Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, HP/DM
Rating: FRM (I think I swore and mentioned sex, oh my)
Summary: Harry and Malfoy stop meeting to do...things, and Harry finds some...interesting replacements.
Disclaimer: *Looks at books, looks at fic, looks back at books* Sometimes, I don't believe that I'm on the same planet as JKR, let alone actually being her.
Word Count: 1,730
Feedback? In comments is peachy. Constructive critism if you like, but none of the 'OMG, this so totally sucks' stuff today, K folks?
A/N: It was two am, I was bored, this came out. I make no apologies for it, but be warned, this amused me greatly at two fourty-five, when it was completed. I make no promises about whether it is good or bad, as I find that I'm not the best judge of what I write. I leave that part up to you.
If he had ever thought about it seriously-which he really hadn't, as he had never been one to think things through-Harry would have known that getting involved with Draco Malfoy could only lead to pain. Of course, as mentioned previously, Harry was more a doer than a thinker...and do he did. On desks in empty classrooms, in the Room of Requirement too many times to count, and once in the Slytherin common room under cover of his invisibility cloak, covering Malfoy's mouth with his hand to stifle his moans.
But it had to end-as all things eventually did-and one day Malfoy had smirked at Harry and said, "It's been fun Potter, but I'm rather tired of it. Goodbye," before flouncing off to do Merlin knew what...or who. All this was said after their regular session of sex of course; Malfoy wasn't about to lose out on one last fuck before he went to explore greener pastures, so to speak. Now, if you were expecting the Boy who Lived to burst into tears over his love leaving him, don't bother going any farther. Harry was quite fine with everything ending; truth be told he was getting rather sick of Malfoy anyway, what with his constant whinging and his arguing with almost everything that Harry said. Not to mention his threatening Harry's life while they were in the middle of somethimg much more interesting. Harry figured that he was well-shut off the annoying blond, and free to find someone a tad less bent on his ultimate demise.
Enter Terry Boot. He was smart, and could be funny if you understood what he was talking about-which Harry never really did, but he laughed anyway because he figured staring at someone stupidly while they laughed at some joke they had made was not entirely the best way to go about gaining their affection. Plus, he was bloody hot. He had the whole dark and mysterious thing going for him, and Harry was really very into figuring him out.
Three days later, and Harry had figured him out all right. There was no mystery to Terry, just blandness. Harry had never been known for his conversational skills and so usually didn't mind other's lack of that particular talent, but after trying to engage Terry in conversation for a whole hour and getting nothing but blank stares in response, he was pretty sure that some walls in Hogwarts had more personality than Terry Boot. If the topic wasn't something about classes, Terry was completely lost. It got to where he was beginning to miss Malfoy and his ill-tempered wit, and at that point Harry had to break it off...earning him a shrug and a goodbye kiss that showed Terry certainly knew what to do with his mouth that didn't require the useage of actual words. Harry almost decided to give him another shot, but decided that being with a kissing god wasn't everything. Really. Harry needed someone who he could have an actual conversation with.
Next came Ernie MacMillan, who unlike Terry, had an opinion on everything, and didn't hesitate to share it. He wasn't an idiot either, having been a prefect for two years, and he knew something about Quidditch as well, which was good. He wasn't hard on the eyes either, and Harry decided that this might be someone who he could spend some time with.
Two days later, and Harry was single yet again. Ernie had been fun at first, but he never. Shut. UP. The boy would go on for hours about his opinions on everything, from the new Minister of Magic to what kind of custard he preferred after dinner. But Harry figured he could have dealt with that, if only Ernie weren't such a flake. His opinions changed based on what was popular at the moment, or what Harry himself thought. If he had a Sickle for every time Ernie changed his opinion
to agree when Harry argued one of his opinions, he could afford a brand new Firebolt. With all the accessories. When Harry had the thought that Malfoy wouldn't have changed any aspect of his opinions for Harry, even if he were completly wrong, Harry decided that it was time to let Ernie go the way of Terry. The Hufflepuff took off with an angry sniff-no goodbye kisses for Harry. That was okay. He determined that he needed someone who didn't always agree with him.
Zacharias Smith didn't agree with Harry about anything. If Harry said that the sky was blue, Smith would immediatley insist that no, the sky looked a bit more grey today. He was the perfect next choice...only he wasn't. While he didn't agree with Harry at all, and he called him "Potter" with as much contempt as he could gather-which for a Hufflepuff, was quite a bit, and Harry often wondered how the hell Smith ended up in that particular House in the first place-there was still something missing. He didn't have grey-blue eyes, for one, and though his hair was blond, it was more a yellowish than white. He couldn't spit his surname as though the word tasted vile in his mouth, and his kisses didn't make Harry's knees turn to jelly. He couldn't make Harry just about lose it with one single, smoldering look, and he couldn't cry out "Harry," when he came...only to look completely horrified the second he realized what he'd said. In short, he wasn't Malfoy, and Harry came to find that he didn't want anyone else. It was hopeless, of course, as not even one hour after ditching Harry, Malfoy had been spotted trying to remove Blaise Zabini's tonsils armed with nothing more than his tongue, and according to Seamus, who heard it from Dean who heard it from Ginny who heard it from Susan Bones who heard Pansy talking about it with some other Slytherin, the two hadn't been far from each other-or the bed-since. Still, Harry felt that he owed it to Smith to stop the charade; it would only hurt him in the end, after all.
Needless to say, Smith wasn't particularly happy about being ditched, and Harry wound up spending the night in the hospital wing with boils covering his entire face...but Harry didn't mind too much. It had cost Hufflepuff one hundred House points, and it wasn't as though anyone *coughMalfoycough* cared what state his face was in anyway.
And now, ladies and gentelmen, Harry was sad. Realizing that you have a bit more feeling for your worst enemy/best shag of your life than he has for you is a bit depressing, and Harry was going to milk it for all that it was worth. That whole "Voldemort murdered my parents" thing only works so long, after all, and being in sweet sappy lurve with a boy who would just as soon kill you as look at you has it's own sort of pathetic appeal. It got Hermione to do his Charms essay for him, at any rate. Ron had immediately professed his angsty love for Malfoy as well, which earned him a slap to the back of the head. Harry had been amused and had almost laughed, when he remembered that he was deep in the throes of an unrequited passion and frowned, instead, earning him a sympathetic pat from Hermione and an eyeroll from Ron...who he stuck his tongue out at the second Hermione's back was turned.
But now his friends were gone, and Harry was left to brood. And brood he did...until he fell asleep, and was woken by a voice very close to his ear, hissing, "If you don't wake up this instant I'll hex you so horribly that Smith's pitiful attempt will look like something a Huffle-oh, bugger. Just wake the hell up, Potter."
Harry opened one eye, saw a blurry Malfoy standing next to him, closed his eye, counted to ten, opened both eyes, saw the Malfoy-blur was still
there, grabbed his glasses and put them on, then blinked owlishly at the very non-blurry Malfoy that was, for some unexplicable reason, standing next to his bed and glaring down at him, and said cleverly, "Er..."
Malfoy glared harder, and snapped, "Er? Is that all you'e got to say for yourself? What on earth were you thinking, taking up with Smith? His being a Hufflepuff aside, he's a spoiled rotten arse, and he hates you. If you need proof, I'll gladly fetch you a mirror."
Harry squinted, and tilted his head to the side. Hmm, if you looked at him just this way, Malfoy almost looked like he cared.
Malfoy huffed. "Looks like there's no hope for it. If I don't take you back, you'll be winding up with Finch-Fletchley next, and honestly, the line has to be drawn somewhere."
At this, Harry's head snapped back up into it's rightful position, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. Malfoy wanted him back? What happened to Blaise and their joint love of Malfoy's sheets?
Malfoy snorted, and Harry realized that he'd said that last part aloud as the Slytherin said, "Joint love of my sheets? What are you on about?" He shrugged his shoulders, lifted his pointed chin and said defiantly, "Blaise was...okay. He didn't make fun of my hair obsession or tell me what an arrogant prick I am ten times a day. But he didn't have green eyes, his hair is more dark brown than black, and he didn't smile at me like he knew that he shouldn't but just couldn't help it."
Harry couldn't help it; he grinned at Malfoy and reached for him, tugging the standing boy down for a good long snog that didn't let up until Malfoy pulled away, whining about his neck hurting. Harry just kept grinning until Malfoy let up and gave him a tiny smile in return. "So, I'll meet you tomorrow in the Room?" he asked, and Harry nodded happily.
Malfoy leaned down for one more kiss before leaving, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "Oh, and if you tell anyone about this little conversation, I'll kill you in your sleep, you ponce." Harry sighed and snuggled into his blankets contentedly. Sure, he had boils covering his face and most of Hufflepuff angry with him, but he didn't have to write his charms essay, he had his Malfoy back, and all was right with the world.