Lost

Chapter Fourteen

Love can be silk

Hermione looked up, curious, as Ginny hovered over her, small hands leaning against the table, fully supported. Eyeing the way the redheaded girl openly trembled, Hermione looked up from her essay, and voiced her question of what was wrong.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny said, "Hermione! I just...I just found out something...." The Weasley girl looked very bothered. Concerned, Hermione asked tentatively, "Yes?"

Whispering, and leaning towards Hermione, Ginny said, "It's about Harry and...Malfoy. They...the relationship they have, it's, ah, they're more than friends!" Raising a brow, Hermione opened her mouth to ask an explanation, when it hit her: Ginny had figured it out, somehow. She also knew now that Harry and Draco's relationship was romantic.

Sighing, Hermione said, "I know. I've known since, well, for a while now. Sorry I didn't tell you..."

Ginny nodded, saying, "It's alright. But I wanted to talk to you about it more. You see, the thing is, I never knew Moaning Myrtle could be so nosy. I mean, to spy on two people...erm, being affectionate, it's so horrid of her! Especially since she helped Harry so much in his second year..."

Hermione felt a shudder of her own rush through her; yet this shudder was different, not of disgust, but of sorrow. She wondered sometimes if it had been right, giving up Harry like that. After all, as she had seen, Draco did have the quality of violence in him, anger, and of course, evil. He was a Slytherin, after all.

But no, she thought, I mustn't judge him like that. I didn't judge them because of their sexual preferences; I shouldn't judge him because of his Hogwarts House. Poor Ginny though, gosh, did she...?

"Ginny, ignore Myrtle, did you...see...?"

"Yes, I saw them! Don't...just don't mention it. It was...I don't know what to feel anymore, Hermione! I want Harry to be happy, yet I feel sad for you, and for, well, for Harry, sortof!" a hoarse humorless laugh shot from Ginny's throat. "I mean, of all people, Draco Malfoy! Plus they're both, you know...." her voice lowered to a whisper, "Boys."

Pulling up a chair and motioning for Ginny to sit down, Hermione mentally sighed. She'd have to resolve this situation on her own. Most likely she'd also have a talk sortof like this with Ron, too.

Oh, the hassles of being Head Girl.

-----*-----

"That Myrtle bitch...nosy little...."

Draco sighed as Harry leant back heavily onto him. Both boys watched, one from above, one from below, as the wine swirled in the glass goblet the Slytherin held. Draco basked in the warmth of Harry's body so close, feeling the soft cotton of Harry's shirt, the roughness of Harry's jeans scraping through the leather Draco wore. The tantalizing smoothness of Harry's skin against his tempted him. But he held back, smiling at the thrilling chills that ran through him simply by being with Harry.

He wanted to yell out, shout out to everyone that Harry was his, that Harry loved him, and that they couldn't be separated no matter what. But, for the sake of the hate scenario, his and Harry's reputations, and due to the uneasiness with which Harry was slowly regaining what he'd felt for Draco--the love, not the hormones--the Slytherin didn't do any of this. Instead, he simply sat, languidly pressing to the contours of Harry's body as inconspicuously as possible.

"Draco, do you think, someday...it'll stop?"

The Slytherin snapped his fingers, and the cup flew away to land on a nearby table, as, ruffling Harry's hair with his free hand, he asked, "What'll stop?"

"The war. Will it stop? End?"

Looking down to eye the top of Harry's head wonderingly, Draco thought for a moment, and then drawled, "I think a lot of people ask that, Harry. It's really odd you asking it though. Not that you're an all knowing God, but, well, you're a cupid wearing specs, so, people presume you know stuff."

Harry laughed, and then, quieting, he asked somberly, "No really though, Draco, seriously...what's your opinion?"

"Oh, Harry, Harry. So many questions. Remember what I said once? Don't always expect to know what Fate will dish out for you. I don't know, Harry. And fuck my opinion, I'm just a love struck dolt with too much power."

"You're not a dolt, and there isn't such a thing as too much power. It's the intentions of using the power that count...." Harry turned his head up, neither boys able to see each other's faces due to the strange angle. "Are you that crazy about me, Draco? I mean, usually people who love someone that much are...dazy."

"Dazy? Shut up, Harry, you've watched too many muggle movies! I am not dazy. I'm...captivated." Harry turned, sitting up to face Draco, and peered closely into that blue-grey gaze. "I think a better word is intoxicated, Draco. In. Tox. Ic. Ated. Can you spell that?"

"Shut up. No really though Harry, captivated is the word. Because...you...make my life brighter. Optimistic. Hopeful. A rose among weeds...I suck at metaphors. And love letters. And poetry. But basically what I mean is...hmm, mm, well, what can I say...you make me randy?"

Harry blinked, blushing, and clearing his throat, said, "Well, Draco, er, thanks for that compliment. Maybe it would be better if you said, erm...."

"You're a romantic, Harry. I thought you could think up something good to say."

"Well...roses are red, er...bluebells? Bluebells are blue, er...."

"Actually, Harry, roses can be white, yellow, and peachy colored, too. I know, how about this:

You're the only person that I don't

Mind mixing spit with. You're the one

That when I'm randy you just won't

Be easy to catch so it's fun

We both know I can't rhyme

So kiss me, angel from above

So sweet you are, unlike lime

And tell me I'm the one you love."

Bursting out laughing, Harry shook his head, saying, "The wine has definitely gotten to you, Draco. That only rhymed every other line. And had horrid rhythm. It didn't count."

Platinum blonde, dark silk, and leather mixed with black, light cotton, and jeans, as, playfully, not really angry, Draco wrestled Harry to the ground, torturing the Boy Who Lived with tickles and pinches for revenge.

Neither noticed the pair of eyes that watched from different places around them. Across the room, concealed behind a pillar, was an evil intruder, gaze small and wicked as a rat's.

Lying, worn from use, deep in the box of the trunk of one Boy-Who-Lived, was an invisibility cloak, and a map. These objects disappeared from their proper places, as dark plans were pondered about in a malicious, hateful mind.