Telling Hogwarts

Telling Hogwarts by Duinn-Fionn

"Believe me, if it happens again, I'm leaving; if it stays the same, I'm gone" - UB40

"Git."

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Ferret."

"Scarhead."

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sniped at each other as they propelled themselves angrily across the Quidditch pitch, under the wary scrutiny of their teammates. They charged mindfully toward the shed that housed brooms, robes, and equipment, sloughing off their teammates in their antagonistic, purposeful march, where presumably they would stow their Nimbuses and appease their anger. No one dared follow.

The two students were experts at the single-word insult. After all, practice makes perfect, and they'd had nearly seven long years to perfect themselves. They were also quite adept at the angry phrase, the sinister insult, the unremitting defamation, the elaborate denigration, and the pithy slur.

But the less verbal things that accompanied the words once they were beyond hearing - well, Harry had to admit, those were new.

Malfoy strode after him into the Quidditch storeroom, spelling the door closed behind him and tossing off a silencing spell as though he did it every day. Which, Harry realized, he did. Every day, if the truth were known - and which he fervently hoped it wasn't.

"You know, they don't call these practices friendlies for nothing, Potter," Malfoy grumbled, unbuckling his protective pads and tossing them on the bench. "It's for practice, not for blood."

"Hey, don't think I'm going to cut you any slack just because...well..."

"Because of this, perhaps?" Malfoy slid his arms smoothly around Harry's waist and drew him in closer.

"Mmmmm. Maybe."

Malfoy gave him a playful yet almost painful bite on top of his shoulder. "Don't do me any favors, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy." He returned the nip with one of his own.

Malfoy looked around balefully, taking in the shabby surroundings with less than magnanimous grace. It smelled of leather, very old dust, and sweat. "Nice place you've got here."

He smiled serenely. "Beats the Owlery hands down." He tried to forget yesterday's episode with the diarrhetic owl; by the disgusted expression on Malfoy's face, he could tell that he was doing the same. He gave the other boy an enticing smile, followed by a soft nuzzle.

Malfoy's look of distaste magically vanished under Harry's gentle attack, and he sighed. "I thought that game would never end. You know what it does to me to watch you out there."

"You mean because it does the same thing to me? Yeah, I know," Harry mumbled into Malfoy's neck, wrapping his arms around the lithe body.

Malfoy winced where Harry's hands pressed against his shoulders. "Watch it! Goddamn splinters," he growled. "From the Owlery wall yesterday." He didn't sound at all happy.

"Let me see."

Malfoy shed his practice robe, carefully setting it on the nearest bench. His hands worked at his shirt buttons, but Harry grew impatient at his slow pace and plunged into the entertaining task of unclothing him, yanking off the shirt. He placed it on the robe, purposely not tossing it aside to avoid irritating the more fastidious boy.

"Turn around, now, and let me see what I can do."

Malfoy's grin showed teeth. "I already know what you can do, Potter. Isn't that why I'm here?"

"For the splinters, idiot." Harry was grinning, too. His hands traveled the white skin, smoothing over the lightly muscled back. "Oh, yes, I see the problem," he murmured, setting his tongue against the other boy's skin where he slowly and deliberately traced a sensuous pattern.

Malfoy's voice sounded strangely remote. "I thought you were going to Summon them out...but your way may work, too."

"I'm getting to that. I got distracted."

"Mmmm. Far be it from me to rush you."

Harry took out his wand, muttering, "Accio splinters." Malfoy gave a little shriek as the spell took effect, and Harry alternated soft sorries with gentle kisses. "Better?'

"Almost...." He turned in Harry's arms, and they pressed together, lips against skin.

Harry was no artist, but he was suddenly inspired to arrange Draco against the wall behind the hanging Quidditch robes. All that pale skin and pale hair would make a dramatic tableau, he imagined, against the vivid contrast of dark material. Slytherin colors, he decided on the fly, would look best - dark, dark green; pale, pale Draco. He'd call it Still Life with Seeker. Although truthfully, he wasn't hoping for still. He lunged with enthusiasm toward his target, pinning Draco's arms and propelling them both into the folds of material.

It might have worked had there actually been a wall behind the Quidditch robes.

Instead, their momentum carried them precipitously onto the very hard, very dusty, and not at all artistically pleasing floor. Nor did the Quidditch robes that slid atop them in a heap have the precise drape and contrast that Harry had been looking for. And Draco, uncomfortably flattened under him, bare skin against the rough oak floor, was decidedly pissed off.

"Shit! Potter! What the hell was that for?"

Harry, a little breathless at the acrobatics, was sincerely abashed at the turn of events. "Oh my god, Draco, I'm really sorry,. I thought....damn, wasn't there a wall there once?"

"No." Draco's eyes were still shooting daggers at him.

Harry managed the only thing he could think of under the circumstances - woeful apologies intermixed with enthusiastic snogging. After a few minutes of that, Draco was at least somewhat placated, but still not exactly cheery.

"Fucking splinters. Again," he complained, not without cause.

Harry sat up, pulling Draco with him, and turned him around to begin Summoning. He gently brushed away the dirt, sticks, and dead spiders from the previously pristine skin.

"Potter, I'm getting sick of these dirty, secret - wooden - places we hang out. Why don't we go to the Astronomy tower like everyone else?"

"Because everyone else is there, of course. We'll be seen."

"Yeah, so?"

"What do you mean, so? People will find out."

Draco was relaxing slowly under Harry's massaging hands. "They'll find out eventually. Mmmm, like that, yeah. How long do you think we can keep sneaking away together before someone gets suspicious?"

Harry didn't want to admit that Draco had a point. He just wanted to keep anointing kisses into the soft skin below Draco's ear.

"What about your father? What if he finds out?" he murmured into the nape of Draco's neck.

"Isn't that high on the list of things we Don't Talk About?"

"Sorry."

"Well, maybe we should knock it off the list. God, Potter, that feels so..." How it felt, Harry never actually heard, unless Malfoy's moan was an attempt to describe that sensation.

"Aren't you worried he'll get wind of this and disown you?"

"If you're wondering if I'll give up the family fortune for you...not bloody likely."

"Well, then..."

Draco stopped purring long enough to continue. "If I recall, you put dear old Dad in Azkaban. Not a lot he can do from there. But I'll let you in on my little secret - the family fortune is actually my mother's, and she's still quite fond of me. Ohhh, don't stop."

"Not planning to," he murmured.

"The Malfoys are elite aristocracy - land rich and cash poor. You can't buy that pure blue blood - but if you have enough money you can marry it. So my mother did. Mmmm. Nice." Draco stretched languidly and sighed, curling into Harry's embrace. "Only the Manor is my father's. Nasty place. Bad drains, freezing in winter, and the house elves...god, don't get me started." He was beginning to go boneless in Harry's arms. "He can disinherit me if he wants to and leave the bloody place to one of my brothers or sisters. Oh, wait - I don't actually have any brothers or sisters, do I? Guess he's stuck with me, then."

"But isn't he expecting you to become a Death Eater?"

"Topic Number One on the list? You're on a roll, Potter." He shivered. "Ahh, watch the teeth there."

"Live dangerously, I say," he replied to both statements. He was gratified that the teeth had at last galvanized Draco into reciprocal action.

"There is no fucking way I'm joining that pathetic group. The Dark Lord will never win, not with his pitiful track record and his nutso followers. Mmmm, do that again." Malfoy gracefully repositioned to allow better access. "Let's face it, he can't even get rid of a certain teen-age Hogwarts student, who last time I looked was hovering somewhere below mid-class ranking. No offense, Potter." He ran his tongue quickly over Harry's shoulder as an apology. "Now that Dumbledore's good and pissed off, he doesn't stand a chance. Think I'll pass on the Death Eater gig, thanks all the same."

Harry gathered Malfoy's hair in both hands and caressed it, surreptitiously removing spider webs and a dead moth. "So you're not worried about your parents. I'm not worried about the Dursleys. That leaves...."

"House Slytherin and House Gryffindor." Draco emphasized the words with caressing fingers that lingered under Harry's shirt.

"Yes." Harry elongated the word and smiled.

"You've got a very strange gleam in your eye, Potter. You're scaring me."

"Maybe it has something to do with what you're doing there with your hands."

Draco laughed. "Not yet, it doesn't. No, I sense something sinister going on in your head. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be honorable and trustworthy?"

"You're confusing us with Hufflepuffs."

"Just what are you thinking, Harry?" Some of what Harry was thinking - doing, actually - was making Draco's voice unsteady and muffled.

Harry made his voice hypnotic. "I'm thinking about warm places, Draco. Soft places. Clean places. Maybe places with upholstery. Definitely places with house-elf service."

"These wouldn't happen to be public places, would they?" Draco sighed wistfully.

"They would. Very."

"Ahhh." Harry couldn't tell if this remark alluded to his words or his actions.

"You see, Malfoy, I have a plan...."

* * *

Harry shivered, watching snowflakes drift past his common room window, thinking how much warmer, though lonelier, he was now. Fifteen minutes ago, he and Draco had been clinging together for warmth behind Hagrid's hut, shoes steadily becoming soggier in the slush, snow piling up and soaking their heads and shoulders and backs. The kisses that Draco trailed along his neck were arousing for the tenth of a second before the wind turned their dampness to frigid ice. He'd worried about risking frostbite after yanking off his gloves to touch the tiny bit of skin that Draco had dared expose to him. Frustrated, they had given up, and their parting kiss encompassed more scarf than lips.

Draco was absolutely right. They deserved decent accommodations.

He watched enviously as two fifth-year Gryffindors nestled together - one chair, one boy, one girl. One happy couple, looked on indulgently by the rest of the students in the common room. It wasn't fair.

No, it was definitely time to work on the plan.

* * *

"I've recently heard from someone," Draco began, sotto voce. "Someone I wouldn't have expected to hear from, actually." He deliberately rubbed his forearm, looking mysterious.

Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini pricked up their ears.

He leaned forward, appearing both conspiratorial and cryptic, a look he had practiced for an hour last night until he felt he could pull it off for this conversation. Confident that his fish had taken the bait, he proceeded to set the hook.

"It's about Potter." He paused for dramatic effect. "Well, no surprise, right?"

"No," Blaise said, too loudly, then he looked around the Slytherin common room nervously, lowered his voice, and repeated, "No."

"What about him?" Pansy whispered, adopting the secretive manner of both boys.

Draco smiled enigmatically, imbuing his face with an inscrutable look that came too easily. He was enjoying himself immensely, letting his friends run with the line for a bit.

"There's renewed interest in the Prat Who Lived."

"What kind of interest?" Blaise asked.

Draco didn't answer, but pressed a finger to his lips.

Pansy's eyes widened. "What does he...I mean what are you supposed to do? Can you say?"

He contrived to sound serious. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you outright, but I really need your help." He lavished them with an appealing gaze, and they responded with such sympathetic looks that he thought they were both going to offer up their first-born to him if it would do him any good.

"Our help?" Pansy squeaked.

"I know I can trust you." Carefully, steadily, he reeled them in.

Blaise shifted uneasily. "What did they ask you to do?"

Draco called up a long-suffering expression. "I'm supposed to get close to Potter." He added a veneer of sucking-it-up-for-the-cause before his final pronouncement. "To seduce him."

He noted with satisfaction that they were both gasping open-mouthed, like the landed fish they were. "Don't look so surprised," he said softly. "They must think I have a chance, or they wouldn't have asked me, now, would they?"

"And you're going to do it?" Blaise asked incredulously.

He narrowed his eyes and glared, and the other boy sat back quickly. "I've been asked. Of course I'm going to do it. Wouldn't you?"

Pansy, not willing to subject herself to that withering glare and that affronted tone, quickly changed course. "What did you mean when you said you needed our help?"

He returned to his clandestine smile. "Well, you must admit that hooking up with Potter is going to look...unusual. I need both of you to act like you think it's not too strange - maybe even a good idea. Can you do that for me? For the cause? Then when the rest of the Sytherins see that you accept it, they will, too. That way I can focus on the next part of my assignment."

He could see that they were relieved at his request. Considering his so-called mission with Potter, he hadn't asked them to do anything too quirky. Pretending it was normal - well, that wasn't too hard for a Slytherin, for whom pretense was a natural gift. They both nodded their agreement.

Blaise was trying to look worldly and knowledgeable, with little success. "So what is the next part of your assignment?"

Draco hauled out his last practiced look of cryptic gravity. "Now, that much I really can't tell you." Finishing with a determined smile, he stood up and bade them goodnight.

He bounded down the stairs cheerfully. They'd swallowed his story hook, line, and sinker. On reflection, he concluded, maybe he needed a better analogy. Maybe it was more like shooting fish in a barrel.

* * *

Harry drifted into the Gryffindor common room a good half-hour after his friends. Madam Trelawney had detained him after Divinations class, surprising everyone. She usually just said what was on her mind in class - she rarely asked anyone to remain behind. Of course, it probably had a great deal to do with Harry's earlier request for the meeting. At the time he sent it, he was certain he needed her help interpreting a dream about disappearing footprints - a dream that, truth to tell, he hadn't actually had.

He arranged a deep, introspective look on his face and looked around. Staring back were Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati. Perfect.

Parvati, who with Lavender worshiped the ether Trelawney floated in, took in the enigmatic look on Harry's face. "Ohh, Harry, did she have another prophecy about you?"

Harry settled on a far-away smile, but didn't answer right away.

Lavender squealed. "She did, didn't she? What did she say?"

"Well, can you keep a secret, then?" he said in a lowered voice, calculated to sustain their attention.

"Of course," she quickly shot back, although Harry was thinking of course not. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks, and Ginny bit her lower lip in concentration and tried not to stare at him.

He heaved a great, dramatic sigh. "Actually, she told me that very soon I'm going to discover the love of my life."

Ginny perked up with those words.

Liking the effect he'd created with his first sigh, Harry did it again. "She had a warning for me, though. She told me that Voldemort-- " his audience flinched "--that he'd have a great interest in whoever it was, and they'd be in great danger." He widened his eyes to emphasize the seriousness of the threat. "I think you know what that means."

He noted Ginny's sudden pallor with satisfaction. He didn't intend to scare her unnecessarily, but common sense by now should have exposed the genuine risk to anyone connected to him. He was only stating the obvious - it wasn't his fault Trelawney had never actually mentioned it. Ginny had fantasies about him, he knew, but she never thought it through logically the way he did. That's what made Draco such a perfect choice - the git was tough enough to survive any danger. Well, upon consideration, Draco offered numerous other benefits, too. He lost his focus for a minute as he happily contemplated some of those benefits.

When he returned his attention to his audience he noticed Hermione and Ron staring at him; he knew they didn't buy the Trelawney story. Actually, he was counting on that. Time to divide and conquer.

"Hermione, could you spare a moment to check out something in the library with me?" he asked, trying to sound plaintive, needy, and guileless all at once. He must have succeeded, because she agreed. "Later, Ron."

* * *

Ron watched them leave with growing dismay. Harry's conversation about the love of his life had set off all kinds of alarms in his head. He tried to discount the interested look Harry had given Hermione just before the door closed. The intimate touch he'd pressed on her arm. The gentle smile he'd sent her way. To help him bury those warning signs, he repeated his brand new mantra: shit, shit, shit, shit...

Okay, so maybe he'd waited a little too long. But he was sure that Harry knew how he felt about Hermione? Didn't he? Just because he never told him.... They were boys, for fuck's sake. Boys didn't need to tell their mates to keep their hands off.

But Harry was his friend. His very best friend. Ron thought the world of him and would never deny him anything. So if Harry thought that Hermione was destined to be the love of his life, Ron would just have to suck it up.

If only Harry had picked anyone else.

Shit, shit, shit...

* * *

Draco found Millicent Bulstrode engrossed in some lurid romance novel. He read the title upside down - Love's Heaving Bodice. Draco smiled to himself as he approached and waited for acknowledgment. Because all he had to do with Millicent, of course, was to tell her the truth.

* * *

"So what did you really want to tell me, Harry?" Hermione asked on their way to the library. "You never pay attention to Trelawney's predictions."

"Dumbledore had something to say to me." He thought that was appropriately vague, especially since he left out any reference to when the conversation had taken place.

"Go on."

"About Draco Malfoy, actually."

Hermione immediately cottoned to his veiled reference. Bright girl.

"Is he going to become a Death Eater soon?"

"Dumbledore thinks not. He's convinced that Malfoy can be saved. Given the proper encouragement, that is."

Hermione stopped walking. "Encouragement?"

"You're not going to believe this." He hoped that statement was wrong. "He wants me to get close to Malfoy."

"You're already close to him," she noted wryly. "Every time you try to rip his head off after Quidditch games. When you throttle him outside Potions class. When you smash him against the wall after dinner in the Great Hall...."

"Hermione, you misjudge me," he replied, trying to sound injured. "Have I done that lately? Haven't I been tolerant?" Tolerant, and a lot more, he thought.

"Well," she answered, thinking about his recent behavior for what looked like the first time. "Actually, you've both been fairly quiet lately. Is that part of your plan?"

Very much part of my plan. Just not the same plan I'm trying to sell you.

"Don't look so surprised," he said softly. "Dumbledore must think I have a chance, or he wouldn't have asked me, now, would he?"

"And you're going to do it?" Hermione asked incredulously.

He pulled out the expression that had once been described as Saint Potter: a synthesis of noble, long-suffering, and determined. "I've been asked. Of course I'm going to do it. Wouldn't you?"

"I can't imagine...will it work, Harry?"

Better than you know. "I'm getting some friendly signals from Malfoy. So maybe Dumbledore is on to something." He added a veneer of sincerity before his final pronouncement. "I'd hate to see anyone - even Malfoy - get sucked into the Death Eater camp, knowing that I could have done something to stop it." He genuinely meant that. "But I need your help."

"How?"

He returned to his clandestine smile. "Well, you must admit that hooking up with Malfoy is going to look...unusual. I need you to act like you think it's not too strange - maybe even a good idea. Can you do that for me?"

Her accepting smile and nod were enough to send him into pleasant daydreams of soft, warm, splinterless places.

* * *

Draco heard a sibilant hiss as he strode down the hall near the Charms classroom. He turned his head curiously, to discover Harry beckoning to him from a hidden nook behind a statue of Wilbur the Weird.

"Malfoy...in here."

He slid cautiously into the alcove, finding himself comfortably tucked away from any prying eyes.

"Hey, this is pretty nice. Good spotting, Potter." There was even a cosy little bench.

Then he noticed a modest sign, engraved in deep strokes and looking rather ancient. It proclaimed, rather tersely, "No snogging." He silently pointed it out to his companion.

"Come on, Malfoy, how is anyone going to know?" Harry was rather insistent in his persuasion, Draco thought, and he allowed himself to give in to the moment wholeheartedly.

After that point, neither of them paid much attention to external events - that is, not until the tiny rain cloud that had quietly built above them unleashed its small yet effective thunderstorm, quickly drenching them both.

* * *

Harry found Neville Longbottom engrossed in a Herbology textbook. He read the title upside down - Botany's Dangerous Children. Harry smiled to himself as he approached and waited for acknowledgment. Because all he had to do with Neville, of course, was to tell him the truth.

* * *

Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson had finally managed to lose the rest of their Care of Magical Creatures classmates by slipping into a tiny tack room in the barn.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Pansy whispered seductively.

"Oooh, I love it when you talk to me and make no sense at all," Lavender shot back, but followed it with a quick kiss.

"Mmmm. Missed you."

"Me, too."

Conversation came to a halt in favor of other activities. Finally, Pansy picked up the thread of her important news.

"What would you say if I told you we weren't the only Slytherin-Gryffindor couple sneaking around?"

Lavender's eyes grew large in the dim light. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying...."

"No, tell me, Pansy. Who are you talking about?"

Pansy gave her friend a confidential smile. If Draco needed her help, she was going to make sure he got it. Just because it happened to suit her own purposes didn't mean that she wasn't looking out for his best interests, too.

"Well, it hasn't happened yet. It's still a secret. So you have to promise not to tell anyone." Fat chance. I'm counting on you to tell everyone.

"Who is it?" Pansy could tell that Lavender was almost bursting with curiosity.

"Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."

"What?" Lavender gasped. "No way, Pansy. Not happening."

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first. But I have it on good authority."

"Oh. My. God. I don't believe it."

But Pansy assured her that it was true. "Don't you see, Lavender? This is really going to help us."

"No, I don't see. What's it got to do with us?"

Pansy patiently explained. "Once it hits the halls that they are a couple, everyone's attention will be on them. I mean, just the idea of those two hooked up!" Her eyes glowed with excitement at the gift that had been dropped in their laps. "No one will pay us any mind at all after that. We'll be just a footnote. If that."

"Oh." The implications were sinking in. "I see what you mean. Hey, we'd even be trendy, wouldn't we?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, Lavender. But the pressure would be off. No more sneaking." Pansy pressed home her most important point. "But we have to make sure to let everyone know that we accept them as a couple. We need to encourage it, and hope everyone else buys in. Right?"

"Sure, Pansy, whatever you say." Lavender looked thoughtful. "You know, Harry was saying something the other day about finding the love of his life. Madam Trelawney predicted it."

Pansy, not having the consummate faith in the teacher that Lavender did, secretly rolled her eyes.

Lavender sighed. "Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Bloody unbelievable."

Pansy could only agree, but for reasons of her own.

* * *

Draco smiled benevolently at Crabbe and Goyle and their new custom Nimbus 2003 Quidditch brooms. In return, they gave him a look that reassured him they still thought he had hung the moon.

* * *

For the past year, Seamus and Dean had developed more than a passing interest in Harry's love life. This had less to do with any touching concern they had for their friend's future happiness, and much more to do with the betting pool that Justin Finch-Fletchley was running on the issue. Both boys had conservatively waited for months without placing a wager, extraordinarily alert to any expression of interest on Harry's part. The jackpot was accurately rumored to be quite large by now, and the two Gryffindors had convinced themselves that it was as good as theirs - if only they could read the signs in time.

Harry and Draco strolled to Potions behind almost all of their classmates, not walking together yet not far apart. Seamus and Dean trailed them, expecting nothing, although from habit always watchful. They were unaware that they were under similar scrutiny from their targets. As he neared the classroom door, Harry slowed to allow Draco to catch up. He turned, resting his hand intimately on the other boy's arm, where it was quickly tended to by Draco's gentle touch. Smiling wickedly, he drew very close to Draco's ear and whispered something, allowing his lips to brush skin. Satisfied with the effect, he lavished a little tongue there, waiting until he heard the sudden gasps from the two boys behind him, before he finished murmuring the message meant only for Draco. "Gentlemen, place your bets."

* * *

From the shadows Harry watched Malfoy slide quietly into the greenhouse and look nervously around.

"Draco," he whispered in greeting, and was rewarded with a smile.

Harry had taken pains to arrange a quiet spot for their rendezvous, with two stools tucked back into an alcove filled with hyacinths. The scent was overpowering, but he knew that Malfoy appreciated these refined touches. Not for the first time did he try to imagine life in Malfoy Manor, where money and culture blended into some level of gentility that Harry would never understand. Come to think of it, there was a lot about Draco that he didn't understand.

Malfoy was intelligent. He was witty and urbane. He was childish, petty, irritating, almost infuriating at times. He could be sweet if it suited him, and possessed a romantic streak a mile wide. He was incredibly sexy.

He was also going to be gone if the plan didn't work.

They greeted each other nonverbally until they both were satisfied that, once again and contrary to expectation, this was genuine.

Harry broke away to fumble with a decanter of pumpkin juice and two glasses that the house-elves had been more than happy to procure for him, pouring with a flourish. He pressed a glass into Draco's hand.

"A toast, Draco - to warm places."

Draco returned a sly smile. "And dry places."

Harry kept his eyes focused on Draco as they touched glasses and drank. His spirits were rising at Draco's pleased response to their surroundings - the exotic ambiance of the greenhouse added a touch of romance to what he hoped would be a long, uninterrupted snog session. Finally.

"Not exactly wine and roses, Harry, but not bad." Draco pulled him closer for a pumpkin-flavored kiss.

"Not bad at all," he agreed. "Everyone is at dinner. We should be alone for a while."

"So do you remember what day this is?"

Harry racked his brain, coming up blank. "Thursday, I think."

"No, that's not what I meant. For us."

It still seemed like Thursday for us, but he didn't offer that up again. He hoped his smile covered his ignorance.

"It's our anniversary," Draco finally declared. "Two months."

"Two months," he echoed, remembering their first assignation at the lake. "Sometimes it seems like two days. Or two years."

For some reason, that answer gratified Draco. A romantic streak a mile wide, Harry thought again, then said, "But I don't have anything to give you."

Draco smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he suggested, and then he hissed.

He knew exactly what Draco wanted, but he pretended not to. "What?"

But Draco wouldn't be drawn in. "You know, Harry."

"Maybe," he teased. "But I like to hear you ask anyway."

The other boy moved very close and practically purred in his ear, "Talk dirty to me in Parseltongue."

Harry laughed. "What is it about Parseltongue anyway?" He couldn't see its appeal, since it sounded like English to him. But Draco wasn't the only one with the fetish - he couldn't count the number of places he had stumbled across snakes of all kinds, planted there for him in hopes of triggering a conversation.

"It's so sexy, Harry." Draco was flirting with him coyly from beneath lowered lashes.

He granted Draco the attention he so obviously needed. "As sexy as Isis?"

Very few people knew that Draco had a tattoo. Not the expected Death Eater mark, either, but an artistic rendition of a green and silver serpent that wound sinuously around his navel. The first time Harry had caught sight of it, he'd been inspired to make conversation to the little creature. In Parseltongue, of course. The sound of the hissing language had driven Draco wild, and to their shared delight they discovered that the tattoo itself became animated when he did it. It made for a fun if unorthodox precursor to other activities. They'd named the snake Isis, for the markings around the serpent's eyes that looked like the paintings on Egyptian tombs.

Harry unbuttoned the top of Draco's trousers, carefully tucking the material back just far enough to unveil the snake - too far, and he found he instead became incoherent.

"Hello, Isis," he began, and by the blissful look on Draco's face, he knew that he no longer spoke English. "Nice to see you again. Did you miss me?" Draco never knew that he wasn't strictly talking dirty; imagination was everything. "We need to wish Draco a happy anniversary."

Suddenly, they heard the unmistakable opening click of the greenhouse door.

"Shit!"

Malfoy was faster. He threw himself face down on the rough floor and rolled smoothly under the potting table. Harry, stunned into inaction for a fatal moment, managed to sink to his knees before staring into the surprised face of Professor Sprout. What is she doing here?

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

What am I doing here...Think, think... He looked around himself quickly, latching on to a plant they'd been studying this week. He struggled to his feet. "I needed to redraw my picture of the gloriosa plant, Professor. I didn't like how my first one turned out."

She beamed. "It's always nice to see a student take interest in his work," she gushed. "Ten points to Gryffindor - for your thoroughness."

Harry gave a startled jump from a sharp pain in his ankle, where Draco had given him a fierce pinch. He moved farther along the table, away from those nasty fingers lying in wait, and reached for his book bag. Extracting a quill and paper, he arranged them studiously on the potting table, leaned in, and prepared to draw.

"Gloriosa is one of my favorite plants," Sprout continued as he sketched the stem. She began a lecture on the plant just for Harry, who was paying very little attention to her as it had been stolen by the hidden yet insistent hands that were trailing along the front of his legs, even now climbing higher and higher up his calves, dallying around his knees, massaging his thighs, and they better not go any higher ... Oh god, Malfoy, you are so evil....

Harry abruptly stepped back from the table at the same time those mischievous hands grabbed his ankles, and down he went.

He heard a whispered silencing charm from under the table. Turning his head from his undignified position flat on his back, he saw Draco howling with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes, behind his noise-proof sanctuary. Draco looked so appealing there that Harry had to fight the urge to crawl under the table after him and snog him silly.

Instead, he muttered assurances to his bewildered teacher and regained his feet. Luckily, the incident had driven the lecture from her mind, and she soon said her goodbyes and left.

"I am going to kill you," Harry growled, but his smile denied the threat. He reached under the table and helped Draco to his feet. The other boy had calmed down - a little - but was still chuckling.

"You should have seen your face, Potter."

He brushed dirt off Draco's shirt and trousers, hoping that Draco's good humor would carry him past the realization that once again he'd ended up begrimed and on the ground. He tossed off a little Parseltongue for good measure, but their mood had unmistakably sobered with the interruption.

"We need to get going, Harry, before Sprout gets it in her mind to come back," Draco said, with undisguised disappointment. He'd just discovered how filthy he'd become from rolling in the dirt under the potting table.

Harry's frustration matched Draco's. He'd thought they'd finally found a nice hideaway. Instead, once again, they'd been thwarted. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Could Voldemort be responsible? He couldn't kill Harry, so was he instead trying to ruin his sex life?

"I 've got to stay and finish the drawing," he said regretfully. "She'll expect it now."

Malfoy looked even more unhappy at that. "But it's our anniversary." Harry suddenly feared that this was his last chance with the frustrated Slytherin.

"I'm sorry. Look, I'll make it up to you tomorrow." He mustered up his brightest smile. "I think the plan is ready. Is breakfast okay with you?"

Malfoy perked up. "Breakfast? Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'll ever be." Harry hoped the assertion covered any lack of conviction. "By this time tomorrow, Draco, we'll be as public as we want to be."

"Somewhere warm? Somewhere clean?" Draco was slowly being won back to the cause.

"With upholstery and house-elf service. I promise."

Draco smiled. Harry drew him closer, carefully brushing a dessicated earthworm from Draco's formerly silky hair.

"Meet me for breakfast at the door to the Great Hall. We're aiming for a fashionably late entrance."

* * *

As kisses go, it was pretty chaste. Not particularly remarkable or noteworthy in its execution. A slowing of steps, a small turning, a slight hesitation, a slow leaning together, a tenuous clasp of hands, a gentle press of lips, a unmistakable lack of tongue.

A sudden, overpowering silence in the Great Hall.

Harry and Draco took a slight step back from each other, nervously exchanged a final glance, and turned to their respective tables to evaluate the outcome of the plan.

At the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle gave the newly christened couple a cursory glance, but seemed blithely unconcerned with anything except their plates - and their very expensive custom Nimbuses nestled close by. Millicent wore a misty, romantic smile and dabbed at her eyes with a handy tissue. Blaise gave Draco a bright grin and a thumbs up. Pansy echoed that sentiment, and shot a meaningful look at Lavender Brown, who returned the smile. The rest of the Slytherin table, expecting to take their cue from the seventh-year leaders, were thrown into confusion by the unexpected acceptance they found.

As the sound level grew in waves, Parvati Patil's delighted voice could be heard from the Gryffindor table, "She was right. She was right." Seamus and Dean exchanged boisterous high-fives with each other and anyone around them within reach, nearly knocking over Ginny, who was clinging to a grinning Neville with affectionate relief. Hermione was beaming her benediction to Harry, trying not to blush from her enjoyment at having Ron's arm slung possessively, if belatedly, around her. Ron's expression of pleasure at the sudden release from his current mantra allowed Harry to finally relax and enjoy the obviously genuine benevolence of their friends.

Harry and Draco shared a sly smile, unseen by the other students.

"My common room or yours?" Harry whispered sweetly.

"Not so fast, Potter," Draco warned. "Look."

Harry followed Draco's eyes to the head table, where the reaction of the Hogwarts staff was decidedly more antagonistic. Professor Snape glowered darkly. Professor McGonagall looked as though she had swallowed an owl pellet. The rest of the staff wore similar sour faces. Only Professor Dumbledore smiled peacefully at them, and from his expression Harry suspected that Seamus and Dean would be reluctantly sharing their winnings.

Draco looked worried. "I think we forgot somebody, Harry. To be precise, a whole lot of somebodies."

Harry allowed his smile to broaden decisively. "Not to worry, Draco. I have a plan...."

Fin.