Move Along, Mr. Malfoy …


A/N: Okay, I had this little one-shot in mind, filled with a bit of angst and HarryxDraco fluff. . Now, mind you, I'm only half-way through the fifth HP book, so don't jump down my throat if I have a few plot errors in here. I've read in other fics that Draco's dad gets sent to Azkaban … Now, whether or not this is true, I liked the idea so incorporated it in my story. I also had his dad given the Dementor's Kiss, though, again, I'm not sure if he really gets kissed in the actual books. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and this is a songfic to the The All-American Rejects song "Move Along". I love this song! I love the band, too. Haven't heard the song? Check it out! I'm sure you'll love it just as much as me!



The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The enchanted ceiling portrayed the morning sky, a blanket of cool gray, white flakes falling daintily from the clouds. Christmas was in a few weeks, and students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were preparing to leave for winter break.

Harry and his friends were seated contently at the Gryffindor table, chatting merrily away. Harry was, of course, staying at the school over the break, but Hermione and Ron were knee-deep in family festivities.

"Even Charlie's coming home for the holidays," Harry's gangly, redheaded friend chirped excitedly. "Bill, too."

Hermione chased her eggs around her plate with her fork, smiling thoughtfully. "My family's doing the usual Christmas stuff … it's really a lot of fun. I can't wait."

Harry grinned. Seeing his best friends happy made him happy. He was sure his Christmas here at school would be nice. Quiet, for once, and merry.

"Oh, Harry," Ron said between bites, "I hear Malfoy's staying here over the holidays, as well."

Harry's smile fell as his fork slipped from his fingers, clattering to his plate.

"Sorry mate," the freckled boy murmured. "Well, I wouldn't expect anything else. What with his dad in Azkaban and all … can't see how a Christmas at home 'd be very merry. Doubt his mum's in high spirits."

Hermione sighed. Harry just nodded solemnly. He could understand, though he felt no sympathy for Mr. Malfoy. He deserved to be locked away, the bloody Death Eater that he was. But, still, it must be hard on Malfoy to have it publicly known that his dad was a cold-blooded murderer, servant to the Dark Lord. Hell, it must be hard just to know that your dad was a servant to Voldemort. Harry couldn't imagine what it must be like …

Then the owls swooped in, carrying all sorts of letters and parcels, landing on the tabletops to deliver their loads. One particular owl landed at the Slytherin table, right in front of a certain blonde-haired boy. Draco looked inquisitively at the bird before untying the letter wrapped around its scaly leg. The owl gave a small hoot and flew off to the rafters to join the others.

Draco turned the envelope in his hands. It was addressed to him, from his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. No doubt it was news on his father. Draco was in no mood to read the bloody letter and scared to think what the parchment might say. It seemed as if every fiber of the envelope was stained with foreboding, racking his body with a small shiver. He'd rather not open the letter here, amidst all the cheery chatting of his peers. He stuffed it in the pocket of his robe, none-too-gently, and continued with his breakfast.


Harry sat in his last class of the day, Transfiguration, which was shared with the Slytherins. He listened to Professor McGonagall go on and on about something or other. It wasn't that he didn't like Professor McGonagall or Transfiguration class, but his mind was elsewhere, refusing to focus on the task at hand.

What exactly was he thinking about? Strange as it seemed … Draco Malfoy.

Lately, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the boy. Sure, he was a bloody git who loved to make Harry's life a living hell, and Harry hated the blonde. But he couldn't help but notice the exotic color of Malfoy's hair. I mean, really, how often do you find someone who's hair is naturally platinum blonde? And how many boys are there that can get it to fall so casually in front of their eyes, and still keep that whole "contained and under control" look? Certainly not Harry. His hair was always sticking up at odd angles, and its color was just plain black. Even Ron's hair, though not unruly, just hung limp and flat against his head … nothing special. Malfoy, it seemed, styled his hair, and got it to look so damn perfect …

And his eyes! Harry had never seen such beautiful, silver eyes. Seriously, who the hell has silver eyes? They just give Malfoy this clever, roguish air that Harry found quite attractive … sexy, even …

What the hell am I thinking? Harry wondered. Though, his musings didn't surprise him. Lately, all of his thoughts seemed to be centered around Malfoy. He had even had some dreams involving said Slytherin … quite exciting dreams, if one were to put it that way. They weren't anything too extreme, nothing past passionate kissing, but still … it made Harry wonder what Malfoy's lips tasted like. And was his skin really as smooth as it was in his dreams?

Ah, his skin. Another thing Harry noticed about Malfoy was the ethereally pale shade of his skin. Like porcelain, solid and unmarred and unnaturally perfect, just begging to be touched …

"Mr. Potter."

Harry was pulled out of his reverie by McGonagall's sharp voice. He bristled instantly, looking up.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Can you tell me what it was I just said?"

Harry felt his face heat up. He averted his gaze, finding the desktop uncannily fascinating. "No, Professor."

"I see. Well, in the future, please pay attention, Mr. Potter," she said kindly, but with a disappointed tone that immediately sent a painful stab of guilt through Harry's gut. "Class dismissed."

Harry stood and gathered his things. Hermione and Ron did the same.

"Daydreaming, Potter?" a cool, venomous voice sounded behind the trio, followed by a bout of Slytherin snickers.

Harry grimaced, ignoring the blonde's meaningless jibe. Surely Harry's attraction to Malfoy was nothing more than physical, for he hated the bloody git. Really, it was only a physical attraction. After all, what in this boy's icy, sardonic personality could there possibly be left to desire?


Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking

When you fall everyone stands

Another day and you've had your fill of sinking

With the life held in your

Hands are shaking cold

These hands are meant to hold


Released from the confines of Transfiguration class, Draco stood against the brick wall a little ways down the corridor from the classroom. His friends had gone on to the Great Hall for dinner. As of late, his friends seemed to be more disconnected from him. He blamed his father's arrest and placement in Azkaban. I mean who, besides children of other Death Eaters, would really want to associate with the son of a servant to the Dark Lord? Nonetheless, a servant that had been captured. He leaned back against the cool stone and fingered the envelope in his pocket. Throughout the day it had been seeming to grow heavier and heavier, weighing down his every step. It wouldn't wait any longer to be opened.

Draco, with a trembling hand, pulled out the letter. He slipped his pale, slender finger underneath the flap and tore the top, the rip resounding through the abandoned hallway. He eased the parchment out and unfolded it, his heart racing. In the light of a nearby torch, he read the inky scrawl.

His eyes skimmed down the paper, and he felt tears, unbidden, spring to his eyes. His breath hitched as he read the words, "Your father's been kissed". He felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea wash over him as a choked sob escaped his lips. He looked up to stare unseeingly at the wall across the hallway, the letter slipping from his trembling grip.

Everything was cold. The world seemed to be moving in painfully slow motion. The rest of the message was a blur, the words "You father's been kissed" standing out tenfold in bold print in his mind. His body seemed suddenly unbearably heavy, his knees buckling. His mouth was frozen in a gaping "o". He didn't even realize that the tears in his eyes were slowly rolling down his pale cheeks, crystal drops of remorse and grief.

His father … His father was dead. Worse than dead. He was now a soulless shell of the once- revered/feared man he used to be. He was gone … No doubt he deserved everything he got, but still, he was Draco's father, the only one he'd ever known. The infamous Dementor's Kiss … Lucius' fate. He couldn't believe it.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up, and a world that had seemed to be moving in slow motion sped up. He gathered some feeling in his legs and straightened himself up to the posture he had learned to perfect.

"Professor McGonagall." His voice was raw and cracked pitifully.

Her lined face soft with concern and kindness, McGonagall noted the blonde boy's tears and grave demeanor, however hard he was trying to hide it. "Mr. Malfoy … Draco …" she said softly, "you're missing dinner. Let's move along, now."

Draco nodded, picking up his letter and shoving it, with the envelope, back in his pocket.

McGonagall sighed. She could only imagine the cause of his pain. "Poor boy."


Speak to me

When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through

Move along

Move along


That night, Draco's surroundings were nothing but a blur of color and sound. He remembered nodding at a few jokes, forcing a weak smile, offering his opinion in a topic of conversation or two, but it seemed that he hadn't been the one doing it. It felt like he was on the outside of his body, watching the world pass, watching his pitiful, heartbroken form attempt to socialize with a group of people who couldn't possibly have any idea of the pain he felt.

The moment he had received that blasted letter, it seemed that his world had begun to work its way on a downwards spiral, falling no where but deeper into the dismal hole that was his life. His mum, as she had stated in her letter, was moving to Spain, leaving the country before things got even more out of hand than they already were. The Ministry was sure to come after her, or worse … Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters. Draco was to stay at school, even over the winter holidays, and wait for things to either blow over or worsen. Depending on what happened, his mother would decide what to do. Plans for the summer were yet to be determined. As of right now, Hogwarts was the best place for him to be. And, his father was dead … or … as good as.

What was happening to his life?

Draco turned his silver eyes to the ceiling, watching the snow fall from the stormy gray sky.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry was looking up at the same dismal clouds, the same illusionary snow. His mind was, once again, focused on the blonde-haired Slytherin. Why did he not seem to be able to get the boy out of his mind? When did his fetish with Malfoy begin?

Ah, Harry remembered. It was in the beginning of the year – the first few weeks of school – when Harry had been wandering around the halls on a Saturday afternoon with Ron and Hermione. They had rounded a corner to see Malfoy with his friends, Pansy, and the mindless oafs that were Crabbe and Goyle. A few other Slytherins had been there too. Immediately, the three Gryffindors had bristled, there senses on alert. But, the Slytherin gang hadn't seemed to be intent on causing trouble. They had just been … hanging out. And, as Harry had watched Malfoy with slight interest, wondering exactly how the git acted when he was having just a chaste, genuinely good time, he had seen the blonde smile. Not a smirk or a sneer or a wicked grin … but just … a smile.

Harry had then realized that Malfoy was … somewhat remotely attractive when he smiled.

And since then, Harry hadn't stopped thinking about Malfoy. He began to wonder what Malfoy looked like when he laughed a genuine laugh. He also wondered what he looked like when he cried … as Harry had never seen him cry, either. Actually, the only emotions Harry had ever seen Malfoy wearing were sarcasm and cruelty, and fear and frustration. Harry hadn't been aware that Malfoy was capable of feeling anything else. He wasn't even sure if the cold-hearted Slytherin could love or grieve. This emotionless perspective had made Malfoy seem … inhuman … Seeing the him smile, just that once, opened Harry to a whole new side of the boy who was Draco Malfoy.

So maybe … maybe, Harry thought, his attraction to Malfoy wasn't only physical. Maybe he was intrigued … maybe he wanted to know more about Malfoy. After all, Harry now realized, he did have a family, friends, a history, and life … hopes and dreams. Did he have hopes and dreams? Did he love his family and friends? What did he do in his spare time, besides make Harry and the other Gryffindors miserable?

Harry wanted to know everything about Malfoy …

He also wanted to know if Malfoy really was as good a kisser as he was in his dreams.


So a day when you've lost yourself completely

Could be a night when your life ends

Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving

All the pain held in your

Hands are shaking cold

Your hands are mine to hold


It was the next day – Saturday morning –, and Hogwarts was blanketed in snow. Pure, sparkling sheets of white that made the world look like a sweet Winter Wonderland.

But to Draco, everything was just gray. Miserable and bleak through the eyes of one who'd lost his father, one who's mother was busy losing herself in the streets of Spain, and one who's friends looked at him with wary gazes because his dad was a cold-blooded murderer. He had had a restless night prior to that morning, his dreams plagued with gruesome images of dementors and his father.

As he stepped out the door to the courtyard, he involuntarily shivered. But the cold didn't bother him; he was too numb to care. Dressed in a shirt, jeans, and jacket, his warm boots covering his feet, he trudged down the snow-cleared path towards the field, where he crossed the covered grass to an oak tree. Its boughs were bare, its bark a pale brown, bleached by the winter wind.

As Draco looked around the bright courtyard, and then at the gray sky above, he wanted nothing more than to just blend into it all and disappear. He was pale enough, he could mix into the white surroundings, right?

Draco sat down into the snow, ignoring the coldness crawling across his thighs. He leaned against the tree trunk, enjoying the stability of having the sturdy tree at his back. He felt his warm breath escape his lips in the form of a silver vapor as he sighed. The icy air nipped at his face, tinting his porcelain cheeks with pink. He cursed as his eyes began to sting with tears.

Time passed as he sat beneath the tree, contemplating his misery, and soon Draco was sure he couldn't feel his legs anymore.


Speak to me

When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through

Move along


(Go on, go on, go on, go on)

When everything is wrong we move along


(Go on, go on, go on, go on)

When everything is wrong, we move along

Along, along, along

Along, along, along


Joyous laughter resounded through the abandoned corridor as Harry, Hermione, and Ron wandered down the hall, enjoying their weekend freedom. The hallway was an open corridor that ran around the courtyard, stone archways making up the inner part of the hall that surrounded the yard. Harry looked out through one of the archways at the blanketed fields and trees and stone statues from underneath the rim of his wool cap. He smiled.

But his grin melted as his emerald gaze fell across a shadow sitting beneath a tree. The pale skin and platinum-blonde hair were enough to give the person's identity away.

"Malfoy," he breathed.

"What?" Ron followed Harry's gaze. "What's that prat doing out there?" he growled.

Hermione squinted into the courtyard. "My god, he's just wearing his jacket! No hat, no gloves. He's going to freeze to death! What's wrong with that boy?"

"Ah, let 'im freeze. Not like he doesn't deserve it," Ron muttered bitterly.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped.

Harry backed her up with, "Come on, Ron. Just because he's a bloody git doesn't mean you should wish death upon him." Harry's tone lowered. "And maybe … maybe there's more to Malfoy than we think. Maybe he's not just a bloody git." Ron's eyes widened, but he said nothing, finding a slight bit of logic in this. Harry said, "D' ya think something's wrong? Why else would he be sitting out there in the cold all alone?"

Hermione shrugged. Ron just looked like he couldn't care less, though his bitterness had seemed to lessen a bit, giving way to a shred of vague concern.

"Reckon we should go out to him … see what's wrong 'n all," Harry suggested.

"All right," Ron grudgingly agreed as Hermione nodded. "But he's still a prat."

Harry grinned at Ron's bluntness. "All right."

The trio stepped out into the courtyard, their boots sinking through the few inches of soft snow.

"Malfoy!" Hermione called. The blonde didn't look up, didn't even move. "MALFOY!" she repeated, louder this time. Still no response.

The three continued towards the tree, tightening their red and gold striped scarves against the frosty air.

"It's freezing out here!" Ron hissed.

"Malfoy!" Hermione tried again as they grew closer to the boy.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped without looking up. They were taken aback at his abrupt response. The tone of his voice told them that he had known they were there all along, but had ignored them in the hopes of them leaving him alone.

Finally, the trio completely closed the space between them and Malfoy. The crunching of their boots ceased as they stood before the sorry sight in front of them.

Malfoy was paler than usual, except for his cheeks and the tip of his nose, which were bright pink. His face was glistening with tears, his silver eyes rimmed in red from crying. His jeans were soaked through with snow, his fingers white from the cold. He was shivering uncontrollably, and … at the moment … wore the sourest expression anyone had ever seen, obviously annoyed at the trio's presence.

He glared up at them. "Sod off!"


When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through


When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through

(Just to make it through)


When all you got to keep is strong

Move along, move along like I know you do

(Know you do)

And even when your hope is gone

Move along, move along just to make it through


"Malfoy, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her feminine sensitivity overpowering her hate for the blonde Slytherin.

"I told you to sod off!" Malfoy shouted angrily, wiping the tears still clinging to his frozen lashes.

"Malfoy, get a grip. You're going to freeze your ass off out here!" Ron said heatedly, desperate to help the git quickly and get out of the cold.

"What's it to you?" Malfoy snapped, rubbing his cherry-tipped nose.

"Well," Harry said icily, "maybe we care whether or not you freeze your ass off."

Draco looked up at Harry, and for a moment the raven-haired boy could've sworn he'd seen surprise in those cool gray eyes. Then, he went back to glaring, and asked, "Why? Why would you care?"

"You know, Malfoy," Hermione said, "maybe you should learn to accept help from people when they offer it to you instead of sticking your snooty nose up in the air and pretending you're okay … when you're obviously not! I mean, look at you!" Hermione knelt down in front of the blonde, brushing her bushy hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. "You're chilled to the bone!"

She pulled off her scarf and held it out to Malfoy. He couldn't hide the longing that flashed across his face at the offering, but hid it as he sniggered. "Gryffindor colors? I wouldn't dare taint myself by wearing them."

Hermione snarled disgustedly. "How can you be so … so … STUPID? You're going to freeze to death, and you won't even accept my blasted scarf?"

"He's a bloody git, Hermione," Ron said. "Always has been, always will be." The redhead sneered. "Just like his dad."

Malfoy grew livid, jumping up and drawing himself to his full height. "WHY YOU … YOU … YOU …!"

Ron grabbed Hermione's arm. "Come on, he doesn't want our help. And I, for one, and not prepared to freeze my ass off."

"Me neither," Hermione agreed. "Come on, Harry."

Harry looked from Malfoy to his friends and back again. Then he met Hermione's gaze. "Sorry, guys. I'm going to stay out here a little while longer."

Hermione smiled sadly. "You're too sweet for your own good, Harry."

He chuckled. "But you love me for it."

Hermione nodded. "Let's go, Ron."

The two trudged back across the snow towards the open corridor before disappearing into the school.

"Go on, Potter," Malfoy jeered. "Go follow your mates. I don't want your pity."

Harry met Draco's gaze squarely. "I wasn't going to give you any."

Malfoy rolled his eyes … those brilliant silver eyes … "Then why are you here if not to lend me your goodie-goodie Gryffindor pity –"


Draco blinked. "What?"

"I want to give you my sympathy. I know what it's like to lose a parent … or two. Though, your dad isn't exactly dead … but still –"

Draco felt a familiar stinging in the corners of his eyes. "Bloody hell," he murmured as he wiped at his eyes, trying to hide the tears. He leaned back against the tree trunk, suddenly very aware of his wet pants, which were slowly freezing to his legs. He also became aware of his uncontrollable shivering, and found himself wishing he had taken Granger's scarf. "B-Bloody … hell …"


Draco looked up to find his vision filled with red and gold. "P-Potter …" He pushed Harry's offered scarf out of his face. "I … told you I d-don't want your … pit –"

"Sympathy," Harry interrupted. "I told you I don't pity you … I sympathize with you. Your dad …"

"My dad was kissed!" Draco spat. "I don't have a dad anymore!"

Harry blanched. "K-Kissed?"

"Yes, Potter … kissed! By a dementor!" Draco couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, as much as he hated to cry in front of people … least of all, Potter. "And my mum's running away to Spain!"

"Malfoy … I …" Harry didn't know what to say, except, "I still sympathize with you. My parents … they're gone, too. I know what it's like …"

"No you bloody well don't! Your parents died trying to protect you! They were heroes! My parents … My dad was sentenced to death because he was a servant to the Dark Lord … and my mum's on the run so she doesn't get caught and killed herself! You don't know anything!"

Harry's even temper was slowly slipping. "Well, at least I'm trying to understand, Malfoy! I don't see any of your friends out here trying to help you. Why won't you accept my help?" Harry took his scarf and, again, offered it to Draco.

This time, Draco took it grudgingly and wrapped it gratefully around his neck. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the silvery mist snaking through the air before disappearing. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, wringing his hands to warm them.

Harry took a tentative step forward, slipping off his gloves. Holding them under his arm, he took Draco's hands in his own. Draco froze, taking a sharp breath.

"Potter –"

"You're freezing," Harry murmured. "Your hands are white."

Harry clasped Draco's hands tightly, and Draco felt a heated shock spread down his arms through his body, warming his frozen limbs. He was barely breathing as Harry rubbed his palms over the tops of Draco's hands, over his knuckles and his fingers. Harry's hands were rough, yet not uncomfortably so, and warm. His hands were definitely warm.

"Potter …"

"Draco, I'm sorry about your dad, and your mum, and the whole bloody situation. I can't say your dad didn't deserve it, but I can say that I know it must be terrible for you. And … I'm sorry."

"You … You just … called me 'Draco'." The blonde gave Harry and inquisitive look.

Harry blushed. "Yeah, well …" Why had he called Malfoy by his first name? Didn't that require some sort of friendship? Or at least slight affectionate feelings?

Affectionate feelings …

Before he could stop himself, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips against Draco's. Then, with a start, he pulled away, stumbling back in the snow. He put his fingers to his mouth, which was tingling with pleasure.

Draco was staring, wide-eyed in shock, at the raven-haired boy. His heart was pounding, a flush crawling beneath his icy skin. He had actually … liked that … quick kiss …

"… Harry …"

Harry looked up just as Draco wrapped his fingers around the back of the other's neck and pulled him into another kiss, this time longer and more passionate. Draco pulled Harry against him, savoring the warmth and the bliss, every feeling of grief and remorse swept from his mind.

Harry's heart sped up, his senses tingling with pleasure. He felt Draco's tongue against his lips and was startled at first, before he parted them in belated response and allowed the blonde's tongue to explore the corners of his mouth. Finally, when they began to run short of breath, Harry pulled back, only to have Draco lean in and plant kisses along his jaw and down what little of his neck was exposed. Harry was surprised when he felt a soft moan escape his lips; Draco was simply pleased, as the raven-haired boy felt him smile against his flesh.

Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, which, he was not surprised to find, was fine and soft, like blonde silk. He pulled the other boy even closer to him, and Draco gratefully accepted the close proximity.

Finally, they stopped, collecting their breaths as they stood in the freezing winter morning with their arms wrapped around each other in the silence beneath the oak tree.

"Feeling warmer?" Harry whispered.

Draco smiled. "Much. … Harry?"


"Thanks … for everything."

"No problem."

Harry had gotten the answers to some of his questions then.

One … Draco was a good kisser.

Two … His skin was definitely soft.

Three … He did have a heart.

Four … He was capable of loving.

Five … He was cute when he smiled.

Six … He was beautiful when he cried.


(Move along)

(Go on, go on, go on, go on)

Right back what is wrong

We move along


(Go on, go on, go on, go on)

Right back what is wrong

We move along


(Go on, go on, go on, go on)

Right back what is wrong

We move along …