Disclaimer: If I ever become insanely rich and European enough to be considered a credible imitation of J.K. Rowling, you'll be the first to know.

(a/n: Surprise! Guess who's back to ruin the internet again?

No, not scientology. Me! K-san the walking disaster and the considerably-less-loved-than-Marvin mechanical atrocity my grandma swears is really a computer are here to once again remind you why fangirls shouldn't have word processors! Didn't you miss us?

So, this is my first story set in fifth year…mainly because I wanted a chance to finally try writing the twins…I do so love those little weirdoes. And so does SomedayEngland, to whom this is dedicated! (Look, I filled it with Fred and George just for you…)

This is also kind of weird story in the way I've written it, i.e., by ceaselessly listening to the soundtrack of the movie "Once" on endless, endless repeat from pretty much the second I first thought it up. It's in no way necessary to have seen the movie to get the fic considering the plot of the movie has somewhere between jack and shit to do with the story, but the music influenced it a lot and I highly recommend it for no other reason than the fact that it's eight brilliant shades of fucking awesome. Also, I'm obligated to warn you (in case you are mildly retarded and couldn't work it out on your own) that I don't own the movie or music either. Try to contain your astonishment.

So! Enjoy! Or don't, I mean, no one's forcing you…mainly because I haven't worked out how yet…)


Chapter 1: Lies

So plant the thought and watch it grow

Wind it up and let it go...

-- The Swell Season


"FRED! GEORGE! THE MATCH IS OVER, PUT THE BLOODY BATS DOWN! NOW!"

Overly the good-naturedly irritated screaming of his Quidditch captain, Harry Potter sighed loudly and wiped at his glasses with his sleeve. Somehow this only seemed to get them more wet.

"Mighty slippery in all this rain, Fred, isn't it?"

"Foggy, too. I can barely see the freckle-faced git I'm hitting this Bludger at."

"OI! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE HITTING THOSE THINGS!"

"Who says I wasn't watching?"

Harry groaned inwardly. As if Ron didn't have enough to deal with. "Just leave off him, will you?"

Fred gave him an evil look, reflected identically on his twin's face. "I'm sorry, were we playing in the same game?"

"Were you here for the first six goals he let in?"

"Or the next eight?"

"It's…raining," Harry defended vaguely.

"Yeah. Funny how the rest of us all still managed without flying into the goal posts, though."

"It was windy! And if you think concussing him is going to make him any better at Quidditch—"

"Oh, it won't. But at least we'll get a laugh out of it now."

Harry rolled his eyes. He'd known the two of them long enough to know there was absolutely no point in trying to stop them.

"Just try not to kill him."

He picked his way gingerly across the pitch; between the rain, thunder, lighting, fog, his own naturally bad vision and the approximate gallon of water currently clouding up his glasses, he could see a maximum of about twelve feet in front of him.

"All right there, Potter?" a vague greenish blob sneered irritatingly from just outside his range of vision (as though he needed to see properly to know who it was...)

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry growled, thrusting his hand into his pocket to begin an absent search for his wand, which he could only hope Malfoy would be smart enough not to make him use.

It was a very vain hope. "I was just wondering," the blonde drawled maliciously, "if you could tell me what sort of flowers Weasley likes. We were thinking of sending him a bouquet, you see, and—''

"Shut. Up. Malfoy." He stepped forward to continue his muddy trek across the field, but Draco stepped in front of him.

"I don't believe I was finished, Potter."

"Yeah? Well, I am. Move."

"You know, Potter, I don't much like your tone. Perhaps a few dozen detentions would—"

It was, of course, a complete accident that at that exact moment a Bludger flew out of nowhere and hit Draco very hard on the back of the neck.

It was an accident because it'd been aimed at his head.

Harry watched mutely as his head snapped back, then forward again with a disturbing crack before finding himself on his back with the crushing weight of a semi-conscious Draco Malfoy on top of him. A low groan escaped Draco's mouth, but he didn't stir as Harry squirmed futilely beneath him.

"Get off, Malfoy! I can't breathe with you…er…" The words seemed to catch in his throat. The rise and fall of Draco's chest was slow enough to make him nervous, while his own heart was for no reason he could explain pounding wildly out of control. Half-open grey eyes met his own, slightly hazy with something Harry couldn't identify and didn't especially want to. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief at the fact that Draco was able to open them at all. "If you're not dead then get up."

"…Potter?" His voice was disoriented almost to the point of slurring.

"Yes. Now get off."

"Are you always this pretty?"

"Wh—what?!" A blush crept uninvited up Harry's neck until everything above the collar of his robes had flushed a brilliant scarlet, but no other words had the chance to be spoken before Draco was coaxing his mouth open with his tongue, kissing him fiercely and passionately there on the saturated Quidditch field in full view of anyone with the sort of bionic vision necessary to see through the blinding sheets of rain falling around them.

Which was no one, of course, but it was still completely embarrassing.

"I love you," said Draco, and fainted.

"…think you, missed, Fred…"

Harry started at the slightly muffled voices and struggled anew to get out from under the unconscious boy before anyone saw him.

"…must've hit something…"

Why did he have to be so damn heavy?

"I think it was over—Hello!"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

"Fred. George."

"Harry! How rude of us to interrupt!"

"Do you two need a minute?"

"Or twenty?

"Because we'll gladly come back when you've finished…"

"…or stay and watch if you like—"

"SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed in a voice that under any other circumstances might've been very nearly effective. "This is bad enough without you two making it worse! Just get him off!"

"Looks like you've got that covered on your own," George observed solemnly. Harry flushed again.

"He fell on me, you arse!" He didn't know what was making him so furious; he was used enough to the twins teasing. "Because you two idiots thought it'd be a good idea to mess about with—"

"Didn't know you cared so much what we did to Malfoy," Fred interrupted, his smirking tone now edged with genuine suspicion.

"I DON'T CARE! I JUST DON'T WANT HIM LAYING ON TOP OF ME, ALL RIGHT?!"

Another strangled groan rose from Draco's comatose form and Harry said fiercely, "Don't say another bloody word."

OoOoOo

"Accident, you say?"

Harry's posture stiffened at the interrogational tone of Madam Pomfrey's voice.

"Yeah. Bludger came out of nowhere."

"And that's all?"

The image of Draco's mouth pressed wetly to his own rose unwelcome in Harry's thoughts. He swallowed thickly and ignored it as best he could.

"Y…yeah. Er. Can I go?"

Eyes that had been narrowed in suspicion since he'd dragged Draco's muddy unconscious body into her hospital wing finally faded into relaxed disinterest and she gestured absently at the exit as she began to busy herself with tending to her patient.

"See, what we're wondering," said George lightly, beside him the instant he set foot into the hallway, "is why you even brought him up here in the first place. I'd've left him, wouldn't you, Fred?"

"Naturally. And yet young Harry seems to have taken undue in interest in the welfare of—"

"NO I HAVEN'T!" His head whipped angrily from side to side, trying to glare at both of them at once. The low murmuring of his classmates fluttered annoyingly around him; no doubt this would somehow be warped into a yet another story of his apparently frequent psychotic outbursts. It seemed he could hardly breathe these days without everyone thinking he was mental. "I was just…you could've killed him…"

"Ah, but the question is, why do you care?"

Harry touched his own lips briefly, covering the contact by chewing hard on the nail his index finger. "I don't," he lied firmly, licking his lips with a scowl.


(a further a/n: Voila! (Oh yes. I know at least one word of a foreign language. Praise me!) Well, what did we think?

thoughtful pause—

I see. Could you possibly be convinced to put that sentiment into review format through use of that delightful button down there?

Much obliged.)