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The Amour	By : Manhattan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4130 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The Amour
Prequel to The Amourette

Rated
R

Disclaimer
If I owned Harry Potter, Harry and Draco would have long since gotten over their rivalry and deflowered each other. But as we can see in OoTP, Harry still seems to be stubbornly unnattracted to Draco, with his cherry intact, so that would signify that I haven’t yet been able to barter the lot off of JK. Rowling.

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• Chapter Three •
At Sixes and Sevens

The morning of the anticipated Quidditch match dawned in complete contrast to the evening before. The blizzard had stopped, the sun was beaming and there wasn’t a single gust of wind that might have bothered with the aerodynamics of the fourteen players.

And these fourteen players had concreted looks on their faces as they marched onto the field amid deafening roars and hisses reverberating three-hundred and sixty degrees around them. Colors flashed, lions shook their impressive manes, serpents slithered; their tongues a rattling, and it was a dizzying crash boom bang that would have made the heavens above, tremble.

Madam Hooch was standing stoutly in the middle of the field with a hand on her hip and holding a broomstick, the other pinching a silver whistle that was draped around her neck on a string. The infamous wooden crate sat next to her and it was shuddering violently, as if the balls inside were struggling against their clasps to escape.

Two team captains, one short and burly, the other tall and gangly, stepped up to the center line, both sporting equally intimidating glares on their faces. The rest of the players took their positions, encircling their captains and drawing themselves up to look bigger than they really were.

Harry was standing at the very edge of the line, opposite Malfoy. His palms were slightly damp beneath the thick material of his gloves and even though the temperature was average for a winter day, he was already too warm in his Quidditch attire; heart beating twice as fast as usual with an adrenaline that only flying could invoke.

After the especially emotional and energizing peptalk from Ron (who never once spoke directly to Harry), the team was riled up and ready to fight. Nothing the Slytherins brought would throw off their carefully strategized plays today. No siree.

Harry looked up briefly and caught sight of a huddled shimmer of scarlet and gold in one of the stands to his left. Although it was too far to see clearly, he could have sworn he saw a voluminous bush of brown hair next to a compulsive series of bright flashes, like that of a camera. Oh yes, and there was no mistaking that overlarge lion hat that no doubt housed the head of Luna Lovegood, the oddball. She never sat with her house during the matches, and she never attended a match unless Gryffindor was playing.

Then, he lowered his gaze and met the eyes of the opposing team’s Seeker. They were looking just as exhilarated, and still very merciless as always and Harry tried to reciprocate that undaunted look.

Malfoy’s eyes were silently daring, taunting him as if to say ‘Prepare to lose, Potter’ and matching those thin lips that were twisted upwards and curling.

Harry narrowed his eyes, dimly aware of the fact that Madam Hooch had commanded the captains to shake hands. The two Seeker’s eyes never left the other’s as each threw their legs over their brooms, grasped the handles and kicked off simultaneously as a shrilling whistle was blown.

The whistling of the air in Harry’s ears soon drowned out the whistle emitted from the refree’s lips and he rose higher, and higher, and higher; the pitch and it’s thousands of screaming occupants growing smaller, and smaller, and smaller. Soon, he was at least fifty feet above the tallest goal post, and at least forty feet above the rest of his teammates. This was where he stopped his ascent and switched gears into search mode.

Malfoy had stopped a few feet below him and he was lazily circling beneath Harry like a shadow wherever he went, but this wasn’t new to Harry so he was able to ignore Malfoy effectively.

Whether it was a tactic or not, Harry wasn’t sure but Malfoy seemed to be keen on trying to get his attention every few minutes by shouting out “Hey scarhead! Are you keeping an eye out for the Snitch?” and “Tell me when you spot it, will you? I’ll just have a quick doze...” and “Haha! Look at those imbecilic teammates of yours! They can’t even keep hold of the bloody ball for ten seconds!” and on and on. Harry didn’t reply once, although he felt like ramming a Bludger into the prat’s skull each time his voice reached his ears. Not only was it highly annoying, but if it was a tactic to distract him, it was working fairly well and that wasn’t what Harry needed at such a crucial point in the game.

If he squinted, he could see the large scoreboard at the far side of the pitch and according to it, there was only thirty points separating Slytherin and Gryffindor and even though his team was in the lead, one Snitch was all Malfoy needed to claim victory for the Slytherins. Harry felt as if this game was the most important game he’d ever played yet. Not because it was the first game of the season, but because he wanted to prove to Malfoy that he was capable of winning. That he wasn’t just a famous name with a famous scar. He had the actual ability to fly and that he’d earned his spot on the team, unlike Malfoy who’d bought his way as Seeker. There was a distinct difference between them, and he would prove that here. Today.

Another clang sounded as Gryffindor scored, but there was hardly time for cheering as the Slytherins managed to get Quaffle through their goal hoop only seconds later. Fifty to eighty, the board read.

“Blundering idiot!” Malfoy cursed as Nott dropped the Quaffle in an attempt to pass it to Montague. It was immediately picked up by Seamus who passed it to Ginny just as a Bludger was whacked in his direction by Goyle. The game was getting desperate, and all that watched could see. There was an increasing amount of blood flying as Bludgers rammed people’s stomachs and heads. An increasing number of penalties, and an increasing series of gasps and hisses echoing from the stands as foul after foul was committed.

Forty minutes into the game and neither Harry or Malfoy had seen any sign of the Golden Snitch. Harry even began to wonder if maybe Madam Hooch had forgot to unleash the ball and that it was still latched into the wooden crate on the ground.

He could see the rest of his teammates struggling to stay airborne and keeping the Quaffle in their possession at the same time. Andrew and Dean were panting and swinging their bats wildly, trying to keep them from hitting their team. Harry knew that if he didn’t catch the Snitch soon, something terrible would happen, and so he decided to change his approach and quickly flew across the length of his field to the other side, lowering his height a good distance to the ground. He usually avoided getting this close to the rest of the game because the rash movements around him distracted him from being able to see a tiny flutter of gold, but today, a gut feeling told him that this way would be better somehow.

Malfoy wasn’t far behind him. He apparently thought Harry had seen the Snitch and had come racing after him, but Harry didn’t pay any heed.

Just find the Snitch. Just find the Snitch before him, a voice inside his head repeated over and over again.

“Any sign of the Snitch yet???” Seamus shouted frantically as he zoomed past with the Quaffle tucked beneath his arm.

“No! I’m trying!” Harry shouted back apologetically. He focused his gaze on the air around him once more.

He ducked just in the nick of time as a rogue Bludger zigzagged over his head and caused the hairs on his arms stand on end. It made him remember how grateful he was of not being a Beater or a Chaser.

“Looking pretty lost down here, aren’t you Potter?” Malfoy called to him loudly above the noise, cool-as-you-please, and Harry’s mind briefly wondered (NOT in awe) how Malfoy could stay so self-possessed with players yelling and screaming from all sides, Bludger blurs shooting past him in every direction, and a Snitch to keep his eye out for. “Scared?” the blond taunted.

Harry pursed his lips and acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

But Malfoy was unrelenting.

“Just don’t piss in your pants, Potty, or we’ll have to call time-out!”

Before he could stop himself he whirled his broom around to face Malfoy angrily, a very dirty swearword on the tip of his tongue. He never got to say it though, because at that moment, a look of horror washed across Malfoy’s pale face and his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

“Potter!” he finally yelled in a half strangled voice. “Look out!”

BAM!!!

Stars showered across his vision, followed by an excruciating pain beyond belief and he slumped forward onto his broom, consciousness slipping away rapidly.

As he fell sideways off his broom, his last vision before he closed his eyes was a pale shadow hovering above him, reaching out in slow motion as if trying to catch him.

But Malfoy would never do something like that.

Wind whistled in his ears once more.

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When Harry awoke, his head was aching so badly that he thought someone might be hammering on his skull from the inside. In fact, his whole body was sore; especially his arms and his ribs. They felt bruised and torn on the hinges.

He opened his eyes slowly after taking a few deep breaths and found that he was staring into pitch darkness - he began to panic. At first, he thought he might have gone blind, but then, an even worse fear began to course through his veins.

Was he dead?

He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. That was not possible.

Ignoring the thundering pain in his head he sat bolt upright, arms flailing madly around him to feel something, anything that might tell him he was still on earth. He couldn’t be dead.

He cried out when his arm came in contact with something hard and sent it flying off whatever it had been sitting on. There was a shattering sound like glass on tile and his breath stopped.

Hope began to replace that fear in his chest and he reached out his arms to try and touch something else. He jumped when something collided with his hand, no, grasped his hand clumsily through the darkness and he had to bite his lip to keep a yelp of surprise escaping his mouth.

“What are you trying to do, Potter? Cut off my head??” a voice hissed through the air, not too far away. Harry frowned as he tried to place that voice.

“Mal... Malfoy??” he asked uncertainly.

“Yes, you tossing git. Lumos.”

A sudden white light blinded him momentarily and then dimmed away, just bright enough to illuminate the scene around him. And sure enough, there he was, the Slytherin prat sitting a foot away from him, his brows furrowed. The unnatural shadows cast from the light almost made it look as if Malfoy had a concerned expression on his face. Harry snorted at the very idea but immediately regretted it because it caused his head to pound even more. He groaned and grabbed his head in both hands.

“Here - drink this,” he heard Malfoy say and he looked up with gritted teeth. Malfoy was holding out a thin vial of an almost translucent liquid. A warning flashed through Harry’s mind, telling him to be wary of possible poisoning, but the pain in his head was far too overwhelming. Anything to make the pain go away.

He snatched at the bottle and downed it in one gulp. The taste was acrid on his tongue and tingled as it ran down his throat, yet to his surprise, the pain gradually subsided. At least enough for him to pry his hands off his head and straighten up again.

“What was that?” he asked weakly, licking his dry lips. “Where am I?”

Malfoy was looking at him, seemingly surprised too that Harry had taken the drink without questioning first.

“The infirmary, Potter. And that potion you drank was a pain-reliever. Madam Pomfrey left it here with me before she retired.”

“Oh,” Harry nodded, feeling a bit doozy from the medicine. And then he did a double-take. “What? Madam Pomfrey - you???”

Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Harry spluttered, realizing how out of place this situation was.

“What the hell are you doing here???”

“Your welcome, Potter,” growled Malfoy. “For your information, I’ve been here all night looking after you like a bloody guardian. I don’t suppose you have any manners?”

“Okay, then why the hell are you here? You haven’t been slipping me poisons have you?” Harry accused, panicking. Who wouldn’t, if they woke up to find their archenemy sitting beside them in a deserted room?

Malfoy rolled his eyes, twirling his wand between his lithe fingers.

“Paranoid Potter, of course I haven’t. One, I’d get kicked out of this school and two, You-Know-Who would be furious.”

Harry frowned. “No, he would be ecstatic.”

“I thought you knew him better by now, what with all your yearly duels,” Malfoy drawled carelessly. “He has a very strong ambition to kill you, yes, but he also wants to do it himself. Otherwise, you would be long dead by now Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth but closed it abruptly, feeling somewhat foolish and insulted. He glared silently at Malfoy.

“Oh and by the way, I suppose you want to know how the game turned out?” Malfoy asked, examining his nails.

Harry sighed, a heavy weight sinking into the pit of his stomach at the memory of the match. There was no doubt that Gryffindor had lost, he’d fallen off his broom...

“Gryffindor won by one-hundred and twenty points. So congrats.”

Harry blinked.

“Er - we did?”

“Yes.”

“H-how?”

“How else would you win Pothead, use your brains if you have any!”

“I’d have to have caught the Snitch...”

“Very good,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “Although a bit slow...”

Harry’s mind did cartwheels and he felt far more confused then he’d ever felt on a History of Magic’s exam.

“I caught the Snitch?”

“Merlin, you are slow. Go any slower and you’ll be passing Crabbe and Goyle.”

“But- but -”

Malfoy glared at him and jabbed his wand in the air, making the light flicker dangerously.

“Shut up already, will you? Yes you caught it before me, and yes you won. Happy?”

Harry did shut up, although why he was following Malfoy’s orders was beyond him. He was still at sixes and sevens about catching the Snitch, because he had absolutely no recollection whatsoever of doing that, but if Gryffindor had won, then there was no need to question it. He was happy with the outcome, yes.

Harry glanced about the room, searching for something witty to say, but unfortunately not coming up with anything.

“Why don’t you just turn on the lamp?” he asked finally, the bright light of Malfoy’s wand annoying his sensitive eyes.

Malfoy tilted his wand toward the ground and a heap of glass could be seen by his feet. “Because you broke it, smart one. And there aren’t any others in here.”

Harry felt his ears reddening. “Oh.”

Malfoy gazed back at him, almost thoughtfully for a moment.

“Does it still hurt?” he drawled prodding his wand back at Harry’s face.

Harry squinted and batted away the wand.

“Quit that and yes I’m still hurting.”

“No dimwit, your scar. Does it ever hurt?” the blond was eyeing his forehead with an odd glimmer in his grey eyes. He cocked his head to the side.

“M-my scar?” Harry’s fingers instinctively went up to comb his fringe back to conceal his lighting bolt scar. “It - it still twinges sometimes.” He blushed. “What’s it to you anyway? Planning on informing Voldemort are you?”

Malfoy only flinched slightly at the sound of Voldemort’s name, but Harry caught it nonetheless.

There was a silent pause before Malfoy shifted his gaze to the side, away from Harry.

“I suppose you think that the whole lot of us Slytherins are going to be Death Eaters after we leave Hogwarts, don’t you?” he muttered grimly.

“No. I think there are already those with the Dark Mark on their arms,” Harry replied coldly, his eyes drifting to the left forearm of Malfoy’s which was covered by a black sleeve. “If Voldemort wasn’t so selfish, I’m sure you’d be first in line to be the one to finish me off.”

“I would, would I? Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you? Thinking that everyone considers it a privilege to be able to cast the killing curse on you. Well I’m sorry to burst your happy bubble, Potter, but I’ve got better plans for my future and none of them concern you,” Malfoy snapped passively, his pale face glowing pink. Harry stared.

“Er - right, then,” he said awkwardly.

There was another silence.

“Going to be an Auror after school?”

Harry started and frowned. “Erm - probably...” Why in the world was he conversing occupations with Malfoy???

“You’d make a good Auror, I suppose. You have that ‘I’ve-got-to-save-all-the-pathetic-people-from-the-bad-guys’ sort of thing and I’m betting it’ll come in handy while you’re off saving the muggles from the onslaught.” Malfoy shrugged. “But then again, I’d never do something so vulgar as tainting my hands with other people’s filthy blood.” He shuddered. “The atrocity of it.”

Harry’s stomach twisted in confused knots. What the hell was Malfoy talking about? He was supposed the be Lucius Malfoy’s son!

He licked his lips. “Then what are you planning to do after school?” he asked slowly, offhandedly.

Malfoy tapped his chin with his finger.

“Haven’t thought of it yet, but maybe an accountant, or a lawyer, or a doctor. Someone who earns a shitload of money, anyway.”

Harry snorted. “Not happy with what you’ve got now?”

“Barely,” replied Malfoy, clearly missing Harry’s tone of sarcasm. “I mean, I can’t even afford my own Thunderbolt Two Thousand and Six-” He blushed rosé again, pursing his lips defiantly. “Not that you’d ever be able to either, Potter. Your parents may have been rich, but they were nowhere near as wealthy as the Malfoys are.”

“I’m happy with my Firebolt, thanks,” Harry glowered hotly.

“I’m sure,” Malfoy sneered.

Harry crossed his arms, a muscle in his face twitching with contained anger.

“If you’re only here to annoy the crap out of me, you’ve accomplished it, so get out already.” He slumped back into his bed and pointedly turned onto his side facing away from Malfoy. He half expected to hear the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor, but instead he heard a soft thump and felt something press against his legs.

“Can’t. Pomfrey told me to stay and look after you, you baby.”’

Harry rolled over quickly to face Malfoy and found himself facing him indeed - only two feet too close. They were nose to nose and Malfoy’s eyes had gone wide with surprise. Harry froze, staring unblinkingly back at the silvery grey eyes of his enemy, his jaw going slightly slack.

Neither moved for a moment; a moment that felt much too long to Harry, yet at the same time, he had no clue that he was still staring back at Malfoy. Malfoy was kneeling beside the bed, his arms propped onto the edge of the bed and his chin resting on one of his palms.

He cleared his throat weakly, and Harry was about to pull away sharply when he felt something warm grazing the tender skin on his forehead, in the shape of his scar. That was when he realized he’d been closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that it was Malfoy’s long forefinger, tracing his scar gently.

“Malfoy?” a voice asked feebly from his own throat.

“Shh...” Malfoy whispered, and Harry noticed that Malfoy’s finger was trembling ever so slightly. The adam’s apple in his pale throat dipped low, and then resurfaced sharply.

Harry was suddenly mesmerized by the swirling silver in Malfoy’s eyes, and the feel of Malfoy’s finger on his skin. A hot breath ghosted across his cheek and to his ear, making his shudder and close his eyes. He had absolutely no clue what was happening to him, and a part of him didn’t want to know.

The fingers were suddenly no longer on his scar; they were gliding down the side of his face, along his jaw, tracing the shape of his lips gently and then cupping his chin and lifting his face forward just slightly...

“Malfoy...” Harry whispered again, his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage for some reason. What was going on? He felt dizzy.

Harry’s eyes widened even more as Malfoy’s eyes fluttered close and he leaned in deliberately, tentatively almost. If he leaned in any closer...

That was when their lips touched, and a spark of electricity shot up Harry’s spine. Those lips contrary to their appearance, felt so soft, so silky, so so good against his own dried lips.

He closed his own eyes and lifted his head just barely enough to press against Malfoy’s lips. Saneness be gone...

As if in reply, Malfoy pressed forward too and bit down onto Harry’s bottom lip, tugging at it as if it were cotton candy, and it made Harry moan. His hand grabbed Malfoy’s collar to pull him even closer. Malfoy let go of his lips and Harry felt cold all of the sudden, thirsty, unsatisfied. His breath was shallow and his body was aching for oxygen.

Malfoy stared at him, chest rising and falling far faster then before. His cheeks were pink and flustered-looking, his lips swollen and glistening with Harry’s saliva.

The eyes staring back at him were just as hungry and just as desperate, but they were also shocked and disbelieving.

“Harry...” Malfoy’s voice was hoarse, unsure.

And that was what made Harry snap out of his stupor. With a startled cry, he jumped backwards, almost tumbling off the other side of the bed. He was shaking.

“What the fuck Malfoy? Wh-what are you DOING???” He knew he was just as much to blame, but that didn’t stop him for being furious with Malfoy. It was MALFOY for shite’s sake!!!

“Fuck... Ha - Potter-” Malfoy said, biting his lip. “Please...”

“No! Get away from me! God that did not just happen!! Oh god -” he scooted as far away from Malfoy as was physically possible without losing his balance from atop the bed. “Why the HELL were you- you- doing that???”

“Well you weren’t really resisting, were you?” Malfoy snapped feverishly, his cool façade completely gone. “Why the bloody hell were you kissing back then??”

“I was not!” Harry protested, even though he knew it was pointless to lie. He just didn’t want to believe that he had. He didn’t want to believe any of it.

“Oh, that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my life!” exclaimed Malfoy, his eyes narrowing icily. “Hell, you were practically pulling me on top you!”

Harry flushed furiously, feeling so hot that he could have sworn the temperature in the room had gone up at least a hundred degrees.

“You started it!” he cried, cringing at sounding like such a five year old, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “You were touching my forehead and leaning in and - I just reacted! Not because it was you, gods no!”

Malfoy looked insulted at that, and for a split second, just a split second, Harry regretted saying that, but then it was true wasn’t it? His teenage hormones had reacted to being touched, it could have well been anyone.

Malfoy’s pink cheeks paled considerably and he abruptly stood up, brushing off his robes, eyes averted.

“Fine,” he spat venomously. “Fine. We’ll act like this never happened. I’ll do myself a favor and forget your nasty lips ever touched mine.”

Harry’s insides twisted and he opened his mouth to retort.

“Not a word, Potter,” Malfoy snarled, his eyes reflecting a boiling fury that made Harry recoil slightly. “Good night.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness along with the dim, white light, and everything was swallowed into blackness once more.
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The Amour