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lokifan...It's been too bloody long already. From now on I shall just try to post every day, and pray I'm forgiven for responding to comments/commenting on fic embarrassingly late. The internet's been working intermittently for the last few days, which is better than nothing - and my uncle's finally going to fix it for me. I have faith.
So, ladies and gents (there might be one or two gents, right?), for your delectation and delight, I present:
Part Four
Summary: The next gift, a bite, and an annoyed Draco.
Disclaimer: Not mine, although I think I’m sometimes nicer to them than JKR is.
A/N: any suggestions for better titles will be gratefully received.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
28th December
Draco woke up smiling. He’d finally beaten Potter, and with any luck a new parcel would be arriving shortly.
By eleven, he was fuming. All right, there’d been no definite indication of another gift... but he wanted one all the same! And what about Quidditch? Didn’t Potter want to play again?
Potter wasn’t going to get away with this.
When he turned up at Gryffindor again, the Fat Lady gave him a frankly suspicious look. Draco’s lip curled reflexively, but he knew that if she didn’t call, he’d have to wait until someone else came along. So Draco smiled hopefully up at the portrait and said, “I want to talk to Harry Potter.” Most people would have said please, but Draco was not most people.
She sniffed, but called, “the Malfoy boy’s here again!” She was still glaring, but Draco was no longer paying attention because Potter was there.
“Draco! I wasn’t expecting you.” Draco could see the surprise behind the pleasure in the green eyes, and he felt himself blush faintly.
“I was bored. You want a rematch?”
“Sure. Come in, I’ll get my broom.”
Draco swallowed his instinctive tingle of unease and clambered in. The Gryffindors his age were clustered around the fire, and he followed Potter to them. At their looks, Draco explained, “I wanted to play again.”
Weasley snorted from the sofa. “Wanted your next present, more like.”
Draco turned a beaming smile on Potter. “I get another present?” Potter went red and suddenly appeared to have something stuck in his throat. The Weaslette, rolling her eyes, responded from where she and Dean Thomas were wrapped up together, as Potter escaped. “Twelve days of Christmas, Malfoy. One every day until Epiphany.”
Draco grinned. “Twelve presents!” He was far too pleased with this concept to wonder why.
The Gryffindors laughed. “That’s the way to a Malfoy’s heart right there,” Weasley said.
“What’s the way to yours then, Weasley?” he retorted. “Food?”
There was a split second of tension, as he and Weasley held gazes. Then Granger handed her boyfriend a Chocolate Frog and smiled. “That’s it!”
Thankfully, Potter appeared before Draco’s mouth could get him into trouble again. “Come on, Potter,” he said quickly. “I want to kick your arse again.”
Potter snorted. “Please. I’ll beat you and restore the natural order of the universe.”
“You’ll try.”
***
Potter was still bloody holding Draco’s Snitch. He may have caught it, but Draco thought it would have been polite to give it back promptly. He wasn’t being very polite himself – they were nearly back at the castle and Draco hadn’t spoken – but he was sulking.
They reached the Great Hall, and stood silent. Draco was still glaring at the floor, but he could feel Potter’s angry green gaze.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Potter said finally, in exasperation. “You’re being stupid. You won yesterday, didn’t you?”
Draco replied bitterly, “yeah, and now the natural order has been restored, just like you said.”
Potter rolled his eyes, and something in Draco shrivelled at the lack of the tolerant amusement he’d so quickly got used to. “I was joking, you idiot. Honestly.”
Draco locked eyes with him belligerently. “I nearly won, you know. I would have won, but it’s cold. Threw me off my game.”
Potter gave him a look of frank ridicule that Draco supposed he deserved, given that Quidditch season was winter. But speaking seemed to have cooled Potter’s annoyance. “Come on then, since you’re so delicate. It’s warm in Gryffindor – you lot must be freezing.”
This was true, but Draco still wasn’t going to let Potter malign his house. “Look, Potter, you – hey! Let go!”
“Let’s just get walking, Malfoy.” Potter gave him a knowing look. “You can have your present when we get to Gryffindor Tower.”
Draco got walking.
***
The Fat Lady’s expression got no less disapproving when Potter spilled the password – Fizzing Whizzbees – in front of him. They went inside, and Draco pulled a face at the profusion of red Christmas decorations. “It’s supposed to be red and green, you know. This place is ridiculously shabby.”
“Hush,” Potter ordered. “I’m going to get your present, OK?”
Draco bagged an armchair right by the fire before Longbottom could get it. It was good to know that however proficient Longbottom was in chopping snakes’ heads off, he would never be better than Draco at getting what he wanted. The warmth was blissful, and Draco curled up like a cat. He even closed his eyes, trusting Potter’s influence to keep people from hexing him.
There was a low laugh that Draco recognised as Potter’s. “Shut up,” he said without opening his eyes. “It’s damn cold in the dungeons with everyone away.”
“Sure.” Draco opened his eyes to gave the Gryffindor a slit-eyed glare, but Potter wasn’t paying attention. He dropped onto a sofa next to Seamus Finnigan with a sigh.
There was a tiny, outraged squeak, and Potter leapt up again with a yell. Draco burst out laughing, and he wasn’t the only one. “What was that, Potter?”
“That was your present.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “If Hagrid bred it, I don’t want it.”
Potter laughed. “He’s bred one before... sort of.” He put a hand in his back pocket and withdrew a tiny, living model of a dragon, which snapped at him irritably after being sat on. He held it out to Draco on the flat of his palm. “Look, Draco, it’s your namesake.”
“Try again, Potter. I was named after the constellation. Stars are beautiful and far away and non-fire-breathing.”Despite his words, Draco was watching the little dragon, which he recognised as a Hungarian Horntail, like the one Potter had flown against in fourth year.
“I doubt this little one’s all that deadly. I know he breathes fire, but he’s really cute.” Draco noticed Potter wasn’t looking at the dragon in his hands.
The little dragon finally seemed to notice Draco, and sat down to return his stare. Draco looked at the dragon, and the dragon looked at him. There was a silence; no one even seemed to be breathing. Then the Horntail gave a wide, smoky yawn, and curled up on Potter’s palm.
Draco was enchanted. He put out a hand, and beamed as Potter carefully put the dragon in it. “I’m gonna call him Rover.”
Potter spluttered, and some of the other students followed suit. “Rover?”
“Yeah,” Draco explained enthusiastically. “I heard one of the Ravenclaws say they were training their pet to attack people! Kill Rover kill!”
Potter was obviously fighting a laugh, but Draco was too mesmerised by his new pet to pay attention. “That’s great, Draco.” He sat back down, and watched Draco watch Rover. The Slytherin stroked the dragon carefully with one finger, feeling the miniature spikes prick his skin. He poked gently round the little snout, and finally Rover pounced on the end of his finger, putting tiny, needle-sharp teeth against his skin.
“Isn’t it great?” Draco said gleefully, looking up to see Potter watching him. “Good Rover,” he cooed. “Who’s going to grow up to be a big, deadly dragon?”
The Gryffindors were snickering, but Rover had just poked his spiky head against Draco’s hand, asking to be petted, and he had no time for trivialities. He sat with Rover until he was thoroughly warmed, and Rover kept trying to compete with the fireplace, sending little flames licking out towards the hearth.
Finally, he looked up. “I should get back to Slytherin.”
Potter started, as if coming out of a reverie. “I’ll go with you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t need an escort, Potter.” He stood and curled a hand around Rover carefully. He could feel the tiny dragon’s heart beating through its armor, its chest warm against his fingers.
Potter was blushing slightly. “I’ll come anyway. Stretch my legs, all that.”
“OK.” Preoccupied with climbing out of the portrait hole one-handed, it did not occur to Draco that their hour of Quidditch had already stretched his legs quite effectively. He slid Rover gently into his pocket, next to his wand
The boys walked slowly, giving each other sidelong grins. Draco felt oddly tense, body taut with something that was not quite excitement.
Potter opened his mouth, and was about to speak when –
“YAAAAH!” Draco leapt about a foot in the air, giving a distinctly unmanly shriek. Rover had bitten him, the little bastard! “Ow ow ow!” Draco scrabbled frantically in his pocket, managing to get the dragon – and his tiny predator’s teeth – dislodged. Rover flew out of his pocket, followed by his wand – somewhat less literally.
Draco looked up to see Potter bent double, roaring with laughter. His grey eyes narrowed.
“Oi! It’s your bloody gift that bit me! You’d better believe you’re catching him for me!”
Potter choked, gurgled, and made other tiny noises of laughter. Finally, he was laughing in that almost silent wheeze that comes after hysterics. He stood up and nodded, smile still growing and being tugged back as he fought for control. Draco glared at him.
“Don’t give me that look.” Potter, with a Seeker’s reflexes, grabbed Rover off the stone, then Draco’s wand. “Here you go.” He tipped the Horntail into Draco’s right hand, and laid the wand in his left just as Draco turned his head.
For an instant, both boys held one end of the wand, grey eyes staring into green. Draco was mesmerised. Then he felt a shock shudder through his arm, a golden glow suffusing him, his blood suddenly fizzing like sherbert. He looked down at his wand. The wood looked just as it had before to the casual observer; to Draco, it was shining.
He looked up again, and gave Harry a brilliant smile. “I...I can't believe it. It’s mine again!”
So, ladies and gents (there might be one or two gents, right?), for your delectation and delight, I present:
Part Four
Summary: The next gift, a bite, and an annoyed Draco.
Disclaimer: Not mine, although I think I’m sometimes nicer to them than JKR is.
A/N: any suggestions for better titles will be gratefully received.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
28th December
Draco woke up smiling. He’d finally beaten Potter, and with any luck a new parcel would be arriving shortly.
By eleven, he was fuming. All right, there’d been no definite indication of another gift... but he wanted one all the same! And what about Quidditch? Didn’t Potter want to play again?
Potter wasn’t going to get away with this.
When he turned up at Gryffindor again, the Fat Lady gave him a frankly suspicious look. Draco’s lip curled reflexively, but he knew that if she didn’t call, he’d have to wait until someone else came along. So Draco smiled hopefully up at the portrait and said, “I want to talk to Harry Potter.” Most people would have said please, but Draco was not most people.
She sniffed, but called, “the Malfoy boy’s here again!” She was still glaring, but Draco was no longer paying attention because Potter was there.
“Draco! I wasn’t expecting you.” Draco could see the surprise behind the pleasure in the green eyes, and he felt himself blush faintly.
“I was bored. You want a rematch?”
“Sure. Come in, I’ll get my broom.”
Draco swallowed his instinctive tingle of unease and clambered in. The Gryffindors his age were clustered around the fire, and he followed Potter to them. At their looks, Draco explained, “I wanted to play again.”
Weasley snorted from the sofa. “Wanted your next present, more like.”
Draco turned a beaming smile on Potter. “I get another present?” Potter went red and suddenly appeared to have something stuck in his throat. The Weaslette, rolling her eyes, responded from where she and Dean Thomas were wrapped up together, as Potter escaped. “Twelve days of Christmas, Malfoy. One every day until Epiphany.”
Draco grinned. “Twelve presents!” He was far too pleased with this concept to wonder why.
The Gryffindors laughed. “That’s the way to a Malfoy’s heart right there,” Weasley said.
“What’s the way to yours then, Weasley?” he retorted. “Food?”
There was a split second of tension, as he and Weasley held gazes. Then Granger handed her boyfriend a Chocolate Frog and smiled. “That’s it!”
Thankfully, Potter appeared before Draco’s mouth could get him into trouble again. “Come on, Potter,” he said quickly. “I want to kick your arse again.”
Potter snorted. “Please. I’ll beat you and restore the natural order of the universe.”
“You’ll try.”
***
Potter was still bloody holding Draco’s Snitch. He may have caught it, but Draco thought it would have been polite to give it back promptly. He wasn’t being very polite himself – they were nearly back at the castle and Draco hadn’t spoken – but he was sulking.
They reached the Great Hall, and stood silent. Draco was still glaring at the floor, but he could feel Potter’s angry green gaze.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Potter said finally, in exasperation. “You’re being stupid. You won yesterday, didn’t you?”
Draco replied bitterly, “yeah, and now the natural order has been restored, just like you said.”
Potter rolled his eyes, and something in Draco shrivelled at the lack of the tolerant amusement he’d so quickly got used to. “I was joking, you idiot. Honestly.”
Draco locked eyes with him belligerently. “I nearly won, you know. I would have won, but it’s cold. Threw me off my game.”
Potter gave him a look of frank ridicule that Draco supposed he deserved, given that Quidditch season was winter. But speaking seemed to have cooled Potter’s annoyance. “Come on then, since you’re so delicate. It’s warm in Gryffindor – you lot must be freezing.”
This was true, but Draco still wasn’t going to let Potter malign his house. “Look, Potter, you – hey! Let go!”
“Let’s just get walking, Malfoy.” Potter gave him a knowing look. “You can have your present when we get to Gryffindor Tower.”
Draco got walking.
***
The Fat Lady’s expression got no less disapproving when Potter spilled the password – Fizzing Whizzbees – in front of him. They went inside, and Draco pulled a face at the profusion of red Christmas decorations. “It’s supposed to be red and green, you know. This place is ridiculously shabby.”
“Hush,” Potter ordered. “I’m going to get your present, OK?”
Draco bagged an armchair right by the fire before Longbottom could get it. It was good to know that however proficient Longbottom was in chopping snakes’ heads off, he would never be better than Draco at getting what he wanted. The warmth was blissful, and Draco curled up like a cat. He even closed his eyes, trusting Potter’s influence to keep people from hexing him.
There was a low laugh that Draco recognised as Potter’s. “Shut up,” he said without opening his eyes. “It’s damn cold in the dungeons with everyone away.”
“Sure.” Draco opened his eyes to gave the Gryffindor a slit-eyed glare, but Potter wasn’t paying attention. He dropped onto a sofa next to Seamus Finnigan with a sigh.
There was a tiny, outraged squeak, and Potter leapt up again with a yell. Draco burst out laughing, and he wasn’t the only one. “What was that, Potter?”
“That was your present.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “If Hagrid bred it, I don’t want it.”
Potter laughed. “He’s bred one before... sort of.” He put a hand in his back pocket and withdrew a tiny, living model of a dragon, which snapped at him irritably after being sat on. He held it out to Draco on the flat of his palm. “Look, Draco, it’s your namesake.”
“Try again, Potter. I was named after the constellation. Stars are beautiful and far away and non-fire-breathing.”Despite his words, Draco was watching the little dragon, which he recognised as a Hungarian Horntail, like the one Potter had flown against in fourth year.
“I doubt this little one’s all that deadly. I know he breathes fire, but he’s really cute.” Draco noticed Potter wasn’t looking at the dragon in his hands.
The little dragon finally seemed to notice Draco, and sat down to return his stare. Draco looked at the dragon, and the dragon looked at him. There was a silence; no one even seemed to be breathing. Then the Horntail gave a wide, smoky yawn, and curled up on Potter’s palm.
Draco was enchanted. He put out a hand, and beamed as Potter carefully put the dragon in it. “I’m gonna call him Rover.”
Potter spluttered, and some of the other students followed suit. “Rover?”
“Yeah,” Draco explained enthusiastically. “I heard one of the Ravenclaws say they were training their pet to attack people! Kill Rover kill!”
Potter was obviously fighting a laugh, but Draco was too mesmerised by his new pet to pay attention. “That’s great, Draco.” He sat back down, and watched Draco watch Rover. The Slytherin stroked the dragon carefully with one finger, feeling the miniature spikes prick his skin. He poked gently round the little snout, and finally Rover pounced on the end of his finger, putting tiny, needle-sharp teeth against his skin.
“Isn’t it great?” Draco said gleefully, looking up to see Potter watching him. “Good Rover,” he cooed. “Who’s going to grow up to be a big, deadly dragon?”
The Gryffindors were snickering, but Rover had just poked his spiky head against Draco’s hand, asking to be petted, and he had no time for trivialities. He sat with Rover until he was thoroughly warmed, and Rover kept trying to compete with the fireplace, sending little flames licking out towards the hearth.
Finally, he looked up. “I should get back to Slytherin.”
Potter started, as if coming out of a reverie. “I’ll go with you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t need an escort, Potter.” He stood and curled a hand around Rover carefully. He could feel the tiny dragon’s heart beating through its armor, its chest warm against his fingers.
Potter was blushing slightly. “I’ll come anyway. Stretch my legs, all that.”
“OK.” Preoccupied with climbing out of the portrait hole one-handed, it did not occur to Draco that their hour of Quidditch had already stretched his legs quite effectively. He slid Rover gently into his pocket, next to his wand
The boys walked slowly, giving each other sidelong grins. Draco felt oddly tense, body taut with something that was not quite excitement.
Potter opened his mouth, and was about to speak when –
“YAAAAH!” Draco leapt about a foot in the air, giving a distinctly unmanly shriek. Rover had bitten him, the little bastard! “Ow ow ow!” Draco scrabbled frantically in his pocket, managing to get the dragon – and his tiny predator’s teeth – dislodged. Rover flew out of his pocket, followed by his wand – somewhat less literally.
Draco looked up to see Potter bent double, roaring with laughter. His grey eyes narrowed.
“Oi! It’s your bloody gift that bit me! You’d better believe you’re catching him for me!”
Potter choked, gurgled, and made other tiny noises of laughter. Finally, he was laughing in that almost silent wheeze that comes after hysterics. He stood up and nodded, smile still growing and being tugged back as he fought for control. Draco glared at him.
“Don’t give me that look.” Potter, with a Seeker’s reflexes, grabbed Rover off the stone, then Draco’s wand. “Here you go.” He tipped the Horntail into Draco’s right hand, and laid the wand in his left just as Draco turned his head.
For an instant, both boys held one end of the wand, grey eyes staring into green. Draco was mesmerised. Then he felt a shock shudder through his arm, a golden glow suffusing him, his blood suddenly fizzing like sherbert. He looked down at his wand. The wood looked just as it had before to the casual observer; to Draco, it was shining.
He looked up again, and gave Harry a brilliant smile. “I...I can't believe it. It’s mine again!”
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Date: 2008-01-12 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 01:23 pm (UTC)