alright though, why would you throw up like that? It's wasn't Voldemort was it?”
Harry thought it might actually make things easier if it had been, but he shook his head as they headed for the Gryffindor table.
He grabbed himself a turkey sandwich and pretended not to hear the rampant whispers of his housemates about his famous digestive kinetics.
The sandwich was crammed roughly into his mouth.
“I heard Malfoy's keeping third year Hufflepuff's in his dorm room at night.” Only Ron could repeat something so ludicrous.
Harry scoffed and choked down his food, “Ron, I don't think Malfoy's the Hufflepuff type.”
Hermione smirked and looked up from her plate, “And how would you know what Malfoy's type is Harry?”
Again he pretended not to hear her, and acknowledge that she had some idea of what was going on with said Slytherin.
“Besides, I'm sure that rumor's about as reliable as the Prophet anyways.” he looked quickly over his shoulder to the Slytherin table to eye Malfoy taking dainty little bites of his sandwich.
Ron wordlessly looked where Harry was looking and continued his rant, “I'm not so sure Harry, I got it on good authority that Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement the other night.”
Harry's gaze darted quickly back to his friend's, and he attempted to contain his glee, “What?”
“Yeah, the Fat Lady said she was up late last night and caught the git sneaking around.”
Harry felt a warm realization start at the base of his spine and climb up to the bottom of his neck. “So he's been going there after all?” Not even comprehending that his words might be a bit confusing to his friends.
Hermione's eyebrow quivered, her lips pursed and Harry caught a intangible smirk in the corner of her mouth, “Well, I'm going off to the library to catch up on some studying.” She choked down the rest of her lunch and skipped out of the Hall.
Harry was utterly confused why she hadn't said something to him after all, especially after she asked him how he knew who Malfoy would go for.
He really didn't have any idea what type Malfoy was interested in. Slytherin, of course. But recent events told him he might be wrong about that. Then again, Harry was a possible Slytherin, under the Sorting Hat, years ago.
He swallowed hard and crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, mumbling some excuse to Ron about catching up on homework. His friend was currently occupied with making lunch disappear and was entirely uninterested in catching up on work.
Hermione had indeed headed off to the library, but she didn't look at all surprised when Harry took a seat beside her, panting from his run after her.
She wasted no time, “I know you started the rumor Harry.”
Any hope to keep his involvement a secret was dead in the water. “How?” he gasped.
“Harry, Ravenclaw girls are hardly good at keeping secrets. I imagine thats's why you went to them in the first place, but really.” she closed the lone book and set it on the table, crossing her arms, “I should be asking you, 'Why?'”
Harry's hands fidgeted in his lap, “Uh..uum...” they mirrored his search for a believable explanation, without incriminating himself. “I...uh..hate..Malfoy?”
He was lying to Hermione.
“That's never compelled you to spread gossip before.”
For a split second he thought of just confessing the truth to be out with it, but decided against it in the end. “Does Ron know?”
“You think Ron is bright enough to figure that out?” Hermione had managed to compliment herself in the process of enlightening Harry. “I gather you don't want him to know?”
“Ron would love that I burned Malfoy like that.” he didn't even know where was going with this anymore.
“Is that what you want, Harry?”
Slowly, solemnly, he shook his head. All he had wanted was to show Malfoy, that he, unlike the Slytherin, had the courage to follow through with his promises.