Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

To the Victor goes the Spoils	By : YamiBakura Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3634 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. I'm not making any money from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Chapter Three – What You’ll Sorely Miss

Draco couldn’t stop staring at the egg. It was the same size as the Opaleye’s natural eggs, except for the hinges and colour it might have been one of them. He’d carried it all through the day, but a muttered warning from Gabrielle – who fully agreed with fostering international good will, and wasn’t too bothered by the ethics of the Tournament – kept him from opening it anywhere public. The mystery of what the clue might have been was driving him insane, and he hurried through his dinner before taking the egg back to the Slytherin common room. He twisted open the top of it, then nearly dropped it as a terrible and incomprehensible shrieking came from within.

Memory told him that he’d be rescuing someone from the bottom of the Black Lake, but unless he could decipher the clue, he would have no way of knowing what the precise terms were. He recovered the egg and closed it, then stared at it in wonder. This was impossible!

He sent a note to both Katarina and Gabrielle and asked them to meet him on the seventh floor. He hadn’t forgotten the Room of Requirement, and although he had no desire to revisit the Room of Hidden Things, if he asked it for a meeting room it would provide with no fuss. It had the added bonus of secrecy and he wasn’t sure exactly if conferring with the other Champions would be allowed. The chiming of the bell let him know it was time to go, and he took up the egg and walked casually out of the dungeons. His every nerve was screaming at him to just make a run for it, but he also knew, logically, that running hell-for-leather would attract more attention, and the idea of meeting in secret was that no one else knew about it.

He found the girls waiting in the wrong area, but led them easily to the empty expanse of wall where the Room would appear.

“Vot eez theez?” Katarina asked, her accent nearly obliterating the words. Gabrielle was examining the nearby statue. “Ampty voll,” added Katarina, and Gabrielle flitted back over to them.

“It’s a secret room,” Draco explained. “Just give me a moment…” He waved them back and framed the request he wanted in his mind. Repeating it silently, he paced three times back and forth before the wall and heard Gabrielle gasp as the unprepossessing door formed. Draco smiled with pleasure, and pushed it open, motioning the foreign girls to go first.

“Beauxbatons has no such things,” Gabrielle said, admiring the room. Draco had made it comfortable and spacious enough that it wouldn’t feel quite so much like a clandestine affair. Three warm drinks were steaming on the table in front of a plate piled high with cookies and small cakes, and Katarina made herself comfortable on the low couch, taking a few biscuits and holding them in her lap.

“Vy are ve here?”

“Oui, I was wondering that myself.”

“Well,” Draco began. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time – get them together, talk about the eggs, exchange ideas – but now that he had them there, he found himself at a loss for words. “It’s the egg, you see,” he tried again.

“Eet meks such a terrible sond,” Katarina said, scrunching up her face. “I haff not yet feegured out vot to do vith eet.”

Her accent was murder. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to make a face of his own. Gabrielle nodded. “I recall,” she said, “my sister saying something about a bath, and merpeople. I don’t know if she meant she took a bath with merpeople, or if they asked for a bath in exchange for translating the egg… We do have a month before the next challenge, but I dislike leaving it alone. I would rather know.”

Gabrielle, on the other hand, had been working to improve hers, and her voice was light and melodic to listen to, with just a hint of a Gallic tinge. Draco found himself warming to her – France was one of his favourite places to be, and she was pleasant to be around – and Fleur, he reminded himself, had fully admitted that her Grandmother had been a Veela, and so the Delacours were most certainly not pureblood. His mother would keel over if he so much as hinted that he desired a liaison with someone of less than pure heritage. He would, he mused, be permitted to take lovers from any Purity but mudbloods, and his skin literally crawled at the very idea of touching one of them, much less sleeping with someone. Granger should have been pureblood, he mused and then realised his thoughts were entirely inappropriate to the scene.

“We know from the last Tournament that we’ll have to go under the lake and rescue something – most likely someone dear to us.” He wondered who would be chosen for his hostage. Goyle was a dear friend, closer than anyone except perhaps Pansy, but he couldn’t imagine trying to haul Goyle’s weight up through grindylows and merpeople and seaweed and the giant squid and – he forcibly cut himself off there, and just hoped that it wouldn’t be Goyle. He wasn’t entirely keen for it to be Pansy, though, either – he’d never hear the end of it, and her mother would start pushing even harder for a union between the two of them. But he’d known Pansy since they were both old enough to toddle around the Manor and it would have been like marrying his sister.

Again he had to grab hold of his thoughts and forcibly wrench them back to the subject at hand. His mother was overjoyed that he’d been chosen as the Champion for Hogwarts, urged him to do his level best to outshine both Potter and Diggory’s memory, and win, and not just – as she’d assured him in her last letter – because of the marriage offers that had started pouring in when he’d been chosen to compete. He blamed that little side note (By the way, Draco dearest, I hope you don’t think that I want you to win just because competing has opened up an entirely new world of marriage offers that would expand considerably if you were to win…) for the almost constant play of his thoughts over suitable girls.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flashing the girls an apologetic smile. “My thoughts wander. I asked you here so we could discuss the eggs, and maybe consider some theories as to how to solve the clue. A bath, okay. And merpeople live in the Black Lake, they’re the ones who guarded the hostages last time. Gabrielle,” he said, seizing upon a sudden thought. “You were a hostage. What do you remember about it?”

She gave her own apologetic smile. “I don’t,” she said bafflingly. “I was called to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, and then woke up treading water beside Ron Weasley, having been rescued by ‘Arry.” She brightened. “He was a Champion,” she said. “He still attends ‘Ogwarts, does he not? I could ask him how he solved it.”

Draco felt an uncomfortable surge of jealousy. He liked Gabrielle, as a friend and potentially more, and he didn’t like that look on her face when she spoke of the wonderful, talented, and handsome Harry Potter. Just thinking the name made him want to spit to wash the taste out of his mouth, but that was rude and he took a drink of the steaming chocolate instead. “He’s still here,” Draco said grudgingly. “But you don’t need to bother him,” he added. “I can do it; I’ve known him much longer, you see.”

Katarina, who had been relatively quiet since entering, shot him a dirty look. “Ze vay I hear eet,” she started condescendingly, “ze two of you are not exactly bosom buddies.” The words sounded like ‘bawzum boddies.’ Draco couldn’t hide his wince, but fortunately Katarina misinterpreted it. “Aha, you admeet eet. Perhaps Gabby and I should spek vith theez Harry Potter so that you are not expelled for fighting.”

“I haven’t been expelled yet,” Draco muttered. Gabrielle giggled.

“If you really want to speak with him yourself, we’ll let you,” she said. Katarina looked like she was about to object, but Gabrielle elbowed her ungently in the side. “We’ll let you,” she repeated, with a hard glare at the Durmstrang Champion. She took a ladylike sip of tea, suddenly reminding Draco of his mother with the blonde hair and the steely expression. “In fact, why don’t you go find him now? Kat and I will stay here and talk some more.”

Katarina brightened. “Oh, shore,” she said. “Ve vill tok.”

“Now?” Draco realised he’d missed something, but nothing in the two girls’ expressions gave anything away. Not even his years of reading subtle signs between his parents gave him any superiority when it came to these girls, and he found that disconcerting. Then he realised he was going to have to go and seek out Harry Potter and speak civilly to him, and then continue to be civil the whole way back to the Room of Requirement. His mother had warned him to not seek him out and be nasty; that was fine, he’d cut back on the being nasty part. But to actively be nice… He suppressed a shudder, then rose to his feet. “I suppose I’ll just leave you two to your machinations, then, shall I?” As he exited the room, he could have sworn he heard muffled giggling, but when he shot a look over his shoulder all he saw was Gabrielle sipping at her tea, and Katarina seemed to be examining her saucer.

Girls.

-o0o-

Harry was in the library, though he’d forgotten why he was there or what he was after, because Terry Boot had just walked past and sort of bumped into him, and the smile he’d received from the Ravenclaw suggested it hadn’t been entirely accidental. Two of the Beauxbatons boys – somehow word of his preferences had leaked out, and he suspected Cho of telling tales – glowered, but didn’t say anything out loud.

Not until Terry had gone, anyway. One of them came forward, smiling, and introduced himself as Raul.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, not trusting the too-affable eyes or the too-wide smile. There was something a little disturbing about Raul, and he took a step back. Raul pressed forward, almost innocuously.

“It is a very great pleasure to meet you,” Raul said. “I’ve wanted for so long – you see, although you are only celebrity here in England, wizards the world over know your name for the brave thing you accomplished. Not many people would have been able to do it.” Harry backed up another step, only to have Raul follow again. He felt the edge of the table behind him and knew he couldn’t go any further. The edges of Raul’s smile seemed to take on a dangerous curve, and Harry actually found himself somehow up on top of the table, which only served to allow Raul greater contact between them. He pressed right up against Harry, pinning him down by putting his hands on the shelf behind them. He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart, and Harry was torn between shoving him rudely off – something that wouldn’t be taken too well seeing as how the Tournament was meant to be promoting international unity, and a seemingly unprovoked attack by Britain’s Saviour on one of the seemingly innocent Beauxbatons students might have untold political ramifications – and the less appealing option of just sitting there and letting him do whatever he wanted.

He still hadn’t come to a decision when he was saved by the last person he’d ever expected.

“Hail the conquering hero,” drawled a familiar voice. Harry glanced up and away from the predatory Raul, and a sigh of relief escaped him.

“Malfoy!” he yelped. “Thank god! I mean, there you are!” Using Malfoy’s presence as an excuse, he pushed Raul off of him and slid down off the table, putting some distance between them. He grabbed for Malfoy’s wrist. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to, you know you’re almost late for our study group.” Harry knew he was babbling, and hoped Malfoy wouldn’t give him too much hell for this. The indignities of being rescued by a person he once regarded as beneath notice from a foreigner with an unsettling look in his eyes kept his mouth moving when the rest of his brain was screaming at him to shut up. “I really appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule to help me with Potions, I know you’re one of the best in our year –” which was absolutely true, but not something he would have ordinarily admitted.

“You have Potions problems, Harry?” Raul took a step forward and only the fact that Malfoy himself wasn’t moving kept Harry from bolting. But Harry refused to let go of Malfoy, not when the Slytherin was proving such a useful shield, and had to hold his ground. “I can help with… potions,” and the emphasis on the word was almost terrifying.

“No thank you! Sorry, gotta go, come on Malfoy we’re late!” This time insistent tugging got a bemused Malfoy to follow after him.

-o0o-

The look of unadulterated panic on Potter’s face when the Beauxbatons boy pushed him into the book shelves was something that would bring Draco a lot of pleasure for a long time. That was what had drawn the words from his mouth, but then the look of grateful relief – like Potter was glad to see him – brought Draco’s attention to the fact that Potter was actually scared of the French boy, and who could be gay with attractive boys like that literally throwing themselves at a person? Then Draco remembered that Potter had somehow blithely missed the hordes of girls throwing themselves at him as well, and decided it was a personality flaw. He’d know what to do with adoring masses, if he ever got them. Then Potter’s hand closed around his wrist – his left wrist, thoughtlessly – and Draco felt himself freeze.

Something about the French boy had seriously unsettled Potter if the Chosen One had forgotten that he was holding hands with a former Death Eater. Draco listened to the babbled cover story with half an ear, his eyes taking in details about the other boy with an intensity that promised retribution, if only for pushing Potter to the point where he was seizing his mortal enemies like they were – Katarina’s words flashed through his brain – bosom buddies. He didn’t want to think about what he might have missed that Raul would have such an effect on someone who had faced down the Dark Lord.

Then he had to contend with something he hadn’t been expecting, that somewhere along the way he’d found some respect for Potter. The shock of that realisation was only broken when he felt Potter tugging on his arm, obviously desperate to be leaving. And for some reason, he really didn’t like that Raul character, not the way his accent lilted his voice and certainly not the way he’d stressed the word ‘potions’ like it was a euphemism for something filthy. “Sorry,” Draco drawled before he could stop himself and his brain had clearly disengaged from his mouth because then he said, “Harry’s got all the potions help he needs with me.” He yanked his arm – still attached at the wrist to Potter’s hand – and dragged the Gryffindor from the library.

“This is terminally embarrassing,” Potter mumbled once the doors had safely shut behind them. “Anyway, um. I wanted. That is.”

“Words, Potter, try some,” Draco snapped, and tugged in a vain effort to release his wrist. “Then let me go. This is uncomfortable enough.”

Then Potter looked down, seemed to realise which hand he’d gotten when he’d grabbed, and let go as if burned. “Jesus,” he said. “I’m sorry. No.”

“No?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I am sorry, I didn’t mean – I forgot,”

“You… forgot.” Draco couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around the enormity of the walking block of stupid he’d apparently been going to school with for six years.

“I was… distracted,” Potter said, carefully avoiding Draco’s eyes. “I wanted to say… that is… well, thangyouforhelpinme,” he blurted suddenly, the words slurring together. Draco was hilariously reminded of ‘wangoballwime’ and a tiny piece of his Slytherin brain stored both words for later consideration while the rest of him focused on not laughing. He’d been sent to retrieve Potter so they could grill him about the second task, and that didn’t include chasing him off by laughing in his face.

“I know,” Potter continued. “It wasn’t intentional. But. You,” he added unintelligibly. “I …really… appreciate…it.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Potter,” Draco said automatically. “Well, it might have been a little bit intentional. I was looking for you, I don’t suppose that counts. Though I’ll not thank you for grabbing at me like a doll,” he added imperiously, waving his arm. He was rewarded with the sight of Potter’s face turning cherry red. “Now that that’s out of the way, come with me. We’ve left the ladies waiting far too long as it is.”

“Ladies?”

-o0o-

Still burning with the humiliation of needing Draco Malfoy to rescue him from some Beauxbatons flunky, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked. And then the added blunder of grabbing hold of him – initially such an innocent motion – right where his Dark Mark was. He’d known Malfoy had it before anyone else, and he also knew with just as much certainty that it was regretted now. And suddenly, Malfoy’s sudden stiffening and pale face made sense when he thought about it in retrospect. He felt like apologising again, but Malfoy was walking with stiff dignity beside him and he didn’t think it would be appreciated. He turned his attention to the mysterious ‘ladies’ Malfoy was bringing him to instead. It could be anyone, he realised. He had no way of knowing, however, until he actually arrived. Acting under a bizarre impulse, he decided to trust Malfoy until he was proven untrustworthy, something that was surprisingly easy to do considering the Slytherin had just inadvertently rescued him from an ignoble encounter.

It was about this time that he realised they were coming up on the seventh floor, and since there was only one thing he could think of that was noteworthy here, he paused. “The Room of Requirement?”

Malfoy waved off the question. “I needed a secret meeting place,” was all he said. Harry, more baffled than ever, followed after him.

The door was ajar, and two female voices echoed out of it, bouncing off the empty hallway until they were nearly unidentifiable. Harry heard accents, though, and guessed that they were from one of the other two schools. As they drew closer, he realised he recognised one of those voices, and a bright smile lit up his face. Malfoy pushed open the door, and the girls looked up, startled.

“’Arry!” Gabrielle Delacour flung herself up off the couch she’d been huddled on with Katarina Dukarov, and flung herself at him.

“Gabby!” Harry picked her up and swung her around. “I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you lately,” he said, motioning with one hand to indicate the Tournament and all the rest. “How are you? And your sister, how are she and Bill adapting to France?”

“Fleur is well, and I,” Gabby said. “Bill is adapting,” she added mischievously. “I think my mother makes him nervous, though, because he can speak French very well, but when she is around he loses it.” Her accent was thickening as she spoke, becoming a throaty purr. Harry laughed; Gabby had had a crush on him ever since he rescued her from the lake after Fleur had been forced to drop out, but she’d taken the news that he was gay with more aplomb than even Harry himself had. She never missed an opportunity to flirt shamelessly, however, knowing that it wouldn’t have any unwanted consequences with him. Over her head, Harry saw Malfoy glaring daggers at them, then suddenly turned her loose. He didn’t realise Malfoy was interested, but he had no desire to get into it over a girl he wasn’t interested in. “’Arry, this is Kat from Durmstrang.” Gabby took his abrupt letting-go with a Gallic shrug, then turned to make the introductions.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, and reached out and shook her offered hand before placing a kiss on it. To his surprise, Kat blushed.

“A real pleasure,” she said, her voice adopting the same tone as Gabby’s. Harry nearly rolled his eyes, and the aborted movement brought Malfoy back into his sight – Malfoy, who was glaring daggers at him. Is he after them both? Or is he just mad at me for ‘stealing his thunder’? It was impossible to tell; that damn aristocratic face hid a multitude of things. The only real expressions Harry had ever seen on it was terror, when facing Voldemort, and a sneer, when facing other people. Though now as he saw Malfoy relax as Kat took her seat again, he wondered if maybe the sneer wasn’t really real, either. He’d grown out of the pointiness that had plagued him when he was younger, and no longer resembled a ferret; his shoulders had filled out as well, and his hair – getting fashionably long – curled gently at the ends.

Not a bad looking bloke, Harry thought automatically, and then realised who exactly he was considering and flushed to the roots of his hair. Waving off Gabby’s concerned question, he sat down on a plush armchair that had been drawn near a table featuring a plate of cookies and four mugs of tea. “Well,” he said when everyone had arranged themselves. “I’m here; what did you need?”

Gabby glanced at her two companions, and then drew forth her egg, voting herself the spokesperson. Not a bad choice all told; Katarina’s accent was thick enough that she was almost unintelligible, and he was afraid that he and Malfoy had used up their supply of non-argumentative conversation for the day. She opened the egg, and the horrible screeching filled the room. Harry covered his ears, wincing; he’d managed to forget just how piercing it was. “What is this?” she asked simply, shutting the egg and closing off the noise again.

“Mermish,” Harry responded. “It doesn’t sound like anything but noise aboveground because they don’t come out of the water.” He suddenly realised why they’d called him here; they’d been having a secret meeting to figure out the clues of the eggs, and had come to no conclusions. He leaned back, wrapping his fingers around the mug of tea which was steaming gently and felt wonderful to his chilled hands. The scent drifting upwards was unfamiliar but pleasant, and he wondered what was in it.

Malfoy’s mouth fell open, indignant. “Of course,” he said. “Mermish. That solves everything, that does.”

“Stuff a sock in it, Malfoy, I’m not telling you exactly how to do it. It’s a clue; you’re supposed to figure it out. But I suppose I can give hints,” Harry added.

Gabby rose from her seat, set the egg down, and then prowled closer to him. Crawling practically into his lap, she ran her fingers through his hair and leaned down. “Please,” she breathed, and Harry felt a faint magical stirring that had nothing to do with physical desire. She was using her Veela powers on him, but he had no interest in her and it wasn’t working. Over her shoulder, he could see Malfoy working up to a frothing rage once more and patted her innocently on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Gabby,” he said, and she leaned back, still sitting in his lap.

“Oh, pooh. I forgot about that,” she said, and looked so honestly disappointed that Harry had to laugh. Katarina joined in, adding her giggles to his. Finally Gabby looked at both of them, and dissolved into laughter herself. Only Malfoy remained aloof.

“I must say,” he said stiffly. “I do not approve of using sex to get your way.” He sounded like someone’s maiden aunt.

“Jealous, Malfoy?” asked Harry, as Katarina got up and perched herself on the arm of his chair, one hand tangling in his hair pleasantly. Gabby twisted around until she was sprawled almost obscenely across his lap, and Malfoy’s face turned pink.

“No,” he said, but his tone said Yes! Madly! Get off him this instant!

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, wondering why he was telling this to Malfoy. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but he didn’t want to be getting shit about it for the rest of his life. “As provocative and lovely as this display is, it does absolutely nothing for me.” Gabby tittered, then returned to her own seat. Katarina continued to sit where she was, still playing with his hair.

“I like your hair,” she said, and Harry could hear the effort she was making to speak clearly. “Eet – it iz very soft.”

Malfoy made a scoff of disbelief, and Katarina smiled. Even from the angle Harry had on her face, he could see that it was almost as predatory as Raul’s from the library. “Why don’t you come and find out,” she challenged him. Malfoy scowled at her, and his thoughts were almost visible in his eyes – he was clearly debating on whether or not to call her bluff.

Harry, who loved having his hair touched and fussed over and played with, might have been purring if he’d been a cat. Then the rest of the conversation made it through the pleasant lull of having his hair messed with, and he realised that Malfoy was getting up, was actually going to touch him. The pet was gentle, almost hesitant at first, then became more insistent. Harry’s libido, scared into hiding by Raul, suddenly kicked into overdrive as he realised attractive boy – total git of course, but attractive – touching my hair.

He went still, and Malfoy, face furiously pink, beat a hasty retreat back to his chair.

“So it is,” he said grudgingly. “If it feels like that, then you obviously care for it more than that rats nest you call a style – it looks like a dirty mop came to live on your head if you ask me – would suggest, so why don’t you do something decent with it?”

Harry took a moment to work out the main thought from the asides, then shrugged. “I’ve tried,” he said. “It just does this –” he gestured at his head “ –no matter what I do.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his body thrummed after the attention, and redirected the conversation back to the subject of eggs. “So, mermish that is unintelligible above water,” he said. “How would you go about hearing it?”

Almost as one, the three new Champion’s faces lit up in understanding. Then, as if in response to the clearly overwhelming thought, the Room changed. The back half of it became a giant tub, and two tents with “HIS” and “HERS” scrawled across it appeared. The tub steamed, full of bubbles, and Gabby and Katarina shared a look, squealed like the teenaged girls they were, and dove for the “HERS” tent.

“Oooh, ‘Arry!” Gabby stuck her head through the flap. “You should come in with us! There are swim suits here for preserving your modesty, and it would be so much fun!”

“My modesty?”

“I don’t theenk Dreko would mind bathing nude with us,” Katarina said, exiting the tent in a tasteful one piece.

“Urkh,” said Malfoy.

“But I know how delicate your sensibilities are, ‘Arry,” Gabrielle continued for her, also in a modest swim suit.

“Urkh,” said Malfoy.

Harry looked at the bath water, then at the tent, and then shrugged. “Why not?” He pulled his shirt off and headed for the “HIS” tent.

“Urkh,” said Malfoy again.

Harry paused in the flap. “Scared, Malfoy?”

“You wish.” Throwing a near panicked glance at the girls, Malfoy ripped his shirt off and strode regally towards the tent. Harry found a pair of swimming trunks in red that looked like they’d fit him nicely, and he was walking out just as Malfoy was coming in. Bare skin brushed against bare skin, and Harry felt a heat that spread from the point of contact to suffuse his whole body. He hurriedly entered the water, inhaling deeply as he floated on his back amidst the bubbles while Malfoy changed. The girls entered with a splash, Gabrielle leaving her egg close enough to the edge that it could be easily acquired when they decided to listen to it.

Malfoy exited the tent awkwardly, then paused seeing the three of them already in the water. Seeing as how he’d changed into the trunks provided – in green, of course, which wasn’t a bad colour on him – he simply shrugged instead of arguing and slid into the water with a content sigh. “Co-ed bathing,” he muttered, barely audible. “My mother would have fits.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy. We’re all clothed.” Harry stood up, feeling the water streaming down his chest, and smirked down at the prim Slytherin. Malfoy’s eyes started at the water line where the red line of his trunks were barely visible and with a slowness that Harry could almost feel traced their way up his chest until they met Harry’s gaze. The wet-cat-impression fled from Malfoy’s face as he stared, and Harry was vaguely aware of the girls in the background, giggling. He felt somehow like this was a set up, and wondered what they thought they were up to. Unable to rid himself of the almost physical sensation of Malfoy’s eyes on his bare skin, Harry sank back into the water, dunking his head to clear it.

When he came back up, Gabrielle was reaching for the egg.

They all dipped their heads under water this time, and Harry, with his eyes open, saw the egg open. It was really beautiful, but the visual was nothing when compared with the song that burst forth. It was the same one from his fourth year, but he’d forgotten how pretty it was.

Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this;

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour, the prospect's black,

Too late it's gone, it won't come back.

As one, the four of them rose above the water again, Gabrielle shutting the egg before it could resume screeching through the air. “I understand now,” she said. “It will be the ‘ostages in the Black Lake again, no doubt. An hour to look, but no more. I wonder if they would really allow the ‘ostages to be taken away forever, as they promise in the song?”

“I wonder how the ‘ost- er, hostages are chosen,” Malfoy interjected, clearly not wanting to think about whether or not the hostages would be safely returned if not rescued within the time limit. Harry hid a smile when he nearly repeated Gabrielle’s lilting ‘h’-dropping.

“Cup,” Katarina said, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Ze Fire Goblet,” she repeated after looking around at them. “It is used for all important decisions in the Tournament; a multitude of challenges are put into it, and it spits out which ones are to be used, it spits out which Champions are to be chosen, and if others are needed, it tells them, too.” She saw the startled looks on the others’ faces and shrugged. “Zat is vot I hear, anyvay,” she added, her accent sliding back into prominence.

“Makes sense,” Malfoy agreed absently, and then into the silence they all heard the almost-inaudible chiming of the clock. “Good grief,” Malfoy said. “We’ve been in here for hours! Pansy will be frantic! Thank you for your help, Potter, have a nice evening ladies, it’s time for me to go!” He hauled himself out of the tub, dried off as rapidly as he could while walking into the tent, and emerged with his hair still dripping, but fully clothed. Harry followed after him, and the girls went to their own tent to change.

For all his words about being late, he was lingering in the hallway when Harry exited the Room of Requirement. “I may catch a chill,” he announced, catching sight of Harry’s questioning look. “And then collapse in the hallway and die, and no one will ever know where I was, just that I disappeared after talking to you. Then you would be blamed for my murder, and go to prison. It would be horribly sad, but then you would insist on bathing with the girls, and keeping me out until all hours of the night.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said, caught halfway into a laugh. “It’s only just past seven o’clock. That’s hardly the wee hours of the morning.”

“I have homework,” Malfoy stressed. “Homework that I put off because I needed to talk to the girls about that stupid egg, and they demanded I get you, and then that bath appeared and we all got distracted.”

“Bath?”

Harry and Malfoy turned in unison at the new voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could make out Malfoy’s curious expression about the newcomer, but when he focused fully on him, he nearly groaned out loud. “Raul,” he said wearily. “What are you doing here?”

Raul gave a charming smile, though it was tempered somewhat by the accusatory glance he shot Malfoy. “I came looking for you, Harry,” he said. “You didn’t seem too pleased earlier, and I think you should reconsider. I have a lot to offer, you know.” His voice dipped sensually, but the thrill Harry felt down his back wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Raul put him in mind of a hunting cat, and made him feel like he was about to be batted around, killed, and eaten. Maybe not in that order.

“I’m not really interested,” Harry said, wishing Malfoy would say something and get Raul to go away. He was usually so good at getting people to go away! “I already have someone, you see, and he might get jealous, so –”

“He?” Malfoy’s murmured question was more out of shock than anything else, and Harry felt like he wanted to sink into a hole and die.

Instead, he muttered back: “You’re just now figuring that out?”

Raul was glaring at Malfoy. “He? He is your boyfriend? Psh. He is nothing. Pallid, pasty Englishmen. They are all the same.”

“Excuse me,” Malfoy said archly, deeply offended by the description of himself. Harry said at the same time, “God no! Not him!” and then clamped his lips shut before he could add “I wish!” At the same time he realised that he was thinking it even if he wasn’t saying it, he also realised it was true. Somehow Malfoy the nasty Slytherin git had become Malfoy the eminently desirable. This statement however caused both of the other boys to turn around and stare at him, Raul in delight and Malfoy in apparent horror.

“I have homework,” Malfoy said again. “Good night!” He turned on his heel and stalked off. Harry only just stopped himself from throwing his body at Malfoy and begging him not to leave him alone with the big, scary Beauxbatons boy. Trying to mimic Malfoy’s élan, he turned as well.

“Sorry, Raul,” he said. “I’m not available.” He had the feeling he wasn’t pulling it off as well as Malfoy had, but it prevented further attempts on Raul’s part, at least for the time being.

-o0o-

The day of the second challenge dawned with cloudy skies and a pervading sense of something about to go horribly wrong.

Draco couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that might be, but he couldn’t shake it. He prepared his defense – a partial transfiguration into a fish that would give him gills and fins, but not scales - he’d have died before appearing in public looking scaly for any reason – and then went down to the lake in order to meet his challenge.

For almost a month, he’d been overwhelmed with thoughts of two things – who would his hostage be, and Potter liked men? For some reason, the second one often astounded him more than he would have given credit before it actually happened. I mean, I guessed. I joked, I thought, I talked about it, but I never expected to be proven right.

It had, for reasons totally unrelated, made him question himself. Was the underlying reason he’d never found a decent witch to stay with for any length of time because he was gay? But eventually, he decided against it. He was, at worst, perhaps bisexual. Or as Blaise said, ‘equal opportunity.’ Blaise never turned down a chance at a quick cuddle or a cop-off in a closet, and it didn’t matter who was doing the asking. And when he’d put his mind to it, Draco realised that he could, objectively, consider other men attractive. The idea of having sex was about as repulsive as the idea of having sex with a woman, and he was beginning to think that was a personality flaw in him and not a sexuality-crisis. But he could picture himself kissing someone male. And enjoying it. He wouldn’t have touched Blaise with a ten foot wand, not even if someone offered to double the galleons in his vault, and the only other three openly gay people he could think of were Terry Boot, that Raul character from Beauxbatons, and Harry Potter. None of them seemed particularly appealing. So he hadn’t had a chance to actually test this theory, but as theories went, it wasn’t bad.

He had to stop thinking about it. Thoughts of his sexuality and the recent ‘how do I know for sure?’ question had occupied him all the way from the castle down to the lake. He could see Pansy and Blaise in the stands, and knew that neither of them were his hostages. Privately he was glad; Blaise would take it entirely the wrong way, and Pansy would probably have considered it an indirect marriage proposal.

Gabrielle and Katarina waved and smiled as he took his place on the starting platform, and he listened with half an ear as the rules were explained. Just before they were set to jump in, he cast his transfiguration and then hit the water as the gills formed. He smiled, pleased to find that he could breathe just as clearly as if he were walking around on dry land, and then began his search.

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss, he thought. And I know from the last time that it’ll be a person, but it’s not one of my Slytherins. They were all there in the stands. Maybe they changed it from a person to an object? What if someone stole my favourite set of dress robes? But I wouldn’t sorely miss those, I could just buy more. What could it be? Or who could it be?

Long before he was prepared, the question was answered. Surrounded by guardians of merfolk, floating in the water as if dead, was Harry Potter.

-o0o-

That last scene – Draco finding Harry as his hostage – was the mental image that inspired the entire fanfic. XDD AND, AND, AND. I told you I was pretty excited about this chapter. Lots of things happened that surprised even ME (I’m not really making this up. As with most of my stories, it’s just telling itself to me and I’m writing down what I’m seeing) but I finally lived up to my promise of more than two thousand words a chapter! This one is nearly seven thousand. 8D I’m also slowly working on the other things, and I’m going to try to put something special up for Halloween. Any particular H/D requests, or should I just make something up?
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To the Victor goes the Spoils