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twisted_miracleTitle: The new mystery.
Author: twistedm
Word count: 100x10
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Authors Notes: This time, Draco needs to find out what Potter is up to. Who put him up to this?
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“I couldn’t hate you any less than I do now,” Draco whispered.
“Is that the best we can do, though?” Potter asked. The sadness clothing his face made Draco's gut tighten miserably.
“I… it’s progress,” Draco tried, feeling like a failure. Potter had fought for Draco's mother. Had stood up for Draco. Had returned Draco's wand and attended Father’s funeral after the murder. Draco was grateful, angry, confused and surprised. Post-war life was a mess and a trial. He never knew what any given day would hold.
Increasingly though, it did seem likely to hold… Potter. How weird was that?
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“You could do a bit less for Malfoy already, eh?”
Draco saw from behind his book, from across the courtyard: Potter winced.
Weasley’s words – or anger – had hit home. Draco knew – it was over. The support, the smiles, certainly the shared revising.
Potter would always choose Weasley over Draco. That made sense. Anyone could weigh that comparison. Which the friend; which the thorn?
So after dinner, when Potter slid silently into the chair across the round library table, Draco could only look surprised.
“S’what Dumbledore would’ve wanted,” Potter said quietly, and opened a textbook.
Draco accomplished nothing else that evening.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Potter’s pet poofter!”
He heard the words just before the trip jinx sent him sprawling, the Diffindo destroying his bag and damaging the cover of one textbook.
“Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!” McGonagall’s brusque burr rang out. She stepped around a corner and surveyed the mess. Draco looked up at her from his humiliation and wondered if she’d ever protected him before. Then he wondered what could matter less.
McGonagall had pinned some stupid, angry Gryffindor boy to the wall with sheer glare power. They all listened to her defend Draco as he got off the flagstones and gathered his things.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“How did you insult him?” she demanded.
Silent, the kid shook his head. “Poofter?” McGonagall sounded enfuriated.
“Those insults are not to be used in this school,” she entoned. “No less a man than Albus Dumbledore was homosexual. Not that you should require heroic examples to not denigrate entire groups of humanity.”
She turned. “Are you harmed, Mr Malfoy?”
Unable to speak, he held up his ruined bag and damaged book.
McGonagall cast, repairing both items.
“And yourself?”
Draco nodded. “I shall be fine,” he said quietly.
“Then you may go, Mr Malfoy. Come see me,” she added. “Any time.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
That night when Potter slid silently into a chair across the library table, Draco needed to ask. “Was this friendship McGonagall’s idea?”
“Huh?” Harry said, but he was blushing bright.
“I don’t much like condescension,” Draco hissed. “Lying even less.”
“M’not lying!” Potter said, angry.
“Then?” Draco insisted.
“Er,” Potter said, still blushing, now looking at the floor.
Draco waited.
“McGonagall didn’t put me up to anything.” Potter finally said. “Instead… I asked her to watch over you.”
“Why?” Draco asked; baffled, embarrassed.
“Because Dumbledore wanted to protect you,” Potter mumbled unconvincingly. “I gotta go!” He fled, leaving Draco wondering.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Miss Granger,” Draco said, feeling bizarre and defensive.
“Why, no less than Draco Malfoy,” Granger said, attempting an unconvincing sneer.
Taken aback, Draco looked at her again, and saw things he’d never been willing to notice before. She was pretty. Tired. Wary. And well-armed.
“I…” Draco swallowed, realizing what needed to happen next, before he could cut to the chase. Before he could ask about Harry. “I need to apologize. For years of insults, first of all, and for what happened to you at my house, during the war.”
Surprised, Granger looked at him with her own new, thoughtful eyes.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“What do you want from me, Malfoy?” Granger finally asked, wand still poised.
There were so many ways to answer that question. He wanted her to acknowledge his spontaneous, pain-filled, hard to speak apology. Then he wanted no less than her true, complete forgiveness. He wanted peace between both of them. Then peace between himself and her Weasley. Honestly, he wanted her to allow him to cry at her feet in gratitude for ending the War, even though the mere thought both infuriated and horrified him.
But in the end he only said, “I want… to ask you about Potter.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“What about Harry?” Granger said, looking uncomfortable.
Draco could do this. “Has he explained why he’s spending time with me?” Draco swallowed, looked down, and tried once more through her silence. “His real reason? All he will tell me is that Dumbledore would have wanted this. I heard him tell Weasley the same last week. Across the courtyard. I was not trying to eavesdrop. But that answer doesn’t… feel…
“Honest?” Granger said in a wry tone.
Draco shuffled uncomfortably. “It feels less than fully honest,” he finally agreed.
Sighing once, Granger awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Ask Harry,” she said. “Alone.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Please,” Draco said quietly. “Back corner? Warded carrel?”
It was late, no one present but 8th years and Pince. Draco’d nearly convinced himself to leave, that Potter wouldn’t revise that evening.
Nodding, nervous, Potter followed.
“Whatever you say,” Draco attempted, “this is less about Dumbledore and more about something else. I simply don’t know what.”
“Truly,” Potter said, looking anxious, “no idea at all?”
“Nothing makes sense,” Draco said, looking into Potter’s eyes.
“Then maybe this will,” Potter said, and took a deep breath before he gently took Draco's face in his hands and slowly stretched up for a kiss.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
Kissing Harry Potter was a desperate revelation. No less than explosions, Quidditch, chocolate. No more than Harry, holding his face, kissing his lips, making him so hard he could die.
Shocked, Draco hesitated, then grabbed Harry’s hips and held on as though gravity had ceased and nothing less than a death grip would keep them from floating off, away from one another.
Losing hold of earth seemed like nothing, suddenly, as long as this kiss did not end.
“Fuck,” Draco whined as Harry tested Draco's ear with his teeth.
“Yes?” Harry teased.
“Yes,” Draco sighed, surrendering to the new mystery.
Author: twistedm
Word count: 100x10
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Authors Notes: This time, Draco needs to find out what Potter is up to. Who put him up to this?
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“I couldn’t hate you any less than I do now,” Draco whispered.
“Is that the best we can do, though?” Potter asked. The sadness clothing his face made Draco's gut tighten miserably.
“I… it’s progress,” Draco tried, feeling like a failure. Potter had fought for Draco's mother. Had stood up for Draco. Had returned Draco's wand and attended Father’s funeral after the murder. Draco was grateful, angry, confused and surprised. Post-war life was a mess and a trial. He never knew what any given day would hold.
Increasingly though, it did seem likely to hold… Potter. How weird was that?
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“You could do a bit less for Malfoy already, eh?”
Draco saw from behind his book, from across the courtyard: Potter winced.
Weasley’s words – or anger – had hit home. Draco knew – it was over. The support, the smiles, certainly the shared revising.
Potter would always choose Weasley over Draco. That made sense. Anyone could weigh that comparison. Which the friend; which the thorn?
So after dinner, when Potter slid silently into the chair across the round library table, Draco could only look surprised.
“S’what Dumbledore would’ve wanted,” Potter said quietly, and opened a textbook.
Draco accomplished nothing else that evening.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Potter’s pet poofter!”
He heard the words just before the trip jinx sent him sprawling, the Diffindo destroying his bag and damaging the cover of one textbook.
“Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!” McGonagall’s brusque burr rang out. She stepped around a corner and surveyed the mess. Draco looked up at her from his humiliation and wondered if she’d ever protected him before. Then he wondered what could matter less.
McGonagall had pinned some stupid, angry Gryffindor boy to the wall with sheer glare power. They all listened to her defend Draco as he got off the flagstones and gathered his things.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“How did you insult him?” she demanded.
Silent, the kid shook his head. “Poofter?” McGonagall sounded enfuriated.
“Those insults are not to be used in this school,” she entoned. “No less a man than Albus Dumbledore was homosexual. Not that you should require heroic examples to not denigrate entire groups of humanity.”
She turned. “Are you harmed, Mr Malfoy?”
Unable to speak, he held up his ruined bag and damaged book.
McGonagall cast, repairing both items.
“And yourself?”
Draco nodded. “I shall be fine,” he said quietly.
“Then you may go, Mr Malfoy. Come see me,” she added. “Any time.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
That night when Potter slid silently into a chair across the library table, Draco needed to ask. “Was this friendship McGonagall’s idea?”
“Huh?” Harry said, but he was blushing bright.
“I don’t much like condescension,” Draco hissed. “Lying even less.”
“M’not lying!” Potter said, angry.
“Then?” Draco insisted.
“Er,” Potter said, still blushing, now looking at the floor.
Draco waited.
“McGonagall didn’t put me up to anything.” Potter finally said. “Instead… I asked her to watch over you.”
“Why?” Draco asked; baffled, embarrassed.
“Because Dumbledore wanted to protect you,” Potter mumbled unconvincingly. “I gotta go!” He fled, leaving Draco wondering.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Miss Granger,” Draco said, feeling bizarre and defensive.
“Why, no less than Draco Malfoy,” Granger said, attempting an unconvincing sneer.
Taken aback, Draco looked at her again, and saw things he’d never been willing to notice before. She was pretty. Tired. Wary. And well-armed.
“I…” Draco swallowed, realizing what needed to happen next, before he could cut to the chase. Before he could ask about Harry. “I need to apologize. For years of insults, first of all, and for what happened to you at my house, during the war.”
Surprised, Granger looked at him with her own new, thoughtful eyes.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“What do you want from me, Malfoy?” Granger finally asked, wand still poised.
There were so many ways to answer that question. He wanted her to acknowledge his spontaneous, pain-filled, hard to speak apology. Then he wanted no less than her true, complete forgiveness. He wanted peace between both of them. Then peace between himself and her Weasley. Honestly, he wanted her to allow him to cry at her feet in gratitude for ending the War, even though the mere thought both infuriated and horrified him.
But in the end he only said, “I want… to ask you about Potter.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“What about Harry?” Granger said, looking uncomfortable.
Draco could do this. “Has he explained why he’s spending time with me?” Draco swallowed, looked down, and tried once more through her silence. “His real reason? All he will tell me is that Dumbledore would have wanted this. I heard him tell Weasley the same last week. Across the courtyard. I was not trying to eavesdrop. But that answer doesn’t… feel…
“Honest?” Granger said in a wry tone.
Draco shuffled uncomfortably. “It feels less than fully honest,” he finally agreed.
Sighing once, Granger awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Ask Harry,” she said. “Alone.”
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
“Please,” Draco said quietly. “Back corner? Warded carrel?”
It was late, no one present but 8th years and Pince. Draco’d nearly convinced himself to leave, that Potter wouldn’t revise that evening.
Nodding, nervous, Potter followed.
“Whatever you say,” Draco attempted, “this is less about Dumbledore and more about something else. I simply don’t know what.”
“Truly,” Potter said, looking anxious, “no idea at all?”
“Nothing makes sense,” Draco said, looking into Potter’s eyes.
“Then maybe this will,” Potter said, and took a deep breath before he gently took Draco's face in his hands and slowly stretched up for a kiss.
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -
Kissing Harry Potter was a desperate revelation. No less than explosions, Quidditch, chocolate. No more than Harry, holding his face, kissing his lips, making him so hard he could die.
Shocked, Draco hesitated, then grabbed Harry’s hips and held on as though gravity had ceased and nothing less than a death grip would keep them from floating off, away from one another.
Losing hold of earth seemed like nothing, suddenly, as long as this kiss did not end.
“Fuck,” Draco whined as Harry tested Draco's ear with his teeth.
“Yes?” Harry teased.
“Yes,” Draco sighed, surrendering to the new mystery.
