Superlatives

Strangely enough, he knew exactly which day this picture was taken. That was saying something, considering just how many fights the infamous rivals had been involved in. Neither wizard had even bothered drawing their wands that day, both desperately needing the violent clarity of physical combat. They'd skipped past the warm-up round and straight to the big time. Draco asked if Harry'd gotten anyone killed lately, and Harry asked if Draco'd been violated by the Dark Lord lately. Instant carnage.

The Slytherin Prince had leapt forward with a growl, slamming Harry bodily into the stone wall. The raven-haired wizard had chuckled gleefully up into his archenemy's face, and Draco had leaned in, using his own lithe form to trap him.

"Jealous, Potter?" he'd drawled.

This was the moment the camera had immortalized, an instant before Draco aimed a right hook, and Harry ducked, sweeping the other boy's legs out from under him. What followed was a lot of rolling and tussling; leaving each bruised and battered when McGonagall and Snape finally yanked them apart.

The photo, however, only showed Draco pressing Harry into the wall with his body, Harry tilting his face up to grace his nemesis with a wicked grin, and then Draco leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Their eyes met in a blaze of emerald and silver, and it looked for all the world that their next move would be quite different from what actually transpired.

"Holy fuck," he repeated, this time barely a whisper.

Then he heard Dean murmur, "Is it just me or..."

"Does it look like they're about to shag right there in the hallway?" Seamus finished for him, with a wink at Harry.

"Hell yeah," Dean said softly, eyes glazing slightly.

"BLIGGGHHHENHHK AORRRRGHHH!" Ron gargled, looking one shade of red away from a coronary.

Harry felt it wise to ignore him, choosing instead to let his gaze be drawn to his platinum-haired nemesis. Draco was holding up rather well, unleashing his patented Malfoy glare on anyone dense enough to question him. His face was a perfect mask of sneering confidence, but as Harry watched, the Slytherin Ice Prince's eyes kept flitting to the photo.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked worriedly.

The boy in question forcibly reined himself in. Things would start breaking otherwise. "I'm bloody-fucking marvelous, love."

His voice was low and sibilant, causing everyone around him to instinctively back away. Harry Potter was scarier than Voldemort and Grindelwald combined when he was brassed off. Usually, this was the part where he'd stalk from the Great Hall in a great swooshing of robes that rivaled Snape's, but instead he deliberately stayed where he was and took another sip of his pumpkin juice. He certainly didn't look at the photo again. Not that he needed to, the damning image was already burned in his memory.

Harry didn't speak for the rest of breakfast, or on the long walk to the dungeons for double Potions with the Slytherins. Ron, however, had tragically found his voice and was currently subjecting the Boy Who Lived to a nonstop litany of his outrage. Ron had gone from blaming the yearbook staff, to blaming Malfoy for carrying out some evil plot, to blaming Harry himself. The problem with Ron was that he still thought Harry purposely sought out attention, and had yet to get over his insane jealousy. It was a constant source of bitterness between them.

They entered the Potions classroom, and Harry went straight for a seat beside Neville, allowing Hermione and Ron to take the bench in front of them. Ron had moved on to the subject of gayness in general, and how utterly disgusting and insulting it was to imply that Harry and Malfoy were a couple, even as a joke, and especially given that Malfoy was an evil, slimy snake. Lather, rinse, and repeat ad nauseum.

Harry stared straight ahead, acknowledging no one. Truth be told, Ron's thoughtless words were making him angrier than the photo itself. He'd never given much thought to his sexuality; having an evil Dark Lord hanging about in your head was a real buzz-kill, but something about Ron's words burned him. For one thing, he was fairly certain that Seamus and Dean were more than friends, though they were very discreet about it. Harry firmly believed that it didn't matter who a person was attracted to, but why did he feel so personally insulted by the redhead's diatribe?

This whole incident had given him unwelcome insight into his best mate's views on several subjects. Most notably that Ron still didn't understand him; he was blinded by his resentment over Harry's Boy Who Lived status. Ron didn't see the consequences. Like all the blood on his hands, for example. Or the fact that he'd never find someone he was compatible with. No one could see past his fame, and being number one on a psychopath's hit list was such a turn-off for some people. Go figure.

He found himself incongruously thankful when Snape came billowing in, striding swiftly to the front of the classroom. The professor looked like someone had cast an Engorgement Charm on the broom up his arse.

"Silence!" Snape roared over the rampant chatter, and Harry was appreciative when even Ron closed his mouth instantly. His relief faded, however, when the Potions master glared wrathfully at him, clearly indicating that this entire fiasco was Harry's fault.

"Today you will work in pairs to prepare the potion on the board." He gleefully paused to allow his students a small measure of hope, and then added, "Your partners are as follows..."