DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, though I do plan to kidnap him and demand a hefty ransom from JK Rowling.
WARNINGS: Sap, sap, s-a-p... And slash.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: See? This is what happens when I actually start listening to Dom long enough. That muse of mine has strange, strange ideas that all seem so deliciously appealing; a rare treat of an unconventional pairing, if you will. If I may paraphrase:

"I imagine Dean Thomas would taste like chocolate."

Dom, shut up. I'm working.

"I don't care. I'm bored. I'm stuck with you -unfortunately. As much as I love to see you flounder in the newfound glory of employment, it's dead boring to watch. Ergo; I imagine Dean Thomas would taste like chocolate."

That's just because you're a pervert.

"Too bloody right I am. You can't deny it, Capricious -all that lovely dark skin laid bare before you like a yummy chocolate buffet, all ripe for the licking."

:warily: Oh, Christ.

:wicked chuckle: "Mmm, ebony and ivory... Chocolate and vanilla. Find a sexy Native American, and we can have a banana split. Whipped cream will be involved."

You're a pest, Dom.

"You're an idiot. And I'm still pretty in the morning."

... God, I hate you.

"My work here is done." :cheerfully hums the tune to Jungle Fever:

Thus the birth of the Draco/Dean one-shot. Hope you enjoy the random moment of insanity. As always, it's Dom's fault.

"Well, you don't really have to listen to him..."

:grumbles: Et tu, Ritz?

Chocolate
Capricious Purple Clarity

It's hard, watching him. Knowing that he's capable of sweet smiles and compassion and great zest for life and love; however, unable to express those smiles and compassion and zest for fear of retribution from his less trustworthy Housemates or a backlash from his father's camp. It hurts knowing that everything he says in public -every word filled with hate and disdain and deadness -has a hidden meaning; a double-edged sword. I catch myself, guiltily searching him for a secondary meaning whenever he's alone with me, when he can be open and honest and true to his feelings.

Outside I am nobody to him. Within, I am his beautiful boy, his Adonis, his lover. He traces soothing circles on my bare back with his soft fingertips and sighs the sweetest words in my ear, words meant for me and me alone. Outside I'm lucky if we can spare each other secret smiles while inwardly worrying if anyone saw the simple exchange for what it was.

My best friend doesn't even know. To him, I'm still looking for Mr. Right. I don't know how to tell him that I've found my lover, but we can't actually be together.

He tried to tell his father he is gay. The man hadn't seemed to care, as long as Draco eventually married to carry on the Malfoy line.

We've been together for three years and no one is wise. It seems too surreal to consider, really -what would someone like Draco Malfoy see in Dean Thomas? Dean Thomas the muggleborn with Draco Malfoy the Slytherin purist? It's almost laughable if it were not so true.

His hands are smaller than mine; my fingertips reach past his by almost an inch, and his fingers are pale and slim compared to mine. His fingers were those of a pianist, despite his predilection for painting. Mine were obviously an artist's hands. In fact, it was my hands that inspired Draco Malfoy to actually speak to me in the first place.

We were Potions partners early in our fifth year. At first we didn't speak to each other much aside from anything pertaining to our potion. He's actually very gifted at the class, despite Ron's insistence that he only makes good grades in Potions because Snape favors the Slytherins. He did his part of the work while keeping a weary eye on what my hands were doing; specifically, if I was making any stupid mistakes that he would end up having to correct.

Then, out of the blue, he asked lazily, "You draw, Thomas?"

I blinked at him. "Well, yes. Why do you ask?"

"You have charcoal under your nails." Then he airily asked about my technique, though he didn't sound particularly interested. Later I found out that Draco tended to be very careful of what image he was portraying to the outside world, despite what he was feeling on the inside. Eventually, I brought one of my favorite drawings to potions and showed it to Draco, who boldly admitted that he liked my style.

It was just a casual thing, at first; we would find ourselves critiquing each other's work when no one else was around. Draco preferred to paint, water-based and oil-based, while I preferred messier outlets of what inspires me, like charcoals and pastels and pencil sketches.

Then, one day, he just kissed me. It came without warning -a gentle press of the lips with a teasing of his tongue before it was over and he was pulling away, smirking in satisfaction.

"I knew it," he said, obviously enjoying my befuddled state.

"Knew what?" I asked without really thinking, my brain trying to catch up with what had just happened.

Still smug, he replied boldly, "I knew you would taste like chocolate."

We've been together ever since.

A year ago I remember hearing Lavender Brown giggle to Parvati Patil about how hot a couple Draco and I would make, aesthetically speaking -like light meeting dark. Neither knew why I laughed at them and said nothing more of the matter.

At the beginning of seventh year, Draco pulled me into an abandoned classroom, sealing the door before he turned to me with an innocently devious smile. Amused, I patiently waited until he confessed that he just wanted to be with me.

So we settled in a corner, my back against the wall and my arms cradling him to my chest. His hands rested at my hip and back, his ear pressed against my breast. It was a comfortable silence that followed. We liked that about each other -how silence didn't have to be driven away with endless words.

"The war," Draco said suddenly, breaking the silence. "It'll come to an end soon."

We never talked about the war -never wanted something dark to taint our relationship.

"If Potter wins," Draco said delicately, "I think I'll thank him."

"And if he doesn't?"

Draco thought about it. Finally he replied solemnly, "Thank we shall run away to Barbados and live as muggle cabana boys."

I laughed quietly, pressing my lips to his crown before replying, "It's a date." I had no doubt in my mind that, should the war really turn against our favor, Draco honestly intended to steal me away and run off to some Carribean island.

The war came to an end mid-December -the day before students left for Yule break. It wasn't without fright or the threat of death, however, and I still have nightmares about it; vivid, dark, foreboding visions of a past that couldn't become a distant memory soon enough.

I was the unlucky fool the Dark Lord randomly grabbed to flush Harry out.

I remember his frail hands grabbing me and, with surprising strength, throwing me to the ground. I remember his high-pitched cackle, the cool tip of his wand pressing at my forehead. His voice, demanding that Harry show himself "or the little mudblood suffers." But above it all, I remember hearing Draco whisper a spell. A spell he'd mentioned to me before.

Draco called it The Full Circle. I'm sure it's Dark magic, but I've never asked. Draco just told me that if I ever heard him utter those words when I was in trouble that I was not to worry.

Before the Dark Lord could even utter the first syllable to Crucio, Harry Potter rushed into the Great Hall, an entourage of students at his back. I was cast to a heavy-lidded woman with an eager demeanor. She sneered at me in disgust.

"As much as I would love to torture filthy little boys," she spat, raising her wand. "Avada-"

"Dean, no !" I vaguely recall hearing Seamus cry before the last half of the curse left her lips. All I could think about was Draco, how much he'd miss me, would he chance coming to my funeral? I loved him, I would go to his...

Almost instinctively, my arms flew up to shield my face. However, instead of engulfing me as I had imagined, the green ligh seemed to slam into something invisible in front of me -there was a bright flash of white, and the green light... bounced back to the woman, stronger than before. She barely had time to scream before her body disintegrated into ash.

Everyone was looking at me, then, disbelievingly. Their incredulity didn't last long, as Harry and the Dark Lord were locking in a battle to the death.

Harry won, barely. As a sort of anonymous 'thank you,' Draco sneaked into the Gryffindor seventh year dormitory, disposed of every article of clothing Harry owned (excepting several new school robes and the traditional Weasley sweaters -the ones that weren't threadbare, in any case) and Draco filled Harry's wardrobe with everything from casual muggle-wear to special occasion wear. Harry was befuddled when he found that his closet actually had to be doubled in size for all of the expensively labeled things, a note pinned to the sleeve of a random dress shirt: 'Now you're a real hero, Potter. Dress like it.

And the post script read, 'Thanks for saving Dean. Sincerely, Dean's Lover'

Ron Weasley blinked. "Dean has a girlfriend?"

Seamus smirked. "Jeez, Weasley... Dean's been out since fifth year. Don't tell me you never knew he was gay!"

Harry tore his attention away from a silk shirt and boggled at me. "You're gay?"

Seamus and I laughed. Even Neville joined in with a quiet chuckle.

"As is Justin Finch-Fletchly, Zacharias Smith, Padma Patil, Susan Bones... Seamus and Blaise Zabini are bisexual, and Daphne Greengrass will be coming out of the closet any day now." I tilted my head at Harry's wardrobe and smiled at Draco's antics. "My boyfriend once told me if you won the war, he was going to find a way to thank you. Clothes make him happy, thus clothes should make you happy. That's his theory, in any case."

"You git," Seamus said, laughing. "Who is he? You haven't said!"

I just smiled shyly and didn't reply. I wasn't ashamed of Draco -far from it! But I would have rather we discussed coming out as a couple before one of us took the initiative to do it anyway.

We decided that after NEWTS was perfect. Not only was it near graduation, but my hotheaded counterparts would be too mentally and emotionally drained from testing to react brashly.

"Thomas!" my lover drawled loudly from the entrance to the Great Hall; it was the evening after our last NEWT, and Draco kept a tight lip about he was going to approach me. "A word."

Unsurprisingly my house -my dorm mates especially -rallied to my defense against the big bad Slytherin. "Bugger off, Malfoy," Seamus growled protectively.

"Eat me, Finnigan," Draco said pleasantly, bravely approaching the Gryffindor table to stand in front of me. "There's been something I've been dying to do since Bellatrix Lestrange cast the Killing Curse on you, Thomas."

I blinked, bemused. He hadn't mentioned the failed Killing Curse other than a relieved, "Spirits, I'm glad that worked." I opened my mouth to question him... right before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine for all of Hogwarts to see.

The Hall went dead silent, and my heart went to jelly. The kiss was simple, sweet, meant for feeligns of care and adoration rather than for show. When he pulled away, he casually slipped an arm around my waist and settled his hand on my hip. He smirked at the stunned, baffled looks of which we were on the receiving end.

"Silly Gryffindor," he scolded with a casual roll of his eyes. "Always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What can I say? I'm predestined to have my sly Slytherin around to bail me out," I replied, amused. "Where -well, I've been dying to ask, but where did you find that spell that rebound the curse?"

"Funny story. Mother was a close friend to lily Potter back in her Hogwarts days. She has all of Lily Potter's old diaries, I found the spell glancing through them one day." Draco cast Harry a casual glance. "I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind giving them to you, Potter."

"Wh-wha..." Ron stuttered. The poor fellow looked as if he'd been run over by a freight train, or the wizarding equivalent.

Draco smirked at the redhead. "As much as I'd hate to interrupt this no doubt intriguing conversation, my boyfriend and I have a date. Ready, luv?"

"I'm not dressed for a date," I pointed out logically.

"We'll kip back to your tower and find something appropriate. Ta, Gryffindors."

We left the Hall, its' occupants still completely silent. Silent enough for us -and everyone else -to hear Headmaster Dumbledore's amused exclamation.

"Well!" The man beamed. "Didn't see that one coming. Pass the treacle tarts, Minerva, if you please."

"We surprised Dumbledore," I commented airily as we finally cleared the Great Hall. "Was this really that unexpected?"

"I feel all warm and tingly," Draco admitted gleefully. "We put a leg up on the old man, and he knows everything!"

I laughed at his enthusiasm.

I hope he never changes.

THE END

Me so bad. I hope you review anyway. :grins sheepishly: