Proverbial Musings

Proverbial Musings

~~*~~

"Know thy lot, know thine enemies, know thyself."

Draco stabbed at the lettuce on his plate, as though mutilating the wilted leaf would somehow alleviate his current predicament. It didn't, but jarring motion made his wrist hurt; he'd twisted it at Quidditch practice the night before. He continued to stab at the foliage despite the pain, cursing every proverb in existence all the while. His father was fond of proverbs; he'd often used them whilst tutoring Draco. Lucius' favourite was a particularly annoying little ditty that included several "thy" references which had resulted in Draco being instructed to study his enemies' habits.

The studying had gone well, for about - well, it had never gone well. In first year it resulted in an intense rage that'd given Draco ulcers. He'd learned that Potter was right-handed and had never had a proper Christmas. Second year resulted in jaw problems when Draco had begun grinding his teeth. Potter liked dark chocolate - the good, bitter stuff - but never bought it for himself. Draco's third year had resulted in the resurgence of a childhood nail-biting habit. Potter chewed his left thumb when he was nervous. He was rarely nervous.

It had progressed from there, spiralling out of control, leading Draco to believe that proverbs were the root of all evil. Studying his enemy had resulted in Draco knowing him, yes, but Draco had also come to see his enemy as human and Not So Different From Him: someone who also had hopes and dreams, nervous tics and a sense of humour. Not to mention a soft jaw, wide eyes and lush - if bitten and chapped - cupid-bow lips.

In knowing his enemy, Draco had grown attached to him; attached in a way very much similar to the way one gains affection for a stray cat that takes to sleeping on the windowsill. So it came to pass that Draco found himself nearing the end of his seventh year dangerously obsessed with his enemy. Draco was in love and in agony over it because the object of his affections, having the emotional perception of an alarm clock, would never return such sentiments.

Draco stabbed at the lettuce again. Potter hated salad; Draco had once heard him tell Granger that it reminded him of rabbits and the undersides of lawnmowers. Bloody proverbs.

Know thine enemy, love thine enemy, kick thyself repeatedly

~~*~~

A hungry man is an angry man.

English Proverb

Harry is hungry. It can be seen in his eyes - they have a wild, feral fire that burns defiantly and without remorse, never satisfied. No one knows exactly what he is hungry for. They're not sure if Harry himself knows, from the way his gaze continually sweeps the common room, searching for something to quench and satisfy it. He doesn't find it, and his eyes blaze; he can't sit still and has nearly stopped eating. He's hungry for something else. The food before him only throws his inner hunger into starker contrast.

He sits at the table, surrounded by friends, and doesn't eat despite the mountains of food piled atop golden plates around him. His eyes sweep, stop, sweep again; he blinks several times and growls. He's not sure if it is his stomach growling like that, or if it's something else entirely.

Harry is angry. He snaps at his house mates and scowls at professors. He forgets commitments and blows off meetings in his anger, it has so consumed him. He stomps from place to place, glowering at everything in his path. His eyes never stop moving though; they sweep the room continually, stopping when he sees a familiar flash of blond. His eyes blaze with even more ferocity before he realises who he's looking at and switches his gaze, punishing his traitorous eyes.

Harry is hungry and no one knows why. No one except Harry, that is.

A hungry man is an angry man, even if he is content to starve.

~~*~~

Love, pain and money cannot be kept secret; they soon betray themselves.

Spanish Proverb

"You're infatuated."

The words cut through a haze of foggy thoughts and made Draco jump. His eyes stayed focused on a figure in the distance, ignoring the dark-haired girl who'd plopped herself beside him on the lawn. She gave him a smug grin and elbowed his side.

"You are, aren't you? Draco's in loooove," she sang. A glare that would have reduced any self-respecting Hufflepuff to a quivering lump was sent in her direction, but Pansy's grin merely widened.

"What makes you think I am?" Draco queried in a fatigued monotone.

"You're hiding; you don't hide well. You haven't bought any frivolous potions ingredients in weeks, not even after the Gringott's investment paid off." She was counting on her fingers now.

"You've always loved to flaunt wealth: mocking the old families and annoying those with less than formidable fortunes." She exhaled harshly before continuing. "It's not like you to be so reserved ... you only budget yourself when you're in pain - don't say I'm wrong because I've known you longer than anyone else. You milked that gash on your arm for every Galleon in third year, but now you're hiding. You look like you're going through the motions; you hardly sleep and you haven't eaten lunch or breakfast for eight days running. You're in an unfamiliar pain, and you don't want anyone to notice - which means you're worried about who's watching and that you're in something new. You've never been in love." She shrugged. "Money equals pain equals love. Simple process of elimination is all."

"Ah."

"You see? You didn't even contest it. Now, who is it, then?" she murmured to herself and made a show of following her companion's line of sight. "Give us a look... Him? Potter?"

"Leave it alone, Pansy." Draco's posture slumped slightly, defeated.

"Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste. What does Potter think about all of this? He does know, right Draco?"

Draco shrugged and lay back on the grass in seeming nonchalance. "Sleeping kneazles, Pansy, let them lie. He wouldn't have me - not ever."

Love, pain and money cannot be kept secret; friends are smarter than that.

~~*~~

Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.

Wildean paradox

Oppressive heat and dire boredom are a dangerous mixture at the best of times, Hermione knows. When she happened upon her two friends collapsed in the shade of a willow tree she was quick to throw Nefarious Plan #156 into action before anyone else made a move with theirs.

"I am so bored!" Ron complained.

This elicited a half-hearted grunt from Harry, who lay on his back with his right arm draped across his eyes. Hermione made no move to acknowledge Ron's whining. Instead, she looked across the lawn, made eye contact with a dark-haired girl - who in turn cocked her head in the direction of the blond boy dozing in the shade beside her - and nodded. A series of silent cues in the form of eye-battings and hair-tucks followed:

Now?

No time like the present.

This had better work.

It will.

Fine, but if your twit of a friend hurts my Harry I'll hex you both.

It hurts them more to be mooning over each other in poorly shrouded secrecy - especially your Potter. Trust me.

Hermione gave a derisive snort, but trusted and carried on just the same. It was time.

"You know what would be really amusing?"

"I swear to Merlin, Hermione, if this involves revision in any way-"

"Harry should forgive Malfoy."

The incredulous cry from the red-headed boy stung Hermione's eardrums, but it was Harry's reaction that intrigued her. He'd stiffened, as though nervous, before raising himself slightly to rest on his elbows and fix her with a wary gaze; she wondered if he knew. Impossible.

"... why in the name of bloody anything would Harry want to forgive that ferret?" Ron took a deep breath and looked thoroughly prepared to continue with his well-rehearsed "Slytherins are gits" speech, but stopped short when Hermione held up a hand.

"What I mean is, nothing would annoy Malfoy more than Harry's forgiveness. He'd be either incredibly affronted, go a splotchy pink and throw a fit, or he'd think we were up to something and be twitchy in anticipation for days."

Ron grinned with unholy Weasley glee. Harry's features drew into a vaguely hungry expression. His eyes flashed and began roaming his surroundings once more, flicking to the figure across the lawn every few seconds before moving on. Finally, Harry nodded once.

"Fine. Let's go," he sighed and pushed himself to stand.

The three stood and ambled across the lawn, Ron whispering excitedly all the while, and approached the pair on the other side. Pansy's brow quirked upwards in amusement upon their approach, and she flashed Hermione a quick wink before alerting Draco of the development.

Draco and Pansy were standing by the time the trio arrived - the former smoothing his rumpled shirt and rubbing sleep from his eyes, the latter schooling her features into a mask of careful derision.

"What do you want?" Pansy bit out, eager to start an exchange.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione grabbed his shoulder to silence him, nodding in Harry's direction. Harry, standing in front of the pair, didn't see the gesture but began to speak nonetheless. "I wanted to apologise to Malfoy," came the quiet reply.

Just as Hermione predicted, Draco looked over his shoulder as though searching for falling skies and aerial pigs before turning slightly pink and spluttering, "You wanted to what?"

"Apologise. For everything. I'm sorry I've treated you so rottenly all these years, I'm sorry about your father - that he's your father, mind, not that he hasn't killed me yet." Harry paused and drew a breath. "I'm sorry about sneaking into your common room in second year and all your potions I've ruined; I think I'm most sorry about refusing your hand, but you'd just insulted my first friend, see, and then you were such a git about everything. Sorry about leaving you oozing on the train at the end of fourth and fifth years, too - I didn't know that mixing hexes caused such dreadful nosebleeds, but you did deserve it. Of course, I'm not sorry for kicking your arse at Quidditch all those times, but you know how it is: fairness in love, war and Quidditch."

Draco's cheeks burned pink, making an unflattering contrast with the rest of his skin, which had paled even more. His eyes flashed angrily, not unlike Harry's of late. Draco looked as though in the process of deciding whether to bolt or attack. "What brought this on, Scarhead? You must know I won't absolve you a thing."

Harry shrugged and his posture slumped in weariness. "I know, and I forgive you."

"You - you forgive me? You forgive me?" The words were ground through his Draco's teeth.

Harry nodded and scuffed the ground with his toe.

Draco, Hermione noticed, was close to hyperventilating, so nervous was he. "Why?"

"It's not in your nature to forgive, or apologise, so I figured I'd best do it. We're leaving soon and we're too old to keep at this."

This was it, if Draco hexed them all it would mark the first miscalculation in Hermione Granger's career and a very nasty hex would be sent Parkinson's way, otherwise -

"Go to hell, Potter."

Green eyes gave a traitorous blaze before flicking away and training themselves anywhere but on the boy before them. Something above Harry's stomach growled; Draco looked desperate and scared. Pansy smirked. Told you so, Granger.

Hermione nodded and nudged Harry's shoulder. He turned and followed his friends into the castle, never once looking back.

"Merlin," Ron breathed, bursting into laughter once they were out of earshot. "You were right, Hermione. Did you see his face? S'like Moody had sneaked up and jabbed him with a wand - I thought he was going to have a stroke, he was so vexed."

"Hmm," Hermione agreed, glancing over her shoulder at the now conversing Draco and Pansy. She saw Pansy put a placating hand on his Draco's shoulder, but he quickly batted it away and drew his hands through his hair, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes in defeat. Hermione watched as the proud boy slumped to the ground, head on his knees; she heard his frustrated cry before turning to catch up with her friends.

Forgiveness. There is no weapon more sharp or wicked.

~~*~~

Speak the truth, but leave immediately after.

Slovenian Proverb

This was bad. Draco had been seen, seen, damnit - he had to get away. Get away soon. Why had he done it? What had possessed him to do that? Yes, he was a prefect and, yes, it was his job to investigate strange lights in abandoned classrooms, but really - any fool could tell why a classroom would be dimly lit at that hour of night. Draco just hadn't thought it would be occupied by him. On opening that door and seeing the two wrapped in a soft embrace, Draco had gasped in soft surprise and that had been his downfall. The boy against the wall had moved at the sound, pulled away so that the candlelight glinted across the hair that fell in his eyes; eyes that had glinted from behind the dark tendrils. Pink lips that parted in shock, nervousness, and something Draco couldn't - wouldn't - describe. Then that word had escaped through those parted lips, carried by a voice of velvet and vermouth.

"Malfoy."

Draco had run then. Left the room, not quite closing the door in his haste to get as far away as possible from the footsteps that followed him.

Stupid, stupid, bloody fantastically stupid. Why had he gone into that room? Draco resisted the urge to sprint and settled for a brisk stride. Oh, Merlin, he'd been seen. Breathing heavily, blood pounding, he strode through the corridors in search of escape, feeling like a caged animal. He might have been sweating if he hadn't been but he was moving quickly enough for a cool breeze to whisk away any moisture. Was his tie always this tight? He loosened it with one hand and ran his other through his hair.

He was nearly in the heart of Slytherin territory when an invisible something wrapped around his upper arm and yanked him into a side corridor. Draco barely suppressed a yelp; the knowledge of who was pulling him into the shadows being the only thing keeping him quiet. There was a whisper of fabric as a cloak fell to the floor and the hands - the boy - pinning him against the wall materialised.

"You won't tell anyone." A question and a statement from the dark-haired boy, a boy chewing his left thumbnail in anxiety. "You won't tell anyone about Terry and I."

Draco bit his tongue to keep from correcting the other boy's grammar and he shook his head in response.

Harry seemed angered by the silent reply. "Why? What are you planning?" He grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pressed him further into the wall.

Draco's insides quailed slightly and he struggled to maintain his composure, managing to cock a brow in query.

Harry's eyes flashed. "Why," he whispered, "are you tormenting me? Why are you watching me? You're always there. Why are you always there? You don't speak to me, you don't react, you don't even fight with me anymore and now you say you're not going to tell! Are you going to blackmail me? Is that it?" A flush reddened his cheeks, and he chewed his bottom lip while watching the blond with a calculating air.

Draco stayed stonily silent, his eyes boring into Harry's. Harry seemed unnerved by the lack of verbal acknowledgement.

"Then what do you want?"

Draco didn't trust his voice to answer; he swallowed heavily, bit his tongue and raised his hand. His eyes never left the green pair opposite him as his index finger trailed along the curve of Harry's jaw, traced his lower lip before following the lines of Harry's throat to his collarbone. Draco dropped his hand then and looked at the ground, resisting the urge to scuff his toe along the ground in sheepish regret.

Comprehension dawned on Harry and he swallowed. "But... but you hate me. I put your father in jail, and we've always fought and - and you've never spoken to me except to insult me... You can't possibly..." He trailed off, looking positively bewildered and a little scared, but with a curious gleam in his eyes.

Draco blinked slowly, shook his hair from his eyes and smirked slightly. Don't presume. Quick as a flash he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Harry's before pulling away from the wall and stepping back into the hall.

His tongue, raw from being trapped between his teeth, tasted of blood when he spoke.

"I do love you, Potter. I just don't like you very much."

With a sweep of robes Draco was gone. He didn't see Harry slide down the wall and slump with his head between his knees. Draco only let his own hang in quiet mortification.

Don't run away, but don't look back. Enough. Leave it now.

~~*~~

A man is not honest simply because he never had a chance to steal.

Yiddish Proverb

One of Harry's first lessons in life was "never ask for what you want". He'd learned this shortly after his fifth Christmas at the Dursleys', when he'd asked for a plush green snake, just like the one Dudley had received (and promptly destroyed) on his fourth birthday. Harry hadn't received a snake that Christmas; Dudley had been given a blue one to flaunt.

That was how things continued for the next few years; everything Harry asked for was denied of him, so he stopped asking. Eventually he'd stopped hoping, stopped allowing himself to want things. Hopes inevitably came crashing down, and it was just easier not to get caught in the rubble. After a certain point he'd even stopped wanting things on principle - just take things as they come, no more, no less.

So when something Harry could only describe as an intense hunger pang struck him, then refused to be willed away or absolved through the usual channels, Harry grew worried. At first he'd allowed his eyes to roam casually. What do you want? they'd ask the hunger, which would reply, I don't know, something else. Dim winter sunlight had been streaking through the Great Hall on the day the hunger had peaked, giving a false impression of warmth. A spark of light had reflected in Harry's peripheral vision then and the hunger abruptly receded. His curious eyes had turned to determine the source of satiation, only to be reprimanded on principle.

No, you can't want that.

But we do.

The want (hunger) continued to grow; his eyes continued to roam. Harry would snap at his friends and forgo meals - so ravaged by want, by fear of want. Everything he wanted was taken away from him, it was better not to want, just to take things as they came.

So Harry readily accepted when Terry Boot had approached him one day, spoken to him and parted with a kiss. Terry wanted him. Harry didn't want him; Terry was all right: handsome, sensuous and intelligent, but not quite what Harry wanted. Not that it mattered. Harry just took things as they came; he'd never been good at thievery - never had a chance, really. Stealing was Terry's game: stolen kisses, nicked food, pilfered thoughts. It had been okay - good, even, for a time.

Then Malfoy had ruined it all. As usual.

Harry had lied to himself after apologising to Malfoy, when the hungry wanting pulse had ebbed once more. He'd said it was because he was meeting Terry that night, in a classroom Terry knew would be empty. The lie had worked for a while, but when the time came Terry's kisses only angered the hunger, made it worse. Not this. Something else, it pulsed, deep in his gut. Then the door had opened, the spark of light had gasped and the proverbial hand basket was sent merrily into the depths.

And what had Malfoy meant? Chewing his lip while nervous eyes gleamed and deceptively steady fingers traced their pale paths down Harry's throat. Didn't he Malfoy know what happened when Harry wanted? He was never given what he asked, never got what he wanted - not that he'd ever been given a chance to take anything of that sort, either. No, Draco didn't know what he'd done, he'd just done it and left. Leaving Harry slumped against a wall, his head between his knees, breath coming in choking gasps to punctuate the nervous litany in his head.

I can't want that. But I do. I don't want that. Liar. They'll take him from me. I'll steal him back.

The panic passed and his breathing eased. He pushed against the wall, supporting his weight as he struggled to stand. He shuffled haltingly from the corridor back to the main hallway and stopped. He had no idea where he was going. Kitchens then, he thought, before he remembered that he wasn't hungry for food. Library - closed. Dungeons? No, the map was under his bed, it would be too risky to go poking about under Snape's nose - Invisibility Cloak or no. He'd turned full circle, having taken halting steps in every direction while pondering destinations, before deciding to go to his dormitory and search out Hermione. She'd know what to do - she likely knew already, judging by the stunt she'd pulled with Pansy earlier in the week - she'd help him. All he had to do was ask.

It's time to be honest, to steal.

~~*~~

A rumour goes in one ear and out many mouths.

Chinese proverb

"Is it true?"

Draco started at the intrusive noise. His face contorted into a haughty scowl meant to send the third year running, but only pushed her to continue.

"Is it true you're Harry Potter's lover?"

Caught indecently off-guard by the question, Draco tripped over a stone in the corridor and only just avoided landing in a heap. With difficulty, the girl grasped his arm, held him steady and continued walking towards the Great Hall. He shrugged from her grip after finding his feet and looked around to make sure no one had seen him being caught by a girl four years his junior; it would not do for Gryffindor to learn that Draco wasn't infallibly sure-footed.

"Of course it's not true!" Not that I don't wish it were otherwise. "Who says it is?"

The girl shrugged and blew a limp curl of hair from her eyes. "A lot of people. Depends on who you talk to, really - you know how rumours are, Malfoy." She paused, allowing him to grunt in assent, before continuing, "I just wanted to hear it from the subject of said rumour."

"Why not ask Potter?" Scared of the Gryffindor hero, little girl?

"He hasn't been down to breakfast yet. I think he's hiding out like he did with all the other scandals." A thoughtful pause, then, "No one ever asks you, either. It's important to hear both sides."

"What's the rumour, exactly?"

"There are several variations. The most popular is particularly garbled, but it runs along the lines of the two of you meeting in classrooms at night for the last few months. Is it true?"

Draco's chest tightened at the memory of his stupidity the previous night, and he tried to answer as vaguely as possible. "No. I've only run into him once on Prefect rounds."

"So his apologising to you wasn't to do with a fight preceding your decision to take the Dark Mark?"

I decided to get another tattoo? News to me. "No, the apology was out of the blue. Some sort of dare, I think - where did you hear about that, anyway?"

"You know rumours: one truth, many variations." Her tone was derisive and Draco held out an arm to stop the girl as alarms began to go off in his head. She quirked a brow as he leaned against the wall; Draco had the uneasy feeling of being observed like a prospective potions ingredient.

"What are you going to do with the information I've given you?"

"Tell the truth if people ask. But they won't, I'm sure; they don't care that the truth is always more interesting."

He nodded slowly but without comprehension. "Why?"

"Rumours travel many mouths, truth is really quite shy. I wanted to know it."

He chuckled in amusement, pushed away from the wall. He was dusting off his robes, preparing himself for the onslaught of whispers that lay behind the oaken doors across from him and not really paying much attention to the smaller girl when she spoke up.

"I know another truth, though."

"Yeah?"

"There is something between you two, and it isn't one-sided."

He smirked. "You make a good Slytherin."

"Thank you." She turned, pulled the door open and strode into the Hall, but not to the table closest the door. It was only then that he looked at the girl, really looked at the girl, and saw the Ravenclaw crest on her robes.

The whispers were deafening.

Rumours travel through deaf ears; truth through mute tongues.

~~*~~

Better a quiet death than a public misfortune.

Spanish Proverb

"You're sure this will work?" Harry asked. He stuffed his hands into his pockets but removed them at Hermione's glare. Hermione had insisted that neatly pressed robes and smudge-free glasses were an integral component to 'The Plan'. Harry had been too unnerved to disagree with her in her fervent state.

She made an absent tsk-ing noise while brushing a speck of lint from his shoulder. "Harry, this is a simple manipulation in affairs of the heart. My lacking a Y-chromosome practically ensures success. Trust me." There was a gleam in her eye that Harry hadn't seen since she'd slapped Malfoy in third year. Unnerved, he turned to Ron for support, but Ron only shook his head.

"You're a great mate and all, but Hermione's scheme is a lot more worrisome than any of your seat-of-the-pants, run-off-and-attack-You-Know-Who-without-any-planning-whatsoever schemes ever were. For Merlin's sake, don't do it."

"Do shut up, Ron," Hermione huffed while attempting to pacify a cowlick by Harry's left temple. "Parkinson said this was the type of thing Draco would go for: a very dignified and proper semi-public courting. You're just jealous that you're not the one helping your best mate with his childhood rival." Harry snickered nervously and batted Hermione's hands from his hair.

Ron was indignant. "Oi! Of the three of us, I happen to be the resident chess champion and Quidditch strategist, and when I say that there is an infinite number of ways for this plan to go horribly, painfully awry, I truly mean it." He turned from Hermione to Harry and pleaded, "Look, mate, it's been three months since you've skipped meals to avoid humiliation in the Great Hall - stop perpetuating the cycle."

Harry drew up his shoulders and sighed as a pack of Slytherins passed them and entered the Great Hall; he thought he heard his name muttered amid their whispers. He didn't see Draco following the pack, and breakfast was almost over. Hermione's plan would have to wait. He ran his hand through his hair, roughing up the back and bringing the cowlick by his temple back to life.

"Humiliation I can deal with; it's the waiting that's killing me." He turned and started into the Hall. "Come on, let's eat. We'll perpetuate the cycle later." He chose to ignore Ron's dubious 'we?'

They sat in their customary seats at the Gryffindor table, furthest from the door. Harry watched his friends eat and played with an orange, rolling it back and forth between his hands, sometimes tossing it lightly into the air. His appetite hadn't yet returned but he was confident it would, soon.

Eight Hufflepuffs, a Gryffindor, two Slytherins and three Ravenclaws came into the Great Hall from the time Harry sat at the table to Draco's entrance. Harry ignored the entrance of all but the latter; he watched Draco's eyes follow the young Ravenclaw ahead of him before their gazes met and Harry took his cue - Hermione's insistent elbow in his side - to set 'The Plan' in motion.

Ignoring Ron's insistent mantra - This will all end in a fiery death - Harry walked purposefully across the Hall to the Slytherin table. Draco had yet to take his seat, or notice Harry's approach; Parkinson had enlisted the blond to check her Transfigurations homework and he was currently leaning over her shoulder to point out the more specific errors.

" ... you're focusing too much on wand movements, the problem's in the Latin pronunciation. You're forgetting to elongate the - Potter?" Draco straightened and turned to face Harry, jamming his hands in his pockets in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

"A word, Malfoy?"

"Any mindless drivel you feel compelled to inflict on me may be done so before witnesses."

Harry smiled wryly. Thank Hermione for Plans. "Funny. I thought you preferred dark corridors for our more intimate discussions."

"Got hit with a bludger again, did you? I don't remember being booted into Ravenclaw lately."

"Really, because that's not what you said in the corridor -" Harry checked his watch and raised a brow, "-seven hours ago."

A roar of whispers spread along the Slytherin table, seeping quickly to the others. Draco ground his teeth; a vein at the base of Harry's neck twitched with a surge of adrenaline. Or stupidity, he thought briefly. The whispers reached the end of the Gryffindor table, prompting Ron and Hermione to move closer, should peacekeeping efforts become necessary.

Harry watched as Draco blinked three times in rapid succession; his cheeks pinked slightly, hands balled into fists - he seemed about to go for his wand. A glance at the fully staffed, very stern Head Table seemed to mollify the Slytherin, as he exhaled sharply and turned his glare to Harry.

"You're not worth it," he muttered. "None of this was."

Draco walked quickly past Harry, cracking his knuckles, planning to leave the Hall and destroy some of his friends' more cherished possessions. He was stopped by two hands on the back of his robes

Harry, recognising he'd lost control of the situation, had moved with single-mindedness - he would later admit that his only thought was a fleeting sod 'The Plan'. He snatched a handful of black robes as they swept past, took a second to feel the fabric between his fingers, and pulled. A muted popping of seams, a surprised yelp and a collision of bodies followed. The crowd watched in amusement as Draco turned quickly and made to push Harry away, but was impeded by hands on his sides and a pair of lips.

Harry decided that Plans were overrated. Draco had stiffened in shock for several seconds, but a soothing hand tracing his ribs had relaxed him quickly. His lips were slightly chapped from the humidity, Harry noted, and there was the barest hint of stubble on his jaw. Plans would be forsaken immediately, Harry vowed, because Draco moaned most enticingly without them. Harry raised a hand to cup Draco's chin, nipped lightly at his lower lip while Draco unclenched one hand from Harry's robes and hesitantly draped it across his neck. He pressed his hips to Harry's and leaned into the kiss, moaning again in a way that Harry decided he could definitely get used to. In response, Harry moved his other hand from Draco's side to the small of his back, pressing them closer. The move backfired. Draco stiffened again, squeaked in surprise and shoved himself out of Harry's arms, gasping.

He stumbled backwards, seemingly in disbelief of what had happened, and surveyed the Hall with the anxious gaze of a child awaiting punishment. He then pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and third finger in mortification, closed his eyes and coughed once before running from the room with only a muted, "Oh, hell. Damn it all."

Harry made a small noise in the back of his throat as the large door swung shut, and grew aware of the eyes on him. Well, that went well. His shoulders slumped and, running a hand through his hair in dejection, he called to his friends behind him. "Which of the innumerable, painfully awry outcomes was that, Ron?"

"Lucky number seven; but it could be worse, mate," Ron said, stepping forward to give Harry a placating clap on the shoulder. "He didn't hex anything important, and your groin remains unkicked."

Harry groaned and sat beside Pansy on the Slytherin bench. "Somehow I think that might have been a better way to go."

Triumphant success or public misfortune - it's a calculated risk.

~~*~~

One place is everywhere; everywhere is nowhere.

Persian Proverb

For the third time in twelve hours, Draco found himself running away from Harry Potter. For the fourth time in twenty-four hours, Draco was cursing himself, his stupid actions, Potter, his friends, Hogwarts, adolescence, affairs of the heart in general, and the Fates who had made it their mission to get Draco into these damned situations.

Panting with exertion, cheeks pinked from the wind as well as their previous mortification, Draco cursed himself for running again. It wasn't like Draco to run, it wasn't like him to blame himself for stupid mistakes - making mistakes wasn't something he did often, either - it just happened that, for all intents and purposes, Harry Potter was Draco's Achilles heel of choice.

He sprinted across the castle grounds, legs kicking high, breath coming in gasps and arms pumping furiously. He ran just past a stone bench at the edge of the lake, where he stopped so abruptly he almost fell backward. Hands on his knees, he bent forward and took in great gulps of air, willing the pink flush away from his cheeks.

His breath wasn't coming any more easily. He straightened, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to dispel the oncoming headache and began pacing to rid himself of nervous energy. Nearly hyperventilating now, he dragged both hands through his hair and clasped them behind his neck, continuing his step-step-step-turn pacing motions along the bench. Draco growled in frustration and slumped to the bench in exhaustion.

Twenty-four hours, and four major screw-ups; not a bad record, actually, for a Hufflepuff.

Of all the - "I do love you, Potter. I just don't like you very much." - Bloody stupid - Don't run away, but don't look back. Enough. Leave it now. - things to do - "Of course it's not true!" - it had to be - Leaving. Pulling. Shoving. Kissing. Biting. Moaning. Leaving. - in front of Potter. "Oh, hell. Damn it all."

And then he'd run. Sprinted away from all that terrified and humiliated and threatened and destroyed in a blur of black and blond until he'd found some solitude. He could think here, near this stone slab of a bench that sat beneath a sky and before a lake. He could stand to live here by this bench, peaceful and secluded but for the castle in the distance, so long as his solitude was never disturbed. And even if it was, if someone presumed to infringe on his peace, he could always run again, no matter how unlike him it was. There must be a million benches like this under the sky. One place, this bench beneath the sky, could be anywhere, everywhere, if you ignored the castle in the distance. Of course, just like everywhere else, this place was lacking a certain boy to keep him company ... the train of thought was abruptly cut off, and Draco let his head fall forward to his hands with a dejected sigh. I've lost him this time. Strangely, the admission relaxed him, and the muscles in his shoulders began to loosen. Sure, just like a thousand other benches under the sky, but there's no Potter. But he was never there to begin with.

Draco flopped back on the bench and sighed in resignation. The stone was cool beneath his back as he watched the clouds, one knee drawn up, the other leg hanging off, left arm draped across his chest, right arm covering his brow. He shivered slightly in the breeze, regretting having shrugged out of his robe when the wind had snatched at it several meters from the entrance hall. The sun rose slowly overhead, reflecting off the cloud. Draco closed his eyes when squinting became painful. He relaxed as the breeze rippled through his hair, through the leaves and across the pond.

The soft crunch of footsteps on frozen dew alerted him to the approaching figure. Draco didn't know how long he'd been on the bench; there was a distinct possibility he'd fallen asleep after the adrenaline had left his system. The adrenaline surged once more as he recognised the rhythmic stride; he bit his lip and stiffened, bracing himself should it become necessary to run again. The pacing behind him faltered as it drew near - a nervous gesture? - adrenaline pumped and Draco decided to stay and fight for his solitude, his bench, if need be. He waited until the footsteps stopped, and the figure dropped down beside him.

"Hey, Draco?"

Nowhere is everywhere, if he's there.

~~*~~

A hard beginning maketh a good ending.

John Heywood "The Proverbs of John Heywood" (1546)

"Hey, Draco."

He sat up slightly as Harry seated himself on the bench, then eased backwards again so that he lay with his head resting in Harry's lap. Nimble fingers began combing through his hair, stroking his brow and tracing his features in a calming gesture. Draco sighed in contentment. This was perfect. Draco lay on the bench, legs crossed, left hand draped across his chest, right arm batting at the grass below him, and relished the silence. The fingers in his hair never stopped moving, never changed in pressure, but Draco sensed that Harry was waiting for him to speak, despite the reflective silence they were enjoying.

"I am sorry I ran, you know, that day," he exhaled softly.

Harry chuckled. "After a kiss like that? You should be. In fact, I'm still considering tormenting you with terrible Snitch analogies in retribution," he tugged lightly at a lock of hair by Draco's temple.

"Ouch! I said I was sorry."

"I know."

"One would think you would've forgotten about it once I'd slept with you," Draco grumbled, tugging at a blade of grass.

"This, from the man who held a grudge over a handshake for seven years?"

"It wasn't just a handshake, and you gave me plenty of other things to begrudge you for over those seven years. You got me detention in the Forbidden Forest, stole the House Cup from Slytherin on several occasions, paraded around like cock of the walk, laughed when I got turned into a ferret, beat me at Quidditch-"

"- brewed Polyjuice Potion and sneaked into your common room disguised as Crabbe in an attempt to prove you were the heir of Slytherin..." His fingers drew soft circles behind Draco's ears before moving along his jaw to trace the lines of his throat.

"That's a new one -" Draco leaned into the touch and stretched like a cat "- and if that didn't feel so good I'd be plotting revenge."

Harry chuckled, and they fell into silence once more. Harry looked out over the lake and continued to caress Draco's throat; Draco sighed and closed his eyes.

A soft inhalation, then: "Will you still love me when I'm old and craggy?"

Harry grinned. "No, but I have it on good authority that Malfoys don't get craggy, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Prat." Draco furrowed his brow and pushed out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

Harry's fingers moved to trace his lover's lips. "Yeah, but I'm a good shag and there's never a dull moment."

Draco reached up and pulled Harry into a kiss, a quiet brushing of chapped lips and gentle bites that elicited a moan from above him. He dropped back to the bench, smirking. It was now more of a habitual gesture for him than an expression of mirth.

"You're right." Draco sighed in contentment. "Maybe I'll keep you."

A bell sounded from the castle in the distance; the fingers stilled. "Come on, it's late. Snape will disembowel us if our classes don't start on time again." Draco groaned and cursed under his breath, but neither made a move to stand. It was quiet again but for their soft breaths in the early morning air.

"Draco?" Harry whispered as though he were about to reveal a particularly personal secret.

His eyes snapped open to lock with the green pair above him and he raised a brow in question.

"Happy anniversary."

"Mmm... three years." Pale lids slipped shut, and Draco was ready to forget about classes entirely in favour of an early-morning nap when Harry spoke again.

"Come on, classes start in five minutes. You can celebrate with pop quizzes and poisons that make the Gryffindors quail."

He eased himself off the bench, stretched and fought off a yawn while Harry tied his shoe. "Do you want to grab some food first?"

"Nah." Harry shook his head. "M'not hungry."

A wicked gleam claimed grey eyes, and Harry smiled at hearing his lover's laughter. He glanced sideways at Draco, noticing the muscles tense in his back and legs. Quick as a flash, a hand darted out to slap playfully at his rear before Draco jogged ahead.

"Race you!" he called over his shoulder before sprinting toward the castle, a flash of black and blond. Harry chuckled and waited three seconds before shaking his head and taking off after him.

Tumultuous origins? They're worth it for the finale.

~~*~~