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Catch 22	By : Jad Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2973 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Summary:

Pirate songs in the Gryffindor common room, Blaise is out for blood, Harry is very terrible at the Sneaking Thing, and what can Draco say? His public adores him.

Pirates and Dags and Really Bad Eggs

: : :

5:30pm (that afternoon)

'I've got a lov-a-ley bunch 'a coconuts, dee da lee dee da lee—'

'What is he doing in here?' Ron asks loudly.

'—there they are 'a standin' in a row, bump, baa, dum—'

'Oh,' says Hermione, 'just, you know, visiting.'

'—big ones, small ones, some as big as your head—'

'Visiting?' Ron demands. 'Visiting? What the bloody hell for?'

'—give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist, s'what the showman said—'

'Blaise,' Hermione says firmly, and Blaise stops singing, though he's still grinning rather alarmingly. 'Ron, I've already told you about this. Will you relax and at least pretend to be an adult about it?'

'Relax?' Ron demands and points an accusatory finger at Blaise. 'You never said anything about bringing him in here!'

'Here' is actually the Gryffindor common room, in which Hermione is sitting on the sofa and Blaise has commandeered the best armchair for himself and is still humming his tune. It is Saturday afternoon and the room is packed with people, and Ron is furious; Slytherins in their common room! It's not only wrong in every sense of the word, it's right up there with treason and probably sacrilege, and if Hermione isn't careful, she's going to be smote by the Almighty Gryffindor Gods.

'Weasley, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't like my singing,' Blaise says, looking hurt.

He speaks with a mild, romantic accent, rolling some of his syllables, and is splayed sideways in the armchair, as if it is a throne and he is a pirate who has just sacked the king, with his arms balanced on his knees and long legs propped against the side. His dark hair is purposely mussed and his skin is something like three shades lighter than Dean's, the finely bronzed tone of one who has spent far too much time in the sun.

He's wearing a wolfish smirk and leers, his expression that of someone who is very handsome and knows it; Lavender is giving him longing looks from across the room, and Parvati, rather than reprimanding him, only squeals and runs off, giggling, when he idly lifts her skirt with the tip of his wand as she walks past.

'Hermione,' Ron says furiously, 'I know this whole correspondent thing has sort of gone to your head, but I really don't care if he's your long lost brother, he has no right to be in our common room!'

'Long lost brother?' Blaise looks at Hermione with a slightly alarmed expression. 'You might have told me about that before last night, signorina. Incest is a sin, you know.'

Ron, who, by this point, is approximately the colour of an eggplant, twitches rather violently when laughter is Hermione's only response.

'Stop being horrible,' she tells Blaise, who is looking quite pleased with the effect he is having on Ron. 'Oh, Ron, he's joking, honestly. Now sit down before you fall down.'

'By all means, fall down if you like, I'll laugh you scorn,' Blaise adds cheerily. Ron looks as if he might strangle Blaise, so Hermione smartly takes him by the belt and pulls him down on the couch beside her. 'Anyway,' Blaise continues, 'as much fun as it is to take the mickey out of you, I'm actually waiting for Potter.'

'Harry?' Ron asks, immediately assuming the role of Loyal And Protective Best Mate. 'What do you want with Harry?'

'To kill him,' Blaise replies. 'What else?'

The only thing keeping Ron from leaping at Blaise in a vain attempt to gouge his eyes out is Hermione's grip on his belt; she is uncannily strong for such a small girl. 'Must you?' she asks Blaise, not unkindly, trying without much luck to hide a smile. Ron looks furious; he folds his arms, muttering to himself. Blaise blows him a kiss before breaking into song again.

'We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot, Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho! We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot, Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!'

'He's not so bad, you know,' Hermione says to Ron, keeping her voice low—though Blaise doesn't seem to be paying attention anyway. 'He's actually quite smart, once you get past the jocosity.'

'He's a Slytherin, Hermione!' Ron hisses. 'He could be—spying, or something!'

Hermione looks across at Blaise, who has conjured a large pirate hat with a fluffy white feather for himself; he is still singing loudly, and brandishes his wand like a sword at anyone that wanders too close. 'Ron,' she says patiently, 'does he look like he's spying?'

'He's lulling us into a false sense of security,' Ron persists. 'And trying to steal our women! Did you see what he did to Parvati!'

Hermione sighs and rolls her eyes. 'He's not spying and I can tell you for certain that he is not going to steal any of "our" women.'

'Oh, and how do you know?' Ron demands. 'What were you doing with him last night?'

Hermione closes her book and gives Ron a very severe look. Under the chorus of 'Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A pirate's life for me!' she says very simply, 'Because Blaise is gay, Ron.'

'We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves, Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho! We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs! Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!'

'He's what?' Ron asks, blinking.

'He's Italian,' she says, sighing, and opens up her book again.

There is a muffled shriek as Blaise leans over to the next armchair and sticks his tongue in Seamus' ear. 'Yeh know yeh love it, yeh Irish dag!' he calls after Seamus as he flees to the boys' dormitories, cursing. Blaise smirks at Hermione, who is stifling a laugh, and Ron, who is gaping and looking mildly disgusted. 'He'll be back,' Blaise assures them. 'Once he's had a few shots of rum, anyway. Yo ho ho, and all.'

'That is disgusting,' says Ron.

'I know you dream about me, baby,' Blaise says, winking at him.

'Eurgh,' says Ron.

Blaise raises an eyebrow. 'Does Potter know you're such a homophobe?'

'He's not,' Hermione says over the retching. 'I think it's just that it's... well... that it's you. Being a Slytherin and all.'

'Woe,' Blaise exclaims. 'First Finnigan, now even the Weasley does not approve. I shall have to drown my sorrows in cheap liquor and puttane, for I have shamed the house of my forefathers.'

'I should hope that isn't necessary,' Hermione says. 'I thought you didn't like that sort of thing? At least not the puttane.'

'Hey, hey, be fair,' Blaise says defensively. 'Everybody likes puttane.'

Ron stops gagging. 'What the hell is puttane?' he asks.

'Maybe when you're older,' says Blaise, waving his hand dismissively. 'I will not be the one responsible for corrupting the morals of Gryffindor folk.'

'Isn't that the purpose of Slytherins?' Hermione asks, eyes still on her book. 'To defile our morals?'

'Blasphemy,' Blaise says, gasping. 'I only defile by love, not war.'

'That is disgusting,' Ron says again.

'Il mio amore è soltanto per voi, signore,' Blaise says with a flourish.

'What?' says Ron. Hermione giggles.

'This is amusing,' comments Blaise with a look at Hermione. 'I think you're the only other person at this school that can understand me. Well, besides Salene, anyway.'

'Who?' says Ron, growing even more confused.

'Professor Vector,' Hermione clarifies. 'Do I even want to know why you call her by her first name?'

'Probably not,' Blaise admits with a lecherous smirk. Ron looks so close to bursting that Blaise finds the kindness somewhere in his heart to continue, 'She's my aunt, actually. Don't hurt yourself, Weasley.'

'This is what I mean!' Ron says to Hermione. 'He's just a nasty pervert like the rest of them, and he even said it himself, he's here to give Harry a hard time and—'

'Speak of the Devil,' Blaise interrupts as Harry walks into the common room. Harry stops when he sees Blaise. He seems slightly suspicious—though not angry—and he shoots a questioning look at Hermione, but Blaise speaks up before she can say anything. 'I need a word, Potter,' he says.

'Er,' says Harry warily. 'Yeah, sure. What?'

'Alone,' Blaise clarifies, and then, smirking, adds, 'and Finnigan's already claimed your dormitory for the rest of the week.'

'Ah,' says Harry. 'Erm. Alright.' He motions with his head for Blaise to follow him; they both leave the common room while Hermione tightens her grip on Ron's belt to keep him from going after them.

As soon as the Fat Lady closes, leaving them alone in the empty corridor, Harry finds himself shoved up against the wall with Blaise unnervingly close to his face; the Fat Lady tsks and says, 'Now, now, play nice, boys.' Blaise's cheerful demeanour is gone and he looks like he might clobber Harry, who is actually a little worried because Blaise is quite tall.

'Sorry,' Harry says dryly, 'when you said "a word", was that Slytherin code for "your blood"?'

'Look, Potter,' Blaise says evenly, leaning close and forcing Harry further into the wall. 'I don't really like you, and I don't particularly hate you—in fact, we could say that I really couldn't care less either way whether you exist or not.'

'I see,' says Harry, raising an eyebrow. 'So, then, is this wall thing just some kind of Slytherin kink the rest of us don't know about?'

'Shut up,' Blaise commands, and Harry shuts up, but fixes him with a glare for good measure. 'My point is that I really wouldn't give a damn if you fucked off out a window and we never had to see the likes of you again, except that you seem to have had some sort of dire effect on a very good friend of mine, and I'll be damned if some be-spec'd little martyr is going to ruin his life.'

Harry narrows his eyes. 'I'm not. We've already talked about it. We're done. I'm over it. Ruination averted. So,' Harry says, folding his arms, 'I don't see what the problem is. It was his call, anyway, and he made it.'

'Do they feed you Gryffindors stupid pills?' Blaise says impatiently. 'You really think it's that simple, don't you?'

'What fucking business is it of yours, anyway?' Harry snaps indignantly. 'Whether it's simple or not, it doesn't involve you, and I sure as hell don't have to explain myself to you, or anyone else.'

Blaise is glaring at Harry as if he'd like nothing better than to stamp him into the floor. He looks away and takes a slow breath. 'His father was here today,' he finally says, very quietly. 'Draco hasn't been out of his room since.'

Harry looks at him for a moment, and then apprehension kicks in. 'Lucius was here?' he asks, suddenly worried. 'Why?'

'Oh, I dunno,' Blaise deadpans as he looks at Harry again, 'couldn't have anything to do with you snogging his little prodigy in front of the entire school, could it?'

'What? I didn't start that—look!' he snarls as Blaise rolls his eyes. 'That was his decision, he didn't have to do it!'

'You didn't have to come storming over in the middle of breakfast, either!' Blaise snaps. 'You did start that, Potter, and I swear to the Fates that if you don't finish it, I am going to finish you.'

Harry stares at him, his anger fading into a weird sort of understanding as he finally realises why Blaise has come here. Harry looks away and nods bleakly. 'All right,' he concedes. 'All right, I'll talk to him.'

'Damn right you will,' Blaise says. 'Purus magus.'

Harry blinks. 'What?'

Blaise backs up, glancing at Harry once more. 'Password,' he says, then turns and walks away.

: : :

Sneaking into the Slytherin common room presents little challenge, especially with the advantage of knowing the password. It's surprisingly free of older students; where the majority of fourth- to seventh-year Slytherins go on a Saturday night is a mystery to Harry, and he decides he probably does not want to know.

Unlike the Gryffindor dormitories, which are above the common room, the Slytherins dorms are down a thin, twisting staircase that burrows further under the lake. Harry pauses outside the door, hand hovering above the knob, listening for a sign of life from inside; but the seventh-year boys' dormitory is silent, and Harry wonders if Draco's asleep, or perhaps not even there at all.

Taking a deep breath, he turns the knob and eases the door open slowly. It lets out a small, soft creak that sounds far too loud in the surrounding silence. Harry waits to see if he's been found out, but the room remains quiet. Mustering his nerves, Harry pushes the door open enough to squeeze inside, and shuts it quietly behind him.

Draco is, in fact, in the room, and not asleep. He's sitting on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, his back propped against one of the posts. There's an assortment of parchment, a few quills and an ink bottle spread haphazardly on the duvet. Draco's reading one of the letters, eyes slowly, almost lazily, moving from one side of the parchment to the other.

'How long did you know it was me?'

Harry starts at the question, but Draco doesn't look up. 'I can hear you breathing,' he explains, 'and even if Blaise had stolen your cloak, he never makes a noise opening the door.' Now he looks up at approximately where Harry is standing, invisible. 'You're really terrible at this sneaking thing.'

Harry waits another moment before sliding off the cloak, doing his best not to look sheepish. 'Can't be that bad,' he says, 'or I'd have been expelled by now.'

'With all the rules you've broken, you should be, poster boy,' Draco says. 'Speaking of rules, you coming in here violates about every principal rule of Slytherin and Gryffindor conduct,' he continues. 'By all rights I should hex you.'

'Temporary truce?' Harry offers. 'I promise not to tarnish your reputation.'

'Too late, but all right.' Draco looks away, back down at the letters. 'So. How long?'

Harry rolls the cloak up in his arms, hesitating. 'Since the start of the holidays,' he says finally. 'When Blaise stayed to meet up with Hermione.'

'Granger?' Draco looks at him again, torn between surprise, disgust, and mild comprehension. 'His correspondent was Granger?'

'He didn't tell you?'

'He said it'd give me an aneurysm,' Draco says. 'The man is a true friend—unlike some people, who like to cause me unnecessary amounts of trauma.'

'I'd hardly call losing a Quidditch match traumatic,' Harry says, trying to keep a straight face.

'Try losing them for six years in a row,' Draco replies curtly, but Harry can see he is trying not to smile. Then he sits up and tosses a few letters at Harry's feet; Harry glances at them, then back up at Draco, who keeps his gaze fixed on the sheets of parchment. 'You knew since the start of the holidays,' he repeats.

Harry squats down and fingers through the letters. Some of the lines have been traced over and worried with a quill: I don't even know what you look like and I still dream about you...I couldn't loathe you if I wanted to...you don't sound like someone I'd dislike...I think about you a lot...I want to kiss you...I love talking to you...I still want to meet you... They are all from letters he wrote during the holidays—letters he wrote after he knew whom he was writing to—and Harry furrows his brow before looking back up. Draco watches him with curious eyes.

'Yes,' Harry says. 'I knew Nott was in trouble for not writing to his correspondent, and I knew Crabbe and Goyle weren't—' he pauses, thinking that now is perhaps not the best time to insult Draco's friends, '—I knew it couldn't be them, and once Blaise met up with Hermione...' Harry trails off, realising that he's rambling. Yes, he continues in his head, I wrote all of that when I knew who you were.'And I meant it,' he says aloud; 'all of it.'

Nerve is something Draco has always credited Harry with, and for good reason, it appears, because an abundance of courage is the only explanation for how he can keep looking Draco in the eye as he admits this. Draco raises a pale eyebrow. 'Did you.'

'Did you?' Harry counters.

Draco pauses, then sighs and sits back, letting his back rest against the far post. 'Do you even realise how utterly bizarre this is?'

'What do you mean?'

'This. Us.' Draco is leering and gives Harry a bit of a lopsided smile. 'Sitting in the same room without throwing curses or insults, much less having romantic liaisons in the snow.'

Harry somehow manages to avoid flushing or, indeed, looking embarrassed at all—another show of the Nerve. Instead, he grins back. 'World hasn't ended,' he says with a shrug.

'Yet,' Draco adds. 'Don't tempt the Four Horsemen.'

'You didn't answer my question,' Harry reminds him.

'I know,' Draco says. 'I was trying to avoid it. You're completely incapable of subtlety. All you Gryffindors are.'

'Still waiting,' Harry says, smirking.

Draco's head falls back against the bedpost and he looks at the canopy of his four-poster. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes. 'I didn't think so,' he says finally. 'Not after I found out it was you. That was a very dirty trick, by the way. Worthy of a Slytherin, really; I didn't think you had it in you. Probably why I let myself believe that it wasn't at all possible that it was you.'

'Yes, well, sorry for that,' Harry says, 'but would you have stayed even a minute if I'd shown up as myself?'

'No,' Draco admits. 'I probably would have hexed you the moment you stepped in the door. I really didn't want anything to do with you.' His eyes are still closed so Harry waits; several moments go by and then Draco opens his eyes and looks at Harry. 'But then I found myself leaping over the table the next morning, so what does that tell you?'

'That you're in denial?' Harry offers, looking smug at the deadpan stare he receives in response. 'What did it tell you?'

'That I am insane,' Draco reasons. 'That I've ruined my reputation as a Slytherin. That acting on impulse is a Very Bad Idea. My father is going to kill me; you do know that, don't you?'

'Why would he?' Harry says. 'After Goyle smashed Colin's camera there wasn't any evidence.'

'Only about five hundred eyewitnesses.'

Harry shrugs. 'Even so, you called it off. Crisis averted.'

'About that,' Draco begins, then pauses. It's difficult to articulate what, exactly, he wants to say on the matter. Harry raises his eyebrows. 'I still hate you—' He winces; this is probably a bad place to start. Harry blinks. 'I do. I mean, well, at least, I dislike you a lot. You're still an arrogant, righteous little pillock that deserves to be pounded into the floor.' He pauses and smirks. 'Only now, I'm sort of thinking the floor should be replaced with a desk.'

Harry actually laughs; Draco smiles a little, but it quickly disappears. 'My father was here today,' he says suddenly, and Harry stops laughing. 'But I guess you already knew that, otherwise you wouldn't be here.'

'Yeah,' Harry says. 'Via a grapevine named Zabini that threatened to choke me for destroying your life.'

'Mm,' Draco says. 'Yes, well, sorry about that. Blaise can be rather protective. In any case, Father was pretty livid from the looks of it.'

'What happened?'

Draco shrugs. 'I told him to go to hell.'

If Harry had been drinking, he would have spluttered. 'You what?'

'I told him to take a long walk off a short pier,' Draco reiterates. 'Felt pretty good. Still feels pretty good, as a matter of fact. And will most likely continue to do so until he disinherits me from everything I own and or hires an assassin to remove the stain of my existence.' Harry is goggling at him, and looks rather silly. 'You're gaping, Potter. It's very unbecoming.'

Harry abruptly stops. 'He wouldn't really try to kill you,' he says. Draco blinks at him, and Harry asks, 'Would he?'

'Look,' Draco says, changing the subject, 'let me make one thing very clear here: I don't want you to think I'm doing this for you. Because I'm not. I may have done it because of you, and this stupid, insane, utterly disastrous project they've made us participate in, but I'm not actually doing it for of you.'

'Okay,' Harry says. 'I don't think you are.'

Draco regards him with some surprise and a little suspicion. 'You don't?'

Harry shrugs. 'No, I don't,' he says truthfully.

'Good,' Draco says, sounding relieved, and sits up. 'Well. That's that then, I suppose.'

'I suppose,' Harry agrees, standing.

Draco looks at the floor. Harry looks at his feet. Draco's hands grip his knees and Harry's are thrust into his pockets.

'I guess I should...' Harry pauses awkwardly, '...well, you know—er, yeah,' he finishes lamely and turns to go.

Harry has barely taken a step when Draco stands, takes Harry's elbows and pulls him back against his front, and Harry feels Draco's breath, his lips and the tip of his nose on the back of his neck. Draco's chest presses into Harry's shoulder blades and his hands run down Harry's forearms and off, onto Harry's hips; he holds him there.

'I did mean it, you know,' Draco murmurs into Harry's collar. 'And if you weren't some emotionally-near-sighted bloody Gryffindor, you'd see that it's plain as day that I fancy you entirely too much for it to be healthy.'

Harry takes a deep breath, his shoulders pressing back against Draco as he does. 'Yes, well, we already established that I was unhealthy,' he says a bit breathlessly. 'Even in small doses, remember?'

Draco's nose and chin move against his neck as he nods. 'A large dose is probably going kill me.'

'Your father's going to kill you anyway,' Harry reasons.

Draco lets out a small laugh against his neck and Harry feels his hair being dishevelled by the hot breath. 'Catch twenty-two, indeed.'

Harry unrolls the cloak in his arms. He suddenly has an idea. 'Come with me,' he says, turning his head to the side. He can't see Draco, but his shadow is visible over his shoulder. 'I want to take you somewhere.'

Harry thinks its a bit odd that Draco doesn't even ask where he's going to take him, and something warms in his chest as Draco simply says, 'Yeah, okay'. Harry watches Draco's shadow as it moves; Draco goes back to the bed to retrieve his cloak, and then Harry tosses his Invisibility Cloak over the both of them. He pauses—they're very close together, so close that once again the tiny difference in height is obvious, and they can taste each other's breath and the tip of Draco's nose rubs against Harry's and Harry's lips brush lightly against Draco's chin.

Draco leans in just as the door to the dormitory bursts open, admitting Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, who sweeps the room with her eyes and places her hands on her hips. Draco and Harry stumble backwards together to the nearest wall and Draco curses under his breath.

'What?' Harry whispers. 'They can't see us.'

'They can see those,' Draco hisses, and nods at the letters, which are still all over the floor by his bed.

'Like I told you, he isn't in here,' Blaise says, though he looks rather relieved at being able to say this.

'Bollocks,' Pansy says. 'I saw him in here after breakfast. Where have you hidden him?'

'I haven't hidden him anywhere,' Blaise snaps. 'Vince and Greg are out checking the pitch; they're probably dragging him back as we speak.'

Pansy isn't listening, however. She wrings her hands together and begins to pace. 'Millicent said she saw his father here this morning, too—oh, if he's done anything to Draco, I am going to kill Harry Potter.'

'Don't worry,' Draco whispers quietly, grinning at the indignant look that appears on Harry's face, 'she threatens to do that at least once a week.'

'I thought Blaise was the protective one,' Harry hisses back, still looking put out.

'What can I say,' Draco whispers in his ear. 'My public adores me. You'll be offering to commit suicide to ease my suffering in no time, just you wait.'

'Argh!' Pansy shrieks, rounding on Blaise, who is still stood in the doorway. 'This is all your fault, you knew about this, I know you did, and you still let it happen and let him go to breakfast and now look—look!' she insists, taking him by the collar. He ignores her grip, most likely because he is very tall and she is very small and it probably makes very little difference to him whether she hangs on or not. Her eyes are beginning to water, Harry notes with surprise. 'Why did you leave him alone? You know better than to leave him alone!'

She releases him and whirls round, beginning to pace once more but stopping when she sees the letters scattered all over Draco's bed and the floor. Blaise sees them at the same time as she does, and Harry can feel Draco tense beside him. Pansy moves towards them, but Blaise intervenes, dashing after her and lifting her swiftly over his shoulder, earning another shriek from her, this time in protest.

'Put me down!' she orders, pounding her fists on his back. 'Zabini, I swear to Merlin, if you don't—'

Blaise puts her down just outside the open doorway. 'Pans, he'll be fine. But if he comes back here and finds you've been rooting through his things, you know he'll throw a fit, so will you please—'

'No, I will not, don't you try to placate me, Zabini! Open that bloody—' Her protests become muffled as Blaise closes the door behind him. Taking the opportunity, Draco slips out from under the cloak and quickly gathers the letters, locking them securely in the bottom of his trunk. As he shoves it back under his bed, Harry comes up behind him and slips the cloak back over his head. Draco turns around and looks at him, tilting his head to the side.

'Where were we?' he says. Harry breaks into a grin, and Draco kisses it.

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Catch 22