The Society for the Admiration of Harry Potter

Draco slammed the heavy dungeons door behind him.

"Pansy!" he yelled.

She was sprawled casually across a couch, painting her nails a rather unflattering shade of orange. She didn't even bother to look up as he entered. "Yes, Draco," she said tiredly.

Aside from Pansy, the Common Room was entirely deserted except for three first years giggling over a magazine. "Get out, underlings," Draco ordered. "I am not in the mood to deal with you."

One of the boys glared up at him. They weren't in Slytherin for nothing, after all. "What'll you give us?"

Pansy continued to paint her nails. "Listen, you little pricks," she said. "If you don't leave we'll curse you all into a pile of goo."

The trio jumped. They hadn't noticed Pansy.

"Take your pick," she offered. "Personally, I like the goo option, but..."

They were gone before she finished her sentence. Pansy cackled wickedly, and Draco smiled at her.

As soon as she saw the look on his face, Pansy jumped to her feet. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

Draco sighed. He prided himself, usually, on being able to control his expressions--but not where Pansy was concerned.

"You know me too well," he informed her, and sank into the couch closest to the fire.

She touched his shoulder. "So tell me," she said. "Don't be stupid."

Draco glared at her fingers resting near his collar. "Don't, Pansy," he said. "You'll get paint in my hair."

"It's not paint, it's nail polish," she said haughtily, but removed her hand. "And anyway, don't think you're changing the subject that easily."

Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There really was no reason to try to hide it from her. She'd find out eventually. But--no, there was no reason not to tell her. He didn't care about hurting Potter's feelings. He didn't care about Potter, period.

"Bloody Potter," he announced, mustering up far more anger than he actually felt. "Kissed me again."

Pansy gasped. "Again? Oh, and Draco, you weren't even drunk this time."

Draco was beginning to feel decidedly odd. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"Well," he said. "No, I wasn't."

"And he wasn't either?"

"Um. Not that I noticed."

Pansy looked at him sharply, leaned in, staring at his lips.

"No, Pansy!" Draco said. "I don't know when you'll understand--I don't want--"

Pansy grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from moving away. "I'm not going to kiss you," she said irritably. "Arse."

"Oh." Draco relaxed considerably. "Well--what is it, then?"

She frowned and wrinkled her nose. "You," she said. "Hmm."

Her face was extremely close to his. Draco made sure to breathe through his nose. He probably had Potter breath. As annoying as Pansy was sometimes, he certainly wouldn't want her to suffer that.

Not Potter was that bad. What Draco had tasted in his mouth, actually, was toothpaste, and a sort of tangy, fruity something, and...and...and it was completely disturbing that he was thinking about this at all, that's what.

"Well?" he asked Pansy impatiently, more to distract himself than anything. "What brilliant conclusion have you reached?"

She sniggered. "That must have been some kiss," she said.

Draco felt something remarkably similar to dread growing in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

She patted his shoulder and went back to her nails. "Go look in a mirror, Draco," she suggested, sounding almost sorry for him.

So Draco did. There was one on the couch next to Pansy, but he wasn't sure he was up to doing this around people. The next nearest one was in the bathroom--but the house-elves hadn't cleaned it yet today, and Draco was not going in there anytime after Vince had.

"I'm going to the dorms," he informed Pansy. "Do you think you can handle things in my absence?"

Pansy gazed around the empty room. "Um, yeah, I think I can manage," she said, stifling a laugh. Everyone had learned, long ago, not to mess with Draco when he was like this. Everyone who still possessed all four limbs, anyway.

It turned out to be a good idea that Draco was far, far away from anyone else when he first got a glimpse of his reflection.

There was something wrong with his face.

Considering that Draco, in general, was absolutely perfect, that was saying something. But--

His collar was undone. That was the first thing he noticed, though he had no idea how it had happened. He had a vague memory of Potter's hands near his neck, hot fingers on his collarbone, and a tugging, but this was--

Draco calmly buttoned the collar, and went on to examine the rest of himself.

The next very noticeable thing was his hair. He had a routine for his hair in the morning: a spoon of Sleekeazy's combed in, back to front, with a softening potion mixed in for good measure. Now, though--his hair was spiked up in the back, with locks falling out around his ears and hairline.

This, at least, Draco remembered happening. There had been Potter's hands, in his hair, weaving in and out--rough, maybe, a little painful, but still--

Draco shook his head at his reflection, pulled his comb out of his trunk, and smoothed his hair until it looked exactly the same as it always did.

So his collar and hair were fixed. But Pansy had been looking at his lips. Hoping to figure out what that was all about, he murmured a quick spell ("Lumos!") and gasped at what he saw.

What had not been apparent by lamplight quickly revealed itself by wandlight. Draco's lips, red and swollen, and the area around them too--like he'd taken one of the more horrible shades of Pansy's lipstick and smeared it around his face with no clear idea of what he was doing.

He knew what that came from.

If only he'd been quicker--pushed Potter away just a few seconds earlier, or realized what he was going to do and dodged, then--

Well, then he wouldn't have gotten kissed, that's what. And, said a small rebellious corner of his mind, it wasn't half bad, as kisses went.

But that was a dangerous train of thought, one Draco abandoned as quickly as he took it up. Blaise, he knew, had some potion designed explicitly for this kind of thing. It only took a few moments of digging to find it, and he smeared more than half of the little vial across his lips, before returning downstairs to find Pansy exactly where he had left her.

"Better?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Much. Draco, you never told us Potter was a good kisser."

"He's not!" Draco protested automatically.

She made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "He can't be too bad, if you end up looking like that," she said.

Draco glared. "Yes, well," he huffed. "Anyway. Let's not talk about this anymore."

"It never happened," she promised, and then reconsidered. "But just because I'm not going to talk about it doesn't mean you shouldn't think about it."

"Why would I want to do that?"

She raised her eyebrows. "No reason," she said lightly.

"You really are a ridiculous girl, Pansy," Draco said, not without some admiration.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her nails--she was now adorning them with tiny rhinestone P's. "That's what I'm here for," she said dryly.

Draco didn't bother to say anything to her, just turned around and headed towards the door.

It was time to feed Blaise.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

But Draco never got where he was going. Instead, he was intercepted by a contingent from Harry Potter's fan club. Or, as Draco quickly realized, his former fan club.

Luna was in the lead. Ginny trotted miserably behind her, hanging her head and shuffling her feet. Next came Millicent and Colin, looking slightly confused as to what they were doing, but otherwise perfectly happy. Padma brought up the rear, with a set and determined look on her face. They were all wearing florescent pink shirts with moving glittery pictures of unidentifiable creature. Draco had to squint to look at them.

"Draco!" Colin said happily as he approached. "How are you?"

"I feel like I was trampled by a hippogriff," Draco responded promptly.

"We've missed you on our last few meetings," Millicent said gently.

"Why don't you join us?" Luna offered. "We are marching through the castle, igniting students to rebellion. Soon, with only the power of our hearts, we will control the wizarding world!"

Draco stared at her. "That's a stupid plan," he said, while subtly trying to conceal the fizzing whizbees he had been bringing to Blaise behind his cloak.

"Well," Padma said pragmatically. "Not just the power of our minds. We have some torches and pitchforks in the Common Room. But they're sort of heavy, so we didn't want to carry them around yet."

"How medieval," Draco said delicately. "But I think your shirts will do more damage than pitchforks, anyway."

"We have some extras, if you want to march with us," Colin offered. "Ginny and I made them for a Charms project. We got a P."

"He can't join!" Ginny howled. "I kicked him out!"

"You are no longer in charge of this operation, Ginny," Millicent said, an evil glint in her eye. Draco suddenly realized, in rush of horror, how very bad it would be for Millicent to control the world.

"Why exactly do you want to take over?" he asked.

Padma chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Hmm," she said. "I hadn't actually thought that over."

Luna smiled dreamily. "No longer will the bonds of government hold back the people," she said. "Soon, the human race will truly be able to spread its wings and soar; free from the constraints of laws and officials."

Draco blinked. "So--you're anarchists, then?"

Colin frowned. "What's an anarchist?"

"Freedom of spirit requires no name," Luna said wistfully. "Rather, let us simply cast off our fetters and rise up above the common bonds."

Millicent clapped slowly. "That's a lovely sentiment, Luna," she said.

Padma brushed away a tear. "Freedom!"

Draco took a step back. "So. You guys are done with Harry Potter then?"

Colin shook his head violently. "Oh, never," he said, aghast. "Harry is what brought us all together. We can't just abandon him."

"Besides," Ginny said, looking happy for the first time that day. "Once we overthrow the Ministry, we plan to install Harry as the Overlord."

Draco nodded slowly.

"And did you know Harry is actually a Snorkack?" Luna asked. "He only keeps human form in order to attend Hogwarts. But someday...someday..."

"Well, that's a very nice plan," Draco said indulgently. "I've got to be going now."

"Wait!" Millicent screeched as he turned. "Are you coming to our Harry Potter birthday party this Friday?"

Draco sped up. He had absolutely no intention of going to any parties of any kind for Harry Potter. But he was willing to say absolutely anything to get rid of them. "Sure," he said. "Sure. I'll be there."

Draco broke into a sprint as he turned the next corner. A ghostly chorus sounded behind his back.

"We'll be waiting, Draco..."

Of course, there was a small part of Draco that actually thought that that going to Potter's birthday party might not actually be the end of the world.

Parties, after all, were times for reconciliation. Surely Potter wouldn't be able to hold a grudge at his own birthday party. Not with all those people around him, and butterbeer and firewhisky.

As much as Potter was disgusting and presumptuous and altogether not worth it (though Draco had to keep reminding himself of that part)--he'd liked talking to him. That was the part he couldn't get past. Draco loved his friends in Slytherin--but it was nice having someone to talk to from somewhere else, and it was nice that that person was Harry Potter. Potter, who he'd always fought and hated--but whose opinion, inexplicably, mattered. He cared more what Potter thought of him than he did what Greg or Vince thought, after all.

Draco did not sleep that night.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next morning the entire Slytherin House skipped class to look for the missing Blaise Zabini.

Pansy had organized the whole thing.

"Draco," she said. "You'll be leading the orange group."

Draco hated orange. "Can't I be brown or blue or something?"

Pansy barreled on as if she hadn't even heard him. "And Team Orange will consist of Vince, Greg, Terrence, and Sally-Anne. You'll be searching fourth floors."

Draco groaned. "That's where Filch is going to be. You know he always patrols there in the mornings."

She smiled wickedly. "That's why you have to be extra careful," she said. "Now, Theodore, you'll be leading Team Maroon, and that will consist of..."

Draco rolled his eyes and began to tune her out. He didn't really want to waste an entire day looking for Blaise. Especially when he knew exactly where Blaise was--behind a collection of dusty mops, brooms, and portraits, in an apparently unused broom cupboard. On the fourth floor, conveniently.

On the other hand--he also didn't want to have to go to class. He didn't want to have to face Potter. His face burned when he thought about it--about that kiss, and about Potter; his face, his eyes, the slightly crooked tilt to his nose. Skinny elbows, skinny knees, thick eyebrows and lashes.

Draco wasn't sure what he would do if he saw him. A curious warm feeling started in the pit of his stomach when he thought of it, and trickled like warm water down to his feet. They would glimpse each other across a room--maybe nod a little--"Hello, Potter," Draco would say, and--

"Draco!" Pansy snapped. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

Draco blinked. "Um. What was that?"

"I was just going over our strategy for today's mission."

Mission. Pansy was really getting excited about this.

"And that would be...?"

"First off," she said intently. "I need everyone to cast finite incantatem on everything. Everything. Blaise could be under some spell, in pain, hurt--and that'll get him out of it."

That put a dent in Draco's plans. Blaise was under a spell. But he was only stunned, after all.

"I don't really get why we want to find him anyway," Draco grumbled. "He's a big stupid prat. He told everybody about Potter and me at breakfast, and I think he deserves--"

Draco stopped abruptly. Everyone was staring at him. A look of comprehension was dawning in Pansy's eyes.

"Draco," she said slowly. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

"No," Draco said meekly. "I can't wait to look for Blaise. I've been ever so worried."

Pansy nodded, looking unconvinced. "If you say so, Draco," she said.

"I do," Draco said fervently. "I do, I do."

"But," she said. "I think maybe we should rearrange the teams a little. Draco--you and I can be Purple team, and we'll take care of the fourth floor. Greg--you can be in charge of Orange Team."

Greg looked up, startled, at the sound of his name. "What're we looking for, again?"

"Yeah, and why are you and I the smallest team?" Draco demanded, his confidence slightly recovered after his near discovery.

Pansy cracked her knuckles angrily. "Because I said so," she snapped. "Now, we've still got half an hour until classes start. We should be able to do a good bit of searching before anybody notices we're gone."

Everybody stared at her dully.

"This sounds kinda stupid," a young looking girl said doubtfully.

Pansy glared at her sternly. "Petrificus totalus," she said calmly.

Everyone continued to stare at her--only now, they stared in abject horror. Pansy had apparently taken a page out of Granger's book.

"All right, everybody!" Pansy said cheerfully. "Let's go!"

After that, things came together quickly. Before Draco knew what was happening, he was trotting along behind Pansy on the fourth floor, while she flicked her wand at everything that moved and most things that didn't. Draco, meanwhile, was darting glances at the enormous cupboard where he knew Blaise was hidden.

"So," Pansy said casually, as she scrutinized a perfectly innocent tapestry. "Have you taken my advice at all?"

Draco wracked his brains. Pansy seemed to think of herself as the Slytherin counselor, and in the past week alone, she had recommended that he eat more vegetables, read Oscar Wilde, and stop wearing so much green.

"You know," she prompted. "I said you should maybe think some more about Potter."

Oh. That advice.

Draco gulped. "Yes," he said weakly. "I've thought about that a bit."

She dug her wand into a small hole in the wall. "And?"

"And what?" Draco said irritably, as he pretended to wave his wand at a tapestry.

She glared. "You know."

"And...and..." Draco faltered. He wasn't entirely sure what he thought, himself. Surely there was no reason to bring Pansy into it. "And I hate him," he decided finally. "With a passion."

She rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she said, bending down to tap her wand on a dead mouse, probably abandoned by Mrs. Norris. She sighed unhappily when the mouse corpse did not turn into Blaise Zabini, and Draco began to have serious concerns for her health.

But anyway, he was relieved when she dropped the subject. It gave him more time to concentrate on the matter at hand--how to keep Pansy from finding Blaise.

Really, the more Draco thought about it, the less keeping Blaise Zabini locked in a cupboard for the rest of his natural life seemed like a good idea. It had been such a wonderfully thought out plan. Blaise--cupboard--stay. But now there was the issue of food, and search parties, and the fact that, as much as Blaise deserved to be punished for being such an arse, Draco was actually starting to miss him.

He was, in fact, trying to figure out how best to free Blaise without alerting Pansy when a jet of light hit his back and sent him stumbling, silent and unconscious, to the floor.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

When Draco awoke, it was to find that he could not move his arms or legs. He was in a small, dark space. The only illumination came from a sparking wand tip, and the only thing it illuminated was a shadowy, menacing face: Blaise Zabini.

Draco gulped. "Erm. Hello, Blaise," he said, trying to remain calm. "How are you this fine evening?"

When Blaise answered, his voice was hoarse and dry. "Just wonderful, Draco," he said, before breaking off into a low laugh.

Draco thought it sounded evil. And he was certainly one to know.

He squinted at Blaise in the dark. "I think your pupils are dilated," he informed Blaise solemnly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I think my pupils are the least of your concerns," he said, as he tapped his fingertips together.

Draco rather thought that Blaise had been watching too many muggle movies.

"So what is my biggest concern, then?" Draco asked politely. Just because he was being held captive in a closet by a pupil-dilated maniac was no reason to forget his breeding.

Blaise smiled triumphantly. "I'm going to do to you exactly what you did to me."

"Oh." Draco paused. "You mean you're going to lock me in the closet?"

Blaise looked disappointed that Draco had grasped it so quickly. "Pretty much," he said.

There was an awkward silence. Blaise shuffled his feet, and accidentally kicked over a bucket. Draco coughed quietly. His ear itched, but he couldn't scratch it.

"Well," Blaise said finally. "I guess I'll be going now."

"Okay," Draco said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," Blaise said, finally looking happy. "I'm not sure you really grasp the situation. You will be in a closet. I will be in my bed."

"Yeah," Draco said nonchalantly. "But anyway, you said you were going to do exactly what I did to you. And I fed you, at least."

Blaise scowled. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, then."

"Well, bye."

Blaise jumped out. Before he slammed the door, leaving Draco in utter darkness, he said, "You know, Draco, you really don't make things easy."

Draco grinned. "I know."

Blaise would get bored soon enough, locking him up. It wasn't much fun trying to annoy a person who wouldn't do much but smile at you.

But in the mean time, Draco's ear really itched.

Because the only parts of his body he could move were his head and neck, his first attempt was to simply bend his ear down to his shoulder. That backfired. Apparently, his neck wasn't long enough--not only did his ear still itch, but now his neck hurt.

Very badly.

His next thought was to use the closet door, only a few inches in front of his nose, as leverage. He wedged his head under a board running across the middle of the door, and strained his neck upward until he felt the rest of his body following--and then, before he knew what was happening, he had fallen on his side. And landed on a bucket. Which turned out to be full to the top with soapy water.

At least his ear didn't itch anymore.

Now, he was only wet, and cold, and sticky.

And a mop had landed across his face, and there were probably spiders in it.

Draco whimpered, once, very softly.

It was at about this time that he began to realize just how uncomfortable it was to be locked in a supply closet.

There was every chance somebody would find him soon. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Surely Filch would need the mop, or the bucket, or something.

Maybe?

It was also at this point that Draco realized that he was going to be getting little or no sleep that night.

He sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that, barring any late night janitorial urges on Filch's part, he probably was not going to be getting very much sleep that night.

Pansy had to realize he was missing at some point. He wasn't sure how long it had been at that point, but even she had to get a little concerned when he disappeared at exactly the same time Blaise emerged.

Right?

Anyway, somebody would find him eventually. If not Filch, then Pansy or Blaise, and if not them, then maybe...

Harry Potter?

He certainly had a thing for rescuing people. Why shouldn't he rescue Draco?

Not that Draco needed rescuing. Not at all, and certainly not from that slimy rat bastard Potter.

But still. If he did.

For no other reason than he had nothing better to do, Draco imagined the scene: himself, lying prone and helpless on the floor. Potter's worried, anxious face. His gasp of horror. "Oh, Draco," he would say. "What has happened to you?" And Draco, stoic and unyielding, refusing to give up his friend. But Potter would not give in either--oh no! He would continue the interrogation, cool and collected, but unable to hide the pain he felt for Draco. And Potter would gather him in his arms, and Draco would tell him, finally sobbing, as they embraced. Oh, the beauty of it all! The tragedy! The romance!

Draco had been told, once or twice (or ten times) that he had a tendency to be melodramatic. He remembered this, and was exceedingly glad that his mother couldn't see what was going on inside his head at the moment.

And anyway, he was getting a little uncomfortable with his own vision. The fact that he was able to conjure up tension-filled daydreams starring Harry Potter as the romantic lead probably indicated that he had some sort of disorder. Because Harry Potter was in no way attractive. At all.

Though--his eyes weren't bad. That was all.

And they were overshadowed by all the many, many things that were wrong with him--his personality, mainly--the whole saint thing was annoying, even if it was true, and--

If it turned out Draco did have a crush on Potter, he would kill himself. Or better yet, kill Potter. Yes. That would solve everything.

Mentally, Draco ran through a checklist: he wasn't physically attracted to Potter (except for his eyes, and his smile, and his hair), and he didn't like his personality (except he wished they were friends, at least), and he didn't want to kiss his again (except maybe to see what it was like), and he didn't have a crush on him at all (except that he kind of did).

Draco gave a low, anguished moan; and tried to shake his head so that the six-legged thing crawling in his hair would fall out. A closet, generally, was not the best place for self-reflection.

But Draco gave it his best shot.

Obviously a relationship of any kind--other than strictly loathing--was out of the question. Even if Potter had, at one point, felt anything at all for Draco there was no way he did anymore. Draco had blown that.

And anyway, he reminded himself, this was just a crush. People had them all the time. There was no reason in the world to think he wouldn't get over it.

Hopefully.

In the mean time, though, there was really nothing to do other than avoid Potter, and hope he didn't make too much of a fool of himself. He had done the same thing in third year when he had had a crush on Adrian Pucey, and had avoided Millicent Bulstrode during almost their entire second year due to a misguided bout of puppy love.

It had worked well enough then. There was no reason to assume it wouldn't work now. He would just ignore Potter in classes, and stop following him around in corridors, and--

"Malfoy? Is that you?"

A horribly bright light blinded Draco entirely. Maybe he was dying. That would explain the confusion in The Voice. Draco had never exactly been on good terms with any otherworldly beings.

"Hey," Draco said awkwardly. "Listen, I'm really sorry about what I did at my eighth birthday party. I really didn't think she'd react like that."

"Hell, Malfoy!" said The Voice. "What are you doing here?"

Draco gulped. "Um, I don't know if I've really been bad enough to warrant going there. Though really, in my opinion, this is pretty shabby as heavens go."

The light faded a bit. Draco saw a vague outline of a figure.

"You're rather small," he said, disappointed.

"What do you mean? I'm exactly the same size as you!"

The Voice was beginning to sound exactly like Harry Potter.

"Hey," Draco said accusingly. "You're not god."

Potter scratched his head awkwardly. "No. Sorry to disappoint you."

Draco squinted up at him. There was something not right about this situation. "Um, about anything I may or may not have said. The soap got to me. You really shouldn't inhale that stuff."

"Aren't you going to move?" Potter asked. "I mean, I don't want to interrupt you, or anything, if you were...you know, doing something, but--d"

"I can't move, you twat," Draco spat, with as much venom as he could muster while feeling distinctly light-headed. "Spells, you may have heard of them."

Potter looked down at him undecidedly for a moment. For a moment, Draco felt a certain sinking feeling. As much as he loathed the idea of being rescued by Harry Potter--and he did, he really did--he still liked it better than the idea of lying around in a closet for hours

But apparently, Potter's heroism won out over his desire to be a snotty little schoolboy. A quick Finite incantatem later and Draco leapt to his feet, brushing off his robes as he did so.

But apparently, his legs were a bit weak or something, after all that time lying down. That was the only explanation Draco could give for his next actions.

Those actions involved this: Draco, after making a quick and orderly exit from the closet, found himself stumbling forward, right onto Harry Potter. Potter's eyes momentarily registered surprise as he found himself being practically embraced by Draco--an arm slung around his shoulders, another reaching up to rest alongside his neck.

"What do you think you're doing Malfoy?" Potter asked irritably. Draco was suddenly, forcibly reminded of his own reaction to Potter just yesterday.

But--still under the pernicious influence of soap--he found himself quite incoherent. "Nothing," he said innocently, while finding one of his hands quite entangled in Potter's hair. "Really."

Potter stood stalk still while Draco wound his hands around him, a suspicious looked imprinted on his face.

Draco, meanwhile, was rediscovering his love of the human touch. Potter's hair was soft and smooth, and surprisingly cool when Draco's fingers wove their way through it. This was in sharp contrast to the hotness of his neck--the slightly damp sheen to it all, as if Potter had just showered.

"Malfoy," Potter protested weakly.

"Mmm," Draco said, as he laid his head on Potter's shoulder.

It was delirium. It was hysteria. It was hormones. It was Draco Malfoy, clearly out of his mind.

"Your hair's wet," Potter informed him.

"Bucket fell on it," Draco said, not much caring at the moment. He was very comfortable.

Potter chuckled softly, and, very hesitantly, brought a hand up to Draco's shoulder and rubbed it softly. It felt nice, Draco decided distantly. Very cozy and warm, and extremely different from being locked in a closet. And it was nice, too, not to think about it, to just enjoy the fact that he felt good, to relish it even, without analyzing his every action.

Potter's fingers lightly stroked over the back of his neck. That felt even better. Draco sighed happily.

It didn't last long.

"Yay!" said Ginny Weasley. "I knew you'd shape up sometime! You do like him! I knew it!"

Potter and Draco sprang apart. Potter coughed into his sleeve, and tried to conceal a book behind his back. Draco wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

The entire gang was there--Luna, Ginny, Colin, Padma, and Millicent, in full regalia. Luna was even wearing a large, diamond encrusted crown, with six radishes dangling across her forehead. Colin was swinging a pitchfork at his side, and, beside him, Millicent was walking with a slight limp that indicated she had had a closer encounter with this pitchfork than she might like. Behind them was a small, ragtag group, mostly Ravenclaws, who had apparently been incited to join the rebellion.

"Draco!" said Colin. "What are you doing? You can't have him all to yourself!"

"What are you guys doing?" asked Potter nervously. "And why are you calling him Draco?"

"Because that's his name, Harry," Millicent explained kindly.

Poor Potter looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "And why are you calling me Harry, Slytherin?"

Millicent looked devastated. Her lower lip trembled. "I never knew you felt that way," she choked. Padma patted her shoulder, and glared furiously at Harry.

"Don't mind him," Draco said quickly. "He's just gone off his meds."

That perked Padma up right away. "Ooh!" she exclaimed. "Meds? For what?"

Only a Ravenclaw.

"Destructive tendencies," Draco invented wildly. "And pink skin syndrome. And stupidity. Very messed-up bloke, Potter."

A small sour-faced Ravenclaw spoke up from the back of the ground. "Hey!" she said. "I thought you said we were going to overthrow the Ministry, owing to its recent totalitarianism. Right? That's what you said. I don't get what the big deal is about Harry Potter."

"Shut up," Ginny said fiercely. "Harry is a hero! You hear me? A hero!"

Potter backed up a few steps, and tried to hide his face behind Draco's shoulder.

"Harry," Ginny said pleadingly. "Harry! Oh, Harry! You can be the Overlord, and I can be your queen!"

"I don't think so," said Millicent menacingly.

"Then I'll be your slave!" Ginny said heatedly. "Your slave of love! And you can have me, anytime you want, anywhere you want."

"You better not let Ron hear you say that," Potter said, very close to Draco's ear. Draco felt the heat from his breath, and hoped nobody noticed the red tint to his face.

"That's a yes, then?" Ginny asked. There was a hard, blazing look in her eyes. Draco thought she looked constipated.

"Well, no," Potter said awkwardly. "I mean, it's very nice of you to offer and all, but I'm really just not interested in...that...oh, don't cry, Ginny," he finished weakly.

"I have to!" she bawled. "You don't want me! That's all I have!"

Luna chose this occasion to speak up. "Hello, Draco," she said cheerfully as Ginny wept piteously in the background. "Hello, Harry."

Harry looked miserable. "Why do you all keep calling him Draco?" he asked.

"All are welcome to be a part of the New Order," Luna said, spreading her arms widely--this was not a good move on her part, as she was holding a torch, and she accidentally singed Colin's hair in her eagerness. "We know no divisions. We are all one, in the great One of the universe."

Potter hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Hey, shouldn't somebody be stopping Ginny from jumping out that window?" he said nervously. "We're pretty high up."

"I'll handle it," Colin said suavely. "See, Harry? See how cool and calm and collected I am? We should totally go to Hogsmeade sometime."

Harry's eyes widened. "No, I really think she's going to jump."

Colin turned around just in time to catch the back of Ginny's robes as she pushed off of the ledge.

"See?" he grunted as he struggled to pull her back in. "I'm collected. And cool. Just like you."

"So, what do you say, Harry?" Luna said hopefully. "Are you ready for the rebellion?"

"Maybe later," Potter mumbled dazedly. "I'll rebel later...later..."

And with that parting statement, he stumbled away.

"Is it time to rebel now?" asked the same little Ravenclaw who had been complaining earlier.

"Absolutely," Padma assured her.

"Will you be joining us, Draco?" Luna asked. Draco found it rather hard to take her seriously with the radish and diamond crown.

"Not now," he said, staring off in the direction of Potter. "Maybe later."

That said, he took off in the same direction Potter had taken just a few seconds ago.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

When Draco caught up with Potter about a minute later, he was leaning against a wall, stunned.

"Hi," Draco said, suddenly feeling decidedly awkward, and wishing he hadn't come at all.

Potter glared at him for a moment, then apparently decided to give it up as not worth the effort.

"Hello, Malfoy," he said wearily.

Draco slid down the wall beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, before Potter decided to speak.

"What was that about?" he asked. "You know, before, after I found you."

Draco hesitated. His first impulse was to say it had been nothing--just a crazy, weird impulse. Or, even worse, that he'd done it deliberately to mess with Potter.

But he didn't say that. Instead, he said, "I don't really know. I mean, I just wanted to."

Potter nodded slowly. "Well, that's a change," he said bitterly.

"Yeah," Draco said. "I mean, I'm sorry that I--"

"No," Potter said loudly. "Listen to me. That was awful, Malfoy. I mean, you just ran away on me yesterday, and then this? That's pretty low, even for you."

Draco tightened his hands into fists as he began to feel angry, himself. "You listen," he said. "I'm sorry I fought with you yesterday, but I didn't really mean to do that, anyway. It was just something I did."

Potter looked at him warily. "Yeah, right. I'm sure it was, Malfoy. Anyway, I don't know how you think it's going to help jumping on me like that."

"I wasn't thinking," Draco said earnestly. "That's the thing. Otherwise I wouldn't have."

Potter nodded. "I knew it," he said. "So if you hate me as much as you say you do, why don't you just leave me alone?"

Draco looked at him angrily. "I don't hate you," he said. "And just because I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought about it doesn't mean I'm not glad I did it."

It took him a minute to register what he'd just said. Only then did the panic start to sink in. At that moment, Draco would have done almost anything to take back the past five minutes--the past day--the past month of his life, if it would stop him from ever saying those words to Harry Potter.

But when he turned to look at Potter, the only sign he'd heard anything at all was a small smile.

"So," Potter said calmly, after a few minutes had passed. "What were you doing in a closet, anyway?"

Draco's heart was still pounding painfully. He found himself suddenly, inexplicably angry at Potter for remaining so calm. "Blaise Zabini locked me in there," he mumbled.

Potter laughed. Draco glared at him. "Oh, shut up, Potter," he said. "It's not funny."

Potter strained to get control of himself. "No, it's not that," he said. "It's just that I found Blaise Zabini in that exact same closet a few hours ago, and when I freed him he said that you put him there."

"Oh." Draco was beginning to feel confused. "You let Blaise out?"

Potter shrugged. "You don't have to thank me."

"I wasn't going to! Believe me, I was not," Draco said. Then something occurred to him. "Hey, wait," he said. "Why were you over by that closet in the first place? Twice in one day?"

Potter's face reddened. "Oh, nothing," he said, in what Draco assumed was meant to be an offhand voice. He ruined the effect by not-so-subtly trying to conceal a book beneath his cloak at the same time.

"Hey! I saw you with that book earlier," Draco said. "What is it? Is it dark magic? What're you trying to hide, anyway?"

Potter stood up rapidly. "Nothing," he said. His face was practically burning. "It doesn't matter anyway."

Clearly, it did. But Draco decided the subject wasn't worth pursuing. He liked this new, strange truce, if that's what it was. There was no need to ruin it already.

"Whatever you say, Potter," Draco said, and stood up beside him.

Potter looked at him warily. "I mean it," he said. "It's nothing."

Draco shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Are you going back to Gryffindor, now?"

"No," Potter said. "I've actually got to go to a--a club thing. Sorry."

"I'll see you, then," Draco said hesitantly. "Right?"

Potter seemed to consider him for a minute before he answered. "Right," he said.

After they parted, and Draco began to make his way back to Slytherin, he felt curiously light and happy.

Maybe he would go to Harry Potter's birthday party, after all.