Metamorous

Chapter 11 - 'Tis the Season

Down at Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione. Sounds so strange to call them that after six plus years of Weasel and Granger, if it wasn't anything more impolite than that. Still, so far no bloodshed and only a few tense moments. In fact, it's practically a record for the lack of hostility.

"Could you two not do that while I'm eating?"

I pull far enough away from Harry to glare at Ron. "Like anything could curb your appetite."

"Nyah."

Like I wasn't going to kiss Harry again after that. Hermione hides her smile behind her hand.

"I'm serious. Please. Stop it."

"Hermione? Do you think that you could perhaps find some way to occupy Ron for a little while?" Absolutely brill plan, Harry.

"Of course," she answers. And demurely pecks Ron on the cheek.

"What?" he screeches incredulously. "Those two are having a makeout session in the corner, and I get a little buss on the cheek?! I'm supposed to be satisfied with that?"

Normally his voice would start to grate at this point and I would insult him (or perhaps Hermione would elbow him) and things would go steadily downhill, but Harry's stomach interrupts. Rather loudly.

"Hungry?"

He blushes. Again with the blushing... and I love the blushing, Gods help me.

"Perhaps lunch then?"

So we head off to the little café across from the Quidditch Supplies Store and order lunch. And as Harry's hand rests comfortably in mine, I can't keep my mind from wandering. It's been doing that a lot lately. I mean, there's a pretty damn good chance we might die over Christmas break. Certainly a higher chance than normal. So I'm thinking about what I want to do with my life. The immediates, and the laters.

Right now I want to kiss Harry, and hold him. I want to win tomorrow's match against Hufflepuff. I want to come inside from Quidditch practice this afternoon with Ron and Hermione and Harry, laughing and cold from the snow. And we'll drink hot chocolate and sit in front of the fire. And for a while I can pretend everything is ruddy perfect. And for a while, it will be.

And, Gods help me, I want to grow old with Harry. Not that I'm looking forward to growing old part, because who the hell looks forward to that? It's more the 'with Harry' part. And... and I want to play professional Quidditch. I want kids. Not one or two either. I want a whole household. So many I never want to have to worry about being alone. I want the kind of family you see walking along in Diagon Alley with the kids bouncing up and down and all over the place while the father can barely move. Lexa, give Rob back his toy broom. Yes, Felicia, I will buy you an ice cream cone. Michael Gavin Malfoy! Stop annoying your sister this instant! That kind of family. Yes, I know I'm crazy. I want a Weasley-like family! Is that not the epitome of insanity?

I am crazy. I've been crazy ever since this started. Ever since Harry started to mean something. And the truth is I don't want too much, but for what I want I might as well ask the impossible.

~~~~~~~

I wonder why I bother sometimes. Say I do tell Draco I love him. Say he loves me back, or likes me enough to where he'll give this a shot. Suppose that happens. Who's to say this is going to amount to anything? I liked Cho for the longest time. And then there was Ginny. That wasn't a relationship, exactly. It was sort of a... a mutual exploration. She wanted to fool around with a guy and I wanted to fool around with a girl. I love her, true, but it's the same way I love Ron. They're my friends. Almost family.

Who's to say Draco is the love of my life? Certainly feels like it, but that's something every teenager says. Don't they? I mean, is this just too... everything to be real?

~~~~~~~

Father's coming. In two days. Two days. Two days! As in forty eight hours two days! Aih! The insanity! The cruelty! The fact that we may or may not be going to our death! All these goddamn exclamation points flying around in my head! Fuck! Two days!

"Something you wish to share with the class, Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry's looking at me with an expression so reminiscent of Snape that I can't help but smile a little. "Not really." Yes! Gah! Stupid exclamation points...

"Nervous?"

"What tipped you off? The babbling, the pacing...?"

"The fact that you only have your robe on one arm."

"Oh." So it is. Imagine that...

"Draco, you need to calm down."

"Can't." Pace, pace, pace...

"You're going to wear a path in the floor."

"It's a stone floor, Harry."

"That's why it's so annoying."

"Oh."

He sighs. "You really do need to calm down. It's not even time to leave yet."

"I know. Thank God!"

"You wanna go over what we're supposed to be doing? Will that make you feel better?"

"Yeah. Sure. Maybe I'll be better if we go over what we're supposed to do." I can think of better ways to burn off energy, but this is a bit more productive. If less fun.

"Hope so."

"Yeah. Okay. So. You're still under the influence of the Potion. Under Metamorous. Metamorous... what the hell kind of name is that anyway? Who the hell names these thin- right. Getting off track. So. Your symptoms should be pretty strong. Really strong even. Think... think, like, well, house elf. You know. Permission for everything. Except breathing. Breathing, you can do. Right. Uh, call me Draco still. Don't worry about touching or kissing me. You should. I mean, it's expected. Yeah. And I know you hate my dad... well, actually hate might be too weak a word, but still. Be polite. Don't insult him. Act like you don't remember meeting him even. And... and..."

"I think this is making you worse."

"No shit, Sherlock. This whole thing is making me nervous!" Gah. Nervous. Paranoid. If anyone comes near me I might hex them on general principle.

"Draco," Harry says patiently (and I mean much too patiently. Why the hell isn't he freaking out? There should be some freaking out here, some definite signs of nervousness of some kind) as he stands up and comes over towards me. "It's fine. I'm good, you're good. I know, you know. Everything'll be fine."

"You don't know that." I mean you really, really don't know that. I sure as hell wish you did, but you don't.

He pauses, then shrugs his shoulders. "You're right. I don't know why I bother. I wasn't buying it either."

Shit. What was I thinking? It was a good thing he's not nervous! Maybe then one of us could function. "Well, that's not exactly what I meant either. The plan isn't foolproof, but we're not rushing into this either. Voldemort's going down. And we'll be the ones to do it." For God sakes, if not now then when? I'm beginning to wonder whether Voldemort can be killed. He's managed to evade death so many times.

Finally, a smile. A sad one. So sad. "I've wanted to kill him for seven years. Seven years, Draco. Do you have any idea how long that seems?"

"An eternity." I can only imagine.

"Yeah. Ever since I found out who killed my parents, it's always been on my mind. Maybe I haven't been muttering about it in my sleep, but it's always floating around in there. I've dreamed about it. I... I want to be the one to do it, not anyone else. If I don't end it by my own hand, how will it ever really be over?"

~~~~~~~

I don't know exactly why I'm telling him this. Maybe because he'll understand. Ron wouldn't. Ron has the temperament of a child. Anger. Fast, brutal anger that only lasts so long, and isn't completely understood. He's never really hated anything in his life. He hates Umbridge, he hates Voldemort, he hates Snape, but he doesn't hate. I don't think he ever truly felt a stirring of real longing for their demise. Not really. And Hermione is too... put-together for something like that. She doesn't hate anything. Perhaps she loathes, or dislikes strongly, but she would never really hate someone. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It means they can't feel everything. If they don't know the depths, how can they know the heights? Sigh. I'm not sure what I'm talking about anymore. I just know they wouldn't understand, and maybe Draco would. Draco's nervousness has rubbed off on me, and when I'm nervous I babble. So I just keep talking.

"You know? How can you ever really know? How can someone who had such a hold over your life really be gone if someone you might not even know... does it? That's... that's it? It's over? How is that logical?"

"It's not," he says quietly, nervousness replaced with a quiet dread. And maybe a little understanding. "Hate like that isn't logical. Love isn't logical. Life and death aren't logical either, no matter how much we think we know about them." He pushes me towards the bed. "Sleep. I'd say don't think about it, but I know you will. You want me to stay with you?"

Yes. God, forever. Not what he meant, not like that, and I know it. I can't take this. I just want to tell him. And I will, I know it, I just don't have the strength right now. Not right now.

"I'll be all right. I know you've got things to do."

"If you're sure."

I'm not. I'm not sure about anything.

"Night, Draco."

"I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

~~~~~~~

It's the day we leave. Damn it. God damn it. Staying at school over Christmas break never seemed so good before. Of course, Harry was never walking around my room naked over break before, so there you have it.

"Haaaaarry..."

He laughs softly as I grab his pants from his hands and throw them to the other side of the room.

"Draco, I have to go."

The eyes. And the pouty lip, use the pouty lip. "Please?"

"Sorry. I have to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione and give them their presents." I place a kiss on his shoulder. "Draco... I promised..."

"Really quickly?"

"Draco..."

"Really, really quickly?"

"Draco..."

The sexy voice, please God, let the sexy voice work. "Please?"

He raises an eyebrow, amused and trying very hard not to be. "As much as I love you begging - "

It's working. I'm wearing him down...

" - I really do have to go."

"Please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please..." Shameless, shameless begging.

He sighs but ruins the effect since he kisses me right afterwards. Ha. The shameless begging always works.

"If I'm late I'll tell them exactly why," he scolds me.

Works for me. I always love when Ron's face turns that distinct shade of red-purple.

~~~~~~~

Shit!

"Draco!" There's a huge fucking hickey on my neck! Now I have to go find another shirt, and from the way Draco's grinning, I think he knows it too. Not to mention I was only supposed to be in the common room, oh, half an hour ago?

"Later," I growl. "You will pay."

"I'm looking forward to it."

~~~~~~~

"This is the first Christmas I haven't spent here. Seems kind of strange." Hermione, Ron, and I are all sitting in front of the common room fire. Exchanging presents before we all leave. They're both spending the hols at the Burrow. And I... I don't know exactly where I'm going. Not really.

Hermione hands me a bright red and gold package. "Well, here's your present. And if you open if before Christmas, I'll know."

I don't doubt it. "Thanks. Here's yours." A rather large and moldy looking tome about the Magical Renaissance. I'm sure she'll love it.

"Thanks."

"And here's yours too, Ron." I handle the large green package gingerly. This may or may not be the last thing I ever give him, so I put some extra thought into it. "You probably should open it now."

"Now? It's not Christmas..."

"It would starve before then. And/or suffocate."

Beat.

"My present's alive?"

"Uh huh."

"As in... living alive? Breathing alive?" Ron looks worried. "You didn't have Hagrid help pick it out, did you?"

"Nope. Completely my idea."

He begins to unwrap the package, carefully pulling off the paper and opening the box. Yes, the box had holes punched in it. You don't really think I'm that mean, do you?

"Oh!" Hermione shrieks. "It's so adorable!"

A hiss. A growl. And a snap of what looks like some very pointy teeth. Okay, Ron's gift doesn't like Hermione. We're off to a great start.

She jumps back. "Perhaps adorable was the wrong word..." Right now it certainly doesn't look it.

"Harry, what is this?"

"It's a eubuleus."

"Bless you."

"A eubuleus?" Hermione squeaks, suddenly forgetting her fear. "Really?"

"Uh huh. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Looks like a cross between a cat and a fish. But in a good way," Ron decides. It does look kind of odd. Sort of a cat's body with fins on the end. Except it's almost a brown color. I still think it's cute, though.

"Glad you approve."

"Where'd you get it anyway? I thought they were hard to find."

"A shop on Knockturn Alley." At their horrified expressions, I feel the need to hurriedly explain myself. "All the shops there aren't bad, you know. Just because they're not bookstores or owl vendors doesn't necessarily mean they're illegal." I hand another package to Ron. "This is some stuff for it. Mrs. Reese - that's the woman I bought it from - said to feed him twice a day. Basically just milk and seaweed for now, but once it gets older it will want a bit of fish now and then. Absolute tons of water. And you don't need to keep it on a leash or in a cage or anything."

"Wow, Harry. This is... cool." Ron smiles broadly. "Really cool."

"Isn't he? What are you going to name him?"

I think that floors him for a second. Ron's never gotten to name anything, not even his own owl. He picks the eubuleus - and really, that name is kind of strange - up under the front fins, which flap gently. He looks as Ron through purple eyes, and his dark brown fur bristles slightly. Then he relaxes, and he makes a sort of sleepy growl.

"It looks like a Gremlin with a tail," Hermione says uncertainly.

"Oh, thanks a lot for that. That movie gave me nightmares for a week, you know. I'm never feeding this thing after midnight!" Ron tilts his head. "I still can't believe you made me watch that. What is wrong with Muggles? I can't believe they watch that stuff for entertainment!"

"What was the Gremlin's name? Gadget? Gizmo?"

"Gizmo. But how about Thingamajig for this... well, thing?

"Thingamabob?"

"Doohickey?"

"Are you two trying to creep me out?"

"How about Bob?"

"We are not naming my tesser Bob."

"Why not?"

"It's... it's just not a Bob!"

"Well, what is it then?"

"It is..." Ron paused. "A Triptolemus."

"Gesundeit."

"Oh, shut up."

"No, seriously! I'm surprised you can say that with a straight face."

"His name is Triptolemus. And I'm calling him Trip for short."

"Whatever floats your boat."

"Ron," Hermione interrupts. "I'm going down to meet Professor McGonagall. She said she needed to see me before I left. I'll see you on the train, all right?"

"Sure." She gives Ron a quick peck on the cheek and strides out the door, pulling her trunk behind her. Always efficient, our Hermione.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"About how I acted... earlier this year..."

"Don't worry about it. Remember what a basket case I was Fifth Year? You were overdue for your own personal crisis." Though it did suck.

He smiles gingerly. "Well, if you're sure. I'm still sorry... that you're going out with Malfoy."

"Hey!"

He chuckles. "Knew that'd get you. I suppose he's all right."

"High praise."

"I mean... oh, you know."

"I know. Thanks."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, Ron."

~~~~~~~

In the carriage on the way to the Manor. I can tell Harry's mentally hyperventilating. That's probably the best way to describe what's going on in his head right now.

"Are you sure you're all right?" He looks fine. But he couldn't be any less fine.

"I'll be all right." The tone and tense aren't lost on me. He'll be all right.

"Just remember to keep breathing, okay?"

Apparently my tone wasn't lost on him either. He smiles wanly. "I'll do my damndest."

"That's all I'm asking."

It's a weird feeling I'm having now. Yay! Going home for Christmas... no, wait, scratch that. Yay! Going home to betray my father and slay a Dark Lord. What a turnaround.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Seriously... do you think we'll get out of this alive?"

He looks stoically out the window. "Draco, we could die this very second from an extremely virulent strain of smallpox. Or heart failure. Or spontaneous combustion." Not comforting. But highly imaginative. "So I don't know if we'll get out of this alive. But like you said last night, it's not like we're rushing into this. We're prepared, we've got a cover story, not to mention Voldemort thinks I'm helpless. I've been in worse odds and gotten out alive." He's not boasting. It's just fact.

"Well, you're the Boy Who Lived. You're supposed to." Another little fact.

He rolls his eyes. "Boy Who Lived. Are they going to call me that even after I do die? I can see the headlines: 'Boy Who Lived Died'. In another seventy years or so," he adds quickly. "Knock on wood."

We both smack the wall simultaneously. I raise an eyebrow. "Here's hoping."

~~~~~~~

A/N A eubuleus is a monster from Greek mythology. It just sounded cool.