A/N: Any pain you experience while reading this is not the fault of the author. Because I said so. It might be wise to keep some paracetamol on hand, though.
2. What can't a song-in-a-fic do!
Of course, Harry and Draco went right about completely restraining themselves and ensuring thick-as-mud tension was soon hanging in the air between them.
A door creaked open and a tall boy with dark, mussed-up hair tiptoed quietly down a shadowy staircase. He was followed closely by a blond boy with reddened lips who he was giggling softly and holding his hand.
The blond and brunet suddenly halted; both sets of eyes flew open.
They swiftly unclasped their hands and jumped apart.
"Er, why, Harry…" Draco's cheeks went pink. "How did you get up here? Into the, er, Slytherin common room?"
"I've, er, no idea, Drac– I mean Malfoy."
Harry and Draco looked at each other with large eyes and then turned slightly away from one another. They smiled awkwardly towards the readers in the hope that they wouldn't pick up on something funny going on.
"So…" Harry scratched his head. "Erm, did I mention that I hate you?"
"Er, no, but, now that you do, I think it's a good time for me to mention that I hate you too." Draco grinned a little and nodded at Harry, quite pleased with his efforts on that one. Harry smiled and nodded back, sending him the message that, yes, he'd 'done good'.
They stood there for a moment.
"So, then… I suppose you shouldn't be down here."
Harry replied earnestly: "No! I suppose not!"
"Well then. Just... sort of... piss off, Potter!"
"Okay!" replied quite a happy little Harry Potter for so late in the evening. "Bye! See you at breakfast!"
Harry skipped off towards the Gryffindor quarters.
Meanwhile, Draco sent a sheepish smile the readers' way. "So," he cleared his throat, "enjoying the story so far…?"
But his attempt to placate the readers was soon interrupted by an ear-piercing scream.
"DRACO MALFOY! You – you BASTARD!"
Draco turned around and looked right into the eyes of one furious Pansy Parkinson, clothed head to tail in her dressing gown and with dozens of rollers in her hair. And he thought the volume of her voice had been frightening.
"Errrggh!" he yelled. Pansy did not look impressed with his reaction. Well. When did she get so ugly!
"I mean…" He squared his shoulders and spoke clearly and calmly: "Pansy. What seems to be the problem?"
Her eyes flashed like fire. "YOU! You seem to be the problem, Draco!"
He took a step back and gave her a thoroughly offended look. "Me! What did I do?"
"What did you do? What did you do?"
"Let's see." She began to angrily count the offences off on her fingers. "You've become a Veela! And…? You've turned gay! And I now hear you've gone and gotten yourself a new boyfriend! And not just any boyfriend but a Boy Who Lived kind of boyfriend! Never mind that this means the possibility of you and me together now is ludicrous, but--" She paused like a train screeching to a halt. "But to top it all off?" Her eyes narrowed venomously and she spoke through her teeth. "You've done all of this… without telling me." She panted; her angry eyes began to water. "Me!" She stamped a foot. Draco flinched. "ME! Your - your 'supposed' best friend!"
Draco raised an eyebrow tentatively. "Actually… Pansy? I'm sorry, but… you're not my best friend."
She blinked rapidly. "Beg pardon?"
Draco drew his eyebrows together in apology. "We drew straws before the story began."
"You, you – what?"
"I'm sorry. It was Blaise's turn this time. There was nothing I could do."
"Blaise!" He shrugged. She frowned and exhaled heavily. "But – but Blaise is barely in the bleeding books!"
"I know," he agreed. "But he's a major player in fanfics."
"What? Fanfics...?" She snorted. "Since when do they matter?"
"Well, you're, er, in one now. So, you know, a little respect… if you please."
"Oh. Right." She then shook her head in a sudden fluster. "Well – well can't you have another best friend in a story too!"
"Er, no. I mean, I can and sometimes I do. But, honestly, Pans? Any more than one and it gets quite hard for the author to keep track of all the characters and their motivations, to ensure the best friends play more than trivial roles. And just quietly," he began to whisper, "I'm not so certain the current author is really up to the job."
She scowled and then sniffed haughtily. "Well – what about Crabbe and Goyle? Are they still your best friends too?"
"Well, yes, of course. But they never say anything. So that kind of helps."
It was at that point that both Pansy and Draco realised that Crabbe and Goyle were not only standing either side of Draco but had been doing so for the entire scene.
"Eeeep!" said Pansy, as both she and Draco jumped three feet backwards in sudden alarm.
"Fucking Hell!" Draco exclaimed. "See what I mean?" he gasped, bent over, hands clasped onto his knees, rapidly trying to catch his breath. "It's like they're not even there!"
Pansy was still clutching her chest from the shock, but that didn't stop her from whisking her head towards Draco and resuming her angry scowl. "Well, what's the point of having characters that do nothing? Hm, Draco?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't know," he breathed. "Perhaps it's like…'rent-a-crowd' or something. So I don't seem like a social outcast."
"Well, I think that's stupid. They don't really add anything to the story!"
"Yeah, I know."
"When I could add quite a lot..."
"Hm, yeah, perhaps--"
"Oh come on! I'm far more interesting than those two idiots…"
The pair wandered off towards their sleeping quarters, bickering loudly, and leaving behind Crabbe and Goyle, that is a silent Crabbe and a misty-eyed Goyle.
Their muffled sniffs went unheard by the world around them.
The next morning:
Draco was making his way eagerly towards the Great Hall, excited to meet up with his new boyfriend, when a hand reached out and grabbed him, yanking him into a darkened alcove.
He looked up into the nondescript face of another Hogwarts boy. An older looking one. In fact, one who probably shouldn't even be at school anymore given how this was Draco's seventh year and Draco was certain this one was supposed to be older than him by at least a whole yea-
"Hi. I'm Eddie Carmichael and I'll be your jealous, ex-boyfriend attacker for this story." He gave Draco a warm nod.
Draco's jaw descended. "What-the-fuck?" he exclaimed. "Ex-boyfriend…?" Draco restated. "We never went out!"
"Oh?" Eddie looked at him in genuine surprise and then padded down his own robes, eventually slipping a hand inside and retrieving some sort of book. He began to flick through the pages, running his eyes over the text in a hurried fashion. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Draco replied furiously. "Besides, I've only just realised I'm gay, you git!" He crossed his arms angrily and looked away.
Carmichael's brow furrowed slightly. "Well, don't blame me. I'm just doing what the script says… and let's see here…" He scanned an open page quickly. "Yep, says I'm to corner you while you're on your own… Okay, good, that's what I've just done… And, then it says here that you are powerless to stop me…" He raised a hand absently and grabbed a hold of Draco's robes in one loose fist, while still reading. "I suppose I do something like this, because I'm to go on and rough you up quite a bit--"
"What!" Draco batted the hand away roughly and began to reach for his wand.
Eddie's eyes squinted at the page. "Wait, hang on a minute..." He rubbed his chin and read further ahead, not noticing Draco's angry reaction or Draco's quick retrieval of his wand. "Looks like Harry Potter's supposed to rescue you… Although, I don't know where he is." Eddie looked over his right and left shoulder. "Huh. Perhaps he didn't get the latest script- Hey!" he suddenly said as a wooden tip was pressed to his heart. "You're not supposed to have your wand!"
"Oh, really?" Draco drawled sarcastically.
"Yeah. I think you're supposed to forget it - or something…"
Draco recoiled. "Hold on just a minute! I'm Draco Malfoy!"
"Yeah, I know."
"You git. That means I never forget my wand! Ever! I'm a pureblood wizard. I can't tie a shoelace without it, for Merlin's sake!"
Eddie's brows lifted. "Oh..."
"Your script makes no sense."
"Well. Maybe - maybe they did get it wrong. It's highly likely. I mean, this must be the tenth draft I've gotten this week alone. All unbeta'd, mind you, heh heh. You should have seen some of the earlier errors!"
"Okay. Look," Carmichael said in a pleasant, problem-solving tone. "Let's just presume you're supposed to have it then and work the scene with the wand as best as we can. Alright?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. But if I have my wand, why on earth would I not hex the shit out of you?"
"Oh. I dunno. I suppose it's not convenient to the plot."
"Get the fuck out of here before I do hex you, because right now - in my view - it's very convenient to the plot."
"Oh? Well. It's not quite how I'd imagined the scene would go, but I suppose it'll do." He titled his head to the side thoughtfully. "In fact, I like this improvisation. You standing on your own two feet, not requiring the Chosen One to leap to your aid. Yeah." He smiled. "I think we did well." He clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder in a friendly manner. "See you 'round." And at that, Eddie spun on the spot and began to walk away, whistling merrily to himself.
"Who was that?" said Harry appearing out of nowhere a split second later.
"Some guy called Eddie Carmichael. Ever heard of him?"
"What's he got to do with anything?"
Draco shrugged. "Nothing."
They paused and fell into a moment of silence. Draco felt his Veela urges suddenly whirl through his body. He was in delicious proximity to his mate and found he was just hungry for some contact.
Draco suddenly flicked his hair out of his eyes and glanced up at Harry beneath long lashes. Harry did a double take; his mouth fell open and he became a ball of nervous energy. He stepped eagerly but anxiously towards Draco, reaching two keen hands out to touch him.
It was at that point that both Harry and Draco realised that Crabbe and Goyle were not only standing either side of Draco but had been doing so for the entire scene, ever since Harry had arrived.
The couple leapt into the air in fright.
Harry was the colour of a beetroot and Draco was sincerely hoping he did not inherit his grandfather's weak heart. He pressed a hand over the galloping organ and took a moment to catch his breath. "Goyle? Crabbe?" he finally muttered. "It's not that I don't appreciate your loyalty… and you both… sort of 'guarding' me, albeit ineptly. But I think that perhaps it would be better if you both… didn't... always follow me around." Goyle swallowed. His eyes began to water. Crabbe looked quietly at his feet. "Hey. I don't mean to hurt you. I mean, you're still my friends and all. It's just… maybe you should get involved in something else a little more. Perhaps even talk. Out loud. With humans. From time to time. Er- not with me, of course--" He held his palms up in the air to stop that idea from going any further. "Never with me, because I've already got a best friend and a boyfriend, so… that means I'm sort of 'covered' in that respect. Just… sort of… talk to each other maybe. Just for starters. And see how it goes. How does that sound? Good? Good." He nodded in a brisk but pleased manner, and then turned and dragged Harry away by the hand.
Goyle let out a shaky breath and Crabbe placed a supportive hand on Goyle's shoulder.
Harry was not exactly reluctant to leave Crabbe and Goyle back in the hallway but he was most certainly reluctant to leave Draco now outside the doors to the Great Hall. Particularly given his apparent traumatic experience of just moments earlier with Eddie Carmichael (he'd seen a bit of it from a distance as he'd hurriedly approached) and how people in the real world normally take years and years to recover from an attack like that. The kind of attack that might stop all sorts of physical affection from taking place between the two, at least until after much therapy. Harry frowned.
"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" he asked Draco.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you just got accosted. By Eddie."
"Eddie – Eddie Carmichael."
"Eddie Carmichael. That guy back there. The one who had you cornered and was grabbing you by the robes, threatening you."
Draco drew his brows together in concentration. "Really…? Just then?" Harry nodded solemnly.
Draco finally shrugged. "I think I've forgotten it already."
"Seriously?" Harry's brows arched.
Draco nodded calmly. "Yeah. Doesn't even sound remotely familiar."
"Huh. So this means you'd be okay with physical affection?"
Draco smirked slowly. "Absolutely."
They fell, once more, into a comfortable silence.
They leapt towards each other.
Some heated sixty minutes later, Harry and Draco pulled apart, their hearts still racing.
Harry drew Draco in towards his chest and held him tightly, wrapping him up in his welcoming arms.
They were standing in front of the doors to the Great Hall at breakfast time, and as much as Harry appreciated an hour-long snog with Draco, he wasn't so certain that they could pull off such a kissing stunt for any longer, a kissing stunt in such a public place while they attempted to keep the whole school in the dark about their new relationship. In fact, it was strange that they'd managed to do just that for sixty minutes just now! At breakfast time, too! A time when students should have technically been pouring madly in through these doors. It was almost as if some strange force, some higher power or being, was controlling all the events in his life and - heh, heh - actually wanted he and Draco to snog! To snog a lot! So much so that they were able to do it whenever and wherever they liked, in long drawn-out detail, with no interruptions whatsoever! Even in places that were supposedly public! But who would want the two of them to do such a thing!
Wait. Probably the same sorts of people who would want Draco to recover quickly from an assault... so that he could get back to snogging - and more - as soon as possible...
That's when Harry remembered he was part of a story and that an author and some readers were watching his every move with Draco. Harry shook his head in sudden understanding; Perverts. The author and readers were all a bunch of perverts.
But Harry didn't get to contemplate these 'wild' and completely uncalled for musings any further as Draco shifted in his arms a little, dragging Harry's attention away from his thoughts.
"Harry?" Draco asked against his chest. "Do you think - I mean, are you going to--" Draco stopped and remained quiet for a moment. Harry squeezed him a little, encouraging him to continue. "Will you tell your friends about me?" Draco finally whispered.
Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest. Harry licked his lips and nodded anxiously. "Yeah. I thought I might tell them this morning actually."
Draco tilted his head back and looked up at the other wizard. "Do you think they'll ever accept me?"
Harry's breath snagged somewhere in his throat. The other boy was so beautiful. Harry's eyes had never rested on a more amazing sight. Even so, he hated to see Draco desperately worried like this. "Of course they will," he quickly said.
"Really?" Draco asked hopefully.
"Yes." He smiled at Draco and slipped a loose strand of blond hair behind Draco's ear, but he felt bad for saying it. The truth was... Harry was nervous, very nervous about his friends' reactions. "At least, I hope so," he stated honestly, glad he was unable to lie. He wanted to be like an open book to this young man; he wanted Draco to know him through and through. "But don't worry. If need be, I'll work on them until they do." Draco continued to look at him with a troubled expression and Harry moved to change the topic quickly. "Anyway. Aren't we supposed to be building tension or something?" He smirked.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Draco smiled slowly. "I keep forgetting all about that."
Harry chuckled. "Me too."
They stood there, in each other's arms, holding on for long minutes. They didn't want this moment to end. But it had to.
Harry spoke quietly: "We should go inside."
"Should we walk in separately?"
Draco nodded silently.
"At least for now," Harry added.
Draco gave him a tiny, thankful smile.
Reluctantly, they released their hands.
Several minutes later, Draco stalked into the hall, sank down next to Blaise, and released a loud huff.
Wait just a minute…
"Blaise?" Draco turned his head. "Is that – is that you?"
The person beside him grinned widely. "Yes, it is!"
"But – but you're a guy!" Draco's eyes travelled quickly over the other boy. "And you've got dark skin!"
Draco drew back, raised his brows, and then shrugged. "Huh. Well, how about that, then, eh...?" Draco remarked absently as he turned away and reached for a glass of pumpkin juice.
"And…?" Blaise prompted eagerly.
Draco took a long sip of his drink and wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. "And what?"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "And I'm gorgeous, that's what!" He smiled winningly at his friend.
But Draco was too interested in perusing the breakfast choices on the table to notice.
Blaise frowned, raised a hand, and clicked his fingers in the air so that several girls around him sighed dreamily on cue. In the event that the readers needed extra proof of his good-looks? That should do it nicely. He nodded his appreciation to them all and they swooned some more for the extra added effect.
But it barely worked where Draco was concerned. Draco elevated his eyes briefly and flicked them vacantly over Blaise. "Oh, right," he commented without enthusiasm on his friend's looks. "Good for you, Blaise."
Blaise sighed wearily.
"So how'd this all come about then?" Draco asked in a distracted tone, his mind elsewhere.
"Well. The lazy author got off her arse and decided to look into who I'm actually supposed to be. Turns out JKR confirmed my maleness, my skin colour, and my good looks ages ago." He leaned towards Draco. "My sexual persuasion, however, is still up for grabs though…"
He allowed a hand to drift slowly and meaningfully along Draco's arm. Draco slapped it fiercely, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. "Hey! Get your stupid paw off me, Blaise!"
Blaise blanched. "You're – you're not attracted to me?"
Draco flinched backwards and gawked at Blaise like he was mad. "No! Of course not!"
"Oh don't be so cut up about it. I'm a Veela! And I've already found my mate. Remember…? You were the one who told me!"
"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry." Blaise rubbed his forehead and looked extremely tired. "It's just been hard to get my head around this, Draco, these - these unnecessary good-looks. They've really thrown me. I mean... Merlin... why would I have them if they weren't really essential to the story!"
Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise was supposed to be his clear, non-confused best friend. Not this mess of a man. "Honestly, give a guy a gender and some distinguishing characteristics and his personality changes completely." He paused and glanced back at Blaise who was looking at Draco gravely. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"No, it's okay." Blaise smiled weakly. "Now that I think about it, it's actually a big relief to know you don't like me like that. The truth is…" He prodded his toast and laughed nervously. "There's actually someone else I've got my eye on and I was quite worried that I'd have to forgo that possibility, in favour of some awful love-triangle with you and Potter due to my impeccable good looks."
"Oh?" Draco sighed and dropped a half eaten piece of toast back onto his plate, unable to stomach food right now. "Who?" he asked, attempting to be a supportive friend. He wasn't really that interested, as his own life was of greater concern. But right now? Not much was going on in his own story besides uneaten toast. So. It filled a gap.
Blaise looked up shyly. "Eddie Carmichael." He sighed heavily. "I've been in love with him for years."
Draco sat back and crossed his arms fastidiously across his chest. "First of all, you're gay?"
"Probably not according to JKR, but, yes," Blaised nodded, "now and then."
"Right. Second of all, Eddie Carmichael?"
"Yeah. What do you think?"
"Never heard of him."
"Oh." Blaise dropped his gaze and began to toy with his food once more.
Draco frowned and decided to go out on a limb for his friend for the second time today. After all, this lull period in his own story was stretching on much longer than he'd first anticipated. "I'm sure he's wonderful though, Blaise. And I'm sure he'll have you." Blaise sat upright and smiled brightly at that. "Now. Can you go back to being my supportive, informative friend and stop the bloody sulking?"
Blaise shrugged. "Sure. I can try."
"Good. Please do. You never know when I might need information and someone like you to save the day."
"Actually, Draco? You could always read up on things yourself--"
"Like I said," Draco interrupted and spoke firmly, "you never know when I'll need you to come to my rescue with information I desperately need and save the day."
Blaise nodded after a moment of delay. And finally satisfied that the focus was back on Draco, Draco drooped sullenly in his chair and rubbed his temples with a loud, bone-weary moan to ensure his distress was clearly known.
"Draco? Draco, what's wrong?" Blaise asked, taking note.
Draco looked up. "Harry's going to tell his friends about the two of us… any minute now..."
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, across from Hermione and Ron.
His hands were sweaty and he didn't have a clue where to start. Harry gulped and sought out some inspiration.
He looked out across the Great Hall. Grey eyes lifted and met green.
Harry looked at Draco. Draco looked at Harry.
Harry kept looking at Draco. Draco kept looking at Harry.
Harry looked briefly away – he looked at his toast for a few moments - before he went right back to looking at Draco again.
Draco returned the gaze: grey eyes again meeting green, green eyes again fixing on grey.
Green eyes kept looking at grey, grey eyes kept focusing on green.
The 'green eye-grey eye gazing thing' continued for some time.
And, really. It was a good thing the author was able to capture these moments so eloquently.
"Ron, Hermione? I need to tell you something." Harry sucked in a deep breath and paused before beginning. "I'm gay… and… I'm in love… with Draco Malfoy."
Ron and Hermione glanced up from their respective breakfasts and newspapers. "Huh? Oh right, Harry," said Hermione before returning to the task of reading.
"Cool," Ron commented absently. He took another bite of his toast and inspected the sports section of the Daily Prophet.
Harry looked at them both in alarm.
Harry sat for at least a minute watching his friends, listening to Ron chomp, chomp on his toast, the same look of alarm not leaving Harry's face for even a moment.
"Guys? I said… I'm GAY! And IN LOVE… with MALFOY!"
Hermione allowed a corner of her newspaper to fold over and peered over the top of it with one curious brown eye. "Er, right, Harry. We heard you."
Ron swallowed his mouthful. "Yeah, Harry. Good stuff." He took a sip of pumpkin juice and turned to the next page of his newspaper.
Harry frowned. "But – but aren't you madly upset? Livid!"
Hermione let her paper rest on the table and titled her head. "Harry." She sighed. "There's nothing wrong with homosexuality…"
"Yeah, Harry. She's right. Each to their own, Harry. Each to their own."
"Absolutely. You've got to live and let live."
"What's one man's trash is another man's treasure," Ron added.
"A rolling stone, Harry." She nodded. "It gathers no moss…"
"And a bird in the hand--"
"Fucking – stop hitting me with proverbs! Let alone proverbs that barely relate to the given situation!"
"Oh. Right. Sorry."
"Besides! In case you haven't got it, when it comes to acceptance of all things homosexual, you're preaching to the converted – LITERALLY, you idiots!"
"Anyway, Ron. Aren't you going to blush profusely and stutter - and look all embarrassed about the thought of me and another guy, you know, being naked together and getting busy with it?"
Ron looked at Harry like he was from another planet. "Harry. Why on earth would I do that?"
Harry stared at him for a long second. "No reason."
Harry sat back on the bench seat and frowned. "So. I guess this means you're both okay with the Malfoy part of the situation too then, right?"
Harry frowned. "You know… he's not evil any more. I converted him."
"That's nice, Harry."
Draco left the Great Hall early, unable to stand the tension as he waited for Harry's best friends to pretty much deliver his future on a platter.
He scowled. Ha! More like deliver to him his 'marching orders'…
He couldn't help but think that Harry's best friends – the most important people in the world to Harry – would destroy Draco's new found joy in an instant. And all because of Granger's oversensitivity to the term 'Mudblood' and Weasley's oversensitivity to relentless psychological torture. It was madness!
He swallowed angrily and marched down a long corridor, feeling unfairly treated to the extreme.
Besides, he was a Veela, a Veela! And he wanted his mate! No… he needed his mate. And Granger and Weasley had to allow it. They just had to.
A Veela couldn't survive without their mate. Well, he hadn't actually read beyond dot point number four but he imagined it to be so. It certainly felt like he'd die if Harry wasn't his.
Draco came to a sudden stop.
The same was not true for Harry. Harry didn't have to be his mate for life. Harry could choose to be with whomever he wanted.
He didn't – he didn't have to be with Draco.
Draco's legs suddenly faltered beneath him. In an effort to save himself from collapsing, he quickly reached out a hand and fumbled for the windowsill beside him. Grasping it as tightly as he could, he managed to right himself and remain on his feet.
But as he stood there, leaning awkwardly towards the wall, legs half-buckled beneath him, hands braced against the window frame, he couldn't help but wonder: what if Harry didn't feel the same way about him?
Goyle and Crabbe were walking amiably along an empty corridor after breakfast.
"No, no," Crabbe muttered under his breath, "you see it was Blaise's prior ambiguity that led to the readers' affections for him. They were able to imprint their own views, their own wishes onto his poorly developed character… In many ways, he functioned as a blank slate…"
"You mean, as in some sort of 'transferential' object?" Goyle inquired.
"Yes, I suppose so. I mean take the reader's subconscious needs and then consider those needs while reading a story. As they immerse themselves into this tale, this fantasy, certain desires attempt to surface… I believe that the lack of definition around that somewhat central character facilitated expression of those desires and needs. And now that his character, his make-up, is more crystallised, he's just not as enjoyable or enticing, is he?"
"Well, I mean, he certainly seems endearingly vulnerable right now, but I take your point - there was something dynamic about Blaise before. As to your theory regarding why this was the case? Well... your ideas are stirring, but I'm not so certain that a Freudian perspective is the most germane way of viewing--"
A loud, irritated voice interrupted them. "What are you two doing?" Draco's voice bellowed out as he stalked down the corridor towards them, wearing an extremely cranky frown.
Goyle grunted loudly in reply, while Crabbe muttered, "Nuffin'."
Draco nodded his approval and continued on his way, robes rippling behind him as he passed them by and disappeared further down the hallway.
Crabbe swung his head towards Goyle. "How can you say that Freud's theories are not applicable here?"
"Well, for starters, although most contemporary theorists hail his work as historically influential, few consider his theories as timeless. I mean, they were positioned within a highly repressive, Victorian context, and given this, some say they are not exactly cogent in today's world. I mean, take his thoughts on human psychosexual development; now they are obviously outdated--"
"No, no, no. I must disagree…"
Draco stood in the Astronomy Tower, looking out at the world beyond.
He was glad that Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be talking to one another now, though he imagined their conversations left a lot to be desired, the baboons that they were.
He was also glad that Blaise was in love, no longer hitting on him, and 'sort of' back to normal.
But nothing could expel the heaviness Draco was now feeling in his heart.
Anxious, dread-filled thoughts were swirling around in his mind. Everything he wanted felt like it could slip away, right through his fingers, and he'd be powerless to stop it.
But he knew this wasn't all about Granger and Weasley.
He swallowed painfully.
No. This was also about Harry.
TBC in Chapter 3: How do you solve a problem like Ginevra?
A/N: Yes, I didn't include a song in this chapter even though it was titled, "What can't a song-in-a-fic do!" This was mostly because, after much playing about, I just wasn't able to do it skilfully enough (i.e. without causing my own head to ache), and partly because I think the title speaks for itself, don't you? No need to harp on about it, right? Plus I, er, may have giggled delightfully at the thought of a chapter title that related in no way to the chapter itself!
Also, all inconsistencies and utterly silly sections were completely intentional.
Yes, take a paracetamol. Seriously. I can feel your headache from here!