The Society for the Admiration of Harry Potter

"This meeting of the Society for the Admiration and Promotion of Harry, A Potter is officially called to order."

Colin sighed. "I think we should shorten the name," he said contemplatively.

Ginny looked up from her clipboard and glared. "That's not the way we do things, Colin," she said sharply. "If you really want to change the name, grab a form and submit it to the agenda. When--if--it clears committee, we can hold a procedural vote. But I wouldn't hold your breath."

Padma frowned. "You know, I've never really thought that made sense," she mused aloud. "I mean, Ginny, you're the committee. And you were the one that came up with that stupid name."

"I've always been rather fond of 'Heroic and Admirable Harry,'" Millicent said. "HAH. Remember? I suggested that our first meeting."

Ginny blushed, flustered. "Yes, well..."

"How about Scar-Headed Idiotic Twat?" Draco suggested.

Colin frowned. "Wait, doesn't that spell--"

"Yes, we can all spell," Ginny interrupted hastily. "Anyway, Draco, I thought you liked Harry."

Millicent smirked. Draco defied all laws of humanity and skin-color and grew even paler. Millicent knew what had happened at breakfast this morning. Draco, in his stupidity, had told Pansy, who in turn had told Blaise, who had been kind enough to inform the entire House of Draco's personal life and was currently sitting, petrified, in the back of a broom cupboard. Not that Draco had anything to do with that.

"I never liked that git," Draco informed the group, very loudly. "Never ever. He's a stupid bastard, as far as I'm concerned. And--well, if I ever thought differently, then he set me straight, didn't he?"

Millicent had to stifle a giggle.

"I have seen the light," Draco intoned. "The light at the end of the tunnel. It used to not be there because Potter's big head was blocking it."

"That's nice, Draco," Ginny said tolerantly. "And to think, just a few days ago you were complaining that you couldn't spy on him."

"I have put away my childish things and become a man," Draco informed her solemnly.

Luna smiled. "It's so difficult to take you seriously," she said.

Draco stared at her. "You're not exactly one to talk, Loony."

She clapped her hands happily. "Oh, you even know my nickname!"

"Padma!" Ginny said delightedly, as if she was only now noticing that Padma was in the room. "I'm so happy you're here! You can tell us all about what Harry's been up to today. Since Draco isn't doing it anymore, and everything."

Padma raised an eyebrow at Ginny's enthusiastic behavior, but didn't otherwise seem to be bothered. "He hasn't done much, actually," she reported. "I've only seen him a few times, sulking around the halls. Without Ron and Hermione, actually."

At this, everyone but Draco gasped loudly.

"Oh, poor Harry!" Millicent wailed.

Colin patted her shoulder sympathetically. "But he'll soldier through, and so must we," he declared bravely.

"I don't get it," Draco said. "What's the big deal?"

The rest of the group exchanged exasperated glances, as if they were considering how to deal with a deliberately ignorant child.

"Harry only leaves Ron and Hermione when he's really upset," Ginny informed him in a hushed voice.

"What, are they attached at the hip or something? Does the boy have no independent thought?"

"He saw someone die!" Colin Creevey whispered.

"Yes, and I've seen my father naked. Both very traumatizing experiences. But I still don't understand why he doesn't just ditch them once in a while."

"That'--that's not the point," Padma insisted. "The point is, Harry has been very upset all day, and I've no idea why, and I'm worried about him, that's what."

"We're all worried," Millicent said softly, and the others murmured their agreement.

"Not me!" Draco announced. "I hope the bloody git wallows in his sorrows. I hope he throws himself off of the astronomy tower. I don't care about him. Not one bit. Never have."

Luna looked astonished. "But isn't he your brother? My father says--"

Draco winced. Being Potter's brother would put a new, even more horrifying light on some thoughts he had been having lately. "My father was not responsible for that moody freak!" Draco said hysterically. "Nor my mother, just so we're clear."

"Does everybody have to bring their fathers into this?" Ginny wondered aloud. "My father has the largest private collection of spark plugs in Europe, but you certainly don't hear me bragging about it."

"That's probably a smart move," Draco advised her.

Colin cleared his throat loudly. "Anyway," he said. "The point is, Harry's upset, and we need to do something about it."

"Set his hair on fire? It could only be an improvement."

"No," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I think we should start spending more time planning his party, since it's coming up so soon."

"Ooh! I had the most perfect idea for a decorating scheme!" Millicent squealed.

Draco sighed, and tried his very best to ignore her and the rest of the club as they waved their arms and shouted out ideas. It was a dull, rainy afternoon; and Draco, deep in the castle, could hardly have heard it falling on the windows and rooftops. But, or so he imagined, he could feel it well enough. He was certainly every bit as melancholy as Potter. But no one was going out of their way to cheer him up. They were leaving him alone with his thoughts, which seemed to begin and end with Potter and really weren't much comfort.

It started with the fact that he had actually sort of become friends with Potter the past few weeks, whether he liked it or not (and he most certainly did not). But Potter was--well, he was a lot more tolerable than Draco had thought, and funnier; and while the noble hero savior thing was bloody annoying, it was also sort of endearing.

And so. There was all of that.

And now there was this. That Potter no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. Which Draco didn't have a problem with, he reminded himself. Not at all.

But then again--if Potter would just talk to him--

"What do you think, Draco?" Colin asked. "Would orange be better for the streamers, or gold? I was thinking that orange would represent--"

"Puce," Draco said dully. "I think that everything should be puce and taupe."

Yes, Draco decided. If only he could talk to Potter, everything would be fine, one way or another. They could either go back to mutual hatred, which was fun and a little exhausting and which Potter seemed to be favoring; or they could be friends, which was just as fun and much less tiring.

There was absolutely no need to acknowledge anything else. Draco certainly would rather not.

"I don't know, Draco, do you think you could get a Crumple-Horned Snorkack for Harry's party?" Luna wondered. "Only I don't know where to get one, but my father says that you have a menagerie at Malfoy Manor, and I would break in but that seems rude now that--"

"We have albino peacocks," Draco informed her haughtily. "That is as far as I go."

They had been drunk, for god's sake. It didn't count if you were drunk. It wasn't an experience Draco cared to repeat; drunk, sober, or tied to a hippogriff.

It wasn't as if Potter were an especially good kisser, or anything. Granted, he was probably the best kiss Draco had had in a while, but his main competition was Pansy, Blaise, some third year, and Gregory Goyle. And yes, the thing he had done with his tongue had been quite nice, but Draco had been in an alcohol induced haze at the time and could hardly remember it. Probably Potter had been licking his nose, or something equally disgusting. Obviously, that's not how he remembered it, but he couldn't even trust his own memory, clouded as it was with the deceptive wiles of firewhiskey.

No need for a repeat experience of that.

So Draco would talk to him. He was a Gryffindor, and an utter idiot, but he was also altruistic and the kind of person who might listen to Draco.

And so, decided on his next course of action, he stood, stretched, and headed for the door.

"Draco Malfoy!" Ginny said indignantly. "Just where do you think you're going?"

Draco stopped short, remembering all too well his attempted escape at the first meeting. "Out," he said crossly. "You can't make me stay."

He was surprised when no one stopped him, but even more surprised when Ginny stood up as he was leaving.

"I think I'll come with you," she said brightly, and Draco could think of no reason why she couldn't, except for, "I'm going to talk to Harry Potter." And he didn't exactly fancy telling her that he wanted to talk to the Scar-Headed Idiotic Twat.

She managed to convey some last minute instructions to the rest of the club as she was leaving.

"Luna," she said gravely, as she handed over her clipboard and quill. "I'll expect you to take charge while I'm out. I know you can handle your duties well."

"Oh, come on," Draco said irritably, grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her away.

"Don't let me down!" Ginny called over her shoulder as Draco led her down the hallway.

Aside from occasionally glaring at each other, they walked in relative peace until they reached a staircase. "Where were you going, anyway?" Ginny asked him curiously.

"Nowhere," Draco growled.

"Well, that's good," she said. "Then we can talk."

Draco gulped. He remembered the last time Ginny Weasley had wanted to talk to him.

"I've been meaning to bring this up for a while," she said. "Draco, the fact is, it doesn't feel like we have your full heart, and your soul. Are you really dedicated to this club?"

Draco stared at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted an extra head. "No!" he said. "Did you swallow something in Potions? You blackmailed me into this, and now you're asking for my heart and my soul?"

"Not anymore," she said grimly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, Draco...hmm, I don't know how to put this, but--I don't know if you're suited, really, to the atmosphere of trust and tolerance and Harry Potter admiration that I'm trying to foster."

"So? Get to the point."

She sighed heavily and looked away. "The point, Draco," she said sadly. "Is that I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave the club." Draco turned to her, startled. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "There are lots of other clubs you can join," she said gently. "Lots of fan clubs even, if you like those. Why, there's even a fan club for--" she cut herself off abruptly. "I am sorry, but you never seemed to like it much anyway."

Which was true. Draco didn't like it, and he never had, but--he wanted an excuse to be around Potter. Even if it was only an excuse for himself.

"But you need me," he pleaded, rather desperately. "For the party. I'm bringing the peacocks."

She sighed. "Also, I don't know that the peacocks are a good idea. I don't think Dumbledore would mind, but do we really want peacock feathers in our snack mix?"

"They're albino," Draco protested. "We had them specially bred in Algeria."

"I always thought the whole point of peacocks was to be bright and colorful," she said. "There's nothing special about them if they're white. They might as well be giant white turkeys."

Draco gave a strangled cry, meant to indicate fury.

"Well, Draco, if that's it then," she said placidly, and wandered off.

And, left to his own devices, Draco wandered off to find Harry Potter.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Compared to the incident at breakfast, their next meeting went remarkably well, Draco thought.

Potter was in the library--alone, as Padma had said, and shredding a Potions essay to bits.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said warily. "I thought we might talk."

"Quit it with the insinuations!" Potter said hysterically. "I want nothing to do with you!"

Draco frowned. "And I want to talk to you, you stupid prat, but you're making that a bit difficult, aren't you?"

"I should hope so," Potter said, shoving a pile of his things into a bag. "I'm leaving now. Don't follow me."

"Of course not," Draco said. "But by a happy coincidence, I, too, am leaving the library. We can walk together."

"No, we can't," Potter said, shoving his Transfiguration book into his bag with what Draco felt was unwonted venom.

"Then I'll talk, and you can listen," Draco said, still not at all sure what he actually intended to talk about.

"Oh, stop harassing me, Malfoy!" Potter exclaimed. "I know it's a hobby of yours, but if you could be nice for one day, I'd want it to be today. And I know you can--because the past few weeks you've actually been--oh, I don't even know, but I know you aren't always such a prat."

Draco blinked at him. Potter seemed rather shocked that they hadn't killed each other yet, and stared back. For quite a long time. Potter was breathing heavily through his nose, and Draco felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as the warmth hit his cheeks. It wasn't, as Draco would have expected, unpleasant to be this near Potter. He would have thought there would be awkwardness at the least after their meeting in Hogsmeade--but this felt good, and natural. Whenever Draco was normally this close to Potter, there were fists involved, and that felt good too, a kind of release--but this was an entirely different kind of pleasure, one that Draco couldn't define.

Potter seemed to recognize it, too. Draco saw that in the way he twisted his lips as if he were going to say something, leaned forward as if he were going to whisper a secret.

Then, with a howl of rage, he shook himself and hurried away.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

"My intentions are misunderstood," Draco informed Pansy that evening, as he lay on the couch and she stroked his hair. "All I want to do is talk to the dirty git. I'm not going to hex him, though he seems intent on forcing me to."

"Poor Draco," she cooed sympathetically. "Poor, misunderstood Draco."

"It's because I'm a Slytherin," Draco said darkly. "Potter hates me based on our house stereotype, the slimy prejudiced little Gryffindor."

"If only Blaise were here," Pansy said wistfully. "Blaise would know what to do. But I haven't seen him all day, have you?"

Draco pinked. "No, not once," he said, in a voice rather higher than his normal one. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere. Heh."

Pansy didn't seem to notice anything unusual. "And you're sure you just want to talk to Potter?" she asked delicately.

"Pansy!" Draco said indignantly, swatting her hand away. "Of course I'm sure! What do you take me for?"

She shrugged. "It's just," she said. "You seem a little worked up for just missing out on talking. I've never thought Potter was that scintillating for conversation, myself. You seem a bit obsessed. There's always me to talk to, you know. Though I suppose," she mused. "You two have always had a bit of an odd relationship, haven't you?"

"Our relationship," Draco informed her haughtily. "Is formed of nothing but bitter virulence and loathing. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Pansy."

She sighed. "Maybe Blaise would, if he was around."

Draco quickly made his excuses and left.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

But the next afternoon, he found himself remarkably unoccupied. Since he'd become a Saphaprodite, he'd become an expert on finishing homework the day it was assigned. Now that he'd been expelled from the club, he found he had very little to do with his extra time.

Very little to do indeed. Except to look for Harry Potter.

Today, Potter was on the Quidditch Pitch. He'd been banned a few months ago, Draco recalled. Draco had practically squealed with glee when he'd heard the news.

"Do you miss it much?" Draco asked--a perfectly friendly, sane conversation starter.

"Miss what?" Potter shrieked, jumping as if he'd been slapped. He looked terrified (worthless Gryffindor), and Draco had a fleeting, inexplicable urge to touch his face or his back and say something comforting close in his ear; accompanied by a curious surge of the feeling he'd had in the library yesterday.

Since, under the present circumstances, that was impossible, Draco's feelings manifested themselves in very convenient insults. "Quidditch, you arse," Draco said irritably. "You're standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch staring at the sky. What did you think I was talking about?"

Potter considered him, and looked as if he might actually give a serious answer, before shaking himself in that peculiar way he had and glaring.

"Why are you so nasty?" he wailed. "I asked Ron why you keep tormenting me, and he said it's probably blackmail, so whatever you want, Malfoy, just tell me!"

"I'm not tormenting you!" Draco shouted. "I am trying to talk to you, and I know you like Quidditch and I do too so I thought we could talk about it! Like normal people!"

"I have lots of money," Potter prattled on obliviously. "Lots of galleons."

"Why would I want your money? I'm a Malfoy, I have more money than you could dream of, Potter."

"Well then, what do you want?" Potter yelled shrilly. "I don't have anything else...except...oh, Merlin." Potter's face became a peculiar shade of green. Draco noted that a lot about Potter tended to be green--eyes, face--well, that was it, really, but if he'd been Slytherin...

"This sprinting away from your problems thing is not a good solution!" Draco yelled as Potter ran away. "It is not recommended.

And it was good riddance that he wasn't in Slytherin. House standards weren't that low. Not yet.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

No one in the Common Room that night minded that Draco was sulking, rather than doing his homework or tormenting first years or any of the other things he generally did. They were too busy looking for Blaise.

"Blaise?" Pansy said fretfully, peering behind a tapestry. "Blaise!"

Crabbe and Goyle stood in the middle of the room with their arms crossed. "Ollie ollie oxen free!" Crabbe bellowed.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Goyle bawled.

"Blaise!" Pansy shrieked, nearly in tears. "Blaise, where are you?"

"I don't think he's in the vase, Pansy," Draco told her dryly.

He certainly wasn't worried about the Blaise situation. No one would expel Draco, with his father on the Board of Governors.

Oh, and he had been bringing Blaise food twice a day in his little cupboard. So all was well.

At least on that particular front. Concerning Harry Potter, Draco was getting a bit worried. It felt odd going so long without fighting with him. Then again, it was hard to get into a fight with someone who kept running away from you at every turn.

It wasn't Draco's fault, after all. He wanted to be around Harry Potter--to talk to him, to see him smile, to--

Millicent sat down beside him. They had barely spoken since Draco had been unceremoniously kicked out of SAPHAP.

"Hello, Draco," she said.

"Millicent."

"The club's not getting on very well," she told him.

Draco, against his will, found he was curious. "Yeah? How's that?"

She sighed heavily. "Well," she began. "You know how Ginny gave Luna the clipboard while she went to talk to you? Well, she wouldn't give it back."

Draco laughed. "What?"

"Yes, apparently, she and Padma Patil have been plotting an overthrow for some time now."

"Ravenclaws." Only they would be stupid enough to get involved in a power-struggle in a Harry Potter club.

Millicent looked distant. "Yes, it was quite amusing," she said. "I think at the moment we're officially known as the Official Snorkack Locating And Knowledge Absorbing Ladies Association. OSLAKALA. Ginny's threatening to leave and take all her Harry posters, and Colin's very offended that we made it the ladies association. I told him it wouldn't make sense to be the gentleman's association, since we only have one, but..."

"You would have more than one," Draco sniffed. "If you hadn't thrown me out like so much garbage."

She patted his hand kindly. "I don't think you're garbage," she said kindly. "Just a bit annoying. Anyway...have you seen Blaise?"

Draco shook his head firmly.

"Your friend Pansy Parkinson threatened to curse me if I didn't help look for him," she said.

"Oh," Draco said blankly. "Well...and good riddance. I will curse you, too. Because I am very concerned about Blaise. Because he is one of my best friends, and I have no idea where he's gotten to."

She laughed. "Well, I hope we find him, then."

Draco nodded fervently. "So do I," he said. "So do I."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next day, he skipped class with the help of one of his last Puking Pastilles, and followed Potter around instead. Which, Draco knew Pansy would say, seemed a bit odd for just wanting to talk to him--but really, she had no idea what she was talking about.

He ran into Padma Patil, doing the exact same thing.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" she hissed.

It wasn't as if he was about to say, 'Spying on Potter, nice day for it.' "None of your business, Patil," he said shortly.

She laughed incredulously. "You're spying on Harry, aren't you?"

Damn Ravenclaws.

"That's what you're doing, if I'm not mistaken," he said quietly, peering around a corner to see Potter having a frenzied conversation with Granger.

"Well, yes," she said, making a mark in her notebook. "The club assigned me to. What's your excuse?"

"Oh, bugger off, Patil," he said crossly, and stalked away.

There was another day wasted.

The night, on the other hand--

Draco thought his Potter-watching must have gotten to his nerves, because that night's dreams featured several rounds of Harry Potter.

Most were fairly normal--Potter playing Quidditch, Potter at Potions, Potter eating breakfast. Only in the dream, Draco seemed to have heightened senses of some sort, because he noticed all sorts of things--Potter's hair, for one, blowing around his face like some sort of demented hat; and his hands, which in the dream had long fingers and bitten nails. And his eyes, which were green and long and wide.

"But I noticed that before," said Dream-Draco. "I knew your eyes were green."

And this was where Draco's subconscious took a total U-turn--because suddenly they were back at Hogsmeade (sober this time), and Draco could see Harry's eyes (still green), and then they were kissing, with tongues and hands and warmth. And in the dream, Draco didn't mind.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

It was amazing, though, what you could learn about someone just by watching them for a few days. And Potter, Draco learned, was fairly insane.

He wandered corridors at odd hours of the night. He willingly visited their monstrosity of a gamekeeper whenever he had the chance. He tended to mutter to himself on a fairly regular basis. And not once did he realize that someone was following him around.

Draco got over any qualms he might have had about spying on Harry Potter quickly enough. After all, he reasoned, he'd been spying on Potter for several weeks now, anyway. It was just that now he was more of a free agent.

Besides--it was fun to watch Potter.

Another thing Draco had noticed about him was that he tended to walk into deserted classrooms. This wouldn't be such an odd occurrence--there were plenty of things a teenage boy could do in an empty room--if it didn't so happen that he was usually followed by Pansy, Greg, Vince, Mandy Brocklehurst, and the third year Draco had kissed on the stairs a few days ago.

At first, Draco thought that they must be planning on beating Potter up, and silently applauded his loyal subjects. But it soon became clear that wasn't the case, as Potter usually came out around an hour later looking unscathed, if a little grouchy.

The next thing to leap to Draco's mind was orgy, which he had a disturbingly easy time picturing.

With the vaguest notion in his head of talking to Potter about it, he confronted him one more time.

"Hey, Potter," he said.

Potter whirled around, startled. "Oh, Malfoy," he said warily. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to talk to you, you stupid git," Draco said. "That's what I've been trying to do the last few days, you know."

Potter looked around warily, then seemed to relax. "It might help if you didn't start off by insulting me," he suggested.

Draco shrugged. "Habit," he explained.

They walked without talking, down the corridor, past a row of Charms classrooms, before either of them felt like speaking.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking the past few days," Potter said, staring determinedly at the ground. "It was rude of me to keep running away from you--so, I'm sorry."

Draco wasn't quite sure how to react to that. Apologetic was not a mood he generally encountered. "Good for you, Potter," he said encouragingly.

Potter took a deep breath. "And Hermione's been talking to me a lot. She said she talked to you, too." He looked expectantly at Draco, as if hoping he would supply the next line in this awkward encounter. When Draco refused to comply, he said, "It was good of you not to tell her that--I mean, that you--well, you knew, and you didn't tell her."

Why did all of Draco's recent conversations with Gryffindors seem to revolve around Harry Potter's sexuality?

"This is all very good and noble of you," Draco said approvingly. "But I have to tell you, I still don't quite understand the point of this conversation."

Potter looked at him sideways. "You've been the one so eager to talk to me the past few days. What was that all about?"

"I don't know," Draco said sullenly. "Do I need a reason to want to talk to you?"

Potter smiled slightly at that statement, and Draco realized how ridiculous he must sound. "Usually you would," Potter said. "It's not as if we're friends or anything, Malfoy."

Draco was surprised to find himself slightly hurt at Potter's statement. It was true, they weren't really friends--or they hadn't been--but Draco wanted to be.

"I don't know if you remember," Potter said edgily. "But after we ate dinner--when we were leaving Hogsmeade--"

"I remember," Draco cut in sharply. "I guess you do, too."

"Well, yeah," he said. "That's why I've been avoiding you the past few days."

Oh, lovely. Draco was such a horrible kisser that he drove people away simply by the power of his lips.

"And that's the same reason you've been following me around, right?" Potter said, without bothering to check for confirmation. "I was pretty sure you were going to heckle me about it, or something."

"You," Draco said succinctly. "Are a prat."

"That's pretty much what Hermione told me," Potter said, ashamed. "She says that if you were going to be horrible you would have told the whole school already."

"Exactly!" Draco said, delighted with Granger's logic. "That girl should have been a Slytherin."

Potter looked as if he were going to gag. "No, Malfoy, I think Hermione is a very good Gryffindor."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're so stupid, you could have been a Hufflepuff."

Potter rolled his eyes in turn, but otherwise made no comment. "I thought Hermione's idea made sense," he said. "But then Ron said that maybe you were just going to blackmail me. And honestly, Malfoy, that made a lot of sense, too. You've never been anything other than a git."

Draco scowled. "I treated you to a very nice dinner."

"Yes, a dinner which you essentially stole," Potter pointed out. Draco shrugged--that was beside the point. "So anyway, Malfoy," he continued after a silence. "Which is it?"

"I'm not blackmailing you, Potter," Draco said shortly. "And I wanted to talk to you because I had fun in Hogsmeade, and I thought we could go again." And we could be friends, he added in his head. He was still fairly unclear on why he wanted to be friends with Potter, but then Potter smiled and Draco thought, that might just be it.

Potter relaxed considerably, and stopped walking entirely. Draco turned to see what was the matter with him, and Potter reddened and took a step forward, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I--IthinkIlikeyouquiteabit," he choked out in a strangled voice, and before Draco had a chance to decipher some of what he had said, Potter quite deliberately leaned forward and kissed him.

It took Draco a minute to react. And by that time Potter had one hand on his chest and another on his waist, and Draco barely had time to wonder if he wanted to do this before his own hand was in Potter's hair and he was getting a close-up on Potter's eyelids before his own fluttered shut. Potter's breath was warm and his mouth was hot; wet, sweet--just like his dream of a few nights previous, which disturbed Draco more than anything else. And so, though he still had very little control over his own body, Draco pushed him away.

Which somehow devolved into pushing him up against a wall.

Potter's teeth were doing something were nice with his neck. Draco's breathing came sharp and fast, and his skin felt slippery and wet. His lips and Potter's were crushed together almost painfully, and he still pressed forward. He wanted to be closer, and closer still. Potter's fingers and his neck clenched tightly at his hair, and the shot of pleasure it sent rushing through him brought him back to his senses.

He was kissing Harry Potter. And not in the fun, alcohol-induced, deniable way.

This had to stop. He pushed Potter away, for real this time.

He wasn't about to kiss bloody Potter. Even if it did feel a nice, and even if maybe Pansy was right and he did want to do a bit more than talk with Potter. This was simply Not Happening.

"What the hell was that, Potter?"

Potter ran a hand through his hair and looked generally very flustered and confused. "I don't know, Malfoy," he said loudly. "But you certainly didn't seem to mind!"

"What do you mean you don't know, you ignorant bugger? You did it!"

"I mean that--"

"And of course I minded, I bloody shoved you off me, didn't I, you--you--you molester."

"Me? You're the one who's been following me around all week, and then at Hogsmeade, you--what am I supposed to think, you git?"

By this point, they had moved beyond Speaking Loudly and had moved into Yelling Outrageously, which Draco fully utilized. "That wasn't me doing any of that in Hogsmeade, it was you, you just want me to snog you, don't you, you bloody wanker, don't you?"

Potter's face was red--more from embarrassment than anger, Draco thought, though it was hard to be sure--and Draco almost felt sorry. Because Potter had a point, didn't he--Draco had been following him around, and really he didn't mind the kissing.

"If you think this is some sort of wish fulfillment--look, what am I supposed to think--"

"I know what I think," Draco said hotly. "I think you're an arrogant ass, and I wish I'd never met you, you pompous--"

That, surprisingly, seemed to be The Line for Potter, and Draco had apparently crossed it, because Potter punched him straight in the eye.

And fighting, Draco discovered, was alarmingly like snogging with Potter--because they were suddenly touching each other again, in the back and chest, ears eyes nose mouth; hard and sharp--atop, beside, below--Draco considered, once, simply grabbing the back of Potter's neck and kissing him, which would be just as fun and a hell of a lot less painful.

But Potter wasn't about to allow that. He was angry, with himself and Draco, and punching for all he was worth and Draco's nose was bleeding and--

As soon as he found himself pinning Draco to the ground, he leapt to his feet.

"That was stupid," he said abruptly. "I don't know how I could ever had expected you to--listen, I'll just leave, Malfoy."

Draco swallowed and nodded.

But perhaps he had missed a lesson or two when it came to basic English, because he certainly didn't grasp the meaning of "I'll just leave." At least he was quite shocked when Potter actually left, and he found himself staring at the spot where Potter had been for ages.

Finally, he managed to rouse himself from his trancelike state. "Bloody Potter," he muttered, and stalked off to the dungeons.