Hogwarts Express | By : Closet Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 27088 -:- 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. |
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Draco was not having a good morning to begin with.
Besides the fact that his dreams had been filled with bizarre sequences of himself yelling
at... himself for being so stupid as to not notice a good thing in Potter ((Harry bloody Potter!
What was his subconscious thinking?!)), he had woken up this morning with hair that refused to
be tamed properly, and then Pansy Parkingson’s owl had delivered good news from home, so
she’d jumped up, squealing, and spilled her pumpkin juice all over Draco’s perfectly buttered
toast.
And now, to make things all the more sweet, as they waited in front of Snape’s potions
dungeon, Potter himself comes storming up to him, and slams him back against the wall.
“What - ?!” Draco started, Crabbe and Goyle both leaping forward to his defense, but
Harry broke them off, yelling.
“What the fuck was that all about, then?!” he bellowed, face red.
Everyone, including his Gryffindor friends, stared at him. “What?” Draco asked,
exceedingly confused.
“Oh, I suppose you think it’s funny, do you?!” Harry roared, fists clenched at his sides as
though he were trying to hold himself back from leaping on Draco and giving him a bloody nose.
“I suppose this has all been one big joke all along, let’s make fun of Harry Potter, shall we?!” He
was practically shaking, he was so angry. “Well, I’m not laughing!”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Potter?” Draco snapped, confused as all get out,
and none too pleased to have the Gryffindor seeker yelling in his face.
“Like you don’t...” Harry suddenly paused, as though confused, then slowly said, “You
don’t...?”
“Don’t what, Potter?!” Draco fumed.
“You want me to pound ‘im?” Crabbe asked, cracking his knuckles.
Draco actually considered it for a moment, then sharply shook his head. “No. Potter and I
are just going to have a little chat.”
“Leave him alone, Malfoy,” Neville broke in, arms crossed, hazel eyes snapping at his
rival. Like Harry had said, their rivalry was practically legendary. “Grow up.”
“It’s okay, Neville,” Harry said, watching Draco’s eyes carefully. “Let’s talk, Malfoy.
Now.”
“No, Mr. Potter, now is class,” Snape’s oily voice broke in, and Harry’s shoulders
slumped in frustration. “I’m sure whatever you have to say to Mr. Malfoy will keep until after my
class. Inside, now.”
Reluctantly, Draco pushed himself off the wall Harry had pushed him against, then
straightened his robes, and strutted into the classroom. Sitting gracefully in his seat beside Blaise,
he glanced across the aisle, to where Harry plunked himself down, resting his head on his folded
arms. The other boy looked exhausted, Draco realized, and he was fairly sure the other hadn’t
been at breakfast, either. What in the world had he been yelling at him about, anyway?
“Today you will be brewing the aging potion, and you will be working in pairs.” With a
flourish, Snape procured his list, and began reading them off. “Weasley and Granger, Crabbe and
Goyle, Parkingson and Bulstrode, Potter and Finnigan, Malfoy and Longbottom...”
Draco tuned out the rest of the list, and focused instead on making The Boy Who Lived
come to him instead of the other way around. Finally, Neville sighed, gathered up his things, and
went to sit beside Draco.
To his own surprise, Draco just wasn’t in the mood to push insults on the Golden Boy
today, so instead worked in silence, stealing contemplative looks every once in awhile of Potter.
What in Merlin had he been talking about, he wondered? Finally, class ended, and Draco
delivered their perfect potion to the front, no thanks to Longbottom, of course. Draco had really
done all the work - Neville was utterly abysmal at potions.
The second Draco was out the door, he was most alarmed to find his elbow grabbed, and
found himself being dragged further down the hall. Blinking, he discovered his abductor was
Harry, and so it really wasn’t all that surprising after all, and loosened the death grip he’d had on
his wand. “All right, Potter. Going to explain to me what all that was about this morning?”
“Not here,” Potter muttered, exactly copying what Draco had said to him a few weeks
earlier.
Finally, Harry pulled them into a quiet classroom, locked the door, then cast ‘silenco’
before finally relaxing and collapsing onto a desk. “I had a dream last night. Well, I thought it
was a dream.”
Draco’s eyebrows shot upwards. “And that warranted an attack on me?”
Harry sighed, closing his eyes. “I dreamed that you climbed into my bed up in Gryffindor
tower.”
Draco snorted. “Don’t worry, that was a dream.”
“That’s what I thought,” Harry nodded. “I mean, why would you of all people come
crawling into my bed, threatening to tell everyone that you were there if I didn’t wake up? That’s
not exactly your style, is it? But it was you... well... ‘in a sense’. You said it was you ‘in a sense’,
and that I had to come talk to you.” Harry groaned. “So when I woke up this morning and the
silencing spell was still up, I realized that it hadn’t been a dream, and I thought that it all had to
be some big joke. All of this, some big elaborate joke you had planned from the start.” He shook
his head. “But then you really didn’t know what was going on this morning.”
“Maybe I’m a good actor,” Draco shot back, playing Devil’s Advocate.
“Not that good,” Harry snorted.
There was silence for a moment, then Draco frowned. “You said that ‘I’ told you that you
had to talk to me. What about?”
Harry’s ears turned red again. Draco had noticed that they tended to do that a lot when he
got embarrassed. Interesting. “Err.. well... about why you’d want to be in my bed, actually.”
Draco froze. “What?”
“Well, see, I was explaining to... er... ‘you’ about why you would never want to be in my
bed. You... well.... ‘you’ didn’t really buy it, and said I should talk to you, that you might have a
few ideas.” Harry was very red, by this point. “I just thought it was a messed up dream, until that
spell...”
Draco’s jaw was hanging. “No, I would not want to be in your bed!”
“That’s what I said,” Harry protested. “I told him that even if you were gay and after a
Gryffindor, it’d be Neville, not me, and...”
Draco nearly lost his breakfast. Gagging, he spluttered at Harry. “I would not want
Longbottom!”
“I said ‘if’...” Harry tried again, but Draco interrupted him again.
“God, no, Potter! I don’t care how much you hate me, but do not say that! I would never,
ever look at Longbottom that way, even I were a bleeding fairy pouf with pink bloody hair and
wore tutus! No ifs, ands, or buts! Not a bloody chance!”
“But...” Harry started again, but Draco leapt off his desk, stormed forward, and grabbed
Harry’s shoulders, shaking him.
“I would rather sleep with you than even look at Longbottom like that!”
Laughter began to fill the room, and both boys froze, Draco’s hands still on Harry’s
shoulders. There was the sound of footsteps behind them, and both spun, only to have their jaws
drop. Draco’s grip on Harry’s shoulders tightened, but Harry seemed not to really notice, instead
reaching up with one hand to grab hold of Draco’s robe, gripping it tightly in his fingers, as
though trying to convince himself that Draco really was there.
Because across the room, arms crossed casually over his chest, smirking that trademark
smirk, stood Draco Malfoy.
He leered at the two of them, then said, “Now we’re talking.”
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