Warfare Tactics: Clause 6.5
hpslashnotsmut finally did the Big Damn Reveal today so that means I can finally post my entries here.
Plus, lurkitty wrote the freaking awesome Pass Onward from Shalott for me, which is like a short H/D detective fic. (Rocks)
Title: Warfare Tactics: Clause 6.5
Author: faire_weather-
Giftee: jinfied
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,058
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Overuse of citations, questionable logic and innuendos. Also, toeing the crack!fic line.
Summary: Draco knows exactly how to break a rule-breaker. Harry knows exactly how to break the rules.
Beta: amelancholykiss
Warfare Tactics: Clause 6.5
Harry Potter was a very clever boy.
A lot of people didn’t know that, but he didn’t care. Not really. He knew he was clever, and that’s all that mattered to him. In fact, it was better that no one suspected the actual degree of his intellect because that meant that he was always underestimated. Regarding romantic subterfuge, this was more than helpful.
Harry knew what he wanted, and he was clever enough to get it. The most exciting part of that was that he had the Hogwarts Charter on his side.
-x-
According to Hogwarts, a History (copy. 1752, p. 713, par. 2, Bastions and Belvederes), Gryffindor Tower was one-hundred twenty-two feet in height-seven feet taller than the keep of Rochester Castle on the River Medway.
According to Isaac Newton, Aristotle or Galileo (not cited), the acceleration of gravity is g = -9.81 m/s^2. (Multiply the acceleration of gravity by the amount of time since something was dropped, and you get: speed = -9.81 m/s^2 * time, or V = gt.) Of course, Harry Potter didn’t care much for this formula or any of the statistics of Hogwarts’ architecture at all, and in fact, he hadn’t read Hogwarts, A History, either. He’d read something much, much better: Ron’s prefect handbooks.
But Hermione had read it, and thusly, she relayed the information to him with all the enthusiasm of a drugged-up flight-attendant as he perched himself precariously on the balustrade and rolled his eyes at Ron. This was not part of his plan, but it wasn’t interfering with it, so he could keep his mouth shut. For a while, at least.
“You see, Harry,” Hermione was saying, and it sounded as if even she was tired of the lecture, “if you were to drop that five pound water balloon at the same time Ron dropped his three pound water balloon…”
Ignoring Ron’s indignant question of, ‘why does Harry get a bigger one?’, Hermione pushed a lock of frizzy hair behind her ear and stared blankly off into the Forbidden Forest. She was balanced on the window ledge outside the seventh year girls’ dormitory with her legs crossed at the ankles, swinging them back and forth lazily. Harry’s head was leaning over the side of the railing like a curious puppy, and he was grinning maniacally to himself while he studiously ignored Ron’s complaints.
Hermione didn’t think Harry was very clever at all.
“It really is the size of the boat, Ron,” Harry said absently because in all honesty, Harry had a very small attention span, and currently, all of his attention was focused on his target, some hundred feet below. It was going to be beautiful.
“…Thusly, with the wind resistance, Harry’s water balloon would in fact be the first to reach Malfoy’s head-roughly one-hundred sixteen feet below. Honestly, with hair that color, he’s a walking target. I’m not saying I condone this,” Hermione added sternly, “but after seven years, I know when to pick my battles.”
Apparently, Ron and Harry did as well because they were both still crouched down like snipers hiding behind the balustrade surrounding Gryffindor Tower with smudges of black under each of their eyes and a cut-up pair of Hermione’s black stockings on each of their heads. Harry could think of nothing more fascinating than the idea of Draco Malfoy soaking wet.
Ron was along because he couldn’t pass up a chance at throwing water balloons at Malfoy and had caught Harry in preparation for the attack. Harry, even though it would be a kink in his plans to let Ron assist, was clever enough not to give the entire plan away, and had said only, “I’m gonna chuck these at Malfoy from Gryffindor Tower.” He’d winced immediately after saying that because there was no way in hell Ron could have passed up a chance like that.
Additionally, Ron had had the forethought to mention warfare provisions that Harry might have overlooked. He was clever, but time had been of the essence and it was forgivable that Harry had forgotten a few things. That’s how they had ended up in Hermione’s room cutting up stockings and applying eyeliner. The stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories, of course, had proven problematic, and Ron’s gift for strategy came into play then.
Brooms-Ron had suggested the use of brooms. It was enticingly simple, so they took their brooms, and flew them from the boys’ dormitory to Hermione’s, propping them on the balcony outside while they infiltrated the dormitory. In addition, the location was better for aiming at Malfoy.
Of course, Hermione didn’t know that. She didn’t think Harry or Ron were very clever at all. They smirked at each other as she continued to ramble about time and space and a continuum that had nothing to do with water balloons at all. Harry suspected she was just sore about the stockings.
Harry and Ron had gathered nearly everything they would need by the time she walked into the girls’ dormitory-Merlin only knows how they managed to get up there, Hermione had thought-and were on their way out when they were captured.
The stockings had already been cut and fashioned into impromptu headgear for both of them, the window was open, the brooms were waiting, and Hermione-communist military general that she was-decided she needed something from her room. Ron had had the sensibility to look sheepish, but Harry only shrugged and said he liked stockings. Hermione had not been surprised, and their innocent smiles had not worked on her.
That’s when Harry had decided it was going to take a kamikaze mission to escape the enemy stronghold. If Hermione captured them, she would nag (read: torture) them for information about their operation, and that was unacceptable. Harry would not let this opportunity pass him by; he’d spent too much in preparations. They would have to flee or die trying.
Prior to this, Ron had applied a liberal amount of Hermione’s eyeliner and convinced Harry to do the same-for subterfuge’s sake. At the time, Hermione had had no idea what they were up to, but had used the context of the stockings on their heads and Harry’s limited knowledge of actual warfare traditions to assume that they were going into battle.
She had underestimated them; Harry liked the thought of that.
Harry, on the other hand, had underestimated Hermione’s talent for interrogation; she was merciless, but the mission had yet to be compromised.
Just as Ron and Harry were slowly edging towards the door, Hermione was slowly edging towards them-because, really, the two idiots had just destroyed her best pair of stockings, she thought. She’d managed to catch them off guard and snapped her wand out to lock the door before they could even reach it. They were trapped, and they knew it.
Hermione fondly remembered the fear crossing their faces and the wide-eyed looks they gave her, only intensified by the poorly applied eyeliner. Of course, for Harry at least, the fear had been fake. He couldn’t say the same for Ron.
As it happens, they each had a hand gripping one handle of a large, muggle duffle bag and were guarding it with their lives. Ron took the offensive and stood in front of the bag while Harry took rear-guard-even though there was nothing behind him except for a closed door. (Sometimes-sometimes Hermione wondered just how brave Harry actually was. Harry could see the doubt in her eyes and smiled to himself.)
“You’ll not take us alive,” Ron said aggressively, and if that wasn’t the tagline to beat all taglines, Hermione didn’t know what was. Harry looked over at him and rolled his eyes. That wasn’t at all what they had planned to say if they were caught.
It was then that their plan was exposed as Hermione noticed that there was a distinct influx of darting eye contact between Ron, Harry and an open window. She had narrowed her eyes, but they were too quick for her. As Ron ducked and rolled over to the window, Harry tossed the bag towards him and dove behind an armoire. Ron caught the duffle bag on his way up and Harry jumped over him and out the window, Ron following immediately with the bag.
It almost seemed rehearsed, and Hermione wondered if they had. (They had. Ron had insisted on it prior to engaging in the operation.)
Anyone else might have worried that their two best friends were currently falling to their deaths from the top of Gryffindor Tower, but not Hermione. Instead, she wandered over slowly, poked her head out, and raised her eyebrows at the tangled heap of boy lying on the balcony.
“Are you quite finished?” she’d asked, smirking at their twin looks of bewilderment, and they had scowled and shook their heads at her-which led her to sitting on the ledge of her window teaching two absolute morons about physics, and those two morons growing increasingly more bitter about her presence.
“What if I were to drop mine first, then?” Ron asked, and Hermione looked up, genuinely surprised at a semi-intelligent question. She sputtered because she’d been caught off-guard and sneered at Ron for catching her off-guard in the first place. Harry saw his opportunity.
“Well, it would really depend on how much sooner you dropped yours. You see, there’s a formula…”
“Screw it,” Harry interrupted. “Malfoy’s mine. I get first go,” and he not only dropped, but hurled his red water balloon down straight for Malfoy-unwittingly sitting below, studying for his Arithmancy N.E.W.T.s.
“But mate!” Ron whined, and then he shrugged his shoulders and dropped his yellow water balloon, too. “Now, how long before it hits Malfoy’s head, Hermione?” Hermione stood from the ledge, wandered over to the railing, and looked down.
“About…now,” she said, and all three of them grinned when they heard Malfoy shriek-twice. It was just as beautiful as Harry had imagined.
“Yes!” Harry yelled. “Let’s go!” and with that, he and Ron jumped on the two brooms that Hermione had neglected to notice propped against the wall, grabbed the handles of the duffel bag filled with water balloons, sneered simultaneously at her, and took off towards the ground.
That was when Hermione realized that not only was this a pre-meditated assault, it was planned to the last detail. She wondered if perhaps Ron would one-day use his gifts for strategy in a more beneficial manner-such as creating seating charts at weddings.
She still did not realize how clever Harry was.
-x-
By the time she’d strolled down the seven flights of stairs and out into the courtyard, Harry and Ron had long since landed and were currently hiding behind a shrubbery, and bickering over warfare tactics in hushed voices. Several feet away, Malfoy-who was beginning to regret leaving the safety of the Slytherin dungeons without his two cohorts-was spinning around sopping wet with his wand out looking for his antagonist.
“Peeves!” Malfoy yelled, wide-eyed with fury. “Peeves, you bloody git, come out and fight like a man!”
There was a chorus of snickering behind the shrubbery. “How did you manage to make it down here without being seen?” Hermione asked, casually walking over to the bush and pretending to inspect the blossoms.
The snickering stopped immediately and two stocking-clad heads peaked out sheepishly. “You’re not going to give us away are you, Hermione?” Ron asked, panicked. “We’re on a reconnaissance mission.” Harry growled at her. She was going to give their position away like the fascist she was if she didn’t leave soon!
Hermione hummed noncommittally and plucked a flower from the shrub. “What do I get out of it?”
“You get to be our auxiliary unit,” Ron offered. Hermione considered. Harry growled again.
“Granger!” Malfoy had spotted her and was scowling furiously when she turned around, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Harry and Ron ducked quickly. “Granger,” Malfoy growled, striding forward and leaving a little wet trail behind him, “where’s the other two-thirds?”
One-third of the other two-thirds was currently drooling over the way Malfoy’s robes clung fetchingly to his body. The other one-third was digging through the duffle bag and cocking his weapon-preparing to ambush if Hermione turned out to be a mole.
“Honestly, Malfoy, how should I know?” Hermione asked in an exasperated voice. Two sighs of relief were issued from behind the shrubbery. Malfoy, however, kept coming forward. He stopped a mere two feet from Harry and Ron’s hiding place and glared hatefully at Hermione.
“They did this,” Malfoy declared, gesturing to his wet robes and hair. Behind the bush, Harry carefully adjusted his battle robes over his lap.
“I thought you said Peeves did it, Malfoy,” Hermione said innocently.
“You saw!” Malfoy glared. “You saw and you did nothing to help!”
Hermione shrugged, and at that moment, two more red and yellow balloons splattered across Malfoy’s face. He yelped and narrowed his eyes at the shrubbery. “Potter!” Malfoy growled, taking a cautious step forward.
There was a scuffling noise and hushed whispers of ‘no-you’ll reveal our location’ and ‘if we allow ourselves to be captured, we can bring them down from the inside’, a long pause, a whispered ‘okay’ and then Harry rolled out from behind the bush like a ninja, crouching down like a tiger prepared to strike. Ron rolled out the other way, Hermione suspected to create confusion, and right into a patch of nettles.
“Ow.”
“Potter!” Malfoy yelled, charging forward. Harry yelped, and girlishly tossed two more water-balloons at Malfoy as he stumbled backwards with his arms over his face. Malfoy tackled him to the ground and started whacking him over the head with his Arithmancy book. Harry couldn’t have been more delighted.
“You’ll not take us alive!” Ron said for the second time that day, and Hermione had to hide a grin behind her hand as he ran over and slammed the entire duffle bag of water balloons down on Malfoy’s head. “Take that!” he said triumphantly.
“Ron!” Harry whined. “You got me all wet! That’s a direct violation of emissions security!”
Malfoy had temporarily stopped pounding Harry, and was looking thoughtfully between Harry, Ron and their smudged eyeliner. “Emissions?” he questioned. He was ignored.
“Sorry,” Ron shrugged sheepishly, adjusting the stocking foot on his head. “I couldn’t help it. I saw Malfoy pounding you into the ground and I just couldn’t watch.” He pointed at Malfoy. “See? He’s stopped now.”
“Oh,” Harry said with a smile. “Well, it’s okay then. You always know exactly what I need.” Ron blushed and coughed in confusion, and Harry held out his hand from under Malfoy. “Come on, then, big guy, help a mate get up.” Everything was going perfectly after all.
Hermione snickered and Malfoy frowned, considering.
“Anything for a mate,” Ron said and pulled Harry up, toppling Malfoy onto the ground. “Good show, eh?” he grinned, smacking Harry on the back as they walked off towards the castle, completely forgetting their original mission. “We really stuck it to Malfoy, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, smacking Ron on the bottom. Ron yelped and looked at Harry questioningly, but Harry only said, “We gave it to him, alright. Let’s go celebrate then…work off some of this energy.”
Malfoy was still sprawled out on the ground, legs askew and propped up on his elbows. Hermione looked at him; Malfoy looked back.
“How do they work off energy?” he asked warily.
Hermione shrugged. “They usually just take turns polishing each other’s brooms,” she said. “Harry’s is bigger, though, you know, so it really takes some elbow grease for Ron. Poor guy, he’s always complaining about how much his wrists hurt afterward, but it’s kind of a tradition for them.”
Malfoy squeaked in a quite undignified manner.
“Oh look,” Hermione tsked casually, “they’ve left their brooms.”
Harry could not have planned it better himself. If he had known, he would have thanked Hermione for her unwitting cleverness.
-x-
According to Hogwarts, A History (copy. 1752, p. 1205, par. 4, Corridor Coordinates), there are three secret passageways with entrances located in the dungeons that lead-in some roundabout way or another-to Gryffindor Tower.
One of these passageways has caved in; one has been blocked by Mr. Filch. The third is frequented in shifts by either Peeves or the Bloody Baron. Hermione knew this, and never gave it a second thought. Ron did not know this. Harry knew this, and expected that it could only benefit him.
Draco Malfoy knew this, and had the Bloody Baron on his side.
Three days after the Water Balloon Incident, Draco had come to a conclusion and a decision. The conclusion was that Potter and Weasel were engaging in behavior strictly forbidden in the Hogwarts Rulebook for Perfect Prefects (21st edition, p. 91, par. 1, Examples of Forbidden Fornication or Foreplay). The decision was that it must be put to a stop, and that Draco was the one to do it because if anyone knew anything about forbidden foreplay or fornication, it was him. And-he would not suffer the Weasel screwing Potter. It was unacceptable.
And he knew just how to stop it. Sure, he could have gone to Professor Snape and reported it, but according to The Hogwarts Charter (3rd edition, p. 1953, clause 6.5, Student Subterfuge Situations) he had the right to enact the ‘Eye for an Eye’ statute which stated that if a student were assaulted by magical or non-magical means while studying for an exam of any kind by another student, said student had the right to declare open warfare on the offending party using the same means.
But he had to follow the rules, and the rules said that he had to retaliate within one week, retaliate in the same manner and retaliate in the offender’s home territory. It was an outdated clause, after all-established because very few students would risk actually trekking up to another house just for vengeance. One thing that remained throughout Hogwarts’ history was that the caretakers were always terrifying.
But Draco had secret passageway that led directly to the Gryffindor common room, the Bloody Baron looking out for him, a sack full of water balloons and righteous indignation on his side. He would not back down.
“Your way is clear, sire,” the Bloody Baron declared grimly. “I bid you safe journey.”
Draco nodded, checked the black smudges underneath his eye with a pocket mirror, and took a deep breath as the Baron floated through the stone wall. It was now or never, he decided, and slowly, carefully, pushed on the tiny doorway in front of him. It creaked, and he cringed, but as he stuck his head out, he decided that the Baron was indeed a good look out. Not a single Gryffindor was awake or in the common room.
He stepped out and pulled his hood tighter around his head as he quietly shut the door behind him. It turned out to be a portrait of Gwendolyn the Gorgeous who, ironically, destroyed seventy-three Gryffindors just by looking at them. Draco thought it fitting-only Gryffindors would keep a portrait of a femme fatale in their common room.
Looking around, Draco found the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitories and crept up them quietly, looking for the door for the seventh years. He smirked when he found it right at the top. He smirked further when he realized it was not locked and snuck in, keeping to the shadows as he checked each trunk for Potter’s initials.
Yes, he would have to attack Potter first, he decided. It was only fair. Potter was most likely the mastermind behind the attack waged on him the other day as the Weasel was just an idiot sycophant; there was no way Weasel could have come up with such a plan. He found it quickly, near the window, and stood staring at the closed curtains for several minutes.
Now that he was here, he was having second thoughts-no, not about whether he should follow through or not because he most certainly should (and would), but about what to do first. Of course, he’d brought green and silver water balloons, but that would only get Potter back for the first assault. It wouldn’t punish him for breaking the Fornication and Foreplay rules which clearly stated that if a student were to engage in sexual situations that might offend another student, such situations had to be cleared with the possibly offended student first.
Potter and Weasel in any situation offended Draco, of course, and he had toyed with several ideas on how to rectify it. Only now had he decided.
He tugged on the curtains and grinned when they came open immediately. Of course, only a Gryffindor would be stupid and trusting enough to sleep with his curtains unwarded. Draco grinned, looked inside, and jumped back. Potter was awake! And staring at him!
“The Hogwarts Charter (3rd edition, page 1953, clause 6.6, Student Subterfuge Situations),” Potter said casually. He was lying on his side, propped on an elbow-looking utterly debauch-able-and smirking at him. Draco did not like that one bit; Potter had no right to look that good when Draco was about to defeat him.
Draco stumbled up and frowned down at Potter. “What?” he asked stupidly.
Potter grinned. “Clause 6.6 says that if any student enacts clause 6.5, the offending party of clause 6.5.-that’s me,” he clarified, “has the right to enact the ‘Prisoner of War’ diktat-(Hogwarts Charter, 3rd edition, page 349, clause 7-A)-if the offended party of clause 6.5-that’s you-is caught while taking vengeance in the form of clause 6.5.”
“What?” Draco asked again.
Potter slithered up into a standing position and leaned in, breathing, “I’ve caught you,” into Draco’s ear. “You’re my prisoner of war.”
Draco squeaked and tried to run, but Potter caught him around the waist and tossed him on the bed. He stared down with a predatory gleam in his eyes and smirked as Draco struggled to free himself.
“What about the Examples of Forbidden Fornication or Foreplay in the Hogwarts Rulebook for Perfect Prefects-(21st edition, page 91, paragraph 1)?” Draco hedged, still struggling. “You and the Weasel are engaging in forbidden conduct.”
Potter chuckled evilly. “Fell for that, did you?” He trailed a finger down Draco’s cheek, smearing the black war paint. “I thought you might…I wasn’t sure if clause 6.5 was enough to get you up here. I had to throw in something else.”
Draco squeaked. “You planned this!”
“Yeah,” Potter admitted smugly, “I did.” He leaned down further, only inches from Draco’s face and swiped his tongue across Draco’s bottom lip. The Slytherin immediately stilled. “Like that, did you?” Potter asked.
“No!” Draco began thrashing again, but his struggles were notably weaker. Potter moved over and began nibbling on his earlobe and Draco whimpered unwillingly.
“Well…maybe a bit, but that’s only because it’s been so long…at least a couple days you know. I’m not gay. Pansy-she’s visiting her mother now and then Daphne decided she liked women-but I’m not gay-and that either left me with Millicent-I might as well be gay to do her-or another house and I refuse to do anything with a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor-because Gryffindors are always gay-and it’s N.E.W.T. season, you know, so all the Ravenclaws are studying and they don’t have time for much else except that, so I…”
“Malfoy?” Potter interrupted. Draco looked at him questioningly. “You’re babbling. Shut up.”
“I’m not gay,” Draco clarified, just to make sure Potter was certain.
“I know, Malfoy,” Potter said, licking his jaw. “It’s not the screwing that makes you gay…it’s the snuggling and cuddling afterwards.”
“Oh,” Draco said, tilting his head to the side so Potter could reach his neck better. “You’re…you’re not going to try to snuggle afterwards, are you?”
“No,” Potter answered, moving down to unbutton Draco’s pajama top. “That would be against clause 4.2-G in the Hogwarts Handbook.”
“Oh…well good,” Draco decided, remembering the clause. Then Potter’s lips attached to one of his nipples and Draco said slowly, “Well, it wouldn’t be if you used it in conjunction with clause 5.0.8.”
“There’s always that,” Potter admitted, and then Draco moaned and forgot all about clause 6.5.
Comments=love.
Plus, lurkitty wrote the freaking awesome Pass Onward from Shalott for me, which is like a short H/D detective fic. (Rocks)
Title: Warfare Tactics: Clause 6.5
Author: faire_weather-
Giftee: jinfied
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,058
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Overuse of citations, questionable logic and innuendos. Also, toeing the crack!fic line.
Summary: Draco knows exactly how to break a rule-breaker. Harry knows exactly how to break the rules.
Beta: amelancholykiss
Warfare Tactics: Clause 6.5
Harry Potter was a very clever boy.
A lot of people didn’t know that, but he didn’t care. Not really. He knew he was clever, and that’s all that mattered to him. In fact, it was better that no one suspected the actual degree of his intellect because that meant that he was always underestimated. Regarding romantic subterfuge, this was more than helpful.
Harry knew what he wanted, and he was clever enough to get it. The most exciting part of that was that he had the Hogwarts Charter on his side.
-x-
According to Hogwarts, a History (copy. 1752, p. 713, par. 2, Bastions and Belvederes), Gryffindor Tower was one-hundred twenty-two feet in height-seven feet taller than the keep of Rochester Castle on the River Medway.
According to Isaac Newton, Aristotle or Galileo (not cited), the acceleration of gravity is g = -9.81 m/s^2. (Multiply the acceleration of gravity by the amount of time since something was dropped, and you get: speed = -9.81 m/s^2 * time, or V = gt.) Of course, Harry Potter didn’t care much for this formula or any of the statistics of Hogwarts’ architecture at all, and in fact, he hadn’t read Hogwarts, A History, either. He’d read something much, much better: Ron’s prefect handbooks.
But Hermione had read it, and thusly, she relayed the information to him with all the enthusiasm of a drugged-up flight-attendant as he perched himself precariously on the balustrade and rolled his eyes at Ron. This was not part of his plan, but it wasn’t interfering with it, so he could keep his mouth shut. For a while, at least.
“You see, Harry,” Hermione was saying, and it sounded as if even she was tired of the lecture, “if you were to drop that five pound water balloon at the same time Ron dropped his three pound water balloon…”
Ignoring Ron’s indignant question of, ‘why does Harry get a bigger one?’, Hermione pushed a lock of frizzy hair behind her ear and stared blankly off into the Forbidden Forest. She was balanced on the window ledge outside the seventh year girls’ dormitory with her legs crossed at the ankles, swinging them back and forth lazily. Harry’s head was leaning over the side of the railing like a curious puppy, and he was grinning maniacally to himself while he studiously ignored Ron’s complaints.
Hermione didn’t think Harry was very clever at all.
“It really is the size of the boat, Ron,” Harry said absently because in all honesty, Harry had a very small attention span, and currently, all of his attention was focused on his target, some hundred feet below. It was going to be beautiful.
“…Thusly, with the wind resistance, Harry’s water balloon would in fact be the first to reach Malfoy’s head-roughly one-hundred sixteen feet below. Honestly, with hair that color, he’s a walking target. I’m not saying I condone this,” Hermione added sternly, “but after seven years, I know when to pick my battles.”
Apparently, Ron and Harry did as well because they were both still crouched down like snipers hiding behind the balustrade surrounding Gryffindor Tower with smudges of black under each of their eyes and a cut-up pair of Hermione’s black stockings on each of their heads. Harry could think of nothing more fascinating than the idea of Draco Malfoy soaking wet.
Ron was along because he couldn’t pass up a chance at throwing water balloons at Malfoy and had caught Harry in preparation for the attack. Harry, even though it would be a kink in his plans to let Ron assist, was clever enough not to give the entire plan away, and had said only, “I’m gonna chuck these at Malfoy from Gryffindor Tower.” He’d winced immediately after saying that because there was no way in hell Ron could have passed up a chance like that.
Additionally, Ron had had the forethought to mention warfare provisions that Harry might have overlooked. He was clever, but time had been of the essence and it was forgivable that Harry had forgotten a few things. That’s how they had ended up in Hermione’s room cutting up stockings and applying eyeliner. The stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories, of course, had proven problematic, and Ron’s gift for strategy came into play then.
Brooms-Ron had suggested the use of brooms. It was enticingly simple, so they took their brooms, and flew them from the boys’ dormitory to Hermione’s, propping them on the balcony outside while they infiltrated the dormitory. In addition, the location was better for aiming at Malfoy.
Of course, Hermione didn’t know that. She didn’t think Harry or Ron were very clever at all. They smirked at each other as she continued to ramble about time and space and a continuum that had nothing to do with water balloons at all. Harry suspected she was just sore about the stockings.
Harry and Ron had gathered nearly everything they would need by the time she walked into the girls’ dormitory-Merlin only knows how they managed to get up there, Hermione had thought-and were on their way out when they were captured.
The stockings had already been cut and fashioned into impromptu headgear for both of them, the window was open, the brooms were waiting, and Hermione-communist military general that she was-decided she needed something from her room. Ron had had the sensibility to look sheepish, but Harry only shrugged and said he liked stockings. Hermione had not been surprised, and their innocent smiles had not worked on her.
That’s when Harry had decided it was going to take a kamikaze mission to escape the enemy stronghold. If Hermione captured them, she would nag (read: torture) them for information about their operation, and that was unacceptable. Harry would not let this opportunity pass him by; he’d spent too much in preparations. They would have to flee or die trying.
Prior to this, Ron had applied a liberal amount of Hermione’s eyeliner and convinced Harry to do the same-for subterfuge’s sake. At the time, Hermione had had no idea what they were up to, but had used the context of the stockings on their heads and Harry’s limited knowledge of actual warfare traditions to assume that they were going into battle.
She had underestimated them; Harry liked the thought of that.
Harry, on the other hand, had underestimated Hermione’s talent for interrogation; she was merciless, but the mission had yet to be compromised.
Just as Ron and Harry were slowly edging towards the door, Hermione was slowly edging towards them-because, really, the two idiots had just destroyed her best pair of stockings, she thought. She’d managed to catch them off guard and snapped her wand out to lock the door before they could even reach it. They were trapped, and they knew it.
Hermione fondly remembered the fear crossing their faces and the wide-eyed looks they gave her, only intensified by the poorly applied eyeliner. Of course, for Harry at least, the fear had been fake. He couldn’t say the same for Ron.
As it happens, they each had a hand gripping one handle of a large, muggle duffle bag and were guarding it with their lives. Ron took the offensive and stood in front of the bag while Harry took rear-guard-even though there was nothing behind him except for a closed door. (Sometimes-sometimes Hermione wondered just how brave Harry actually was. Harry could see the doubt in her eyes and smiled to himself.)
“You’ll not take us alive,” Ron said aggressively, and if that wasn’t the tagline to beat all taglines, Hermione didn’t know what was. Harry looked over at him and rolled his eyes. That wasn’t at all what they had planned to say if they were caught.
It was then that their plan was exposed as Hermione noticed that there was a distinct influx of darting eye contact between Ron, Harry and an open window. She had narrowed her eyes, but they were too quick for her. As Ron ducked and rolled over to the window, Harry tossed the bag towards him and dove behind an armoire. Ron caught the duffle bag on his way up and Harry jumped over him and out the window, Ron following immediately with the bag.
It almost seemed rehearsed, and Hermione wondered if they had. (They had. Ron had insisted on it prior to engaging in the operation.)
Anyone else might have worried that their two best friends were currently falling to their deaths from the top of Gryffindor Tower, but not Hermione. Instead, she wandered over slowly, poked her head out, and raised her eyebrows at the tangled heap of boy lying on the balcony.
“Are you quite finished?” she’d asked, smirking at their twin looks of bewilderment, and they had scowled and shook their heads at her-which led her to sitting on the ledge of her window teaching two absolute morons about physics, and those two morons growing increasingly more bitter about her presence.
“What if I were to drop mine first, then?” Ron asked, and Hermione looked up, genuinely surprised at a semi-intelligent question. She sputtered because she’d been caught off-guard and sneered at Ron for catching her off-guard in the first place. Harry saw his opportunity.
“Well, it would really depend on how much sooner you dropped yours. You see, there’s a formula…”
“Screw it,” Harry interrupted. “Malfoy’s mine. I get first go,” and he not only dropped, but hurled his red water balloon down straight for Malfoy-unwittingly sitting below, studying for his Arithmancy N.E.W.T.s.
“But mate!” Ron whined, and then he shrugged his shoulders and dropped his yellow water balloon, too. “Now, how long before it hits Malfoy’s head, Hermione?” Hermione stood from the ledge, wandered over to the railing, and looked down.
“About…now,” she said, and all three of them grinned when they heard Malfoy shriek-twice. It was just as beautiful as Harry had imagined.
“Yes!” Harry yelled. “Let’s go!” and with that, he and Ron jumped on the two brooms that Hermione had neglected to notice propped against the wall, grabbed the handles of the duffel bag filled with water balloons, sneered simultaneously at her, and took off towards the ground.
That was when Hermione realized that not only was this a pre-meditated assault, it was planned to the last detail. She wondered if perhaps Ron would one-day use his gifts for strategy in a more beneficial manner-such as creating seating charts at weddings.
She still did not realize how clever Harry was.
-x-
By the time she’d strolled down the seven flights of stairs and out into the courtyard, Harry and Ron had long since landed and were currently hiding behind a shrubbery, and bickering over warfare tactics in hushed voices. Several feet away, Malfoy-who was beginning to regret leaving the safety of the Slytherin dungeons without his two cohorts-was spinning around sopping wet with his wand out looking for his antagonist.
“Peeves!” Malfoy yelled, wide-eyed with fury. “Peeves, you bloody git, come out and fight like a man!”
There was a chorus of snickering behind the shrubbery. “How did you manage to make it down here without being seen?” Hermione asked, casually walking over to the bush and pretending to inspect the blossoms.
The snickering stopped immediately and two stocking-clad heads peaked out sheepishly. “You’re not going to give us away are you, Hermione?” Ron asked, panicked. “We’re on a reconnaissance mission.” Harry growled at her. She was going to give their position away like the fascist she was if she didn’t leave soon!
Hermione hummed noncommittally and plucked a flower from the shrub. “What do I get out of it?”
“You get to be our auxiliary unit,” Ron offered. Hermione considered. Harry growled again.
“Granger!” Malfoy had spotted her and was scowling furiously when she turned around, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Harry and Ron ducked quickly. “Granger,” Malfoy growled, striding forward and leaving a little wet trail behind him, “where’s the other two-thirds?”
One-third of the other two-thirds was currently drooling over the way Malfoy’s robes clung fetchingly to his body. The other one-third was digging through the duffle bag and cocking his weapon-preparing to ambush if Hermione turned out to be a mole.
“Honestly, Malfoy, how should I know?” Hermione asked in an exasperated voice. Two sighs of relief were issued from behind the shrubbery. Malfoy, however, kept coming forward. He stopped a mere two feet from Harry and Ron’s hiding place and glared hatefully at Hermione.
“They did this,” Malfoy declared, gesturing to his wet robes and hair. Behind the bush, Harry carefully adjusted his battle robes over his lap.
“I thought you said Peeves did it, Malfoy,” Hermione said innocently.
“You saw!” Malfoy glared. “You saw and you did nothing to help!”
Hermione shrugged, and at that moment, two more red and yellow balloons splattered across Malfoy’s face. He yelped and narrowed his eyes at the shrubbery. “Potter!” Malfoy growled, taking a cautious step forward.
There was a scuffling noise and hushed whispers of ‘no-you’ll reveal our location’ and ‘if we allow ourselves to be captured, we can bring them down from the inside’, a long pause, a whispered ‘okay’ and then Harry rolled out from behind the bush like a ninja, crouching down like a tiger prepared to strike. Ron rolled out the other way, Hermione suspected to create confusion, and right into a patch of nettles.
“Ow.”
“Potter!” Malfoy yelled, charging forward. Harry yelped, and girlishly tossed two more water-balloons at Malfoy as he stumbled backwards with his arms over his face. Malfoy tackled him to the ground and started whacking him over the head with his Arithmancy book. Harry couldn’t have been more delighted.
“You’ll not take us alive!” Ron said for the second time that day, and Hermione had to hide a grin behind her hand as he ran over and slammed the entire duffle bag of water balloons down on Malfoy’s head. “Take that!” he said triumphantly.
“Ron!” Harry whined. “You got me all wet! That’s a direct violation of emissions security!”
Malfoy had temporarily stopped pounding Harry, and was looking thoughtfully between Harry, Ron and their smudged eyeliner. “Emissions?” he questioned. He was ignored.
“Sorry,” Ron shrugged sheepishly, adjusting the stocking foot on his head. “I couldn’t help it. I saw Malfoy pounding you into the ground and I just couldn’t watch.” He pointed at Malfoy. “See? He’s stopped now.”
“Oh,” Harry said with a smile. “Well, it’s okay then. You always know exactly what I need.” Ron blushed and coughed in confusion, and Harry held out his hand from under Malfoy. “Come on, then, big guy, help a mate get up.” Everything was going perfectly after all.
Hermione snickered and Malfoy frowned, considering.
“Anything for a mate,” Ron said and pulled Harry up, toppling Malfoy onto the ground. “Good show, eh?” he grinned, smacking Harry on the back as they walked off towards the castle, completely forgetting their original mission. “We really stuck it to Malfoy, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, smacking Ron on the bottom. Ron yelped and looked at Harry questioningly, but Harry only said, “We gave it to him, alright. Let’s go celebrate then…work off some of this energy.”
Malfoy was still sprawled out on the ground, legs askew and propped up on his elbows. Hermione looked at him; Malfoy looked back.
“How do they work off energy?” he asked warily.
Hermione shrugged. “They usually just take turns polishing each other’s brooms,” she said. “Harry’s is bigger, though, you know, so it really takes some elbow grease for Ron. Poor guy, he’s always complaining about how much his wrists hurt afterward, but it’s kind of a tradition for them.”
Malfoy squeaked in a quite undignified manner.
“Oh look,” Hermione tsked casually, “they’ve left their brooms.”
Harry could not have planned it better himself. If he had known, he would have thanked Hermione for her unwitting cleverness.
-x-
According to Hogwarts, A History (copy. 1752, p. 1205, par. 4, Corridor Coordinates), there are three secret passageways with entrances located in the dungeons that lead-in some roundabout way or another-to Gryffindor Tower.
One of these passageways has caved in; one has been blocked by Mr. Filch. The third is frequented in shifts by either Peeves or the Bloody Baron. Hermione knew this, and never gave it a second thought. Ron did not know this. Harry knew this, and expected that it could only benefit him.
Draco Malfoy knew this, and had the Bloody Baron on his side.
Three days after the Water Balloon Incident, Draco had come to a conclusion and a decision. The conclusion was that Potter and Weasel were engaging in behavior strictly forbidden in the Hogwarts Rulebook for Perfect Prefects (21st edition, p. 91, par. 1, Examples of Forbidden Fornication or Foreplay). The decision was that it must be put to a stop, and that Draco was the one to do it because if anyone knew anything about forbidden foreplay or fornication, it was him. And-he would not suffer the Weasel screwing Potter. It was unacceptable.
And he knew just how to stop it. Sure, he could have gone to Professor Snape and reported it, but according to The Hogwarts Charter (3rd edition, p. 1953, clause 6.5, Student Subterfuge Situations) he had the right to enact the ‘Eye for an Eye’ statute which stated that if a student were assaulted by magical or non-magical means while studying for an exam of any kind by another student, said student had the right to declare open warfare on the offending party using the same means.
But he had to follow the rules, and the rules said that he had to retaliate within one week, retaliate in the same manner and retaliate in the offender’s home territory. It was an outdated clause, after all-established because very few students would risk actually trekking up to another house just for vengeance. One thing that remained throughout Hogwarts’ history was that the caretakers were always terrifying.
But Draco had secret passageway that led directly to the Gryffindor common room, the Bloody Baron looking out for him, a sack full of water balloons and righteous indignation on his side. He would not back down.
“Your way is clear, sire,” the Bloody Baron declared grimly. “I bid you safe journey.”
Draco nodded, checked the black smudges underneath his eye with a pocket mirror, and took a deep breath as the Baron floated through the stone wall. It was now or never, he decided, and slowly, carefully, pushed on the tiny doorway in front of him. It creaked, and he cringed, but as he stuck his head out, he decided that the Baron was indeed a good look out. Not a single Gryffindor was awake or in the common room.
He stepped out and pulled his hood tighter around his head as he quietly shut the door behind him. It turned out to be a portrait of Gwendolyn the Gorgeous who, ironically, destroyed seventy-three Gryffindors just by looking at them. Draco thought it fitting-only Gryffindors would keep a portrait of a femme fatale in their common room.
Looking around, Draco found the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitories and crept up them quietly, looking for the door for the seventh years. He smirked when he found it right at the top. He smirked further when he realized it was not locked and snuck in, keeping to the shadows as he checked each trunk for Potter’s initials.
Yes, he would have to attack Potter first, he decided. It was only fair. Potter was most likely the mastermind behind the attack waged on him the other day as the Weasel was just an idiot sycophant; there was no way Weasel could have come up with such a plan. He found it quickly, near the window, and stood staring at the closed curtains for several minutes.
Now that he was here, he was having second thoughts-no, not about whether he should follow through or not because he most certainly should (and would), but about what to do first. Of course, he’d brought green and silver water balloons, but that would only get Potter back for the first assault. It wouldn’t punish him for breaking the Fornication and Foreplay rules which clearly stated that if a student were to engage in sexual situations that might offend another student, such situations had to be cleared with the possibly offended student first.
Potter and Weasel in any situation offended Draco, of course, and he had toyed with several ideas on how to rectify it. Only now had he decided.
He tugged on the curtains and grinned when they came open immediately. Of course, only a Gryffindor would be stupid and trusting enough to sleep with his curtains unwarded. Draco grinned, looked inside, and jumped back. Potter was awake! And staring at him!
“The Hogwarts Charter (3rd edition, page 1953, clause 6.6, Student Subterfuge Situations),” Potter said casually. He was lying on his side, propped on an elbow-looking utterly debauch-able-and smirking at him. Draco did not like that one bit; Potter had no right to look that good when Draco was about to defeat him.
Draco stumbled up and frowned down at Potter. “What?” he asked stupidly.
Potter grinned. “Clause 6.6 says that if any student enacts clause 6.5, the offending party of clause 6.5.-that’s me,” he clarified, “has the right to enact the ‘Prisoner of War’ diktat-(Hogwarts Charter, 3rd edition, page 349, clause 7-A)-if the offended party of clause 6.5-that’s you-is caught while taking vengeance in the form of clause 6.5.”
“What?” Draco asked again.
Potter slithered up into a standing position and leaned in, breathing, “I’ve caught you,” into Draco’s ear. “You’re my prisoner of war.”
Draco squeaked and tried to run, but Potter caught him around the waist and tossed him on the bed. He stared down with a predatory gleam in his eyes and smirked as Draco struggled to free himself.
“What about the Examples of Forbidden Fornication or Foreplay in the Hogwarts Rulebook for Perfect Prefects-(21st edition, page 91, paragraph 1)?” Draco hedged, still struggling. “You and the Weasel are engaging in forbidden conduct.”
Potter chuckled evilly. “Fell for that, did you?” He trailed a finger down Draco’s cheek, smearing the black war paint. “I thought you might…I wasn’t sure if clause 6.5 was enough to get you up here. I had to throw in something else.”
Draco squeaked. “You planned this!”
“Yeah,” Potter admitted smugly, “I did.” He leaned down further, only inches from Draco’s face and swiped his tongue across Draco’s bottom lip. The Slytherin immediately stilled. “Like that, did you?” Potter asked.
“No!” Draco began thrashing again, but his struggles were notably weaker. Potter moved over and began nibbling on his earlobe and Draco whimpered unwillingly.
“Well…maybe a bit, but that’s only because it’s been so long…at least a couple days you know. I’m not gay. Pansy-she’s visiting her mother now and then Daphne decided she liked women-but I’m not gay-and that either left me with Millicent-I might as well be gay to do her-or another house and I refuse to do anything with a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor-because Gryffindors are always gay-and it’s N.E.W.T. season, you know, so all the Ravenclaws are studying and they don’t have time for much else except that, so I…”
“Malfoy?” Potter interrupted. Draco looked at him questioningly. “You’re babbling. Shut up.”
“I’m not gay,” Draco clarified, just to make sure Potter was certain.
“I know, Malfoy,” Potter said, licking his jaw. “It’s not the screwing that makes you gay…it’s the snuggling and cuddling afterwards.”
“Oh,” Draco said, tilting his head to the side so Potter could reach his neck better. “You’re…you’re not going to try to snuggle afterwards, are you?”
“No,” Potter answered, moving down to unbutton Draco’s pajama top. “That would be against clause 4.2-G in the Hogwarts Handbook.”
“Oh…well good,” Draco decided, remembering the clause. Then Potter’s lips attached to one of his nipples and Draco said slowly, “Well, it wouldn’t be if you used it in conjunction with clause 5.0.8.”
“There’s always that,” Potter admitted, and then Draco moaned and forgot all about clause 6.5.
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