Harry/Draco: a very angsty Valentine's Day
Draco walked through the doors of the flat he used to share with Harry and breathed. The air was sort of stale, but it wasn't the kind of smell that would stick in your nostrils and pursue you for days.
He glanced over to the wall, where an enchanted calendar hung amidst assorted photographs and Quidditch posters. The calendar's surface shifted briefly and the date changed, just as a bell at a nearby cathedral began to toll the dawning of a new day. February fourteenth. Draco closed his eyes and remembered this day, four years ago, the first time they spent Valentine's Day together in this flat.
"Happy Valentine's day, Draco."
"Potter. Valentine's Day is for people who love each other. We don't love each other."
"I love you."
"Don't be ridiculous."
Draco opened his eyes and approached the wall, oblivious of the weird looks he was getting from Aidan Lynch, whose poster hung right beside the calendar.
"I love you, too," Draco said to the calendar. To his left, Lynch rolled his eyes as if to say "too little, too late, mate."
"Yeah, I know," said Draco to Lynch. "I know."
He looked at the lily he'd brought with him and placed it deliberately on the coffee table. The moonlight filtered through the window and Draco sighed. "I love you. Wherever you are."
"It's often infested with Nargles," Luna was saying as she pointed at the mistletoe above Hermione's head.
"There's no such thing as a Nargle," said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest.
"You would think that, wouldn't you? Until one comes and eats your brains." Luna's eyes were wide. "They are all a part of the underground Groo network. The only thing that helps against them is kissing."
"Kissing?" Oh, for crying out loud.
Dean sits cross-legged on the soft grass, his gaze fixed on something Seamus can't see. Seamus doesn't mind; he doesn't want to see it right now, he'd rather watch Dean. Dean's eyes are narrowed almost to slits, and his chest rises and falls erratically. He looks like a bird ready to take flight, Seamus realises and watches with fascination: any minute now, Dean will lift off the ground and soar up into the air.
He doesn't, of course.
Seamus scoots closer and looks in the same direction as Dean. Harry and Ginny are sitting together beneath the tree by the lake, their foreheads touching.
"Remember last Easter?" asks Seamus without looking away from the happy couple. He can almost feel Dean's head turning, can almost feel the look of disbelief that mars his features, can almost hear Dean's "I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about that."
But how can they not talk about it? How can Seamus not talk about it when it's all he ever thinks about, all he ever sees when he closes his eyes and imagines? "Please," whispers Dean every time, and "oh" and "yes"--
Dean's hand covers Seamus's on the grass, and for an instant, Seamus thinks he might fly. "I remember," says Dean.
Harry/Ron: Inappropriate Halloween costumes
"It'll be fun!"
"It bloody well will not be. At least you've got the "rugged and unshaven" look happening. I look nothing like that blond fellow!"
"We're wizards, Ron. We can change our appearance at will."
"Bloody insane. Why are we dressing up as them again?"
"Well, you know how Hermione has that computer? With the internets? For her research into Muggles?"
"I don't think I'm going to like the sound of this."
"Would you listen for a second? She found whole communities where Muggles write love stories about these two."
"SO BLOODY WHAT? CAN'T WE GO AS ROMEO AND BLEEDING JULIET? I REFUSE TO BE BLOND."
"I think someone has grown tired of sex."
"Oh, fine. Fine. But I get to pick the costumes next year."
"It's a deal."
And this is the story of how Harry and Ron showed up at Hermione's Hallowe'en party dressed as Aragorn and Legolas.
Harry/Draco -- Joke shop gift gone awry. Christmas
Harry bit his lip as he watched Draco unwrap the last present. Draco was very meticulous about unwrapping his presents, just as he was about everything else. He carefully untied the ribbon and made an elaborate show of taking the wrapping paper off with minimal rustling and no tearing. He lifted the lid off the plain white box and looked inside, then glanced up at Harry.
"The Amazing Bouncing Man?" asked Draco, his eyebrow raised. "You've got to be kidding me."
Harry grinned. "Well, you've complained that you get bored when I'm travelling. I thought that something to keep you company--"
"And you decided that the Amazing Bouncing Man would be good company? You know, sometimes I wonder why the hell I even bother with you, Potter," said Draco, scowling. He put the box aside, rose to his feet and left the room with a swish of his robes.
Harry stared after him, blinking. What did he do wrong this time? He got up and walked into the kitchen. Draco was standing with his back to the door, staring out the tiny window, his arms folded across his chest. Harry saw Draco's shoulders go stiff when he entered, meaning that he must have heard Harry come in.
"Sometimes I forget you have no subtlety," said Draco after a few minutes of heavy silence. "When I say I'm bored when you go away, that's your cue to stop going away, not to get me an Amazing Bouncing Man for Christmas, you great prat."
"Why don't you just say that?" asked Harry, frowning.
Draco turned around and glared at him. "Like I said. No subtlety."
Harry sighed and shook his head. Slytherins.
Harry/Pansy -- Halloween
Harry thought he saw a familiar hook-nosed profile up ahead; he ducked behind a crumbling wall just before the turn-off to Knockturn Alley. A procession of fawns and faeries was headed towards Gringotts, their merry voices sharp and bright against the darkness. Harry sank down on the ground, oblivious of the rough, uneven wall behind him. Maybe Hermione had been right. Maybe he'd made a mistake coming here.
Suddenly, there was a hand over his mouth and a voice that should have been familiar was hissing in his ear. "Happy fucking Halloween, Potter. I see you have finally realised you don't need a costume to be frightening."
Harry wrestled free and brought his wand up to his attacker's throat. The light filtering from the street was enough for him to see who it was. Pansy Parkinson. A hood obscured most of her face but her snide mouth was unmistakable. "What the hell are you doing here and what the hell do you want?" growled Harry, pressing the tip of his wand closer to her throat.
One side of Parkinson's mouth curved upwards. "You have questions, I have answers, Potter. Put your wand away, you silly boy."
Something in her tone made Harry want to slap her, or possibly fuck her brains out, but he'd worry about his hormones later. Parkinson must have been the one who had sent yesterday's note, he realised. He lowered his wand and fixed her with a determined glare.
"Level playing field," he said. "You tell me what I need to know, and I'll tell you where you can find Malfoy."
Harry/Draco -- International Women's day
"Happy International Women's Day," said Malfoy brightly as he walked past Harry's desk.
The silence that followed was so very complete that one could hear the angels dancing on the head of a pin. It almost felt like the entire staff of the Auror Headquarters were a bunch of deaf-mute corpses because Harry had to struggle to hear their breathing, too.
This was Malfoy's fifty-eighth day among them and for the fifty-eighth time, Malfoy had walked by Harry's desk announcing some sort of inane holiday. A month ago, it had been Worm Appreciation Day, and just last week it had been Say No To Drugs Day. Harry knew that Malfoy was just trying Harry's patience, inventing vaguely insulting-sounding holidays, but this woman thing was going a bit too far. Sure, everyone knew Harry was gay. Yes, he'd worn lipstick and a miniskirt during last year's Wizard Pride. But this did not make him female, goddamnit. Harry rose to his feet and walked over to Malfoy's desk, taking deliberately slow, long breaths on the way. Malfoy seemed to have been waiting for him, because he was leaning back in his chair, watching Harry approach.
Harry stopped in front of Malfoy's desk and glared down at him. "Malfoy, could I have a word?"
"Why, certainly, Potter," said Malfoy, just a hint of a smile playing across the corners of his mouth.
"Outside," said Harry, and turned on his heel. Sometimes being a senior supervisor had its advantages. If Malfoy didn't follow, Harry could write him up for disobedience.
Unfortunately -- or fortunately, whatever the case may be -- Malfoy didn't seem to want to disobey in the slightest. He followed Harry out of the Headquarters and into the deserted corridor outside.
"Right, Malfoy. Now, I know you don't like me and everything but--"
"Don't like you? Whatever makes you say that, Potter? I quite like you," said Malfoy, and pinched Harry's arse.
Oh, not on.
Harry decided that it was time for desperate action. He threw Malfoy against the wall, pressing his forearm against his neck so that Malfoy's head was thrown back. "Listen, Malfoy," growled Harry. "I don't care about your--"
Malfoy's hand was still on Harry's arse. "Good god, Potter, you're really thick, aren't you?" wheezed Malfoy. "I wasn't lying, you stupid git."
Harry blinked, released Malfoy, and took several steps back. "You--"
Malfoy's face was flushed slightly pink. "Me," he mimicked. "Now can we go someplace more private? Someone's bound to come out and check on us any moment now."
Harry/Draco -- Masquerade Ball at Halloween, neither knows who the other is
Harry's right cheek was itching so badly that he wanted nothing better than to rip off his mask and scratch it, but he couldn't do that here -- it was against the rules. He couldn't leave, either, because they were supposed to announce the winner of the draw and he'd promised Ginny he'd find out if she'd won or not. Right now, he wished that he had been the one to come up with the brilliant idea of having a headache and going home. He tried to rub his face through the mask, but only made the itching worse.
"Use your wand," said a calm voice on his left.
"Wha--?" Harry looked around and saw a man about his height standing there, dressed in a pirate outfit, complete with a wooden leg and a pure white mask with an eyepatch over it. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but it was too distorted by the mask.
The man shifted from foot to stump and sighed. "Your wand. You're a wizard, aren't you? Use your wand to ease the itching."
"Oh!" Harry slapped himself on the forehead mentally and began unscrewing the hilt of his sword to get at his wand.
"How elaborate," remarked the man. "Expecting trouble?"
Harry tensed. No one was supposed to know who he was, and yet somehow everyone seemed to guess that he was in law enforcement. "Dunno what you mean," he mumbled, fishing out his wand and casting a charm to soothe the itching beneath his mask.
"So what's your costume supposed to be?" asked the man after a brief moment.
Harry shot him a look. "A musketeer," he said. "In France--"
"I know what musketeers are," the man interrupted. "Do you want a drink? I'm going to get one."
"Sure," said Harry. Now that the itching was gone, he was feeling much better about being at this damned function. He watched the mysterious pirate depart, noticing something -- again -- vaguely familiar about his swagger; one had to admit that the man was excellent at acting.
Mr Pirate returned a minute later. As he passed Harry the drink, the right sleeve of his ruffled shirt came up and Harry gaped at the familiar scar there, the scar a Hippogriff had left on a petulant boy many years ago.
"Draco," he said quietly, almost not noticing the drink dropping to the floor, the glass shattering with enough noise to wake several neighbourhoods. "I thought you were dead."