Happy Birthday, Colleen! Huzzah!
In honor of the birthday of the lovely and fabulous dracoaccio, here is a very badly written Harry/Draco fic.
Title: Quidditch Sheds Are Good For Snogging In
Author: foxallweek
Rating: Not too scandalous
Disclaimor: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter et. al. and I do not.
Author's notes: Happy Birthday, Colleen! Apologies for the extreme badness of this fic.
“Malfoy!”
Ah, the sound of an angry Potter in the morning. Draco stirred his porridge delicately. Potter stood over him with a scowl and did not seem inclined to move.
“Yes, Potter?” Draco glanced up from beneath his eyelashes in what he hoped was an innocent way. It was probably best not to antagonize him; Potter looked utterly crazed and on the verge of physical violence. Rather hot, too, but he shoved that thought to the back of his head and tried to squash it.
“Malfoy, you sabotaged the Quidditch shed. You knew it was our turn to practice today. And you are going to come along quietly, right now, and clean it all up.”
“Potter, I do not clean. And what makes you so sure I did it, you great pillock?” Draco was made of strong stuff and would not back down. No matter how attractive and smoulder-y Potter looked when he was all stern and angry like that.
“All the Gryffindor equipment says 'Slytherin rules and Gryffindor drools' on it in sparkly green and silver paint,” Potter glared. “The sparkly paint tipped me off. So come on, Malfoy. Don't try to wiggle out of it.” And he grabbed Draco, hauled him to his feet and propelled him across the Great Hall.
“Potter!” Draco squeaked. “Remove your filthy paws from my person this instant!” No, don't, added some other interested parts of his body.
Six minutes later, Draco was perfunctorily flicking cleaning spells at the revoltingly ugly Gryffindor Quidditch equipment while Potter followed him around suspiciously. “And it's very kind of me to let you use your wand, don't you agree, Malfoy?” Said Potter virtuously, finishing off a particularly tiresome lecture.
“This is slave labour, Potter,” snarled Draco. “I am sure Professor Snape will be very interested to hear about it.”
Potter grinned at him cheekily. “He's not likely to, is he? I mean, you're the one who defaced our Quidditch gear. I could have turned you in to McGonnagall, and then Slytherin would have been out twenty points, and you still would have had to clean up. I am doing you a favour, Malfoy, you ungrateful git.”
“Well, why?” Draco demanded, nettled.
Potter looked uncomfortable for some reason, and shrugged. “Because, Malfoy. I am a nice human being.”
Draco snorted. “You are not, Potter. You are unbelievably irritating. You are a boil on the backside of my life.”
Potter looked astounded and then burst out laughing in what Draco considered to be a very unattractive way. “Potter! Cease this cackling!”
Potter stopped to take a breath and looked at him with something approaching fondness. “Draco,” he murmered, and suddenly the arch-enemy of Draco Malfoy was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Worse, Draco was kissing him back, due to some sort of brain malfunction. The skin at the back of Harry's neck was very soft, and his mouth was even softer. Just as Draco decided that he could live with this situation, Potter pulled away with a horrified expression. “Draco--I mean, Mal--oh, god,” he stuttered, and fled. It was very cold in the Quidditch shed all of a sudden.
“Damn,” said Draco, summing things up nicely.
Potter did not show up for breakfast the next morning. Or the morning after that. Draco was not accustomed to being ignored, especially not by Potter. It was insupportable. Well, Draco had had quite enough. He did not have to put up with this. He would write Potter a strongly worded note!
Dear Potter,
Draco crossed out “dear.”
Potter,
You son of a motherless kneazle.
Perhaps that was not the best approach if he hoped for Potter to kiss him again.
Potter,
Meet me in the Quidditch shed at 8. Prepare to be molested.
No, that would never do. The Malfoy pride would not stand for it.
Potter,
Meet me in the Quidditch shed at 8.
Love,
Malfoy
He crossed out “love.” There. That would show Potter!
At ten minutes before eight o'clock, Draco arrived at the Quidditch shed and settled in to lurk. Several things were running through his mind, including trepidation, feelings of extreme idiocy on both his and Potter's behalfs, and whether or not his hair was sufficiently ruffled (he had heard from Pansy that Potter preferred the sexily mussed look). It was three minutes past eight when Potter clattered through the door noisily, not that Draco was keeping track. There was a pause as they stared at each other. Potter shifted uneasily. “Well, Malfoy?” He muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. Draco was struck with the memory of how soft Potter's skin was just there, and was spurred into action. He folded his arms across his chest and squared his jaw, to show Potter he was not to be trifled with.
“Potter,” he began and frowned as he realized that he hadn't the least idea what to say.
“Potter,” he tried again.
“Yes, Malfoy. That is my name,” said Potter with a small, adorable grin. Draco sighed heavily. This was the weirdest situation ever, and he should not have to deal with it.
“Thank you for that, Potter. I was trying to say...that. You. Um,” Draco looked heavenward. “Potter, we should be friends. I mean, not friends, because that would be weird. We should be...acquaintances!” Draco looked triumphantly at Potter, who just looked confused.
“Malfoy, we already are acquaintances. Sort of. Well, we know each other.” Potter was so incredibly tiresome at times. Draco was becoming very frustrated. Horny, too.
“Listen, Potter. I am trying to say something here. I am trying to say that we could...oh, fuck. Potter, you're really not all that bad.” With that earth-shaking pronouncement, Draco launched himself at Potter and kissed him. Potter recovered admirably and kissed him back. The next few moments were very heated.
“Draco,” said Harry a while later, “that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I think I'll keep you around.”
Draco tried to scowl, and failed. “Well. I suppose I could live with that. Harry.”
Title: Quidditch Sheds Are Good For Snogging In
Author: foxallweek
Rating: Not too scandalous
Disclaimor: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter et. al. and I do not.
Author's notes: Happy Birthday, Colleen! Apologies for the extreme badness of this fic.
“Malfoy!”
Ah, the sound of an angry Potter in the morning. Draco stirred his porridge delicately. Potter stood over him with a scowl and did not seem inclined to move.
“Yes, Potter?” Draco glanced up from beneath his eyelashes in what he hoped was an innocent way. It was probably best not to antagonize him; Potter looked utterly crazed and on the verge of physical violence. Rather hot, too, but he shoved that thought to the back of his head and tried to squash it.
“Malfoy, you sabotaged the Quidditch shed. You knew it was our turn to practice today. And you are going to come along quietly, right now, and clean it all up.”
“Potter, I do not clean. And what makes you so sure I did it, you great pillock?” Draco was made of strong stuff and would not back down. No matter how attractive and smoulder-y Potter looked when he was all stern and angry like that.
“All the Gryffindor equipment says 'Slytherin rules and Gryffindor drools' on it in sparkly green and silver paint,” Potter glared. “The sparkly paint tipped me off. So come on, Malfoy. Don't try to wiggle out of it.” And he grabbed Draco, hauled him to his feet and propelled him across the Great Hall.
“Potter!” Draco squeaked. “Remove your filthy paws from my person this instant!” No, don't, added some other interested parts of his body.
Six minutes later, Draco was perfunctorily flicking cleaning spells at the revoltingly ugly Gryffindor Quidditch equipment while Potter followed him around suspiciously. “And it's very kind of me to let you use your wand, don't you agree, Malfoy?” Said Potter virtuously, finishing off a particularly tiresome lecture.
“This is slave labour, Potter,” snarled Draco. “I am sure Professor Snape will be very interested to hear about it.”
Potter grinned at him cheekily. “He's not likely to, is he? I mean, you're the one who defaced our Quidditch gear. I could have turned you in to McGonnagall, and then Slytherin would have been out twenty points, and you still would have had to clean up. I am doing you a favour, Malfoy, you ungrateful git.”
“Well, why?” Draco demanded, nettled.
Potter looked uncomfortable for some reason, and shrugged. “Because, Malfoy. I am a nice human being.”
Draco snorted. “You are not, Potter. You are unbelievably irritating. You are a boil on the backside of my life.”
Potter looked astounded and then burst out laughing in what Draco considered to be a very unattractive way. “Potter! Cease this cackling!”
Potter stopped to take a breath and looked at him with something approaching fondness. “Draco,” he murmered, and suddenly the arch-enemy of Draco Malfoy was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Worse, Draco was kissing him back, due to some sort of brain malfunction. The skin at the back of Harry's neck was very soft, and his mouth was even softer. Just as Draco decided that he could live with this situation, Potter pulled away with a horrified expression. “Draco--I mean, Mal--oh, god,” he stuttered, and fled. It was very cold in the Quidditch shed all of a sudden.
“Damn,” said Draco, summing things up nicely.
Potter did not show up for breakfast the next morning. Or the morning after that. Draco was not accustomed to being ignored, especially not by Potter. It was insupportable. Well, Draco had had quite enough. He did not have to put up with this. He would write Potter a strongly worded note!
Dear Potter,
Draco crossed out “dear.”
Potter,
You son of a motherless kneazle.
Perhaps that was not the best approach if he hoped for Potter to kiss him again.
Potter,
Meet me in the Quidditch shed at 8. Prepare to be molested.
No, that would never do. The Malfoy pride would not stand for it.
Potter,
Meet me in the Quidditch shed at 8.
Love,
Malfoy
He crossed out “love.” There. That would show Potter!
At ten minutes before eight o'clock, Draco arrived at the Quidditch shed and settled in to lurk. Several things were running through his mind, including trepidation, feelings of extreme idiocy on both his and Potter's behalfs, and whether or not his hair was sufficiently ruffled (he had heard from Pansy that Potter preferred the sexily mussed look). It was three minutes past eight when Potter clattered through the door noisily, not that Draco was keeping track. There was a pause as they stared at each other. Potter shifted uneasily. “Well, Malfoy?” He muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. Draco was struck with the memory of how soft Potter's skin was just there, and was spurred into action. He folded his arms across his chest and squared his jaw, to show Potter he was not to be trifled with.
“Potter,” he began and frowned as he realized that he hadn't the least idea what to say.
“Potter,” he tried again.
“Yes, Malfoy. That is my name,” said Potter with a small, adorable grin. Draco sighed heavily. This was the weirdest situation ever, and he should not have to deal with it.
“Thank you for that, Potter. I was trying to say...that. You. Um,” Draco looked heavenward. “Potter, we should be friends. I mean, not friends, because that would be weird. We should be...acquaintances!” Draco looked triumphantly at Potter, who just looked confused.
“Malfoy, we already are acquaintances. Sort of. Well, we know each other.” Potter was so incredibly tiresome at times. Draco was becoming very frustrated. Horny, too.
“Listen, Potter. I am trying to say something here. I am trying to say that we could...oh, fuck. Potter, you're really not all that bad.” With that earth-shaking pronouncement, Draco launched himself at Potter and kissed him. Potter recovered admirably and kissed him back. The next few moments were very heated.
“Draco,” said Harry a while later, “that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I think I'll keep you around.”
Draco tried to scowl, and failed. “Well. I suppose I could live with that. Harry.”