Author's Note: This is my first attempt at Draco/Harry fanfiction; indeed my first attempt at any sort of Harry Potter fanfiction. Because of that, I would appreciate reviews. I'm not sure exactly how long I'll continue this; it may go all the way up to the fifth book or it may just stop when I feel like I can't torture the poor boys anymore.
This takes place during the Goblet of Fire.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in the following nor do I own the events, the storyline, or the ideas behind the original book. All that credit goes to J.K.R.; I'm just playing with them, not making money.
Part One. Words and Kisses.
Harry had finished eating before Hermione and Ron, seeing as he hadn't much of an appetite. The Great Hall was fairly quiet, filled only with the sleepy talk of students that had risen early on a Saturday and the droning sounds of eating. The ceiling boasted a misty azure swirl around a watery sun; Harry supposed that it would be cold out on the Hogwarts grounds again. As students began to come into the hall in greater numbers, Harry stood, stretching, and looked down to Ron and Hermione.
'I think I'm going to head to the library,' he said, gaining a small twitch of a smile from Hermione and the clang of a fork against a half-cleared plate from Ron. Catching the look of disbelief bordering on betrayal on Ron's face, he quickly added, 'Just to, you know, see if I can't find a book to help figure out that egg.'
Ron still seemed to be in a state of disbelief though he apparently found this explanation more suitable than any other reason Harry might have to go to the library. 'You've got ages to work on that egg,' he mumbled around a mouthful of food, having recovered his fork.
Harry felt a vague pang of guilt for lying, he hadn't planned on spending any time dwelling on his egg and its horrible shriek and highly doubted that any of the dusty, manky old books in the Hogwarts Library would hold an immediate answer to what a shrieking golden egg meant. He had held a flicker of hope that he might run into Cho; he knew she spent a good deal of time in the library and perhaps this morning would be the one that left Cho without her typical gaggle of friends. He could maybe screw up the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball, though, like the egg, he placated the writhing snakes in his belly with the echo of Ron's statement; it was ages before the Yule Ball. 'I'll meet you two back up in the Common Room, then.'
Without lingering to give Hermione a chance to jump on the idea of her joining him in the library, Harry turned and made his way out of the Great Hall, ignoring the sparse flashes of green and sniggers that signified a group of students still wearing their 'Potter Stinks' badges. He had gotten used to them almost to the point of wishing Malfoy would come up with something new.
Harry didn't pay much attention to the corridors or the people within them as he neared the library; his head was too full of the ever-present threat of the second task. Despite feeling temporarily more at ease than he had about the first task (after all, he still had months to figure out his clue), he couldn't shake the pressure. His success in the first task had a lot to do with nerves and luck; he doubted if he would be able to use his Firebolt for any more tasks in the tournament.
He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't immediately hear the voices just behind him. When he did register that a group of people was behind him, talking loud enough for him to hear, it took a moment longer for him to recognize the voices as belonging to a pack of Slytherins, including Malfoy.
A bit more rushed than he had intended, Harry lengthened his stride and turned into the entryway of the library, slipping into the first row of books that he came to. He picked a book at random from the shelf and held it ready to hide his face in case the Slytherins came inside. As he expected, the voices didn't dim; it seemed the group had stopped just outside the library doors.
Malfoy's cold, drawling voice piped above the others, 'Go on, go on; I won't be long.' Harry's stomach lurched with a sudden flood of anger for the boy. 'Why don't you two,' Harry had a swift vision of Goyle and Crabbe turning to Malfoy, brows heavy with the effort of listening, 'get a start on my transfiguration homework?' There was a pause, then, 'On second thought… Just leave it. Don't want the Griffyndor Hag to mark me down for your stupidity.' There was a spatter of chuckles before Malfoy continued, 'Just go on to the Common Room. I'll catch you up.'
Then the voices faded into the walls and Harry was left clutching a book and too absorbed in listening to realize that Malfoy had already strode inside. Harry moved to turn away, to avoid Malfoy's detection and insults, but the other boy had already spotted him.
All leg and smirk, Malfoy swaggered toward Harry, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks and regarding Harry with that wretched, pompous look he always wore when he was feeling particularly nasty. 'Well, it's Potty without his Weasel.' He muttered, cold voice pitched low enough to avoid the librarian's attention.
'Shove off, Malfoy,' Harry spat back, his eyes blazing behind the barrier of his glasses. His anger had been barely in check, lately; the stress of the tournament was eating away most of his patience.
Draco glanced to the book in Harry's hands, looked back to Harry's furious features, 'Bit early in the day for studying, isn't it?' There was a note of suspicion in the boy's tone, though Harry wasn't sure what founded it.
'Bit early to pick a fight, too,' Harry replied, his own voice biting out the words, his teeth clenching when he stopped speaking.
Draco merely shrugged, narrowed eyes coursing along the shelves of books before resting back on Harry, 'I only wanted a word, Potter.' He tilted his head slightly, his smirk somewhat diminished though that infuriatingly superior look remained. 'What's that you're reading?'
Harry very much doubted that all the Slytherin wanted was a word but he didn't have time to respond before the question came, jarringly random. He looked down to the cover of the tome he was carrying, reading the title out loud, his voice still terse, 'An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms.' He looked back up to Malfoy's face, 'What word do you want?'
'Haven't decided yet,' he said, bringing a hand from his pocket to push a few strands of platinum blonde hair from his face. Harry was suddenly struck by the lack of Slytherin meat shields. Draco rarely did anything potentially threatening (such as talking to Harry) without Crabbe, Goyle, or a throng of his peers.
Tossing his head, the vague surprise ebbing away as quickly as it had appeared, Harry flung his arms to his sides, the book still clutched by whitened fingers, 'Look, I haven't got the time to play your little game, Malfoy,' he flung the name from his mouth as if it pained him, 'Just take your word and piss off.'
There was a moment where Harry thought Draco might just turn and leave right then. But only a moment. Draco hesitated, his eyes darting around the two of them, before he reached out and grabbed hold of the wrist not attached to An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms and tugged Harry closer, taking a step forward at the same time. All in the same, flowing motion, he angled his head and pressed his mouth against Harry's. It was a soft touch of lips, a gentle pursing of a kiss to counter the aching grip that the Slytherin had over Harry's wrist.
Before Harry could register what had happened, could think to pull away or shout, Malfoy had already released him and taken a step back, 'Suit yourself.' And then he was disappearing around the edge of the row of books and out of the library, his step a little lighter.
Harry watched him go, stunned to immobility. His hand lifted from his side and his fingertips settled over his lips, which were tingling strangely. His fingers lowered slightly and his tongue slid over his bottom lip, curiosity rearing its ugly head before he could think to stop. Coming to his senses, he squeezed his eyes shut and ran his fingers over his mouth, wiping away the imagined taste of Draco's kiss and the tingling sensation it left behind.
He replaced An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms on the shelf and turned his attention back to the spines of the other books, searching for something potentially useful. While the muddled words of titles slipped into his head, his mind was whirling with what had just happened and he had to reread several titles as a result before completely understanding the order of letters.
There was little guilt in neglecting the shelves of books after a few moments seeing as he hadn't initially intended to look for one in the first place. He started back to the common room empty handed; he hadn't even ran into Cho, but he had been too long as it was. He needed to get back to the Common Room quickly if he wanted to avoid any unnecessary questions from Ron and Hermione. With his thoughts replaying that awful, seconds-long kiss again and again, he hurried up the staircases, through the passage behind the tapestry, up more staircases, and came finally to the fat lady where he panted out, 'Balderdash.'
The portrait swung open and he clambered into the Common Room, glad to find it mostly empty. Ron looked up from the scroll he had been working on and pushed it aside into a pile of his schoolbooks, gaining a disapproving look from Hermione. 'What took you, Harry? We've been waiting so long that Hermione made me start on that scroll for Snape.'
Harry dropped himself into an armchair near to Ron and Hermione, avoiding their eyes. 'Couldn't find any decent books,' only a half-lie; he hadn't been able to find anything decent at first glance when he hadn't planned on even looking. More to give himself something to look at other than the carpeting, Harry pulled one of the schoolbooks on the table closer to him and opened it to a random page, staring at the words and struggling to ignore the two sets of eyes on him.
Hermione's voice was the first to recover the dialogue, 'Are you alright?' He didn't look up; instead he trained his eyes even more intently over the page of the sprawled tome. When he didn't reply, she pressed him again, 'What is it?'
'Nothing,' he said, 'I'm fine.' To hold up pretenses, he turned a page of the book and continued to stare.
Hermione lifted her eyebrows, pushed a bit of bushy hair behind one ear, and glanced to Ron with something like concern floating across her features, 'That book is upside down, Harry.' She tugged on the corner of the book, angling it right-side-up for Harry, 'And… it's my Arithmancy book.'
He closed his eyes, pulled his glasses from his face, and rubbed his eyes vigorously before replacing his glasses and finally looking up to Hermione, suddenly very glad that she and Ron didn't know Legilimancy. 'Nothing's wrong; I'm just tired, is all.'
'Have you been having nightmares again?' Hermione asked at once, her eyes suddenly stern as if the idea of him having bad dreams and not telling her was the same as breaking a law.
Harry furrowed his brow, startled slightly at the sudden change of temperament, 'Er, no.' He looked to Ron, pleased to see that the redhead shared the same bewildered look. 'No nightmares.'
Hermione bit her lower lip, her doubt showing plainly, 'Are you sure? I mean, it's one thing not to tell us, but if something's not right, you should at least,' her voice dropped a pitch, 'Tell Sirius. Or go to see Dum-'
'Really!' Ron snapped, snatching his Divination book from the stack of texts and pulling it onto his lap, 'If Harry says he's not having nightmares then he isn't. If he says nothing's wrong, then nothing's wrong.' Scowling, he leaned into the back of the chair and leered into the open face of the book.
Harry filled suddenly with fondness and appreciation for Ron. He shrugged at Hermione, whose face was twisted in a wounded, angry sort of way, and began rummaging through the leaves of parchment on the table for his divination chart, the scene with Draco in the library temporarily chased from his mind.
Yay, end of part one. Let me know if you enjoyed this, it'll help me write more. I appreciate criticism but if you want to flame me, go right ahead.