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13 November 2004 @ 12:51 pm
I sometimes wonder if I'm a peasant  

And the last. *phew, wipes sweat from brow*. I really shouldn't be on the net at midday. Eep. OH TEH SLASHERZ DESCEND HERE. WATCH OUT. Also, here's WHY Wystan was Sorted into Slytherin *grins*.

After half an hour in the air, Draco and Wystan were both pink-cheeked and panting. Draco was tingling all over. He had forgotten just how utterly exhilarating flying was. It had been too long. He resolved not to let it go so long ever again.

Harry was setting the table with a carefully concentrated look on his face, a small line between his eyebrows. In the light of the compact dining room, Draco saw the silver hairs with a small jolt. Harry had aged well in most regards; always slight, he now looked slightly gaunt. However, the grey on his head made Draco feel old, suddenly, and slightly panicky, as if life was speeding up like a steam train leaving him at the station.

Smoothing down his shirtfront with annoyance, Draco distracted himself with tucking in the light blue silk where it had come loose during the flight.

‘Sit down, then,’ Harry said, and Draco thought the heat must have been affecting him as well, because his cheeks were flaming.

Wystan wriggled in his chair, taking up his knife and fork with childish anticipation. ‘I’m starving!’ he announced.

‘I never would have guessed,’ Draco said wryly, seating himself somewhat more soberly, although his stomach was adding its own commentary on the proceedings. He wondered uneasily what kind of a cook Harry made. Culinary spells were ten-a-penny, but just like any other magic, they took practice, and often people simply did not have the knack of them.

His worries were assuaged when Harry walked back through the adjoining door, levitating a platter on which a magnificent roast fowl lay steaming. It was surrounded by mounds of stuffing and Yorkshire pudding. Smaller dishes came to rest beside it on the table, bearing tender baby carrots, sprouts, roast potatoes and broccoli, along with gravy.

‘There goes my waistline,’ Draco said, licking his lips. Harry shot him an uncertain look, as if Draco was mocking him, but Draco only had eyes for the delicately roasted meat as Harry expertly carved it.

‘Make sure you take vegetables, Wystan,’ Harry instructed, as he took a seat after serving each of them several slices of meat. He had given Wystan a leg as well.

‘Aw, Dad!’ Wystan complained. Harry waved his knife at him threateningly.

‘I mean it! Or no dessert.’

‘What is it, first?’ Wystan demanded speculatively.

‘Strawberry sorbet,’ Harry told him. ‘I hope that is okay, Malfoy?’

Draco was masticating a melting mouthful of chicken, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s. Mentally cursing Harry for catching him at such an inopportune moment, he nodded and opened his eyes wide to show that sorbet was perfectly fine, thank you very much, now bugger off Potter.

Harry gave a small smile, and turned his attention to Wystan, who was reluctantly spooning carrots onto his plate with a look of woe.

‘That’s it. You need carrots to keep up your flying strength.’

‘Never seemed to affect you,’ Draco drawled, after an eternity of swallowing. ‘As I recall, the only reason you ever went near a carrot was to flick it at me.’

Harry glared at him; Wystan looked flabbergasted, before nearly falling off his chair laughing.

‘Calm down, Dad!’ he spluttered. ‘Look!’ With exaggerated care, Wystan scooped up a forkful of mashed carrot and shoved it in his mouth, looking as if it was laced with rat-poison. He swallowed, then took a huge gulp of water to wash away the taste, shuddering.

Harry allowed his face to relax, taking a long draught from his own glass and watching Draco over the rim. Draco found this slightly disconcerting. ‘Well, you were no mean participant in the food-fights yourself, Professor. Sixth year? When Snape had to hose us both down to get rid of the toffee?’

‘Oh, Merlin, I remember that,’ Draco grimaced. ‘He gave me detention for a month, and I wasn’t allowed any dessert for a week. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.’

Harry laughed, and smirked. ‘McGonagall just told me off till my ear was ringing, and then complimented me on my aim.’

‘Huh. Gryffindors. What a bunch of wusses.’ Draco sniffed sanctimoniously. ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.’

‘I should be a champion weight-lifter then, by your standards,’ Harry said, and poked out his tongue. Draco simply stared for a moment, captivated, before shaking his head ominously.

‘That’s it, Potter. Revenge is long-since overdue.’ Harry opened his mouth to speak, but instead got a faceful of mashed spud. Draco laughed gleefully, a reaction quickly curtailed when Harry grabbed his spoon and sent a load of gravy-drenched broccoli winging his way. It hit Draco square in the forehead.

‘Told you my aim was spot-on,’ Harry said smugly.

‘Oh, you are so dead,’ Draco growled, snatching his own spoon. Wystan stared open mouthed as his father and his teacher engaged in a short but furious battle that featured significant amounts of airborne cuisine. Eventually, things quietened down, and he crawled back out from under the table.

‘I have to say, that’s an unusual way of eating,’ Wystan said thoughtfully. ‘Well, at least some got in your mouths, I suppose.’

His father raised eyebrows heavily weighed down by a slimy mixture of stuffing and potato, but wisely forbore to say anything. He probably realised his status as an authoritarian figure was slightly compromised at the moment.

‘I might just get my dessert and let you clean up,’ Wystan went on carefully, and Harry nodded. When he was gone, he glanced over at Draco, who managed to look haughty and composed despite bearing a facemask of gravy and sprouts.

‘Come on then, Malfoy,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s do what the boy says.’

Draco followed him into the kitchen, where Harry had started running the tap. ‘I’ll have you know this is one of my favourite shirts,’ he said sniffily.

‘I’ll bloody well pay for it,’ Harry said gruffly.

‘Nah,’ Draco said, with a small smile. ‘That was the most fun I’ve had in ages.’

Harry paused, and compressed his lips. ‘Huh. Well. Me too.’

Draco nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. He looked down at his shirt with a sigh, and started unbuttoning it. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way to lending me another, Potter?’

‘Sure,’ Harry said, his voice sounding rather strangled. Draco shrugged off his shirt and looked up inquisitively, but Harry was leaning over the sink, splashing his head vigorously.

‘Shove up then.’ Harry jumped and looked across at Draco, his wet, tangled hair falling in his eyes. Taking advantage, Draco plunged his head into the half-full sink and straightened, stretching up to run his fingers through his wringing hair. Harry made a sound like a small animal being energetically squashed to death, but before Draco could call him on it, he had pulled off his own t-shirt and Draco found himself clamping his lips around a very similar sound.

Ignoring the storm of tension building, Harry and Draco laved themselves off in silence. Long after they were both sparkling clean, they remained, scrubbing pointlessly at some portion of their anatomy that boasted nothing dirtier than bare skin.

‘Malfoy,’ Harry said at last, and his voice sounded thick. ‘You have…something…’ Without waiting for a reply, he touched his dripping hand to a place just under Draco’s left ear. Draco shivered involuntarily, and Harry snatched back his hand.

‘Towels,’ he muttered distractedly, and almost ran from the room. By the time he came back, Draco was fooling himself that his racing heart was under control.

Wordlessly, Harry held out a fluffy red towel to Draco, who took it in equal silence. They dried themselves off. Harry remembered about lending Draco a shirt, and took the excuse to leave again. Draco seated himself to wait.

When Harry returned, he looked calm and unruffled, his hair combed but springing up in unruly waves as it always did. He passed a soft denim shirt to Draco, who took it gratefully, not looking at Harry as he put it on.

‘Well,’ Draco said, clearing his throat. ‘I’d better go. I can owl this back to you,’ he gestured at the shirt.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Harry said, sounding slightly strained. ‘I’ll just tell Wystan you’re leaving then. He’ll want to say goodbye…’

His voice trailed off as Wystan himself appeared in the kitchen, looking pale and woebegone and dragging his feet. ‘Daddy…I don’t feel so great,’ he said piteously.

‘The full moon -’ Harry said, looking around wildly for a calendar as he crouched down to Wystan’s level and putting a hand to his forehead.

‘Not for another two weeks,’ Draco said, shaking his head. ‘But there could be a second one -’

‘A second full moon?’ Harry said in horror.

‘It happens sometimes. About once a decade,’ Draco said, frowning. ‘Is he hot?’

‘Burning up,’ Harry said, his voice shaking.

‘Wystan,’ Draco said. ‘Tell me how you feel.’

‘Cold,’ Wystan said, shivering. ‘I feel really cold…’

‘He probably has a touch of ‘flu,’ Draco said. ‘You’ll need to put him to bed, wrap him up warmly.’

‘But what if -’ Wystan took a deep breath, ‘what if it’s the bite?’

‘I can check it out,’ Draco said with a frown. ‘Lupin keeps books on this, surely?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, distractedly, picking up Wystan bodily. ‘Try the sitting room, or his bedroom. The one with the blue door. I’ll come help as soon as I’ve tucked him up.’

‘Okay,’ Draco said, striding towards the door. Wystan looked at him as he passed, curled up against Harry’s chest with flushed cheeks, his black hair standing up in cowlicks identical to Harry’s. Draco brushed his head with the tips of his fingers. ‘You will be fine, Wystan. I won’t let anything happen to you.’

We won’t,’ Harry said firmly, to Draco’s retreating back.

Wystan smiled.



Draco sat in the sitting room as darkness gathered, surrounded by piles of open books. He held one close to his face, perusing the minute text and squinting his eyes. Next thing you know it will be glasses you will need. Wonderful.

His head snapped up as bright, artificial light flooded the room. Harry leaned against the doorframe, glasses dangling from his fingertips, rubbing under his eyes with the other hand.

‘Find anything?’ he asked tiredly.

‘No - but I am fairly certain he has a mild case of ‘flu,’ Draco said, getting stiffly to his feet. ‘Keep his room hot and he’ll sweat it out overnight, I should imagine.’

‘Well, I put on the electric blanket and closed the windows. Lit the fire,’ Harry said through a yawn.

‘That’ll do the trick,’ Draco agreed. ‘But if he’s not okay first thing in the morning, we can - I mean, you can, take him to a Healer.’

‘Where are you going?’ Harry asked, blinking, as Draco stepped across the threshold. Draco paused, face to face with Harry.

‘Well, I thought I’d better be going…’ he said slowly.

Harry made an exasperated face. This close, Draco could see stubble already darkening his chin. ‘Don’t be silly. You can stay over. Especially in case something happens during the night - you know more about medicine than I do.’

‘Well…’ Draco hedged, but in one respect, Harry was right. Au fait Harry might be on vanquishing Dark Lords, but on basic healing Draco had the upper hand every time. ‘All right,’ he agreed, not quite reluctantly.

‘Good,’ Harry said, letting his breath out in a whoosh. ‘Here, sit down. May I get you something to drink? I’ll make up a bed for you later.’

‘Thanks, and yes, a drink would be most welcome.’ Draco fell over into a sofa with a sigh, before wriggling around into a sitting position. When he looked at Harry, Harry quickly busied himself with Summoning glasses from the kitchen.

Handing Draco a glass brimming with red wine, Harry asked teasingly, ‘Malfoy, it’s only eight in the day. Sure you want to be getting hammered this early?’

‘I -’ Draco caught sight of Harry’s superior expression. ‘Arg. I do not feel up to this right now. Can I take a rain check? For when I feel more scathing?’

‘I couldn’t engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person,’ Harry said, mock serious, and to Draco’s surprise plumped down next to him on the sofa. ‘It would be -’

‘Not Gryffindorish?’ Draco suggested.

‘Close,’ Harry shot him a grin. He was a few degrees off a Dumbledore twinkle. ‘Unethical, was what I was going to say.’

‘No wonder you didn’t get into Slytherin,’ Draco sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa, realising too late Harry’s arm had been flung across it. ‘Oh - shit - sorry, Potter -’

‘Its okay - no, seriously! I don’t need to go anywhere for a while, do you?’

‘I guess not,’ Draco said cautiously, letting his head rest back against Harry’s arm. It was reassuringly warm. Draco closed his eyes.

‘Watch it there, Malfoy, you’ll spill wine all over your shirt. I mean, my shirt.’

Draco felt rather than saw Harry lean across him to remove his glass and set it aside. The arm Draco was resting on shifted slightly, nudging Draco closer to the crook of Harry’s arm.

‘This is rather unorthodox,’ he said, smiling crookedly up at Harry from his vantage point almost under his chin.

‘I’ll say,’ Harry said, leaning forward again to drop his glass on the floor. Empty, it fell with a dull thud and rolled away. The top of Harry’s head was practically brushing Draco’s nose, and he reached up a hand to push him off. Somehow, though, his hand ended up being caught at the nape of Harry’s neck, his fingers curling in the fine, downy hair of Harry’s neckline. Unbidden, Harry raised his head a little, so that he was looking up into Draco’s eyes, and for the life of him Draco couldn’t make his hand move -

They sat motionless for half a second, before both attempted to draw back, save face, but their opposing actions came into conflict so that Draco was leaning against the arm of the chair with Harry’s hands on either side of his chest and Harry’s face hovering inches above his own. Draco’s arms - which he had moved with the firm intention of levering Harry off him - of their own accord twined themselves around Harry’s neck. Harry swallowed - Draco could see the movement clearly, could feel Harry’s heart beating fast or maybe that was his own, and Harry’s face was gorgeously flushed.

Moving with continental-drift slowness, Draco arched his neck, brushing his lips against the underside of Harry’s throat. Harry gasped, and tensed. Draco immediately snatched his head away, but Harry chased it. Very much in control, now that some mental barrier had come crashing down, Harry let all his heated, trembling weight pin Draco against the sofa and shoved one hand under Draco’s head, dragging his fingers through Draco’s hair, and wrenched his face up to meet Harry’s, trapping his mouth in a hot, hasty, greedy kiss.

When he finally broke away, leaving Draco’s head spinning and his eyes flashing, Harry buried his face in Draco’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice muffled, but even so, Draco could tell he did not mean it in the slightest. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long.’

In response, Draco’s fingers sought out his mouth, turning his head so that Draco could kiss him this time, a cool sweet kiss that rapidly burned its way onto his nerve endings. Harry’s hands were fumbling at the buttons of Draco’s shirt - well it was Harry’s shirt, they were both Harry’s shirts, but when they were both off it made little difference to whom they belonged. Harry’s hands were roaming over warm flesh, and Draco’s hands were tangled in Harry’s soft hair, and Draco did not want to stop but he knew he had to.

‘Wystan,’ he groaned, as Harry’s diabolically talented mouth tattooed his collarbone.

Harry looked up at him. His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked almost completely black. He smiled a slow, inviting smile. ‘Draco - he loves you. For some reason. He invited you here in the first place. I really couldn’t think of anyone better suited to being in this position right now.’

As Harry’s lips caught Draco’s mouth for yet another breath-taking kiss, Draco found he really could not argue with that.


Remus Apparated into the hall, shaking his sodden cloak. It had been raining cats and dogs in the rainforest in Antigua where he had been making a stop-off for some rare potion plants. The house was darkened, except for a slit of light peeking out from under the kitchen door. Wondering if Harry was still up - he often stayed up to wait for Remus, but it was three in the morning and he hadn’t been due back until tomorrow night - Remus made his way softly into the kitchen to the sound of voices.

He opened the door gently.

‘Wystan!’ he said, clutching his chest. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘I was hungry,’ the boy shrugged, grinning brilliantly. Fawkes, seated on Wystan’s shoulder, shook his gleaming feathers in a smug sort of way. ‘Want to join our midnight feast?’

‘Certainly,’ Remus said heartily, removing his cloak and sitting down across from Wystan.

‘It’s not much of a feast, actually,’ Wystan said, frowning slightly. ‘Only ice cream and crackers, and they’re really for Fawkes. But it’s better than nothing.’

‘I agree wholeheartedly.’ Remus took the proffered bowl of slightly melting chocolate ice cream. ‘Where’s your father?’

‘In bed with my Potions teacher,’ Wystan said evenly. Remus dropped his spoon halfway to his mouth. It fell into the bowl with a resounding clang.

‘You aren’t joking, are you?’ he said slowly, watching Wystan eat ice cream with careless abandon. Wystan shook his head. ‘Draco Malfoy?’ A nod. ‘Well, well, well.’

A husky laugh, quickly stifled, and a creaking of bedsprings floated through the slightly open door.

‘Holy shit,’ Remus said, gulping. Wystan grinned. ‘You don’t seem fazed, Wystan Sirius Potter.’

‘Should I be?’ Wystan asked curiously, wiping the bowl clean with his finger and licking it. His other hand, unseen beneath the table, crumpled a Skiving Snackbox wrapper between his fingers.

‘Don’t do that,’ Remus said automatically. ‘Did you have a hand in this somewhere?’

Wystan went to lick the bowl again, but hesitated at Remus’ thunderous expression.

‘Who, me?’ he asked meekly.


And power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition.


Current Mood: giddygiddy
Current Music: Ending the ABBA kick with 'Waterloo'
Caitcoralia13 on November 13th, 2004 08:38 pm (UTC)
Well, maybe I can stand H/D slash... (runs away and hides face in shame)
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 14th, 2004 09:07 am (UTC)
No shame! No shame! (No idea why I've settled on it though - my first slash-read was Marcus/Oliver - another total plausible *cough* ship...)

HAHAHA! Just wait, next post - a PWP!

Only kidding. :)
Caitcoralia13 on November 14th, 2004 10:38 am (UTC)
Wait - what is a PWP? Because people always use it, and I have no idea.
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 14th, 2004 10:45 am (UTC)
Depends. If you're on a child-friendly site, it's 'Plot? What Plot?' But I think the real and true meaning is this (and how I meant it, also) 'Porn Without Plot'. Comes from Yaoi, the Japanese original, which itself stands for four words meaning 'No plot, no meaning, no conclusion'. Your lesson for today!

I have never yet written a PWP, either plotless or porn, in case you're worried!
henbock on November 17th, 2004 03:25 am (UTC)
Not too impressed. SORRY!
OK I know Im nitpicking but you only ever have yorkshire puddings with roast beef, sorry but I cant be totally arselicking and I find it hard to believe that Snape could change his view of Harry cos he hated Harry just because he was James son and I dont think he could mature that much as to accept him and help nim with Wystan and what a fucking godawful name!!
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 17th, 2004 02:55 pm (UTC)
Re: Not too impressed. SORRY!
Oh. Okay. What did I put them with? Chicken, I suppose. I'LL CHANGE IT!

That's probably because he wanted to shag him. I dunno. It fit the bill, what can I say?

I like that name!!! Ya boo sucks. That ain't changin'.

Nice to see you again, btw? Where were you, in Tibet?