When Pigs Fly

- When Pigs Fly -

Not surprisingly, Harry had never expected flying pigs.

Then again, Harry also never expected Draco Malfoy to stay over for Christmas holidays their last year at Hogwarts. Malfoy acted like there was nothing out of the ordinary about it, like he -always- sat in regal isolation at the Slytherin table, only one of his goons and Pansy Parkinson at his side. She was giggling about something; probably the pink-wrapped package she kept trying to push at him. Harry watched without knowing why. If asked, he would've blamed the cold.

As if on cue, Harry sneezed loudly, attracting Malfoy's quite unwanted attention. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed burning little icicles and his mouth twisted misshapenly, almost as if he was trying to smile. But no, that was simply not possible. Harry shook his head to clear it and attempted to turn back to his porridge and pumpkin juice. Harry really hated porridge, truthfully, but if he complained, Hermione would probably start ranting about house elves and working conditions again, and no one wanted -that-. So, he bore it like a man. That is to say, he played with his food and surreptitiously tried to relocate some onto Ron's own plate. Ron was snickering like a madman, which certainly wasn't helping matters any.

"I can see you, Harry," Hermione said calmly, not looking up. "You can't hide from me and my well-honed deductive and observational skills. And I happen to know that you don't like asparagus, either. Among other things, of course."

"Er--" said Harry, distracted by Malfoy still staring at him, though now he was also absentmindedly picking apart the pink-wrapped package. Harry would never admit to being curious, but he wasn't above a little surveillance work on his off hours.

"Well, neither do I, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You can have some of this healthy carrot-raisin salad I've made using some basic kitchen supplies. You should try it!"

"Sure, whatever you say, Hermione--" Harry said, even more distracted by the sight of a little shiny pink dragon fluttering gaily out of the copious pink ribbons, squawking loudly. It breathed no flame, being a quite obviously a toy, but it did nip at Draco's chin and flutter frantically, wagging its tail like a puppy.

"Honestly, Harry, if you're not going to -pay attention-, you won't even taste the bits of walnut!" Hermione cried indignantly, but Harry didn't hear her.

"What's this, Parkinson?! -Dragons-? How bloody original can you -be-?! Try a little harder, why don't you!" Malfoy sputtered as the dragon made a strange little whirring sound, biting energetically at his nose.

Pansy giggled loudly, looking only a little sorry. Her hand was at her mouth and her shoulders were shaking. Crabbe appeared to have missed the entire thing, watching with rapt fascination as his fork made patterns in his cereal.

"Yaaargh! Your beast is attacking me! Get him off! Get him off me! Oh God, he's going to peck out my eyes! I'll die at this stupid fucking breakfast without even getting to my -real- presents. Bitch!!" he screamed.

Ron and Harry were snickering openly by this time, making Hermione 'tsk' and roll her eyes, though her mouth was twitching suspiciously. Snape was approaching, looking particularly out of sorts as he always did in the mornings, and Pansy squeaked, tugging the little dragon off Draco's nose by his shimmering spiked tail.

"Isn't he -adorable-," she cooed, stroking his muzzle affectionately. "He really does remind me of you, Draco."

"You are dead to me, Parkinson!! Do you understand? You are -dead-!"

Crabbe let out what sounded like a guffaw, quickly muffling it by chomping down on a large dribbling spoonful of oatmeal. Draco looked away, disgusted, and Pansy tittered again.

"That's what you said -last- year, darling, when I got you that delightful stuffed ferret...." She began to giggle but then reconsidered, taking a look at Draco's purpling face.

"I thought that was a Hufflepuff prank, Parkinson!" he roared, only it was more like a high-pitched wail.

"Well...," Pansy gasped out, still smothering giggles. "It -was- kind of a transparent excuse, you have to admit, darling. After all, what would -I- know about the strange Christmas traditions of Hufflepuffs?"

"Gah! You are worthless! I give up! All of you! Worthless!"

Draco's body jerked violently behind the table as he kicked the much larger one next to him in the shin and Crabble grunted loudly.

"OWWW! Whaddya do -that- for, Draco?" Crabbe's pudding-bowl head turned sideways slowly, and he shot a baleful glare at Draco's tense, flushed face.

Draco just growled, downing the remainders of his pumpkin juice in one gulp. "Consider it a sign of Christmas spirit, Crabbe, and be glad I didn't hex your ears off instead."

"Yes, Draco," Crabbe said in a resigned voice.

Harry watched Pansy cuddle the toy dragon for the remainder of their breakfast, thoroughly forgetting about his carrot-raisin salad much to Hermione's chagrin.

"Does Malfoy seem a bit... off his game to you?" Harry said finally, with an unusually thoughtful expression, considering what he was currently pondering. He couldn't help hoping, whatever the case. Not that he cared, really.

"Yeah! Maybe this year he'll finally fall off his broom and finish it," Ron snorted, and they both laughed, though Harry felt a tiny bit guilty. That dragon would probably put anyone off their game, especially having been pink. Harry shuddered.

Pink dragons were just wrong.

Nothing wrong with green, however. Theoretically, of course.

~~

Harry woke up early on Christmas morning and stretched, feeling better than he'd had in months. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it. Much as he hated to be prematurely optimistic about these things... Harry just had that certain tickling in his tummy. It was just a hunch. It was going to be one of those days, but in a good way this time.

Ron was still asleep, and Harry was insufferably curious. He padded downstairs to the Common Room, filled with the pleasant anticipatory buzz he'd always gotten around this time since he'd come to Hogwarts. He was grinning like a maniac. Even though what he had to look forward to was probably something useful from Hermione, another sweater and something suitably cheap-yet-amusing from Ron, it was still more than Harry could imagine even now. His heart was fluttering madly behind his ribcage, and he approached the small pile under the tree with the cluster of tags all saying `Harry' with no small amount of gleeful trepidation.

He reached a hand out randomly, screwing his eyes shut and biting his lower lip. He didn't know -why- he always felt just a bit nervous right about now, but he did.

Harry drew out a shiny square box that fit comfortably inside his palm, swathed in lavish sparkly packaging that shimmered with rainbow colors in the light. There was also several tasteful silver ribbons attached which came undone quite easily at the slightest tug. Harry's excitement mounted. He'd never received anything packaged with quite so much care before, and it was bound to be -good-. He licked his dry lips, scrabbling to unfasten all the little bows as fast as possible, and gasped loudly.

A little whirring pink ball darted out of the box, flying right at him like a crazed Snitch.

Without having to think about it, Harry caught it in his right hand easily, his mind still not ready to process what he'd seen. Except he couldn't possibly have seen it.

Harry opened his palm, and the ball that wasn't really a ball at all hovered contentedly right above his palm.

It was a pig. A miniature, metallic-looking toy of the sort that Pansy Parkinson had teased Malfoy with, but there the resemblance ended.

It was a flying pig, after all. How much resemblance did it have to anything other than itself?

The pig fluttered gently onto Harry's palm, nuzzling his thumb, wings whirring delicately like it was some sort of demented Dudleyesque version of a Snitch. Harry stared at it, mesmerized for what seemed like a small eternity but was probably only a few minutes, before he noticed there was something else waiting for him in the silver box.

There had been a note folded along with it, tucked carefully amid the silvery packaging. Heart pounding even harder, Harry pulled it open, eyes widening at the fancy, calligraphic script flowing flawlessly across the lightly ink-splattered parchment. His eyes widened even further as he read:

"Who knew I'd be such a bloody fool

I always thought I knew better than you

And stupid fairytales come too late

I already need the very thing I hate.

So to hell with it; I know where I stand

Just forget this:

Never happened. You and I?

When pigs fly.

But then, so do I

And there's nothing else to do

But write you crappy poetry

Until you see it too."

Harry just sat there motionlessly, mouth open, until he heard Ron's muttering descending down the stairs and stuffed the pig back into its box as quickly as he could. He felt like he'd gotten away with something, but instead of being a reassuring sensation that he could remember feeling a thousand times before, Harry was flustered and out of sorts.

He felt like he was the butt of someone's joke, and it a particularly unwelcome one for some reason, but if he'd tried to explain it, he wouldn't have been able to why it mattered so much.

~~

"So who do you think it's -from-, Hermione," Harry said urgently, handling the delicately paunched silvery-pink pig gingerly. He hadn't shown her the poem. He just couldn't, for some reason. He kept folding and unfolding it with one hand in his pocket, rubbing the ink off on his fingers. It was a stupid poem, anyway.

He was glad Ron had left breakfast early. He really didn't want to know what his best mate had to say about his... unusual gift quite yet. He had a feeling there was going to be a lot of teasing involved, and that was not even -counting- the poem bit. Not that Ron was ever going to know about that.

"I mean... who in the -world-... I just can't even begin to guess...." Harry sighed. He was wrong about it being a good day after all.

"Oh, Harry! Isn't it -obvious-?" Hermione cried, not raising her eyes from the new, expanded and annotated anniversary edition of Hogwarts: A History that Ron had gotten her.

"It is?"

"Well, yes. Honestly, don't you know what flying pigs symbolize?"

"Er-- no?" Harry ventured.

"Come on! Do I really have to spell it out? Pigs flying? When do pigs fly?" Hermione prodded.

Harry just stared at her blankly, blinking slowly and feeling dumb. "Never?"

"Argh! Think, Harry! Who is the least likely person to secretly admire you? Who would be the last person on earth you'd ever consider...?"

"Er...." Harry thought hard. "Filch...?"

"Ack! No! -Harry-, please, I'm -eating-!" Hermione cried plaintively, looking vaguely horrified, although that could've been because she'd lost her place on the page.

"Well, I tried!"

"Someone... someone who's not... er... oh, I give up. It's Malfoy, Harry. Malfoy. Now leave me alone, I think it's just getting interesting," she huffed, blowing a strand of frizzy brown hair away from her mouth.

"...I really don't... Oh my GOD!" Harry cried, going a bit green around the edges.

Hermione smiled in an indulgent way, a bit like Harry's kindergarten teacher had when he'd first learned to spell his own name in big magnetic letters. H-A-R-R-Y. "Yes," she said primly, spearing a piece of lettuce in a salad bowl next to her book (no dressing) with a sharp-looking fork. "I knew you could figure it out, Harry! You just have to make the effort sometimes, you know? Now, how about this nice salad...?"

But Harry couldn't quite hear her, since there was a ringing in his ears, and he all he could see were little stars and flying cows, circling his head.

He was going to have to... reconsider some things, Harry thought, still feeling a tad queasy.

It wasn't even so much -Malfoy-... but the -idea- of him... it was just impossible.

Ridiculous.

Malfoy??!

No. Just... no.

He was just going to have to prove it. There was just... no way.

Malfoy and pink just did not go together.

~~

That evening, Harry knocked briskly on the snoozing portrait of Salazar which now hung over the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. Harry was a bit surprised, since this was a new development, but stranger things had happened. Quite recently, in fact. Salazar opened one rheumy eye, snorting when he saw Harry, looking determinedly back at him.

"Oh. It's -you-," Salazar said, smirking a little. Did all Slytherins smirk? Harry wouldn't have believed it, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The portrait had a suspiciously familiar sort of attitude, as well as looking a lot like Malfoy's thrice-removed bastard cousin. Maybe it was the eyes. Then again, nearly every pureblood in Britain was Malfoy's thrice-removed cousin, so that wasn't saying much.

"Er-- yeah, it's me. I think, anyway. I don't suppose you could... let me in? It's rather important. I have to see Malfoy. I mean, Draco. I mean, Malfoy. Er. Well, you probably know who I mean."

Salazar sneered maliciously, licking his lips and stretching langurously on his huge green leather armchair. "And why, pray tell, would I want to do -that-? Have you got anything to offer? Other than your scrawny little life, which I obviously have no use for, being a portrait."

"I-- I-- What do you want?" Harry said finally, through his teeth. "I can do a lot of things, if you tell me what you need."

"Ohhhh, I seeee!" Salazar crooned, eyes lighting up. "A man of many talents! A jack of all trades, you might say. Can you juggle, too?"

Harry blinked and did a double-take. "You-- you're not serious, are you...."

"Oh-ho! Ten hundred points to Gryffindor! We have a genius on our hands! I didn't know they bred such minds in that ratty little House!"

"You're just toying with me, aren't you," Harry grumbled, thinking furiously that he was really a huge idiot for not figuring it out sooner.

"You -are- a sharp one. Whatever gave you -that- idea? I -am- rather bored and it gets -old- saying only one word for years and years and decades and centuries... but who's complaining? Not I. I have things to think about. Revenge schemes to concoct. Destinies to manipulate. That sort of thing. You must know how it is, boy. You've got the mark of the Master upon you, don't you?" Salazar smirked again, and suddenly, Harry hated smirks with a passion.

"You bastard! Take that back!"

"Take what back?" Salazar drawled companionably. "The truth? Or my kind-hearted compliments? Or perhaps... perhaps--"

But Salazar never got to finish that thought, because the portrait had been jolted violently to one side, showing a sliver of another constipated-looking pale visage before Harry was pulled through, gasping and sputtering.

"Well?! Explain yourself!" Draco demanded, crossing his arms imperiously and glaring at Harry. "What are you -doing- here, chatting up our founder loudly enough to disturb my nap, Potter? Up to your dirty old Gryffindor tricks, I presume?? Or have you finally got the balls to challenge me to a duel? One on one? Man to man? Wand to wand? Death to death?!"

"Er... no," Harry said, looking a little surprised at the suggestion. "Why would I do -that-?"

"Because, you idiot! It's our last year! It's now or never, Potter, and if you were a -man- instead of a... instead of a...." Malfoy's imagination seemed to desert him for a moment, and he paused awkwardly mid-rant.

"Ferret?" Harry supplied helpfully.

"Yes, ferret...." Malfoy allowed distractedly. "What?! NO! Argh! Can't a bloke have a civilized conversation with you, Potter, or must you always bring up these unfortunate past personal traumas?! My God! You just have no dignity, do you?!?" Draco screamed, gesticulating wildly.

Harry snorted, feeling quite pleasantly amused in spite of himself. Malfoy was really kind of charmingly harmless, when it came right down to it, wasn't he. Why had he spent so much time actually taking him even remotely seriously? Harry chalked it up to the follies of his misspent adolescence. Well, early adolescence, anyway.

"Say, why don't we just skip the smalltalk and--"

Malfoy made a strange little sound at the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl, a snarl and a choking cough. "WHAT?! Are you out of your bleeding -mind-, Potter? I have no desire to spend one more minute talking to -you-, so get out! Just go! Go back to the stinky pig-sty where you came from!!"

Harry chuckled. "But didn't you just say-- I think it had something to do with being `civilized', I believe...? And I'm glad you mentioned that about the pig-sty, because...."

"No, nononono! You're-- still-- talking!" Malfoy sputtered with rage, although he was making no move to actually force Harry out. "No talking! Leaving! Now! You are! Scram! Beat it! Get the hell out of my territory before I brain you, you arsehole!... Or... or... I call Snape!" Draco finished, in what was probably a last-minute rush of inspiration.

"As I was saying, about the pig...." Harry drawled, leaning casually against the damp dungeon wall behind him. It wasn't all that comfortable, but it was a good move, he felt.

"Pig?! What pig? There is no pig! You are fucking delusional, Potter, just as I'd always suspected!" Draco yelled, inexplicably picking that moment to start advancing on Harry. "Get the fuck OUT, I said! CRABBE! Where the hell are you, you fucking useless minion?! You better start earning your keep right this fucking second! Crabbe!!" Draco was looking pretty frantic by now, eyes darting this way and that, clearly looking for a good moment to run away without it being -quite- so obvious. Harry snorted again, mouth twitching. Draco was really kind of cute when he was angry.

"No pig, huh," Harry said softly. "Funny. I could've -sworn-...."

"Stop it! Just stop it with the pig, all right? Whatever you want, I'll-- just-- anything you want, just shut up about the pig, okay??!"

"So what you're saying is, you -fancy- me, Malfoy, is that it? That was your pig, wasn't it? Pig, pig, pig, pig, pig-- there, I'll say it again-- pig! Pig! Pig!" Harry was laughing hard by this point, almost enough to hurt as his shoulders and stomach quaked with it.

Malfoy's eyes widened dramatically, and he paled. He backed rapidly against the wall, inching ever-so-slowly away from Harry.

"PIG?!" he shouted, still retreating, seemingly forgetting that Harry was right there in the Dungeons with him. "You're mental! Once -again-, I have no business with -pigs-, Potter, unless you count my unfortunate encounters with Granger, of course. I'm sure I don't know and don't -want- to know what sort of sick and twisted obsessive weirdoes send you pigs, but you're welcome to them. Now shove the fuck off before I... before..."

Harry was starting to become angry himself. Truth be told, he was always angry. Just looking at Malfoy... that ferrety little face... those squinty little eyes... it made him very, very angry.

"Before you -what-, Malfoy? What new and exciting threat can you come up with this time? Come on, be creative! You haven't even promised to tar and feather me yet. I'd be disappointed... if I cared, that is."

"You fucking -bastard-! All I want is to be left alone! Why must you -hound- me like this? Have you no life? Go snog your pigs, Potter!"

Harry smirked. "Oh, yeah, that's a new one, all right. Sure, okay, if you -really- want me to. -And- you ask nicely..."

"I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE FROM SYPHILIS AND ROT IN HELL UNTIL YOUR PARENTS COME TO WATCH, YOU UGLY SODDING GIT!! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!!!" Malfoy raged, little spots of color flaring amid the deathly pallor of his skin like a really bad case of measles.

"Your insults need work, too," Harry noted. "Don't they seem a tad... recycled to you?"

"GAAARGH!!" Malfoy yelled incoherently.

"And apparently -I'm- hounding -you-," Harry continued, his smile spreading. "That's rich. So if I'm a hound, what does that make you? My bitch?"

All the blood rushed back to Malfoy's face at once in a hurry, and he turned a fascinating uniform shade of deep, flaming scarlet.

"What did you say?!" he choked.

"I said, bitch."

"As in, your bitch?"

"Yeah, if you want."

Draco was now shaking from head to toe, virtually having an apoplectic fit in his fury, which was merely serving to amuse Harry at this point. Then Malfoy seemed to snap utterly and leaped the distance between them in a single bound, pinning Harry against the wall with all his strength and pushing his arm hard against the other's windpipe.

"I'll show you `bitch', Potter!" he screamed in Harry's face, spittle flying, thin chest heaving dramatically.

Harry gasped for air, his vision dimming as Malfoy's maddened eyes burned into him, and he could almost imagine the insane cackling soon to follow. Of all the ways Harry imagined this encounter to go, nightmarish to completely physically improbable, this was definitely not one of them. -Malfoy- was never going to be the one on top. That was always going to be him.

"You like it, don't you, you little poof!? You can't get enough of it, can you?!?" Malfoy railed, grinding his hips against Harry's with no finesse to speak of. "Who's the fucking bitch NOW, Potter?!?"

Harry's vision going, his mind blurry, he couldn't really tell the -difference- between yes and no as well as he really should have, but he was pretty sure a certain part of his anatomy was having no such difficulties.

Life never ceased to surprise Harry Potter, or it would seem. Which, on second thought, wasn't actually all that bad. During the times he wasn't being choked to death anyway.

"Guh--urgh--kkkhhh," Harry grunted, without much effect. The glint in Malfoy's eyes got brighter, and he pushed harder against Harry, probably not intending for an unfortunate physical side-effect to become quite so... blatant.

"You'll -pay- for this, Potter. Oh yes, I'll make you very, very sorry... very... ohgod... sorry...." he gasped, apparently forgetting to scream and rant in favor of panting and thrusting and then panting more.

Harry coughed violently, wheezing and shaking. Looking pained and slightly disbelieving even as he did it, Draco's forearm relented slightly, though the same couldn't be said for his pelvis, which was currently rocking ever so subtly against Harry's thigh. Harry coughed again, making Draco mutter something about Gryffindor germs, though he still didn't let go, of course.

"How? By dry-humping me to death?" Harry managed, swallowing painfully past his sore throat.

"You little -prick-!" Draco screamed, apparently back in semi-full possession of his faculties. He jerked away violently and stumbled a little, panting as he leaned against the opposite wall. "I was-- that was-- God! I -hate- you!" He couldn't seem to come up with even halfway decent insults in his current state, flushed and panting and very obviously hard as the proverbial rock. "Fucking cocktease," he muttered, his back to Harry.

He got two, maybe three steps away before Harry pulled at his wrist, whirling him around and steadying him as it seemed like Malfoy's balance was not acting quite right at the moment. He reversed their positions with a certain smugness, pinning him to the wall with his whole body and growling low in his throat.

"Oh yeah?"

And then Harry kissed him, thrusting his tongue in inexpertly and shoving past the small neat row of gritted teeth. Draco snarled, biting down softly on the offending appendage, but tellingly, he didn't pull away. Harry snickered, pushing an arm around Draco's middle as he jerked him closer and rubbed in the obvious.

Somewhere, somehow, a little pig got its wings.

~~