Understandable Insanity

Chapter II

Potter pulled away abruptly, and, at about the same time, Draco's senses returned to him. He remained leaning against the wall where he had been pressed, unable to inspire himself to move, staring in utter horror at the other boy. To his credit, Harry Potter seemed to be having a fit of some kind.

"What did you do that for?" The Great Hero demanded. Draco didn't even bother trying to conceal his incredulity.

"What did I-? You kissed me. You kissed, you-oh god." Draco suddenly felt very nauseous, and let his head fall backwards and smack against the wall. "I'm contaminated now. I'm probably going to break out in god only knows what! Am I turning colors? Why am I bothering asking you? You, you-you." For once, his vast array of insults failed him and he felt completely deserted. What could he trust if not his own biting wit? "Is this some new plan of yours? Are you going to snog me into submission? Disgust me to death?"

"What, you think I'm not disgusted?" Potter's voice sounded high and rather hysterical, and he seemed to be doing everything possible to avoid looking at Draco. He kept balling his hands into fists, and then shaking them out again. His left eye also seemed to be twitching slightly, but Draco had no sympathy for the Mad Snogger.

"I don't care! You kissed me, you dreadful, disturbed, perverted-"

"Shut up," Potter whispered urgently, eyes going wide. "Someone's going past. If they find us in here, they might think-"

"What? That we've been snogging in the broom shed? Hate to break it to you, Potter, but-"

"Shh!" Potter hushed him frantically again, and Draco reluctantly obeyed. He despised Harry Potter, and would love to reveal to the whole school that Harry Potter, in addition to saving all of wizardkind, liked to jump poor, unsuspecting Slytherins inside dusty broom sheds. But there was the small matter of his involvement in the event. The tale really didn't work if the victim wasn't present, and Draco was not about to announce to the whole school that he personally had been kissed by Harry Potter. He would probably be assassinated in the Great Hall by a member of the Potter fan club gone stark-raving mad with grief that she hadn't been the one to taste Potter's lips. A shudder passed through his body. It was even more disgusting when he thought of it like that.

Not to mention the fact that he would probably be excommunicated from Slytherin, and left with no one to boss around. He would be an outcast in Hogwarts, possibly be expelled for total indecency, and end up living in the woods, becoming hairy and dirty, and communicating through a series of vaguely word-like grunts like that disturbingly large grounds-keeper. That thought was especially painful, so he kept his mouth shut until the voices and footsteps faded.

Potter gave a massive sigh of relief, and Draco, sure the other students were safely out of earshot, rounded on him again.

"Is this some kind of kink with you? Does pummeling and chasing defenseless people turn you on? I don't want to have anything to do with your sadomasochistic urges!"

"Defenseless? Like you're such a push-over, Malfoy. And I don't even know what that is!"

"Sadomasochism," Draco repeated, pronouncing each syllable distinctly enough that even a rock-brained idiot like Harry Potter should be able to understand it. "S and M. Sadist and masochist. Dominant and submissive. The sexual pleasure in giving and receiving pain. I will not be a part of your kinky bondage! Besides, it couldn't work because I'm not a masochist, and then we'd have two sadists, and be all S and no M which really defeats the purpose." Potter gawked and Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on. Don't try to play dumb with me. I've heard all about those crazed Gryffindor orgies." Potter looked even more disturbed. "Cut out the innocence act, you don't live in a giant phallic symbol without having some...issues."

Potter looked to be attempting to form words and failing miserably at it. Draco sighed, feeling very put-upon, and looked around.

"God, when was the last time someone dusted this place? It's horrid in here."

"You're thinking about dust at a time like this?" Potter's horror was mostly replaced by disbelief, and he bit his lip. "Don't blame me for all of this."

"Why not? You are to blame for all this. You chased me, pinned me against the wall, and kissed me. What twisted universe do you live in where this is not your fault?"

"Look, I might have--" Potter struggled to say the words "--kissed you, a bit."

"A bit?" Draco said in disbelief, folding his arms across his chest. Potter ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

"All right, maybe a lot. But you...you kissed me back."

"Means nothing," Draco scoffed. "I'm a teenage boy. Raging hormones and all that. I'd probably kiss Professor Snape back." He considered this for a moment and his face contorted with disgust. "Ugh, why did I even say that? He doesn't wash his hair."

"Plus, he's a man," Potter cleverly pointed out. Draco shrugged.

"It happens."

"You don't care that you're talking about kissing a man?"

"Not particularly. Why, do you?" Potter looked away, and Draco laughed in triumph. "So that's what this is all about. You don't like the idea of not being the Great Heterosexual Hero anymore."

"Shut up."

"No, really, it's just too precious. You should be more open-minded."

"Open-minded? Open-minded? You are telling me to be more 'open-minded'? You're the biggest bigot I've ever met." Draco shrugged.

"Yes, but I am Draco Malfoy, fiendishly attractive creator of brilliantly evil plans. You're the Boy-Who-Lived. It's your job to be loving, and embracing, and all that wimpy good-side rot."

"You have no right to criticize me-"

"Who ever told you I needed a right? I am what I am. It's not my fault; it's just the way things worked out. And despite what you may want to believe, it's also not my fault that you don't fancy girls."

"I do fancy girls," Potter stubbornly insisted. Draco arched his eyebrows at him.

"Oh, obviously."

"This was just...momentary insanity. I hate you."

"And I hate you. That said, want to do it again?"

"What?!" Draco leaned back against the wall again, and made a show of picking some mud from under his nails.

"You heard me. Want to do it again?"

"Do what exactly?"

"I would think that abundantly obvious." Potter put a hand to his temple and began shaking his head.

"You did not just say that. You could not have said that. Either I'm having the worst nightmare of my life or you have gone completely mental."

"Look Potter, I don't like this anymore than you do. But I asked you a very simple question: do you want to kiss me again?" Harry Potter stopped shaking his head, and looked cautiously at Draco through his fingers. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He opened his eyes again, and Draco could see something that looked a good deal like pain in them.

"Yes."

"Well then, what are you doing all the way over there?" Potter's eyes expanded, but Draco kept his expression uninterested. Hero Potter struggled, then, ever so slowly, he closed the distance between them. They stood once again; Draco leaning nonchalantly against the wall with Harry Potter standing just inside his personal space, looking uncomfortable. Potter looked helplessly at Draco, who remained blank. Resigning himself to the fact that Draco was not going to make the first move, Harry leaned slowly towards him, placing a hand on the wall to brace himself.

Draco waited until Potter was only centimeters away, eyes closing slowly, before he smoothly slid to his left, ducking under Harry's arm. The sidestep was completely unexpected and Harry very nearly got a mouthful of splintery wall. Luckily, he stopped himself in time, and turned around quickly, eyes once again wide with confusion. Draco looked at him levelly for a moment, then scoffed.

"You must be completely daft. You really thought I was going to allow you to kiss me? Sickening. You're even more of an idiot than I imagined, and that, let me tell you, is quite an accomplishment." Harry mouthed wordlessly, looking totally baffled by the change in events. Draco arched his eyebrows and pulled a grotesquely "sympathetic" face. "What? Did I hurt your precious little feelings? Too bad. I would never touch you willingly." With one last derisive sniff, he turned to leave. He was just starting to pull the door open when he heard scuffling behind him. Potter's hand connected with the door at the height of its momentum, slamming it shut so hard that particles of dust were shaken loose from the roof.

Draco turned around to make a cutting remark; he had one set and ready for deployment. But once again, he never got so far. Draco Malfoy found himself kissing Harry Potter (rather enthusiastically) for the second time that afternoon. This was on its way to becoming a very bad habit. He allowed himself to continue in the kissing for only a minute or two before he summoned the presence of mind and bodily control to shove the impudent Gryffindor off him.

"What was that?" He demanded, incensed. Potter reached up to run a finger over his own lips, as though wondering how they had betrayed him so.

"I dunno."

"You 'dunno.' Fantastic. I'm being molested by a hero who can't even use proper English."

"I am not molesting you! I don't even like you!"

"Are you mad? Did it somehow escape your notice that you've spent a decent part of your afternoon kissing me?"

"Doesn't mean I like you. I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual. So, this need for man-love, did it come all at once in a rush, or was it more of a slow, steady decline into-"

"For the last time, I do not like boys."

"Oh, so it's just me then. What a comforting thought; that makes me feel so much better." Harry shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

"That's not what I meant." Draco crossed his arms protectively across his chest and looked at Harry suspiciously. One never knew when the Mad Snogger might strike again, it was best to remain on guard.

"No? What did you mean, then?" Harry gave him a searching look, as though he was trying to find an answer reflected in Draco's eyes. Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I don't know."

"Brilliant. You do realize that no one can ever know about this?" Harry snorted.

"This? What is this?"

"I--" Draco realized in a rush that, for the second time today, he couldn't think of anything witty to say. It was a disturbing feeling. He felt strangely empty. If he couldn't fire off nasty insults to Potter, a good deal of his arsenal would be gone. He'd be left with merely gloating and being gorgeous. "I don't know."

"Whatever it is, it has to stop," Harry interjected. Draco stared at him as though Potter had just said something along the lines of 'Breathing is generally advisable' or 'Draco Malfoy, you are rather good-looking.' Potter quailed slightly under Draco's incredulous gaze, turning away.

"What we need--" it was obvious Draco was going to have to be the brains of this operation as well "--is a plan. No, not a plan. A plot! A fiendish plot."

"You are tot-"

"Shut up for half a second, Potter. Friendly tip: inhale through those nifty little openings above your mouth."

"I don't need you to tell me how to breathe, Malfoy."

"Well, better safe than sorry. Though in your case..." Draco shut his eyes and reprimanded himself firmly. "No. Don't get involved with the moron. You have to plot."

"I'm not a-"

"By Merlin's staff, Potter! Which part of 'shut up' is causing so much confusion with you?" Potter still looked very indignant, but he cleverly chose to sulk rather than interrupt Draco again. It was probably the smartest thing Potter had done all day, possibly in his entire life. Draco needed silence if he was going to come up with a fiendish plot.

-----

Harry watched Draco cautiously. The disturbing urges to grab him and flatten him against the wall had not yet subsided, and he thought it would be in the best interest of Malfoy, himself, and the wizarding world in general if he kept his distance.

"I've got it!" About time, Harry though treacherously, then felt sorry, then angry again. Why should he feel sorry? He had nothing to be sorry about. If Malfoy hadn't been such a bother, interrupting practice, dragging him out here, everything would be fine. Everything would be how it was supposed to be. Because the way things were, it was obvious that something in the cosmic plan had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Malfoy was still talking, gesturing animatedly and making various fiendish facial expressions, but Harry had already tuned him out. Why? It had been haunting him this entire afternoon. Thing s had been going fine. Things were great. Quidditch was going well, he hadn't had mounds of homework waiting for him to return to the Tower; he was happy with his life. Then he had been overcome by that strange compulsion, and he couldn't seem to stop himself. As kisses go, he had to admit it hadn't been bad. Not bad at all. But he had been hit with the horrible realization that those were Draco Malfoy's lips touching his own, and Draco Malfoy's chest he was leaning into, and Draco Malfoy's shoulder he was gripping, and his whole world crumbled into dust at his still-booted feet.

Harry hated Draco Malfoy. He still hated him. Even after whatever it was happened, he could still feel the familiar hate struggling inside. But there was something different about it. It wasn't as hot, or sharp. It was duller, warmer somehow. Almost...affectionate. Affectionate hatred was a peculiar concept, even for a boy with as peculiar a life as Harry. He still couldn't stand the thought of Malfoy, of his family, of his nasty words and superior stares. But standing here, looking at Malfoy, he didn't feel so negative. The actual, flesh and pureblood Malfoy standing in the broom shed with him, prattling on about some 'fiendish plot' he was obviously very proud of, instilled him with nothing more than slight annoyance. And Harry hated that.

It was one of the constants of his world. Hermione and Ron would always be there for him, Voldemort would always fall back to shadow, the Dursleys would always be odious, and he would always hate Draco Malfoy. This boy was...a boy. Harry realized that he had never thought of him like that before. In his mind, Malfoy had always been a creature of malevolent stature, immediately visible in any crowd. But Malfoy was shorter than Harry. As simple and obvious as that fact was, Harry had never noticed before. Malfoy was a Death Eater's son, a Death Eater in training, a bratty bigot, a snob. And a person. He was shorter than Harry, he existed in the same room, the same life. He was real. Of course he's real, some part of Harry snapped, he's a pain in your arse. That's all he's ever been to you, a quieter, stranger part of Harry murmured back, a character. A symbol. He's not really so different from you, is he?

Was he? He was. He was very, very different from Harry. In all the ways that mattered, Malfoy and Harry were opposites. Even in the ways that didn't matter, the only similarity was age. And that was hardly a foundation for reconciliation, for a relationship. Hang on. Relationship?

"-and though I'll accept it might be difficult to convince Madame Hooch, I still think it's our best option. So? Potter?" Harry snapped back to focus. Malfoy was watching him, eyebrows arched expectantly. He did that a lot, Harry noted. And his expression always perfectly conveyed his message. How did he manage it? Did he practice on unsuspecting first years in the Slytherin common room?

"I suddenly think I know why I always beat you." Malfoy bristled noticeably. He sneered, unsurprisingly.

"Bravo, Potter. Another epiphany for you? What could it be?" He screwed up his face and squinted, which Harry recognized as a very unflattering imitation of himself. "'Because good will always triumph over evil goons like you, Draco'?"

"No." Harry smiled. "Because your fiendish plots stink." Malfoy's mouth fell open into an expression of abject horror.

"What? You-you-you-" He snapped his mouth shut and sniffed mightily. "Well, you obviously didn't understand the subtle nuances of my brilliantly fiendish plot."

"I probably didn't. I was only kidding." Malfoy looked slightly placated. Harry didn't know why his mouth was saying these strange things.

"Of course you were. Even a Gryffindor can see the genius of my plots."

"Yeah. I thought it was really good." What are you saying, Harry? What's wrong with you? Malfoy preened.

"It was one of my better ones." Harry almost smiled at Malfoy's obvious glee at being praised, before remembering that this was Malfoy he was watching.

"But wouldn't it just be easier if one of us left, then the other waited for a while, then left?" Malfoy dropped his self-satisfied cat grin and frowned.

"No, it wouldn't be, because, well, obviously...fiendish plots are not supposed to be 'easy'."

"Well," Harry suddenly was feeling very tired. It had, after all, been a very long and very stressful day. "Maybe you can save that plot for another time. I'm going to go to bed."

He left. And he grinned at both the cool, fresh air of the outdoors hitting his face, and the indignant open-mouthed expression he had glimpsed on Malfoy's face just before he turned away.