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Author: Kicks (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Archive: fanfiction.net under Kick Flaw, my site: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/kick_flaw/
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry, Goyle/Pansy
Warnings: POV, slash
Feedback: Donate to a good cause!
Disclaimer: Is there any cross-dressing in Harry Potter? No? Then I still don't own it.
Notes: Not much to say. My back hurts. For everyone who made me feel loved.
Summary: blah blah, go read the first ones if you don't know.
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Class again. Double Potions today, which sucks about as much as anything can suck. Don't get me wrong, Snape is a great Head of House; he's always giving us points, intervening for us during fights, keeping the other Houses out of our territory, and all that stuff. But he's a dreadfully boring Professor. Or maybe it's just the subject. Draco seems to think it's fascinating, so yeah, it's probably the subject. I hate Potions. Bloody mixing that and stirring this and chopping the asphodel blah blah blah. I wish Hogwarts offered more interesting electives. Like…art. Or art even. Hell, I'd sign-up surefire for just * art *.
Beauxbaton offers art. Sadly, I don't speak French, so attending is out of the picture.
Ha. Picture. I took a picture of Pansy yesterday. Ok, ok, I took four pictures of Pansy yesterday. I couldn't figure out which angle was best. I want to paint her, but she won't pose. Usually, I don't need someone to pose to capture them, but…I want this to be special. I want to look at her while I do it, really grasp the shades and curves of her form. I want…watercolor. Watercolor and soft pastels, with the occasional slash of oil crayon maybe. But she's too shy to pose, so I took pictures instead. Had to swipe Avery Mahachek's camera to do it. Fortunately, he fell off of his broomstick the other day and is being nursed back to questionable health by Madam Pomfrey.
Madam Pomfrey is a little scary. She likes to keep the students for as long as possible. Which is…yeah, pretty scary. I suspect Avery won't be back for another day at least, which leaves me ample time to return his camera. Draco says she's lonely. I say she's nutty. Either way, I have my pictures of Pansy.
"You coming or not?" Crabbe is standing in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at me impatiently. I can vaguely see half of Draco on the other side of him –he appears to be tapping his foot. Right, right. Double Potions.
"Yeah, yeah." Gathering my materials is a pain, but we get a break after all double classes, so I don't have to worry about grabbing anything except my notes and text. Both are falling apart.
The three of us make our way to the classroom slowly, Crabbe and I dragging the distance out as much as possible, our normal exercise. And today's lesson: How Long Can Time Be Plausibly Stretched Without Damage to the Flow of the Universe? Not long enough.
I think I've stopped moving.
And…for the first time there's no tolerant, composed voice scolding me to hurry up. Right about now, I usually hear a "Hurry along, you lags" or a "Stop stalling, it's just Double Potions" and sometimes even a "Move it, or I go on without you". Time to add another incident to the 'Strange Happenings at Hogwarts' tally I keep in a journal under my bed. I also need to add Avery's little flight miscalculation. He was born on a bloody broom, for Merlin's sake. If he didn't fall off * then *, why now? Now his mother –she was not so lucky.
All it takes is a look –in the interest of documentation- to firmly convince me that Draco is moving backwards.
Away from Double Potions. Away from Professor Snape, his idol and godfather. Away from his favorite class.
Away from Harry Potter.
Crabbe glances at me quickly, his mouth twitching. I see, yes, he has a plan, and I know exactly what it is. Well, play on, buddy, I twitch back, and he nods in recognition of my understanding.
"What's wrong, Draco? Did you forget something?" Crabbe.
Draco shifts a bit, hitching his bag into a more secure place on his shoulder. "No."
"Have to use the lav?" Me.
"No." He looks at me, then at Crabbe, grey eyes bemused under the curve of blond lashes.
"You're stalling." Says Crabbe, blunt as ever.
Well, that shook him out of his thoughts –into offended defense. "I most certainly am not."
"But," it's my duty to point this out, as obvious as it is. "You're backpedaling."
"Backpedaling! Do you even know what that means, Greg? I have never, will never, and am not * now* backpedaling."
I grin. He's so funny when he gets all ruffled and outraged. He reminds me of a bird who's had it's feathers fluffed –his posture tightens so that his shoulders draw back, his chin lifts, and he glares. It's not the scary kind of glare though, more the 'humph!' kind. I especially love how he pouts. It's completely unconscious. The product of being flattered incessantly as a child.
Crabbe interjects unnecessarily. "Yes you are."
"Are too, are too, are too!" Gah, Crabbe can be so…juvenile. Draco is getting flustered.
"Am not, am not, am—"
Harry Potter brushes between Draco and I, his lean, slightly gawky frame briefly separating Draco from my view.
How Long Can Time Be Plausibly Stretched Without Damage to the Flow of the Universe
Instants distend into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into years, years into centuries, centuries into millenniums, and suddenly an eternity has flown by. Like sand pulled out from beneath our feet when waves bathe the shore. We loose and slip and regain our balance. A wealth is lost, everything shifts, nothing can ever be the same –all in an instant. An instant when the soul spins out of control, thunderclouds of truth meet and clash and merge into one. Manifestations of the eternal become external.
A moment when hands tangle, silence explodes, and the black of one robe melts into the black of another, for Harry has tripped now, over the foot of fate rather than the foot of a meddling teenager. Perhaps it was fate both times.
Awkward skin meets, hypersensitive.
"Merlin, I…bloody hell, I'm sorry…I'm so clumsy…I…" Harry –on his knees.
"No…it's not, it wasn't…here, let me help you up…" Draco –offering a hand.
"Thanks, jeez…I hope I didn't rip your robe…" Harry –standing.
"No…" Draco –straightening his outer robe.
"No?" Harry –intense, holding on to one slim, piano hand.
"Yes." Draco – still, understanding, answering.
"Yes?" Harry –leaning forward.
"Yes." Draco –breathless, firm.
"Yes." Harry –smiling.
When it is over, I can see Draco again.
But I don't recognize him at all.
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