by zahra

Harry's wand slipped. Really.

He honestly didn't mean to cause Malfoy's books to shoot out of his hands and attack Goyle, repeatedly. Still, it was nice bonus.

He had actually just wanted there to be some dropped books or quills or the like so he could get a little gratuitous Malfoy bum-viewing in, but he's learned to take his thrills where he can get them. He may be a Gryffindor, but that's never meant he isn't a bit sadistic, and Malfoy does have a very nice bum. School robes do nothing to hide this fact. Harry isn't blind. Dense yes, blind no, and for an entire fraction of a second Harry actually considers apologizing for what he's done. But that's before Goyle starts howling about assault, and Malfoy starts giving him those withering looks that really don't wither much at all.

No, Harry's definitely not withering beneath his robes.

He actually suspects that Malfoy's been falling off in his practise of dirty looks and evil eye glares or something. Of course, Harry thinks that if he were Malfoy he'd be far too busy practicing other things to care. Not that Harry actually thinks about being Malfoy, ever, but he may have had one or two passing thoughts about what Malfoy does in the time that isn't spent trying to torment him. Only it's a very confusing thought to have right now, especially when Harry's just trying to cop a view or a sneer or a something. And now he's been so busy trying to justify his cheap Malfoy thrills that he's missed his chances altogether.

Well, except for the one he gets while watching Goyle paddle off to the infirmary with Malfoy next to him telling him to shut up.

Yes, Malfoy definitely has a very nice bum.


The whole bum thing comes up again in Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry always expects to get picked on in Potions, but he's never thought of Hagrid as the sadistic sort. Not that he tries to think of Hagrid as any sort, but if he did, judging by the dragons and blast-ended skrewts and the like, he'd have to say masochistic.

Very masochistic.

But then again, maybe Harry's talking about himself because he's the one crawling around on his hands and knees cleaning up after Purple Peony Eaters, and there's something very wrong with Malfoy doing the same thing less than two yards away.

It almost looks as though Malfoy's talking to himself, but that can't be right because The Great Draco Malfoy would never do something as St. Mungo-esque as talk to himself where Harry Potter might overhear. Having said that though, Harry knows he's not the one muttering about the bastard offspring of Muggles crossbred with giants.

No, that's not him, but only because he's the one that just got caught staring at Draco Malfoy's arse. "Potter, are you looking at my arse?"

It's amazing how dedicated to cleaning up Harry suddenly feels. Especially considering that all he has to do is clean up the purple peonies, not pull up the grass underneath them. "Don't be daft, Malfoy."

"You are!"

"Of course I'm not." There's a long moment of silence wherein Harry can feel his ears burning and his glasses slipping off his nose. The ground is only ever this interesting when he's rushing towards it on a broom. There's a subsequent moment where he can't see anything, and he realizes that his glasses have fallen off his face. Harry had no idea that he was sweating - it's the middle of November- and then suddenly there's a great big blur of a hand waving something in front of him. When he reaches out blindly and takes his glasses back, the first thing he sees is the massive sneer on Malfoy's face.

"Were too."


What really gets Harry going is that even Malfoy's sneer screams sex, and Harry doesn't want to think that but he can't help it. Harry is sexually ambivalent, not blind, and stupid Malfoy with his stupid mannerisms and his stupid sexiness is hot. Harry can see that. It's not fair, and it wouldn't be this much of a problem if Malfoy didn't continually flaunt himself right in front of Harry's nose. Harry can be accused of a lot of things, but blindness generally isn't a part of that -- glasses withstanding - and Malfoy has this sort of presence that Harry just can't ignore. Even when Malfoy's flying around the Quidditch pitch.

Sadly, though, even when Malfoy's on the ground he doesn't walk as much as he seems to stride and stroll and strut, and lots of other words that start with 's' that Harry very much does not want to think about. The problem being that Harry can't help but think about it because Malfoy is always there, even when he's not physically there. It's causing Harry all kinds of issues: messy sheets, silencing charms, and of course he can't forget that imaginary scene in the Quidditch showers that almost turned nasty when Slytherin ended their practice early and Harry still wasn't, well, done.

Watching Malfoy ride a broom borders on masochistic, and every day Harry thanks Dumbledore, and his father, for his Invisibility Cloak. Not that he's not using it now, but if he were, well, then he would be even more thankful. Of course, he doubts that the cloak was supposed to be used for the purposes he's been using it for recently, but it's not as though it came with a contract or DIY instructions. Besides, there's something about the way that Malfoy flies that just exudes this sense of, well, sex. Harry really doesn't want to think about Malfoy and sex, but he can't help it because Malfoy is sex. From the top of his excessively gelled hair to the tips of his excessively polished shoes: Malfoy is sleek and shiny, and Harry cannot get away from stupid sex-related words and stupid sexy Slytherins with long, slender fingers and flawless skin.

Maybe he did purposefully come out to the Quidditch pitch on his only day off.

There's nothing wrong that. Although there might be something very wrong with Draco Malfoy landing less than ten feet away and approaching Harry with that stupid sexy swagger. "Sorry, Potter, I don't give out autographs on Thursdays."

"Sod off, Malfoy. Don't you ever get tired of talking the same nonsense?" Truth be told, Harry hopes not. As much as Malfoy revolts Harry, he also fascinates the hell out of him, and Harry suspects that the feeling is mutual. The day that their dynamic dies will be a very sad one indeed.

"Why should I? You never seem to get tired of hearing it." Malfoy's closed the distance between them in half the time that it's Harry to realise it. Malfoy's lips look a bit dry, but otherwise there's not a hair out of place, not a smidgen of dirt on his face. Harry wonders if it has something to do with Malfoy's genes, or maybe it's something that he was taught from birth: How to Pull Without Even Trying.

Harry gets dirty just going from the bath to his bed. Of course thinking of bathing and beds when he's talking with Malfoy isn't very smart, and that's probably why he chokes when Malfoy shakes his head and grins. "Potter, why can't you just admit that you fancy me and think I have a nice arse?"

"Because I don't," Harry declares with the strength of several thousand convictions that he doesn't feel. It would all be so much easier if Malfoy didn't have such a nice arse. Or such gray eyes or -- Harry has no idea when he realised that Malfoy had gray eyes.

"Of course you don't, Potter," Malfoy replies dryly. Funny thing that, but Harry suspects that Malfoy doesn't actually believe him, but Harry's not thinking terribly hard on it because traditionally, there's this thing called 'personal space'. When Malfoy steps close enough for Harry to see the very faint freckles on his nose, Harry realizes that neither one has ever observed that space issue in relation to the other.

"I don't fancy you!" he repeats, although he can't remember having said it before.

"D'you know what happens to boys who tell lies, Harry Potter?" Malfoy is close enough that Harry can feel his breath against Harry's nose. One more step and Harry will be on the ground on his bum.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry offers, trying very hard not to blink at the paleness of Malfoy's eyebrows or the length of his eyelashes. "But considering that you've not been sucked into the darkest pit of Knockturn Alley, its obviously not that bad."

Only Malfoy could make a noise like 'tsk, tsk' sound erotic.

"Potter, you wound me with your sarcasm."

Harry actually wouldn't mind wounding Malfoy with something else at a later time, but right now he's simply too close for Harry's comfort, and it's clouding his brain. Perhaps a concession is in order. Harry's pride will go before he lands on his bum, although, he suspects that Malfoy would like to watch that. "For the last time I don't fancy you, you annoying prat." A pause. "But you do have a nice arse."


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