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Chapter Sixteen

Explosions

The goblet fell with a loud, shattering crash. But no more was the sound of breaking glass pleasant to Draco's ears. No, this was somehow different from the pleasurable painful tinkling of the mirror he'd so furiously plunged his hands into. This shattering was flat, sudden, unmusical, and ugly. Hideous and terrifying. Like the scream of a wizard tortured with the Cruciatus curse, or a butterfly's silent pain when a child plucked its wings...

Draco was utterly unprepared for the invading of his personal space. He prided himself in being aware and alert to events and people around him, and being caught off guard like this did not improve his already sour mood. He hated it when Harry got angry; the boy was annoying, stubborn, and too damn insistent when angry. Draco's angriness and Harry's angriness were two very different things. But Harry acting like this, evasive and indirect, refusing to answer, was even more infuriating for Draco.

Draco had been kissed before. Heck, he was sixteen years old! Of course he had. But this kiss was different. Firstly and most obviously, the current person kissing him was male. Secondly, this person was, of all people, Harry Potter. Draco almost felt that he should feel anger, hate, or be honored at the prospect, but instead all he felt was curiousity, confusion, and the need to summon up some backbone in this situation. But it was hard. When Draco got emotional problems, his mental capacity to go about things as he normally did lessened; and lately, many things had been skewing his emotions.

Harry's kiss was so different from the many others Draco had had. The girls kisses were all either gentle, passionate, quick, or long. Nothing in between any of them, or mixed. Also, none of the people had loved Draco, whereas, as far as Draco could guess, Harry did. He was unsure of the facts about Harry's feelings toward him. Just considering that type of relationship--an affectionate one--ever forming between them overwhelmed him. That's why his question had been asked, yet had also surprised himself.

Draco, for what seemed like eternity, was torn about how to respond. Should he shove the other boy away, or lay there pinned beneath the boy and act lifeless as a rock, or...kiss Harry back? He knew that if he kissed Harry back, it would be the ultimate change of his life, and there would be no turning back. On the other hand, just letting Harry treat him like a lifeless rag doll was not Draco's style. And pushing Harry away would certainly rescue his reputation.

After considering these options and still having come to no choices, Draco considered other aspects. Harry was pinning him down, his grip on Draco's wrists quite strong. Regardless of being slender, Harry had gained some pounds over the years, and was of about equal weight to Draco. The feel of being pinned down, and pinned down by a boy at that, was purely new to Draco. Masculine chest against his, along with...all the other male anatomy...telling him of their presence; Draco was reduced to a jumble of mixed up thoughts and a nervous, perspiring, unresponsive person.

All his thoughts, however, took only moments for Draco to think. No more controlled by the libido potion, he was at a loss of what to do. And gradually, the passion of the kiss was increasing. He stifled a moan, as Harry's tongue slid into his mouth momentarily, and the scent Draco was so infatuated with filled his nose.

Overtaken by need for action and hungry, unfulfilled lust, Draco finally responded to the kiss. Heart racing, every sense alert, Draco pushed back against Harry's lips with veracity, his hands tentatively creeping up the back of the other boy's shirt. Just as Draco plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, there was a sizzling sound, and suddenly fire and noise exploded around them.

-----*-----

Draco awoke to pain. Unlike the pain that he was accustomed to, this pain was physical. Very physical. Every inch of his skin felt like it was burning, and every movement made him feel as if he was being torn apart. He blinked in and out of consciousness, each time he awoke feeling slightly less pained, lights and dizziness accompanying each closing of his eyes.

All he remembered was the kiss, and the choice he'd made to respond. It hadn't been a decision of love like Harry might have thought, no, but neither was it a decision based entirely on passion. He wasn't sure quite what it had been based on, but he'd responded, and had dearly wanted the activity to continue, in truth.

Groaning in pain and anger, Draco summoned up his strength, and sat up. Beating back a wave of dizziness, he slowly opened his eyes. Everything was in chaos; he thought for a moment he'd been transported to another world. But then he saw the Headmaster in the distance, and Professor McGonagall was at his bedside. She was weeping profusely.

Trying to ignore the pain, he looked towards her. As a failed attempt at an answer to his unspoken question, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I...Oh, forgive me! How horrid of me to send two young, powerful, yet inexperienced wizards out to do the dirty work! I apologize, I didn't know you were...that you're a...a..." the woman then choked on her own words, sobbing, and walked away.

Draco looked at his surroundings. Everything was smoky, his eyesight was blurred. His skin felt crisp, like tree bark, and the grass around him was tinted gray. Piles of ashes were spread all around, and in the distance stood the charred remains of the hippogriff stables. Easing painfully back to lie down on his stretcher, he said to no one in particular, "Dumbledore...was right. Uncontrolled power. I did this. The increase in emotion caused my power to spark. It happened because I'm a Summoner, didn't it?"