War Heroes Ward, Harry/Draco, PG.
It's not a Sex Magic update, but it is H/D! I've had this little diddy in the works for months, but I could never get more than a sentence or two at a time written on it up until now. Then I suddenly had a burst of inspiration... largely due to my mother's rum punch. So, uh, yeah. The rum is gone, and it's all my fault!
Anyway. Random H/D fic, and heavily rum-inspired. Here's the surprising part; I wrote a fic while mildly tipsy, and it's under PG-13! Wrap your brain around that one, why doncha?
******
Harry Potter was in his Seventh Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Actually, technically he was repeating his Seventh Year there. Apparently murdering a psychotic sadist bent on destroying the Muggle race and thus saving the Wizarding World from torture and genocide does not exempt one from taking NEWTS exams. Or so Professor McGonagall had told him.
Harry wasn't the only one, though. Ron and Hermione, who had been by his side all through last year were there, as well as Luna and Neville, who had joined them later.
There were also, and unfortunately, the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, who had departed at the end of Sixth Year, and his cronies who had lost all sense of purpose without their leader. They'd remained at Hogwarts all through the war, huddling in corners and fearing the wrath of their parents and the Dark Lord for their cowardice.
Malfoy himself had been found after The Fall, as it'd been termed. Severus Snape's wards faded along with their caster after his death in the final battle, and Draco had been taken into custody in a Ministry raid on Spinner's End. He'd gone before the Wizengamot to face charges of conspiracy against the Ministry, reckless endangerment of minors, and accomplice to murder. Harry had spoke on his behalf, giving the same excuse that the members of the ancient board had heard thirty years before; Draco had been coerced by Voldemort, under threat of pain and death against himself and his family.
He'd never known if Malfoy had been grateful for his intervention or not, as he sat looking pale and exhausted while the verdict was handed down. "Not guilty." Harry highly suspected that his status as The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort was the only thing that saved Malfoy that day.
So it was that the eleven of them; four Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and six Slytherins, came to share their Seventh Year together. Not belonging to any House, and since the dorms were full of rightful students completing their actual years, a new space had been made for the unlikely mix. The layout was familiar, with a common room and two staircases winding up to same-gender sleeping quarters. The colors were neutral, a mix of deep violet and amber. The atmosphere, however, was neither familiar nor neutral.
A restrained air was palpable between the two factions the first few weeks. It skittered along the edges of perception, like fine silver tracery on fabric. Then the most unlikely of truces formed one night, when Hermione observed Crabbe and Goyle struggling with their Charms essays. She began tutoring them with soft tones and gentle smiles, and they responded with an awkward sort of reverence. The first time Goyle stammeringly offered her a chocolate frog, Ron half-stood in alarm while Hermione flushed with gratitude.
When she nibbled at it over her notes the next evening the entire common room relaxed noticeably.
***
The War Heroes Ward, lower years murmured in hushed tones as they passed the suit of armor that guarded the entrance to their dorm. Although the Slytherins had basically done nothing to aid the war, neither had they swollen the ranks of Voldemort's army. They were respected for refusing their birthrights. All except for Malfoy, of course.
"It's unfortunate, really," a Seventh Year Gryffindor was saying to his chums. "That he's allowed in there with them."
The rest of the class looked to Harry, and those who knew him paled. Harry glared at the other boy until he looked away.
"Who are you to judge?" Harry asked him gravely.
The Seventh Year glowered at the floor and jutted his chin out defiantly. "I know what he did."
"And I know what he didn't do," Harry answered, fingers pinching his quill.
Draco never turned, his shoulders remaining rigid and quivering until Slughorn entered with his usual gusto.
***
Harry hadn't meant to. If he'd been given the choice, he really wouldn't even want to. It was pure unfortunate coincidence that placed him in that particular hallway at that exact moment, and his own damnable sense of heroism that made him run toward the sounds of a struggle.
He drew up short a few yards away, watching in horrified fascination as four figures crowded around another who was crouched on the floor, curled into himself protectively. The other four kicked viciously at the hunched figure's back and shoulders. He threw his head back and cried out as the toe of one boot slammed into the juncture of his armpit and ribs. Moonlight streaming in through the window caught on pale hair, and Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth.
He was torn. Part of him believed that Malfoy had this coming to him. The other, highly Gryffindor part of him, urged him forward.
Harry shouted, jogging toward the four attackers with his wand out. They dispersed like flies, with frenzied movement in all directions and the fading slap of sneakers on flagstone. Only Draco was left behind, still and quiet. Harry approached him carefully, putting his wand away and crouching at his side.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and the words felt like wool on his tongue. Heavy and uncomfortable.
Draco drew in a ragged breath, his face blotched and wet at he looked up at Harry with sheer loathing.
"Why is it always you?"
His voice was raw and rusty, and it suited the agonized disgust behind it. Harry blinked, not knowing if he was more angry or confused by this question.
"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling stupid and predictable.
Malfoy hauled himself up from the wall, the movement shaky and full of barely-checked rage.
"Why must you always be around to witness my most embarrassing moments?"
And then he turned and stomped off in a random direction that had no real destination, except to be away from Harry.
***
"There's nothing embarrassing about being unable to kill someone."
An awful silence descended on the occupants of the boys' dorm. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike shared in mutual discomfort, casting one another pained glances that clearly said: 'How do you think this'll turn out?'
Harry had tried, he'd really tried to keep himself from saying those words. He'd held them in like struggling things with wings beating against his tongue for three whole days. In his true form, he'd let them fly at the most inopportune time.
Draco went pale as he paused midway through his bedtime routine. He turned and pinned Harry with a glare of such cold fury that the Gryffindor's hands fluttered, as though longing to reach out and recapture the disastrous words.
"I just thought that you should know that," said Harry, lowering his eyes and turning away.
They all preoccupied themselves with getting into bed after that, paying unnecessary attention to sashes on bed curtains and the corners of sheets.
***
The old tension was back in the air the next morning, and it persisted until the night of Halloween. Full of good food and loads of sugar, the secondary Seventh Years retired to their dorm where Ron and Blaise had smuggled in some firewhiskey.
Several hours later, the atmosphere was lightening by degrees proportional to the amount of liquor consumed. Laughter and antics took over the small, strange crowd, and the warm press of bodies made the air heady.
At one point Harry glanced up from his place on the sofa, where he was drowsy and half-leaning on Hermione. His eyes fell on Draco, directly across from him, his face suffused with pink from the alcohol. Pansy whispered something into his ear, and his gaze landed on Harry as he laughed.
When Harry would normally have looked away, the lazy camaraderie of the mood dictated that he should smile back. He did, and Draco's grin slipped and he swallowed. Harry tracked the movement of the other boy's Adam's apple with his eyes, and his breathing turned shallow and he gripped the arm of the sofa with white fingers.
Neither noticed the almost imperceptible dip in the other occupants' conversation, which when it resumed had an almost knowing quality to it.
***
The tension was still there. But it was different, this tension. This wasn't the sort of taut, restrained energy that persisted at the beginning of term. This particular brand throbbed. It did not have a breaking point. It would not snap. There would come a day when it would simply spill over, spreading out like fire and just as hungry.
Harry and Draco continued to sneak glances. Draco's gray eyes would hover and glide, only half-looking and half trying not to. Harry stared openly. His gaze, when it fell on Draco, became pained and smoldering. Every other member of the house caught their breath along with him, and felt his indecision like it was their own.
It was like watching a play. They'd heard of it, heard other people talking about it. They knew what the end would be, and yet they didn't know when that end would come, or how it would effect them when it did.
***
It came on the night before the winter break began. No one ever owned up to the mistletoe, but everyone was grateful for it, when it was all said and done.
It inevitably came to pass that through pure coincidence or machination, Harry and Draco were caught fumbling in a specific doorway, all stuttered apologies and awkward limbs. A moment passed, then two, and all eyes drifted upward to the bundle of green leaves and white berries above two mismatched heads.
Harry was the first to look down, his expression full of horrible expectation. Draco felt his gaze and met it, pressing his lips together until they bleached of all color. His eyes flickered back and forth, like a wild animal caught in a corner with its favorite delicacy; pleased, but caged all the same, and unsure that it was ready to be appeased at this cost.
Then Harry's head dipped suddenly, and Draco made a keening sound, backing away and arching toward Harry in the same motion. Harry stopped and straightened slightly, hands clenched at his sides.
"You don't have to, if you don't want," he told him. "It's just a stupid tradition."
But Draco was too Slytherin not to recognize the out for what it was and seized it gratefully, nodding and ducking under an invisible barrier to escape up the stairs to the boys' bedroom.
The rest of the night passed jovially enough, albeit with a disappointed air. Harry stalked around the room moodily, a cup of something potent in his hands. His jaw twitched occasionally, and Hermione would fret, touching Ron's arm and peering in Harry's direction. Ron would sigh, shrug and give Hermione the same look he'd given her since Halloween. The one that said that for the first time, they weren't a part of this side of Harry.
When the party wound down, couples went off to corners while the rest trudged up to their beds. It was no surprise to find Draco's bed curtains drawn, but Harry seemed to take it personally, nonetheless.
***
It was three in the morning, and Harry Potter was slipping past Draco Malfoy's bed curtains. The dip of the bed woke the blond boy, and he half-sat up in alarm.
"Why does it have to be you?" Harry asked, still rather smashed and inclined be bold, as well as honest.
Draco leveled a weary look at him and shrugged. "That's what I've been wondering all along."
"Vechangemuhmind," said Harry in that same, dreadful slur he'd used to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I've changed my mind. Traditions should be upheld. Always."
Draco's sharply indrawn breath mingled with the rasp of sheets as Harry slid down to kiss him. At long last, everything spilled over, hungry and burning.
***
There was tension at the table the next morning over breakfast. It had nothing to do with anticipation, however, and everything to do with the lovebite on Draco's neck and the smile Harry kept hiding in his toast.
******
Anyway. Random H/D fic, and heavily rum-inspired. Here's the surprising part; I wrote a fic while mildly tipsy, and it's under PG-13! Wrap your brain around that one, why doncha?
******
Harry Potter was in his Seventh Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Actually, technically he was repeating his Seventh Year there. Apparently murdering a psychotic sadist bent on destroying the Muggle race and thus saving the Wizarding World from torture and genocide does not exempt one from taking NEWTS exams. Or so Professor McGonagall had told him.
Harry wasn't the only one, though. Ron and Hermione, who had been by his side all through last year were there, as well as Luna and Neville, who had joined them later.
There were also, and unfortunately, the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, who had departed at the end of Sixth Year, and his cronies who had lost all sense of purpose without their leader. They'd remained at Hogwarts all through the war, huddling in corners and fearing the wrath of their parents and the Dark Lord for their cowardice.
Malfoy himself had been found after The Fall, as it'd been termed. Severus Snape's wards faded along with their caster after his death in the final battle, and Draco had been taken into custody in a Ministry raid on Spinner's End. He'd gone before the Wizengamot to face charges of conspiracy against the Ministry, reckless endangerment of minors, and accomplice to murder. Harry had spoke on his behalf, giving the same excuse that the members of the ancient board had heard thirty years before; Draco had been coerced by Voldemort, under threat of pain and death against himself and his family.
He'd never known if Malfoy had been grateful for his intervention or not, as he sat looking pale and exhausted while the verdict was handed down. "Not guilty." Harry highly suspected that his status as The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort was the only thing that saved Malfoy that day.
So it was that the eleven of them; four Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and six Slytherins, came to share their Seventh Year together. Not belonging to any House, and since the dorms were full of rightful students completing their actual years, a new space had been made for the unlikely mix. The layout was familiar, with a common room and two staircases winding up to same-gender sleeping quarters. The colors were neutral, a mix of deep violet and amber. The atmosphere, however, was neither familiar nor neutral.
A restrained air was palpable between the two factions the first few weeks. It skittered along the edges of perception, like fine silver tracery on fabric. Then the most unlikely of truces formed one night, when Hermione observed Crabbe and Goyle struggling with their Charms essays. She began tutoring them with soft tones and gentle smiles, and they responded with an awkward sort of reverence. The first time Goyle stammeringly offered her a chocolate frog, Ron half-stood in alarm while Hermione flushed with gratitude.
When she nibbled at it over her notes the next evening the entire common room relaxed noticeably.
***
The War Heroes Ward, lower years murmured in hushed tones as they passed the suit of armor that guarded the entrance to their dorm. Although the Slytherins had basically done nothing to aid the war, neither had they swollen the ranks of Voldemort's army. They were respected for refusing their birthrights. All except for Malfoy, of course.
"It's unfortunate, really," a Seventh Year Gryffindor was saying to his chums. "That he's allowed in there with them."
The rest of the class looked to Harry, and those who knew him paled. Harry glared at the other boy until he looked away.
"Who are you to judge?" Harry asked him gravely.
The Seventh Year glowered at the floor and jutted his chin out defiantly. "I know what he did."
"And I know what he didn't do," Harry answered, fingers pinching his quill.
Draco never turned, his shoulders remaining rigid and quivering until Slughorn entered with his usual gusto.
***
Harry hadn't meant to. If he'd been given the choice, he really wouldn't even want to. It was pure unfortunate coincidence that placed him in that particular hallway at that exact moment, and his own damnable sense of heroism that made him run toward the sounds of a struggle.
He drew up short a few yards away, watching in horrified fascination as four figures crowded around another who was crouched on the floor, curled into himself protectively. The other four kicked viciously at the hunched figure's back and shoulders. He threw his head back and cried out as the toe of one boot slammed into the juncture of his armpit and ribs. Moonlight streaming in through the window caught on pale hair, and Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth.
He was torn. Part of him believed that Malfoy had this coming to him. The other, highly Gryffindor part of him, urged him forward.
Harry shouted, jogging toward the four attackers with his wand out. They dispersed like flies, with frenzied movement in all directions and the fading slap of sneakers on flagstone. Only Draco was left behind, still and quiet. Harry approached him carefully, putting his wand away and crouching at his side.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and the words felt like wool on his tongue. Heavy and uncomfortable.
Draco drew in a ragged breath, his face blotched and wet at he looked up at Harry with sheer loathing.
"Why is it always you?"
His voice was raw and rusty, and it suited the agonized disgust behind it. Harry blinked, not knowing if he was more angry or confused by this question.
"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling stupid and predictable.
Malfoy hauled himself up from the wall, the movement shaky and full of barely-checked rage.
"Why must you always be around to witness my most embarrassing moments?"
And then he turned and stomped off in a random direction that had no real destination, except to be away from Harry.
***
"There's nothing embarrassing about being unable to kill someone."
An awful silence descended on the occupants of the boys' dorm. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike shared in mutual discomfort, casting one another pained glances that clearly said: 'How do you think this'll turn out?'
Harry had tried, he'd really tried to keep himself from saying those words. He'd held them in like struggling things with wings beating against his tongue for three whole days. In his true form, he'd let them fly at the most inopportune time.
Draco went pale as he paused midway through his bedtime routine. He turned and pinned Harry with a glare of such cold fury that the Gryffindor's hands fluttered, as though longing to reach out and recapture the disastrous words.
"I just thought that you should know that," said Harry, lowering his eyes and turning away.
They all preoccupied themselves with getting into bed after that, paying unnecessary attention to sashes on bed curtains and the corners of sheets.
***
The old tension was back in the air the next morning, and it persisted until the night of Halloween. Full of good food and loads of sugar, the secondary Seventh Years retired to their dorm where Ron and Blaise had smuggled in some firewhiskey.
Several hours later, the atmosphere was lightening by degrees proportional to the amount of liquor consumed. Laughter and antics took over the small, strange crowd, and the warm press of bodies made the air heady.
At one point Harry glanced up from his place on the sofa, where he was drowsy and half-leaning on Hermione. His eyes fell on Draco, directly across from him, his face suffused with pink from the alcohol. Pansy whispered something into his ear, and his gaze landed on Harry as he laughed.
When Harry would normally have looked away, the lazy camaraderie of the mood dictated that he should smile back. He did, and Draco's grin slipped and he swallowed. Harry tracked the movement of the other boy's Adam's apple with his eyes, and his breathing turned shallow and he gripped the arm of the sofa with white fingers.
Neither noticed the almost imperceptible dip in the other occupants' conversation, which when it resumed had an almost knowing quality to it.
***
The tension was still there. But it was different, this tension. This wasn't the sort of taut, restrained energy that persisted at the beginning of term. This particular brand throbbed. It did not have a breaking point. It would not snap. There would come a day when it would simply spill over, spreading out like fire and just as hungry.
Harry and Draco continued to sneak glances. Draco's gray eyes would hover and glide, only half-looking and half trying not to. Harry stared openly. His gaze, when it fell on Draco, became pained and smoldering. Every other member of the house caught their breath along with him, and felt his indecision like it was their own.
It was like watching a play. They'd heard of it, heard other people talking about it. They knew what the end would be, and yet they didn't know when that end would come, or how it would effect them when it did.
***
It came on the night before the winter break began. No one ever owned up to the mistletoe, but everyone was grateful for it, when it was all said and done.
It inevitably came to pass that through pure coincidence or machination, Harry and Draco were caught fumbling in a specific doorway, all stuttered apologies and awkward limbs. A moment passed, then two, and all eyes drifted upward to the bundle of green leaves and white berries above two mismatched heads.
Harry was the first to look down, his expression full of horrible expectation. Draco felt his gaze and met it, pressing his lips together until they bleached of all color. His eyes flickered back and forth, like a wild animal caught in a corner with its favorite delicacy; pleased, but caged all the same, and unsure that it was ready to be appeased at this cost.
Then Harry's head dipped suddenly, and Draco made a keening sound, backing away and arching toward Harry in the same motion. Harry stopped and straightened slightly, hands clenched at his sides.
"You don't have to, if you don't want," he told him. "It's just a stupid tradition."
But Draco was too Slytherin not to recognize the out for what it was and seized it gratefully, nodding and ducking under an invisible barrier to escape up the stairs to the boys' bedroom.
The rest of the night passed jovially enough, albeit with a disappointed air. Harry stalked around the room moodily, a cup of something potent in his hands. His jaw twitched occasionally, and Hermione would fret, touching Ron's arm and peering in Harry's direction. Ron would sigh, shrug and give Hermione the same look he'd given her since Halloween. The one that said that for the first time, they weren't a part of this side of Harry.
When the party wound down, couples went off to corners while the rest trudged up to their beds. It was no surprise to find Draco's bed curtains drawn, but Harry seemed to take it personally, nonetheless.
***
It was three in the morning, and Harry Potter was slipping past Draco Malfoy's bed curtains. The dip of the bed woke the blond boy, and he half-sat up in alarm.
"Why does it have to be you?" Harry asked, still rather smashed and inclined be bold, as well as honest.
Draco leveled a weary look at him and shrugged. "That's what I've been wondering all along."
"Vechangemuhmind," said Harry in that same, dreadful slur he'd used to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I've changed my mind. Traditions should be upheld. Always."
Draco's sharply indrawn breath mingled with the rasp of sheets as Harry slid down to kiss him. At long last, everything spilled over, hungry and burning.
***
There was tension at the table the next morning over breakfast. It had nothing to do with anticipation, however, and everything to do with the lovebite on Draco's neck and the smile Harry kept hiding in his toast.
******