Such Beautiful Lies

Warning: slash.

Draco idly ran his hands over the soft cotton of the pillowcase, wondering for a moment if he would be able to do this again. After all, it wasn’t exactly fair, was it?

Please, he scoffed to himself. Since when have I cared if something is fair? I want to see him in pain--I want to hear him crying with how much he needs me. I want him desperate for my touch.

As Draco was joined in the bed, his eyes lit up. He savagely pressed his lips against his bedmate’s, fiercely watching the reaction. It was more than he could have hoped for. It wasn’t long before their kisses gave way to much, much more. Draco gave a triumphant cry as he felt the body writhing beneath him, panting and sweating. All he could see were Potter’s green eyes, Potter’s strong hands gripped around the Snitch, Potter walking away from everything clean as a whistle, Potter--Draco started pounding harder, more ferociously. ‘I’ll show you, Potter,’ he assured himself. ‘You won’t win yet again. Not on me.’

As the moment of Draco’s release crept closer, he closed his eyes and relished in the hands desperate over his skin, the small sighs of pleasure and pain coming from his conquest. “Who’s better now?” he asked aloud, biting his lip as he finished. He sighed and roughly withdrew, wasting no time laying down--he pulled his robes on and tore out of the room.

--------------

At the Slytherin table in the Great Hall the next day, Draco was looking particularly tired and angry. His usual look of cool confidence had slipped, and Pansy could see the true horror of what lay beneath it. As if she hadn’t already learned far too much about Draco, she thought. She leaned over to Millicent, who was thoroughly interested in her feast and not Pansy’s whispers.

    “What d’ya want, Parkinson?” she half-barked as she shoveled eggs into her mouth. Pansy was slightly revolted but undeterred.

    “What do you reckon is wrong with Draco lately?”

    At this, Draco’s eyes turned down the table as if sure he had heard his name. Pansy immediately pulled away from Millicent, feeling herself flush. “Never mind,” she muttered, taking great care buttering a bit of toast.

-------

Draco knocked lightly on the door, and his lover opened it quietly. He smiled with pleasure as he saw everything was prepared. ‘This time, Potter, you really get it,’ he thought deviously. Saying nothing, he took his position behind his poor victim--so confused, so sweet and tender. Nevermore the innocent hero, as Draco roughly possessed the body beneath him. ‘See how it is to be at someone else’s control, Potter?’ he thought as he ran his fingers over the sweating back beneath him, entwining his fingers in hair. For one split second, he thought of loving it. But how could he? “You’re just a filthy nothing,” he whispered. “You don’t mean anything to me. Keep that clear.”

He went about his usual ritual of withdrawing and leaving all in the same motion. He paid no attention to the figure he’d left weeping on the floor. He had bigger concerns.

------------

    “I hear you’re rather curious about me, Pansy,” Draco drawled the next morning at breakfast. Millicent had reported her questions.

    “Well, yeah… you seem---preoccupied. I‘m just wondering if all your, hmmm, late night activities are going well for you?” Draco stared at her in a mixture of shock and humiliation--no, there was something else glimmering on the very edge of his pupils. Defiance. He would not be ashamed.

    “What I do in my own time is none of your business,” he said waspishly. Pansy nearly cried. Why couldn’t he just love her, like she did him? What was stopping him?

More to the point, who was stopping him?

----------

    “Nice performance this morning, Parkinson,” he spat at her in the common room before dinner. She drew herself up and tried to stay composed.

    “I just thought you’d like to know that I’m on to you!” she hissed. He thought he could be evil--he’d never seen a Parkinson woman scorned, obviously. But he wouldn’t win this one. She would find out who was keeping them apart. Because she knew it, even as he pretended to like her by day. By night, she was nothing to him. Just a tool in his fantasies. She knew he wanted someone else, she could see it in his eyes, feel it as he thrust into her late at night, as he wouldn’t look at her--wouldn’t say her name. His eyes shut tight, always muttering how he would win, he would be better, who’s the loser now?

    She panted beneath him, his energy exciting her quite against her will. She wanted to scream in frustration, but as he stroked her with an inexplicable combination of care and anger, her screams turned to pleasure. She wanted nothing more than for Draco to open his eyes and say, I love you Pansy. She wanted just once for him to take her in a regular position, but he insisted on bending her over her bed, standing behind her with that oddly triumphant look on his face.

    “On to me, Pansy? What are you talking about?” he drawled, a little bit anxious now.

    “I know that you think about someone else, Draco. I don’t imagine it will take much detective work to find out who.” She stormed from the room with a few random Slytherin girls, all of whom were giggling. She threw a murderous glare at Draco, who shriveled somewhat. But, she’d never figure it out, he reassured himself. I mean, Potter? Nobody would think that. I hate Potter.

--------

    Pansy sat in silence, scrawling names on a bit of parchment. She’d put down nearly every girl in Slytherin and even some Ravenclaws. She seemed no nearer to anything--Draco didn’t have anything to do with these people. If she were perfectly honest with herself…. But no…

    She sighed. It was always a possibility. Despite sleeping with him regularly, Pansy had to admit she didn’t really know Draco. She scrawled Hermione Granger with a scowl and decided to quit for awhile. She couldn’t stand the image of Draco, eyes closed behind her, imagining that ugly little half-blood. Wouldn’t Draco want someone, at the very least, attractive? Pansy snorted over Hermione’s hair, teeth, and general appearance. Not to mention her refusal to do anything but study and try to save the world with those two little gits, Ron and---

    Pansy’s stomach dropped.

--------

    Hurled threats had not stopped Draco from entreating Pansy’s company that evening. He looked somewhat apologetic as he gestured towards the bed, indicating she was to assume their usual position. Pansy shook her head vigorously. “I was thinking we could try it my way tonight.”

    “Oh, you were thinking? You should be careful,” he said, and turned to go. She grabbed his arm.

    “Please, Draco. I--I just want to try it. Just once, and if you don’t like it, we’ll go right back to the old way.”

    “And what if I don’t want to try it?”

    Pansy took a deep breath. She forced the words to come to her brain…. Come on, just say them! “Then you can find yourself another toy,” she said, sadness and bitterness fighting for dominance in her voice.

    Draco turned and eyed her--as if she were really a person, and not just someone to bed. Her eyes were bright, her hair looked soft. But he couldn’t get himself to feel anything other than mild attraction. Nothing like the burning passion that crept into his veins at the thought of Potter.

    “I’m sorry, Pansy,” he said simply. He even half meant it.

-------

    Pansy Parkinson may have been a giggling girl, but no one could say she was incapable of cruelty. She was ruthless, even. She was not going to be deterred so easily. She would identify her competition, and very simply eliminate them. She had boiled it down to Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley. She felt that it would be a bit odd of Draco to go for Ginny, seeing as how they had barely even spoken. But, she supposed grudgingly, she was sort of attractive--for a Weasley and a Gryffindor.

    Since she had no hope of speaking to either girl on friendly terms, she had no idea how she was going to test her theory that Draco wanted either of them. She finally decided to consult Professor Snape. After all, he was her head of house. He’d been rather pleased the last time she had asked him for help--until she admitted what she wanted was to make her hair a little livelier, her skin perhaps clearer. He had thrown her from the dungeons with a scowl.

    But now, it was legitimate. She thought Draco might be betraying the Slytherin name by taking up with, of all things, a Gryffindor. Two of the worst specimens of Gryffindor--a Muggle-born and a filthy Weasley. That would surely incense Snape.

    “Professor Snape, may I speak to you?” Pansy asked, the picture of politeness. He looked wary but did not bite her head off. Regarding this as a good sign, she continued, “I need your help. I’ve talked to all the teachers, and frankly none of them know anything. So I came to you, sir,” she said, oozing the kind of suck-up juice that Snape just drank down. He gave a slight self satisfied smile and raised an eyebrow, as if beckoning her to continue.

    “I have a feeling someone is lying to me, about something very important. But I can’t think of any way to find out for sure.”

    “I suppose that is as specific as you care to be?”

    “Well… it’s rather, juvenile,” she said, hoping he would understand.

    “Matters of the heart.,” he said with disgust. She gave a nod and he heaved a great sigh. “You want to know who your current plaything would rather be… ahem, playing with?”

    Pansy’s face began to burn--how on Earth had he guessed?

    “That’d be Polyjuice Potion.” he said, thrusting a piece of parchment at her.

    “I’m supposed to become Hermione?” she squeaked. Snape gave an almost involuntary shudder.

    “Go no further, Miss Parkinson. I trust you understand that my advice is only given sparingly, and is therefore not to be spread around the school,” Snape warned. Pansy gave a shudder of her own. Despite all his attempts to be nice to his own students, he was kind of creepy. She gave him a little thank you and rushed from the room.

    As she examined the potion in detail later that evening, she was horribly disheartened. How would she ever be able to brew this thing? Only Hermione herself could pull this off. Still, she had to get Draco back. There weren’t many other pureblood wizards around--and school was all about finding a suitable husband, wasn’t it? She set her mind to it. It was fairly easy to procure hairs from Hermione--she left them on any seat she used. Damned bushy stuff. Ginny was a bit harder, she had to angle with Crabbe to pull a hair out during Quidditch. Luckily Crabbe wasn’t too bright; he didn’t ask any questions, just delivered the bright red hair safely to Pansy, who turned a little green at the prospect of drinking the potion.

    

-----

    Draco was sitting in the library, innocently enough, trying to work on an essay for Transfiguration. Since he’d decided to follow the career path of an Auror---for much different reasons---he had to be very good at all his subjects. He had to actually work for McGonagall--your blood and heritage meant squat if you couldn’t turn a pincushion into an armchair.

    He was rather surprised when Hermione Granger took a seat across from him. “Didn’t you just leave, Granger?” he snapped. She looked mildly confused for a second.     

    “I… left something,” she said quickly. Draco raised an eyebrow but didn’t really care to hear any more. He returned his attention to his essay, but could sense that she was still staring at him. “Can I help you, Granger?” he said bitingly. She shook her bushy head quickly.

    “I just thought… well, aren’t you glad to see me?” she blurted. Draco’s eyebrows shot into the air.

    “Glad to see you, Granger? What are you on about?”

    She turned beet red but strangely, appeared to be quite relieved at the same time.

    “Well, I’ll just… pop out then, right?”

    Draco shrugged, he was utterly confused. He stared after her as she high-tailed it from the library, eliciting a growl from Madam Pince.

-----

    Draco’s strange encounters had not ended, it seemed. The next night he was standing idly in a corridor, he was supposed to be patrolling but found it rather dull after ten. Most people, even the stupidest, had the sense not to go out an hour after curfew.

    Apparently Ginny Weasley was dumber than even he believed. She strolled through, almost casually… as if she weren’t all the way across the castle from her common room. Draco sneered, freaked out because for a moment he had felt like Snape, and descended upon Ginny, who faked a surprised look.

    “Oh, Draco! What are you doing here?” she asked sweetly. Draco tried to shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong here; he was unsuccessful.

    “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

    “I just… thought maybe… you wanted to see me?” she stammered. Draco practically screamed.

    “No, I bloody well didn’t. What’s this about?” he demanded again, as Ginny began laughing and took off running. Draco stayed hot on her heels, though--he could have sworn the Gryffindor Seeker was faster than this on foot. He’d seen her run. Now she was moving in slow motion, as if entirely unused to running. She went the wrong way, and ending up heading for Slytherin house. Draco stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the red hair turning dimly blonde… he gasped as a few inches grew--as Pansy Parkinson stood where Ginny Weasley just had. He sank back into shadows.

    “Tried to trick me into admitting who I fancy!” he murmured.

    “I’d expect so,” came a cold voice from behind him.

    “Sir!” Draco jumped at Snape’s sudden appearance behind him.

    “This could get ugly very quickly, Mr. Malfoy. You’d do best to sort it out.”

    Snape had offered personal advice on a few occasions before, always trying to keep Pansy and Draco firmly entwined. It was almost as if he wanted them to be together--or maybe?

    Draco looked at Snape, startled. He knew through his father that Snape was one of the best Legilimens in Voldemort’s inner circle--what if he had somehow gleaned from him that he fancied Potter, and was doing what he could to stifle that? Pansy was a pretty girl, he supposed. He threw a suspicious glance at Snape and ran into the common room himself, head spinning.

-----

    It was time to try her last resort--Cho Chang. She knew she had overheard Draco remarking she wasn’t a bad flier, for a girl and a Ravenclaw after all. True, this wasn’t a statement of love--but she was desperate. She pretended to want Cho’s advice about Transfiguration--Cho had been a bit flustered, but had answered her rather simple question. As a thank-you, Pansy threw her arms around Cho in a hug and grabbed a hair from the shoulder of her robes. Leaving Cho utterly baffled, Pansy took off to drink the last of the potion and solve the mystery. At least as Cho, she could pretend to ask Draco about Pansy--oh, what a clever plan! She thought as she bounded down the stairs into her prefect bedroom. Ignoring the scowling Draco outside her door, she burst in. She listened carefully until he had walked away, and quickly added the hair to her potion. She drank it down at once--oh, this was brilliant! Cho would be practicing out on the pitch, Draco would probably be in the library--everything was going perfectly. Pansy rushed from the Slytherin dungeons as the change began, she didn’t want Cho to be spotted wandering through the common room.

    It wasn’t until she reached the corridor that she looked down at herself and shrieked.

-----

    Draco found himself, again, in the library. He was spending entirely too much time in there lately, he reflected. He was gathering his things to go--maybe he could find some first years to torture. As he was walking out, he saw Potter--his heart thumped inside his chest, surely audible to Potter, who was very close indeed. And only getting closer…

    Draco shook his head and tried to clear it--he had to be imagining things. But, no, it was Potter, gazing at him in an odd way. As if he were adjusting to seeing Draco, as if he just seen him for the first time. He also looked vaguely panicked. He leaned towards Draco. “We need to talk,” he whispered. “It’s very private,” he added as Draco did an instinctive check for Crabbe and Goyle. He wasn’t in the mood to duel with Potter--at least not with wands, his mind added.

    Potter dragged him off to a corner and leaned very, very close indeed. “Look, Draco, I’m having a problem. And I think only you can help me,” he said very pointedly. He absently twirled a lock of hair, something Draco had never seen him do but supposed must be part of his flirting tactic. As was the breathy voice and entirely too close proximity. Draco was feeling keenly the effects of their proximity, in fact.

    “Whoa,” Harry whispered as he apparently felt the same thing.

    Draco started to pull away, but something clicked in Harry’s eyes. He pulled Draco into him and pushed his lips to the other boy’s; Draco felt a thrill go through him as all his dreams were coming true. Potter was submitting to him, he thought as he pushed him against the wall and felt him yield beneath him. He even thought Harry shifted his hips to get a better angle--but something went wrong as they were kissing. Draco’s hands had begun to wander below Harry’s belt, doing his best to remove it--it was somehow harder, as if the belt weren’t meant for Harry. He realized with a start that it was certainly a girl’s belt. In fact, it appeared that Potter was wearing a skirt under his robes. As Draco let a hand slide further down to test this appearance, Harry gave a start. Gasping, he pulled away. His hands flew to his eyes, sorely disappointing Draco, who was rather enjoying gazing into the piercing green things without the interference of glasses--where were Potter’s glasses?

    “I, I have to go, Draco!” he panted, his voice high and straining. Draco was so surprised he let him scamper away, every bit of him throbbing with desire and loss.

-----

    Pansy raced into a girls bathroom, thankful for her robes. Draco had almost--Draco had just---Draco kissed her, but not her at all, her as Harry. Draco wanted Harry. Her mind could hardly wrap around this idea; how??? More important, had Draco realized that Harry was not Harry at all? He would not be pleased at all. Pansy shuddered as the last of Harry’s attributes faded away, leaving her shaking and feeling rather ill. Come to that, she wasn’t at all sure Polyjuice should be used for cross-gender switches. Damn her confidence… damn Potter’s black hair. How could she possibly have known it wasn’t Cho’s hair? Still winding and reeling, Pansy headed back for her dorm. She could hardly stand the thought of telling the sordid tale to Pomfrey, who would surely demand an explanation. She would simply have a bit of a lie-down and let this all sort out.

--------

    Pansy refused to leave her room the next day. Her prefect duties could take a flying leap. Knock knock. They could bugger off. She wanted to lie here alone and sob. Was that a problem with anyone? KNOCK KNOCK. Apparently it was.

    “WHAT?” she screamed at the door, which then flung open to reveal a not-amused Professor Snape. Pansy clutched her dressing gown tighter around her, not entirely concerned about Snape, but rather the crowd of people gathered in her door behind him.

    “Miss Parkinson, I do believe you have responsibilities to see to,” he chided. Not entirely cruel… he tended to take a more human tone with those in his own house. He was still not kind, by anyone’s standards, but Pansy felt the sudden impact of his presence. She knew he wouldn’t be here unless he was fully aware what had happened--which meant he knew that she was not good enough for Draco, she was only a substitute for-- it was too horrible to even think. How could Draco be gay, to begin with? In six years of school and even longer of being family friends, Pansy had not seen one clue that he fancied the same sex. Least of all Potter--Potter, whom he hated. The very Potter who had overshadowed his every move at school, who was better than him in every regard--who had caused his own father to be imprisoned and shamed before the entire Wizarding community.

    She gave a great sob and fell against a very unsettled Professor Snape. He gave her one semi-gentle pat and tried to disentangle himself. The group of onlookers tittered as Pansy wailed louder and grasped him tighter. “You foolish girl, let me go!” he hissed.

    “I am NOT a foolish girl!” she wailed again. Snape sighed and rolled his eyes.

    “Of course not,” he said in a placating tone. He turned to the other students and gave them a ‘I’m this far away from losing it’ Snape glare. They quickly scattered, except for one. Pansy turned to see why it was suddenly so silent and fell quiet herself.

    “I don’t want to see you!” she screamed, pulling away from Snape so fast he lost his balance and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed.

    “Pansy, come on. You’re being stupid.”

    “I’m being STUPID? I suppose Potter is smarter than me, too, right?”

    Dead silence.

    Still silence.

    Draco’s heart was beating a violent, erratic rhythm inside his chest--he swore Pansy had just said Potter. “But-how--how” he sputtered aloud. Professor Snape leapt up, looking absolutely horrified.

    “Teenagers,” he scowled as he swept from the room, looking as if it took all his power not to retch.

    “That wasn’t Potter, last night, you git! It was me, with the Polyjuice Potion!”

    “Just like Hermione and Ginny,” he figured out.

    “Yeah… only I was supposed to be Cho. Cho must’ve had one of Harry’s hairs on her robes---oh, that thought alone is sickening,” she spat. “But then I came to find you--I was going to tell you the truth about it at all, and ask for your help. And then-”

    “I thought you were really Potter.”

    “And you kissed me, I mean, him.” Pansy gave a great sniff. “Potter?” she whispered. “Harry-bloody-Potter?”

    “It’s none of your business, Pansy!” Draco snapped. He tore out of the room in a huff, leaving her fuming. She would show him just how much of a business it was. Rumors spread like wildfire around Hogwarts---and boy, was this one juicy.

    

----

    Harry settled in to breakfast the next morning, oblivious to the whispers and glances thrown his way. He didn’t even notice Hermione staring at him. Ron, however, had no gift of tact and blurted, “Did you snog Malfoy?”

    Harry blanched and dropped his fork onto the floor. The clatter seemed to reverberate throughout the Great Hall as every head slowly swung his way. “Malfoy?” he repeated blankly. “Snog?” he asked, as if sure he had misunderstood.

    “Yes, snog,” Hermione said impatiently. “Everyone’s saying you did--they reckon Draco fancies you. A first year saw him kissing you--”

    “Draco?”

    “Yes, for goodness sake! Where have you been all morning?”

    “Er, playing Quidditch.”

    Hermione snorted. “Well, everyone is talking about it. Draco’s missing, though--most people suppose that’s a good indication that its all true.”

    “But… Draco?” Harry asked again weakly. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her breakfast.

    “So.. You didn’t then, right?” Ron asked tentatively. Harry shook his head vehemently.

    “’Course I didn’t,” he muttered, picking up his fork. The heads eventually turned away, but Harry didn’t feel any more at ease. Draco?

-------

    “I will KILL that little chit!” Draco screamed as the fifth person in the corridor scurried past him with a snigger. He stormed up towards the Great Hall--forget appearances, House points, prefect badges--all he wanted was his fingers around her neck, that stupid bitch, how dare she blab his secrets, how dare she---

    “Slow down, there, Malfoy, wouldn’t want you to smash your perfect face.”

    Draco came to a complete halt. He turned, trying for a sneer but getting only a lopsided grin with a bit of a nose wrinkle. “Potter,” he said, trying for venom but getting awe with a bit of pleasure. Stop it right now he commanded himself. You. Are. Draco. MALFOY.

    “So, what’s all this about us snogging? It must have been so awful I blocked it out.”

    Draco’s face flushed. “I didn’t snog you, Potter. I’d rather snog Longbottom--at least he’s pureblood.”

    Harry pulled his wand, but Draco didn’t. Looking surprised, Harry dropped his arm. “What’s…”

    “I may as well give you the honest version of events. Pansy took a Polyjuice Potion--only I didn’t know what it was. I rather thought she’d made some awful mistake with a love potion. I know love potions wear off when the poisoned is kissed by its true love--you know how Pansy and I are,” he finished. He couldn’t believe the ease with which he told this lie. Yet he knew he was digging himself deeper in. No way would Pansy back him up--he had just effectively proved to Potter that he did, indeed, fancy him. No I don’t! he argued to himself.

    Oh, honestly.

-------

    Harry tossed fitfully that night--hardly something new. But tonight he found his discomfort was stemming not from his mind or his scar, but from somewhere else entirely. A bit lower than his stomach perhaps. Why did Draco Malfoy concoct such an elaborate excuse? Why didn’t he just say “Sod off, Potter” or ignore him completely? Could it really be that Draco liked him?

    Even more important--why wasn’t he horrified by this?

The end.