Acid Raine

Some great fic came out of this last year. I eagerly await the sequel!

2009-10-21T19:35:23Z

Ron Weasley, however you like him best

Claiming opens Nov 1st

To tweet or not to tweet...that is the question.

2009-10-21T19:20:07Z

Do any of you fine folks use Twitter? And if so, do you find it useful and/or entertaining? I've been considering getting myself an account but don't know what I'd do with the darn thing.

Feeling very giddy right now

2009-02-19T06:12:10Z

I received the second part of my prize today for "winning" the remus_draco Christmas challenge (I was of course, the only one who entered ;)), a gorgeous illustration of the story by atratuslupin. I'm still boggling at it. The detail is amazing, this girl is extremely talented!! I feel very fortunate to have this piece attached to a story that I wrote.
Of course I added the illustration to the story itself, but it would be a crime not to double post =)

Fic: "If You're So Inclined", Draco Malfoy/Remus Lupin

2008-12-17T05:18:17Z

Title: If You’re So Inclined
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Remus Lupin
Rating: I think I’ve gone and written a G fic. Now how did that happen? ;)
Summary: A few years after the war, an unlikely pair of lonely souls find each other on Christmas Eve.
Word Count: ~2,750
Disclaimer: I hope no one is actually “labouring under the delusion” that I am in any way affiliated with J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with her naked characters *grin*.
Notes: This is a response to the remus_draco Christmas challenge: You are to write a holiday themed Remus/Draco fanfiction. There are no limits on rating, or anything of the sort. Although, some how you have to include mistletoe, one of the characters (Remus or Draco) has to be referred to as Scrooge (name calling etc.) and well, hot chocolate.
I ended up "winning" the challenge (no one else entered ;)) and the prize was the gorgeous illustration by the wonderful and extremely talented atratuslupin that can be found at the end of the story.
Thank you so much again, Atratus =)

If You’re So Inclined

It was a miracle that Remus even noticed the dark haired youth sitting slouched in the corner of Molly’s overcrowded kitchen. A long black ponytail curled over one shoulder and almost touched his knees, reminding Remus poignantly of someone from the past. His forearms rested in two perfect lines along his thighs. Remus admired the round curve of his back, beautiful even in his apparent sorrow. His heart went out to the young man, radiating unhappiness and apparently uninterested in interacting with anyone. At the same time, a kind of interest that Remus had not felt in several years stirred in him. He knew it was probably inappropriate, but no one had ever accused Remus of being particularly smooth, especially not after several helpings too many of Molly’s splendid eggnog, so he couldn’t really hold himself accountable for his behaviour when he decided it would be a good idea to plunk himself down in a wooden chair directly opposite the young man with a hearty, “Don’t be a Scrooge now! Where’s your festive spirit?” He forced a mug of hot chocolate into the startled youth’s hands and grinned.
“I think I left it in Azkaban.”
All sense of frivolity fled from Remus as the flat voice wrung him like a damp cloth.
“Draco,” he said softly, scarcely believing it.
The face that stared back at him was hard, and far more lined than it had once been. Draco would have to be the same age as Harry, Ron and Hermione, so barely twenty years old if that. Remus had thought the stranger he was approaching was closer to thirty. A small blessing still that Draco had only been sent to Azkaban for two years. His eyes were cold and hostile, but at least held none of the haunted quality that had lingered in Sirius’ for the few years of freedom before his death. Most startling of all was the long black hair that Draco now wore, the contrast making his skin glow paler even than it once had.
“You look like Severus,” Remus blurted out before he could stop himself.
And what a dramatically stupid comment that had been. Remus fought the urge to slap himself as Draco looked away, blinking rapidly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Draco shook his head and focused back on him. For a moment Remus thought Draco was going to snap at him, and wondered if maybe that would be for the best. At least proof that there was a shadow of his former self remaining, but then his eyes dropped. “As long as I don’t look like me,” was all he said.
Remus nodded slowly, unable to find the right words. The aftermath of the war had been swift and merciless for the Malfoys. The wizarding community had needed someone to blame for their loss, and without Voldemort or Bellatrix around, the bulk of the unpleasantness fell upon the Malfoy family. Not that Remus could necessarily blame the people. He certainly wouldn’t have argued against Lucius’ life sentence in Azkaban. Fortunately Harry’s testimony on behalf of Draco had limited his own sentence to two years, and had kept Narcissa free entirely.
“How is your mother?” he asked after a moment, feeling intensely awkward, but not wanting to leave Draco sitting there by himself again.
“How do you think she is?” Draco snorted, but then he stared down at the mug in his hands. “She wears her hair dark now too,” he said quietly.
Remus ground his teeth together in frustration. “It’s not right. Why pardon either of you at all if the community won’t let you live in peace.”
Draco looked up, surprised. They stared at each other for a moment. Draco’s brow furrowed. “You lost someone in the war,” he stated.
The change in topic was lost on Remus for a moment before it dawned on him.
“Do you think I would blame you for that?”
“Why not? You need to blame someone.”
Remus shook his head. He thought of Tonks and a fist tightened in his chest. Hours after the battle was over, he had awoken to a healer kneeling over him.
“Few people here understand the mechanics of werewolf healing,” she had said to him. “They thought you were dead too.”
He smiled slightly, knowing that the presence of this woman meant that it was over, and that they had won. But then the last word sunk in and his head spun around wildly, looking for the others. The healer placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Rest now,” she said, but the sorrow in her eyes had told him what he needed to know.
Now he thought of Teddy, contentedly rolling around at Andromeda’s feet in the sitting room. Happy now, but soon he would be old enough to realize that what he had lost. Taking the pain out on someone only vaguely responsible at most could not possibly compensate for that.
Remus shook his head again. “I don’t need to blame anyone,” he said. “Only two people are to blame for Dora’s murder and they’re both dead.”
“Well that’s refreshing,” Draco sighed, resting his forehead on one palm, his eyes closed, the mug still full in his hand. Remus hated to see this. Azkaban had left many wizards broken, but he wouldn’t have expected this change in Draco Malfoy. How had this cocky youth become so vacant and soft spoken? He once would have accepted blame for nothing, including his own errors, and now was willing to take responsibility for the sorrow of the whole wizarding world? The mere fact of his presence at the Weasley family Christmas party was baffling and perhaps a sign of desperation for human contact on his part. Then again, as far as Remus could tell he was the only person Draco had spoken to all night.
People bustled about them in the kitchen, either oblivious or ignoring the two of him. He could see Ron and Hermione, newly engaged, having an intense conversation in the doorway. Beyond them, he could see the edges of the Christmas tree in the sitting room, lights blinking merrily. He knew from the squeals of glee that Teddy and the other children were delightedly ripping into the first of their many gifts, but was surprised to feel no pull to join them.
“Don’t feel obligated to keep me company, Lupin,” Draco said suddenly, obviously following Remus’ gaze. There was the outline of what could have been a smirk forming on his lips, which was reassuring in itself. “You should be with your son.”
Remus shrugged. “I’ll have him all to myself tomorrow morning,” he said. “Molly and Andromeda should feel free to fuss over him tonight.”
“How generous of you,” Draco snorted, and then actually took a sip of his hot chocolate. He winkled his nose and held the mug out to Remus. “Heating charm?”
Remus pulled out his wand and performed one almost unconsciously.
“Don’t tell me the Ministry has...”
“Restricted my use of magic? Oh yes,” Draco said. “I have to be a good boy for four more years before I can have my wand back.”
Remus boggled at him. “Four years?”
“You know, you’re the first person to find that piece of information unsettling.”
“Even with Harry’s testimony?” Remus asked, still attempting to wrap his head around what he had just learned. He focused on the roots of Draco’s hair and could see blonde coming in. What he had previously assumed to be a charm was in fact Muggle dye.
“Potter seemed to feel that keeping my time in prison to a minimum fulfilled his duty as saviour,” Draco said. “Can’t said I blame him,” he added softly.
“Why not?” Remus asked sharply, although he knew the answer.
“I did try to kill his mentor,” Draco said, his tone implying that Remus was a bit slow.
“No you didn’t, not really.”
“Oh, I tried!” Draco said with a dry little laugh. “Believe me, I tried. And I wanted to. Right up until that night on top of the tower, I wanted to. Severus was the only thing that saved me from that path. And from life in Azkaban if not worse I’d imagine.”
Draco was staring at the floor now, but Remus could see the outline of that haunted quality that had so terrified him in Sirius. He reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand in both of his. Draco looked up, startled.
“At your age Severus would have tried too, Draco. He would have tried, and he would have wanted to, and in all likelihood he would have succeeded because he was a far more talented wizard than most. And he grew up to be the saviour of the wizarding world to almost the same degree as Harry, so don’t think you’re not worthy of a second chance.”
They stared at each other, and Remus was shocked to see Draco’s eyes fill. He looked away. “You should really go be with your son.”
Remus squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of it. A feeling that was totally inappropriate stirred inside him and he forced it down. “I’m fine here. But if you would like to come to the sitting room, I’d be happy to accompany you.”
A vague smirk. “Nice try Lupin. You’re as bad as Potter, trying to save everyone.”
“You’re not the first person to suggest that,” Remus said with a smile.
They were silent for a moment and then Remus said, “Why come tonight at all, if you’re just going to sit in the corner?”
Draco’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been asking myself that all night to tell the truth,” he said. “I suppose because she invited me,” he nodded toward Molly who was now carrying a truly astonishing collection of baked goods past Ron and Hermione, who were still locked in conversation. “This is in fact the first and only social gathering that I have been invited to since my release from Azkaban,” Draco said with a dry laugh. “My mother was invited as well, but of course she looks down her nose at acts of blatant charity. I suppose I felt the need to be included in something again. Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised by the icy reception I’ve received from everyone here, except yourself,” Draco looked up at him and gave a crooked smile. “Draco Malfoy is lonely and seeking out human contact at the Weasley family Christmas gathering. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Can you think of anything more pathetic?”
There was a long pause as Remus took in the pain in Draco’s eyes and found that it truly broke his heart. And then before he could stop himself blurted out, “I was coming over here to hit on you.”
Draco stared at him for what felt like years, and then without any warning, burst out laughing. Remus followed seconds later until there were tears streaming from his eyes.
“You’re right,” Draco wheezed when he had the breath. “That’s definitely worse. You win. You’re also doing a bloody awful job if that’s still your intention I might add.”
Remus nodded and put his face in his hands, still unable to speak.

“I still think I should tell him to get the Hell out,” Ron was saying for the umpteenth time.
Hermione sighed. “Your mother invited him, Ronald. He is as much a guest here as I am.”
“But it’s Draco goddamn Malfoy!”
“Yes, you’ve shared that revelation a few times already. Shall we go eat?”
Even the promise of food wasn’t enough to stop Ron mid-rant. “And what the Hell does Remus think he’s playing at? Talking to him like that??”
“I know,” Hermione sighed. “Talking is very much frowned upon these days.”
Ron gave her a look that just begged her to understand. She sighed. Over the course of what felt like the longest circular conversation she had ever been involved in, she had attempted to explain to Ron that Remus was friendly, he held no grudges toward Draco, and was trying to make someone who clearly felt uncomfortable feel welcome on Christmas Eve. It was not exactly out of character. But she looked over at that moment and what she saw was a broken young man, curled up inside his sorrow, and then suddenly Lupin reached out and grabbed his hand. He spoke to Draco, looking right into his eyes, and she saw Draco understand something.
“He’s lonely, Ron.”
Her fiance looked at her in confusion.
“He lost his wife a few years ago, and he’s lonely,” she continued. “It’s Christmas and he’s managed to find the one person here who’s lonelier than he is.”
Ron blinked at her. “How can he be lonely? He’s got all of us!”
She stared at him for a moment and then said, “Ronald, do you remember the conversation that we once had about a teaspoon?”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion. She sighed and shoved him through the doorway with a firm hand, ignoring his yelp of protest. “Let’s leave them alone now.”
But when she glanced back, the sight made her stop in her tracks. Remus had said something that had made Draco laugh. Really laugh. It was an expression that she had never seen on his face before, even during their school years. A genuine laugh, free of any malice or sarcasm, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut with no thought to his appearance. He was, in that moment, truly beautiful.
She smiled, flicked her wand toward the pair and then hurriedly left the kitchen.

Remus caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over just in time to see Hermione’s back as she left the room. He was suddenly aware that they were alone, and the room seemed dimmer. He wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks and then looked at Draco, and was surprised to find him staring up.
“Someone’s having a laugh at your expense, Lupin.”
Remus followed his gaze. The light on the ceiling directly above them had been transfigured into a sprig of mistletoe.
Draco was suddenly standing and pulling his traveling cloak around his shoulders. “I should go, I’ve overstayed what little welcome I had.”
Lupin jumped up as well, nearly knocking the chair over behind him. “I don’t think Hermione was poking fun at anyone,” he sputtered.
Perhaps it was the awkwardness in his voice that did it, but Draco paused, and then smirked, suddenly looking a bit like himself despite the black hair. He glanced up. “Well, now’s your last chance to hit on me properly.”
Remus didn’t feel in control of his own movements as he reached out and took Draco’s face in both his hands. Any sense of the foolishness of this act, of his own broken emotional state that almost rivaled Draco’s and of the difference in their ages departed, along with any other shred of reason he might have had minutes before, and he pulled Draco close and kissed him. Draco’s mouth was soft, and he kissed him back slowly and tentatively. Arms tightened around Remus’ back. It had been so long since he had held another person like this, and Draco tasted delicious, like the one sip of hot chocolate he might have swallowed.
When the kiss finally ended, Draco stepped back and picked up a rusty can that had been sitting on the table beside him. “Portkey,” he explained. “My movements are limited without a wand. It activates at midnight”.
Remus glanced at the clock. 11:59.
“You don’t have to go,” he found himself saying. “I can get you home safely.”
Draco shook his head. “I do have to go. But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused and blurted, “Can I see you again?”
Draco gave him a little smile. “I’m not hard to find if you’re so inclined. Ask around for the broken boy who looks like Severus. Happy Christmas, Remus.”
Draco was gone before he could reply. Remus stared at the empty space where he had stood for a moment before turning around and finally joining his son and the others in the sitting room. He was not surprised when no one commented on the light in his eyes, nor asked where Draco had gone, but then he caught Hermione looking at him from the other side of the room, a smile toying around the corners of her mouth and threatening to break into a wide grin.
“Merry Christmas,” she mouthed at him.
He flushed slightly and smiled to himself. Merry Christmas indeed.

HP art rec

2008-08-16T21:38:42Z

This Harry/Percy/Oliver piece by reallycorking just blew my fucking mind:

Quidditch Dreams

Fic: "Boggart", Draco Malfoy/Remus Lupin, Part 2/2

2008-06-17T02:13:09Z

See Part 1 for warnings and disclaimer.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin said, looked all too pleased with himself as Draco entered his office that night. “I trust you enjoyed yourself in class the other day.”
Draco glared at him. “You told me to say whatever I wanted.”
“So I did,” Lupin smiled infuriatingly. “And you followed my instructions beautifully. I only wish you had been more inventive with your insults. Belittling my appearance is hardly something I can even take notice of anymore.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Draco spat, clinging at anything that could possibly give him any sort of upper hand.
“Did you have any other thoughts you would like to share with me about my parentage or financial state before we begin your lesson?”
Draco just glared, but through this facade he felt as though someone had loosed a Bludger inside his stomach.
Lupin looked satisfied at his silence and turned his attention to a large trunk in the corner of the room. Draco would never have guessed there was anything inside. It wasn’t thrashing around like the wardrobe in the staff room had been.
“You see, Draco,” Lupin said in response to his unspoken question, “this Boggart is not faced with a classroom full of young prey, so it’s lying dormant. You see what a surprise this might be for you, if you opened a cupboard at home.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes you mentioned this all before. You’re not going to convince me that there’s a good reason you’re putting me through this, so let’s just get on with it!”
Lupin quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing about the rudeness. “Very well. Have you thought of an image which would turn your greatest fear into something that we might find amusing?”
Draco re-fixed the glare onto his face.
“Really, this will go much faster if you have a strategy ready.”
“So I’m supposed to ready a strategy every time I open a cupboard?” Draco fumed.
“Well that’s where the practice comes in I’m afraid,” Lupin smiled. “You should be able to react without thinking.”
Draco remained silent.
“So, do you know what you’re going to do when I open that trunk, Draco?”
Draco knew what he wanted to do, and that was run in the other direction as fast as his legs could carry him before anything came out of it. In truth, he had no idea what form his greatest fear would really take. It was not a physical idea, but he was certain that the Boggart would find a way to make this as painful as possible.
Lupin clearly read the panic on his face before he could replace it with any of his trademark dismissive emotions.
“If you would like to tell me what you expect to come out of that trunk, Draco, perhaps we could work out a solution together.”
Draco’s glare became murderous. “Like how you helped Longbottom dress Professor Snape up like his Grandmummy? No thank you, Lupin. You’re quite the voyeur aren’t you? Is this why you took this job, to see into people’s heads?”
Lupin shook his head and smiled kindly. So bloody infuriating! “I’m going to see whatever it is that you want no one to see in a few moments, Draco. I am trying to help you. The Boggart will overpower you if you let it.”
“Overpower me?” Draco squeaked. “You’ve brought me here to humiliate and insult me? I don’t need your help, Lupin!”
Rage momentarily clouding over the fear in the pit of his stomach, Draco stormed over to the unassuming trunk and, ignoring Lupin’s shout of alarm, kicked it open violently.
As soon as he had done it, the rage seeped away, and Draco stumbled backwards in terror. What happened next may very well have only taken moments, but to Draco it felt like a whole lifetime. He stared, shaking slightly, at the top of what appeared to be an empty trunk, and then suddenly, four dark fingers curled over the edge. Draco uttered another undignified squeak as Blaise Zabini’s head appeared over the top of the trunk, looking half mad or possessed, certainly not quite himself. The boy’s face was marred by an evil leer as he threw one foot onto the ground and stalked slowly to where Draco cowered, unsure of exactly what was going to take place. Draco vaguely registered Lupin looking on, concern showing on his face, but obviously unwilling to do anything until Draco had at least made an attempt at the task himself. Over the Blaise-clone’s shoulder he could just make out another set of fingers coming up over the edge of the trunk. These were more feminine. He did not know who to expect, and in a horrifying instant realized that he could very well be about to face everyone he had ever met. ‘Oh bloody fucking hell.’
“Why Draco, I never realized how much you cared,” the Blaise in front of him said silkily, drawing his attention away from whatever was still happening in the trunk. “If I’d known that you’re always waiting around for me before class because you love watching me get dressed, I might put on more of a show for you.” The smile on the phantom’s face turned into a look of disgust. “Of course I’d never actually touch you, you revolting waste of air. I can’t believe I’ve let you outshine me for three years, not knowing you’re a bloody shirt lifter. Wand-worshiper!”
Draco was frozen to the ground, his wand dangling uselessly in his hand. Any thoughts of trying to make this image amusing, or even of the fact that this was an image at all had completely fled his mind. All he saw was Blaise. In front of him. And he knew. Oh Merlin, he knew.
There was a bark of laughter behind him. Blaise gracefully stepped aside to reveal the form of Hermione Granger, having just climbed from the trunk.
“You filthy little rodent,” she hissed at him, “you have some nerve. You dare call me a Mudblood? You dare insinuate that I’m beneath you? We Mudbloods and Muggles have a word for you too, Malfoy. Faggot.”
Draco was vaguely aware of his knees quaking. This didn’t make sense, how did Granger know? But she was right. As fucking usual, she was right.
“It makes so much more sense now!” This voice was Potter’s he stepped in front Granger with a smug smirk on his face, his green eyes dancing with delight. “I never knew why you were so obsessed with me, Malfoy. I thought you hated me, but it’s not that at all. You want me, don’t you? You’re worthless enough to want a cock in your arse, but you’re still a good little Slytherin and you’ll always cling to the man at the top, cause that’s all you’ve got going for you. You’d bend over for me if I asked you to, wouldn’t you? I bet you would. You know why I won’t do that though, don’t you Malfoy? Because I’m not disgusting like you.”
Weasley predictably followed Potter as he always did, but the bloody bastard was laughing so hard he couldn’t even get out an insult. His face was redder than his hair, and tears ran down his cheeks as he pointed at Draco and wheezed, “Malfoy...wand-worshiper...Malfoy...calls me skint when he’s...”. And then he actually tumbled onto the ground and rolled around in a fit of laughter.
Out they all came, one by one, the venom on their tongues varied, but all brutal. Parkinson cackled with glee, “Well it’s no wonder you keep turning me down. Guess I know why now!” Lupin himself smiled as usual, but there was no kindness in it. “Well, I have to say that this makes a tremendous amount of sense. I wouldn’t want anyone knowing this secret either, Draco.” Goyle did nothing but spit at his feet, and Crabbe followed close behind, “I can’t believe we followed you around for three years. You should feel honoured to be seen with us. Waste of fucking skin.” Everyone he could think of, they became a blur of images. His whole body shook. He wanted to rush at them. Beat them senseless. But he couldn’t. Because he was too weak, and they were right. He was disgusting. He was a fraud.
He didn’t think it could get any worse until he saw graceful, long fingers curl around the edge of the trunk. ‘Oh please, no. No no no.’
Professor Snape stepped out of the trunk with a flourish, robes billowing in his wake as he slinked toward Draco, looking at him, not with the sort of revulsion that he might have reserved for Potter or Longbottom, but with a cold disappointment which was so much worse. “Such a pity,” he whispered. “You had so much potential. What would people think? A Potions Master with an unhealthy interest in beautiful boys, no it won’t do at all. I’m afraid you’re not the person I thought, Draco.”
“No,” Draco choked out, the first words he had uttered through this horrifying performance. “I am, Professor, I swear I am.”
“You’re not,” Snape said flatly. “I don’t want you anywhere near my classroom.”
“Please sir,” he begged, tears that had been building up finally spilling over. The phantom Snape’s lip curled up in disgust, and he suddenly stepped aside to reveal the towering, furious form of Lucius Malfoy himself.
“You are not my son.”
The words were cold and flat, and Draco felt them pierce into him like slabs of ice.
“Don’t say that Father, please, I can fight it. I can change.”
“Not my son,” he repeated, the venom dripped from every word. “You are not worthy of my name.”
His hand reached up to strike, and Draco sank down to his knees with a soft moan of defeat. And then finally, fucking finally, a form stepped between him and his father, and the whole collection of them twirled together and swept up into the air into the form of a pale, glowing orb. Draco stared up with glazed eyes and wondered if the moon cared whether or not he was a fairy.
“Riddikulus.”
The Boggart flew back into the trunk.
Draco was crumpled on the floor. His mind only vaguely aware that none of that had actually happened. He knew he was shaking. He couldn’t control it. They knew. They all bloody knew. He couldn’t face them again. How could he? Where could he go where no one would know the name Malfoy?
Then suddenly he was wrapped in warmth. There were arms around him. An unfamiliar feeling flickered in his chest. Someone was murmuring soothing things in his ear. There was a hand stroking his head. He was surrounded by the scent of freshness, he felt as if he were outdoors, and all was well because there were arms around him. He clung to the warmth as hard as he could.
Slowly he began to come back to reality. He was in Lupin’s office. On the floor to be precise. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he had just made a complete arse of himself. But somehow, in that moment, that didn’t seem terribly important, because Lupin had promised not to tell anyone. And Lupin had his arms around him. Lupin wasn’t revolted by him. Someone knew his terrible secret, and that person was not running in the other direction. Quite the opposite in fact. He buried his face in the side of Lupin’s neck and the ragged sobs that he was only now becoming aware of, stopped short. He could feel soft skin beneath his lips, and it look every ounce of restraint he possessed not to try to taste.
“I’m so sorry.”
Finally Draco registered the words that Lupin was saying to him over and over as he stroked his head in the manner you might use to calm a frightened pet. Somehow this didn’t seem as demeaning as it should have.
“I’m so sorry, Draco. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Well how could you have known?” Draco muttered, finally deciding he needed to say something, anything, to recover from this humiliation. “I’d like to hope it’s not that obvious.”
Lupin drew back, and Draco immediately mourned the loss, although one arm stayed firmly around his shoulders. They stared at each other. Lupin looked weary and defeated. Draco wondered if he had been too hard on him.
“I’m so sorry, Draco.” Lupin repeated for the hundredth time. “I can’t believe I tried to force you to live out that nightmare in front of your class.”
Draco snorted. “Well, now you know.” After a pause he added accusingly, “Why didn’t you stop it sooner?”
Lupin stared at the ground. “I...couldn’t. I was just as frozen as you were. It hit rather close to home.”
“You thought I was a prat, didn’t you? You thought an image of me in a hand-me-down robe was going to step out of that wardrobe last week, didn’t you?”
Lupin smiled sadly. “I suppose I did, Draco. My apologies. I had actually discussed this issue at length with the Headmaster prior to the first lesson with the Gryffindors. Third year, you see, is generally the perfect time to teach a lesson of this nature. At thirteen a young wizard has enough skill to face an obstacle like a Boggart, but has not generally had the life experience to develop a real fear, such as your own.”
Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Most students at this age will face down trolls, banshees, vampires and the like. Irrational, showy, childhood fears. All things that can do one serious harm of course, but not things that one encounters on a daily basis. Not things that can harm the soul, or that plague a person’s mind constantly. Not things that one would really be bothered having on display in front of one’s classmates.”
Draco nodded. “Pimples and scary Potions teachers.”
“Exactly,” Lupin said. “I’m sure you heard that I stopped Harry Potter from facing down the Boggart, assuming that the class would not be ready to see an image of something truly terrifying. The Dark Lord, or the death of his parents.”
Draco snorted. “But instead it turned out to be a bloody Dementor.”
Lupin caught Draco’s eye. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss him. You see now what a powerful and dangerous thing fear can be.”
“Always the teacher?” Draco smirked.
“I suppose,” Lupin conceded. “Besides,” he added with a little twinkle in his eye, “your feelings for Harry aren’t exactly as you portray them, now are they?”
Draco opened his mouth in outrage, and then closed it abruptly. He was being teased. Gently. By someone who knew his deepest secret. And the worst he was doing was teasing.
“Not true,” he sputtered, finally. “I truly can’t stand the prick. I just...the thought has crossed my mind.” He stared at the floor. “If people found out. If they had to find out...it would be about the only way to save face...Slytherins always know how to find power, even when they don’t have it themselves. I see what he could have, even if he doesn’t.”
They were silent for a long time. “It’s not so awful, Draco.” Lupin said softly. “I know it seems like it is, but it’s not.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t think that I’m patronizing you,” Lupin said, immediately sensing Draco’s thoughts. “I know what you’re struggling with every day. But it wouldn’t be as bad as you’ve imagined.” He nodded to the trunk. “It certainly wouldn’t be as bad as that. I hope you don’t actually think that everyone would have the same reaction. Particularly your vision of Ms. Granger is a bit off the mark you’ll have to admit. I can’t imagine her taking advantage of another’s suffering, not to mention that word ever leaving her mouth.”
Draco smiled a bit. “Maybe. Not all of them are off the mark though,” he said, thinking of his father. And Weasley, for that matter. The smug bastard.
“No,” Lupin agreed. “The world we live in is filled with bigoted, closed-minded people, Draco. Some look down on others because of their blood, some because of their sexual preferences.”
Draco did not miss the implication. “Don’t make this about me.”
“I’m sorry, who were we talking about?” Lupin asked innocently.
A few more minutes passed and Draco became very aware of how insane this would look if anyone were to walk in. He and Lupin, sitting casually on the floor of his office, inches apart, both looking worn out, and a strange cross between amused and destroyed. At some point Lupin had stopped rubbing soothing circles into his back, and he longed for the contact. He gazed at Lupin, non-judgmental and undeniably handsome beneath the threadbare clothing and silly smile. A feeling that he did not wish to examine began to curl up in his belly. It only made the issue at hand seem more hopeless. A broke Professor of questionable parentage. Lovely. As if his perverted mind could get any worse.
“What am I going to do?” he asked softly.
“About what? Facing Boggarts?” Oh the infuriating smile!
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Draco exploded. “Everything! Life! Life like this. Life as a bloody, faggot, Malfoy! What am I going to do about that?”
The smile dropped from Lupin’s face. The outburst hung in the air. “I can’t tell you the answer to that question, Draco. You can live with your secret, or you can let it out into the open. What other choice do you have?”
Draco looked to the ceiling helplessly. “They can't find out, Professor Lupin. What would happen to me if they did? Do you think my father would allow me to carry on his name if he knew? Do you think I could survive in Slytherin house? Do you know how fast that pack of rabid wolves would turn on me? What am I supposed to do? Stand up on a table in the Great Hall and proclaim, ‘I’m here, I’m queer, who wants to take the first shot? Get it line! It’ll be fun! I’ve made all of your lives Hell since I walked through this door, now everyone have a go!’”
Draco fully expected a lecture about the dangers of karma, bullying and the general concept of getting what one deserves, but none came. Finally, Lupin answered, very slowly and thoughtfully, “It would mean a great deal, if you were to do that, Draco. A great deal to a great many people. Ones who might be in the same situation as you, but who might be too quiet, too afraid. Ones who lack your financial and social clout. You would survive it, you know. Things would change, but you would survive it.”
“That’s what you think I should do is it? Become a martyr? Poster-boy for magical queers around the globe? Think Hogwarts needs a new celebrity? Step aside Harry Potter: Boy Who Lived, here comes Draco Malfoy: Boy Who Liked It In The Arse!”
Lupin was unable to control his snort of laughter. Draco glared at him.
“That’s what you would do I suppose? Bloody Gryffindors.”
Lupin shook his head. “No, Draco. I wouldn’t say that. As you remarked earlier, courage has never been my strong suit. I too have wondered if I was sorted into the wrong house.”
Draco looked at him inquiringly.
“I too, hid a secret from all but my closest friends at Hogwarts. Continue to hide it now in fact. And I know perfectly well that I could make the experience of being like me easier on others if I were frank about it, but truth be told, it’s far easier said than done.”
Draco was shocked at this confession. “So what do I do?”
Lupin smiled, “I already told you, I can’t answer that. Keep it hidden if you wish. I promise I won’t speak to anyone of it.”
“Not just that...” Draco trailed off. “How can I hide it all through Hogwarts? What happens next year? Everyone will pair off soon. And look at me, I’m bloody gorgeous now! Imagine what I’m going to look like in two years! Have you seen my father? And of course I’m loaded as well. Merlin, I’m going to have bints practically hanging off me and I’m not going to able to stomach a single one!”
Lupin was doing a very poor job of concealing his amusement, but somehow Draco was not nearly as irritated as he felt he ought to be.
“I’m a Malfoy, Lupin. It might be hard for you to really understand what that means, but it ends up that I’m watched. By everyone. I have a certain standard to uphold. Whether that standard is to be a glorious bastard to lesser beings, or to have a gorgeous bird on his arm. In fact, the only other person at this miserable school who is under the same amount of scrutiny as I am is bloody Saint Potter himself. And he’s enough of a laughing stock as it is. Problem is he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, what with his bleeding loyal friends and all. He could probably get away with shagging a house-elf in the middle of Transfigurations, and his reputation probably wouldn’t suffer. Me, if I have a hideous imperfection, I have to put on a bloody show to keep it hidden,” Draco finished miserably.
Lupin gazed at him for a long time. “I do hope, Draco, that there comes a time in your life where you will not see yourself as suffering from any imperfection.” After a pause, he went on, “But for now...I trust that you will never, under any circumstances, should your true nature reveal its ugly head, disclose who gave you terribly inappropriate advice that I’m about to share.”
Draco suddenly found himself grinning. “Well this at least should be good.”
Lupin quirked his eyebrow. “Do I have your word, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Absolutely,” he replied solemnly.
“If Hogwarts is anything like the way it was when I was a student, all you really need is one dramatic event to stick in people’s minds when they think of you. So all you really need is one, rather large, extravagant affair with someone of the female persuasion, to keep anyone from suspecting your true nature. I would recommend an affair of the most public and revolting nature that you can possibly muster, with as much public snogging as your masculine-inclined self can tolerate. I would recommend that this affair be with someone rather loud, given to bragging, and very likely to share every detail of her life with the entire student body. I am confident you have some idea of who I am suggesting.”
Draco smiled widely.
“And then I’m afraid, dear boy, you will have to bring another young lass into the mix. Only briefly, however. I think one, good, solid, snogging session in an extremely public area should be enough to send girl number one into a murderous rage, the news of which will spread through the school like wildfire. And with these simple steps, your easily believable reputation as Draco Malfoy: Casanova, will be solidified, likely without your ever having to pretend to chase another skirt again. Simple enough?”
“You are evil. Pure evil.” Draco said admiringly. “I am stunned that you weren’t sorted into Slytherin.”
“Thank you,” Lupin replied. “I don’t know if I should really take that as a compliment, but coming from you, I suppose I’ll take what I can get.”
“Was the secret you hid at Hogwarts the same as mine, Professor Lupin?” Draco asked boldly. “You seem to have given this some thought.”
Lupin gazed at him for a long moment, as if considering what to reveal. Draco briefly wondered if he had missed the mark. But what else could it be?
“Well,” Lupin said finally, “I suppose if you trust me with your secret, Draco, no matter how unwillingly, it would be poor form for me not to extend the same courtesy. I too, suffered from controversial preferences during my Hogwarts days.”
“And was that the script you followed to avert everyone’s attention?”
“Well I wasn’t a Malfoy, so such extreme precautions weren’t necessary,” Lupin laughed. “But I did keep it a secret from most, yes. I tried to balance searching for love with no one ever noticing.”
Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully. He wondered how far he could push this conversation. He knew it was already late, that this had already gone well past the general allotted time for detention, but he didn’t want to leave. He felt safe in this small office. He felt as though he could lift off the mask that he wore every day, and the weight of it gone freed him more than he could have imagined. And more than that, he had grudgingly been admitting to himself over the course of this conversation that he didn’t want to leave the presence of this strange Professor who was treating him as if he hadn’t been going out of his way to make his life miserable for the whole term. This Professor whose warm arms had brought him such peace, even for the briefest moment.
“Did you...” Draco trailed off. He wondered if he could really ask this question. He knew it was none of his business, but what harm could it really do given the situation? “Did you find love here? I mean, when you were a student.”
Lupin stared at him. “Yes, I suppose I did. Sixth year, I finally got up the nerve. Although I would never in a million years have guessed that Lucius Malfoy’s son would be concerned about love.”
Draco’s mouth fell open and Lupin immediately caught himself. “I’m sorry Draco, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You know my father?” Draco asked, a bit of coldness creeping into his voice.
“Not really,” Lupin replied. “Only enough to have an idea of the type of man that he is. Or at least, the type of man he would like others to believe that he is. I shouldn’t imply that that makes you anything like him though, Draco.”
Draco gritted his teeth, unsure of what to reply. Lupin meant this only as a comment, but Draco felt it right in his stomach, a liberation and an insult all at once. His father’s shadow would be both blessing and curse for his entire life, he knew that much.
“My father is not without love,” Draco said, finally, icily.
Lupin raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Well it’s none of my business obviously.”
Draco glared at the ground furiously, totally unsure as to why this should matter, why he should care what Lupin thought of his father. At the end of the day, even if this had been the most relieving evening of his entire life, Lupin was just a teacher. A poor, pathetic teacher at that. What opinion could he possibly have of Lucius Malfoy, or his son, that should matter? But obviously it mattered to Draco, and he knew why. He just wasn’t quite prepared to face it yet. A few hours ago it had been just as Lupin had said earlier, he couldn’t have cared less what Lupin thought of him, but now, it just wasn’t like that.
“I’m sorry, Draco. Have I said too much? Perhaps it’s time to end this ‘lesson’.” Lupin chuckled a bit at the last word and made a move to get up, but it was obvious that he was actually concerned that he had upset Draco. Well that was something at least.
“He does love, my father,” Draco said, still staring downwards.
Lupin said nothing, but he did not stand. He was not inviting him to continue, but not stopping him either. Images of his mother in the evenings, rubbing her hands over Lucius’ forehead, through his hair, massaging out the day’s tension, came to him unbidden. It was the sort of touch that he had never received from either of them. From anyone really, until that very day. “The bond that he and my mother have, you have no idea.” Draco was whispering now. “He told me once, I think he had had too much wine at the time and probably regretted it later, but he told me that the most important thing for me to do in my youth was to search out love.”
Lupin’s brow furrowed. “I must admit, I can’t picture him saying that.”
“I know, it’s hard. But he told me once that in order to survive as a Malfoy, I would need to have one love in my life. One love who will be beautiful, intelligent, and as wicked as I am, but above all who can comfort me. Because life as a Malfoy is full of horror. Even though we are born on the top we must always strive to climb higher, and to reach that peak we must endure horrors that a normal wizard couldn’t imagine. Most comfort will repulse us, but there is one person who can offer it to us, and I must find mine. Of course, the beautiful, buxom blonde that my father is picturing for me isn’t exactly the image of the person in my mind,” Draco finished lamely, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that he knew this one speech his father had made by heart, and that he had recited it to himself nightly for several years.
Lupin did not laugh. He was regarding Draco very carefully. “You do not have to live the same life as your father, Draco.”
Draco blinked. That was not anywhere near the response he had been expecting. That wasn’t even the part of the speech Lupin had been supposed to pay attention to. The look Lupin was giving him was very serious though. He realized quickly that Lupin knew his father better than he had let on earlier, and probably knew what Draco was talking about in more detail than he had anticipated.
“What if I want to?” he said, desperately searching for some way to remove Lupin’s stare from him. He felt as if the eyes were boring right through him.
“I don’t think you do,” Lupin replied.
“What exactly do you mean?”
They were at a stand-off, neither willing to actually identify the issue that they were discussing.
“I see light in you Draco,” Lupin said finally. “You’re trying to beat it out, but it’s there. And it will keep you from ending up like your father. There was no light in him in his early days. I doubt there is any now. And if love is truly what fueled him to do the things that he did, well Merlin save us.”
Draco said nothing in response, again torn between the liberation and rage that being considered as a different being from his father caused. Lupin obviously knew more than he did, which was infuriating. He wondered if perhaps that was why his father had been so violently opposed to him taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Something more than threadbare robes. And he knew very well that Lupin had not missed the subtlety in his identifying his mother as Lucius Malfoy’s only love. Fucking bloody Hell, when did he start wearing his heart on his sleeve? Truthfully there were plenty of his father’s speeches that he had memorized. That was the only one that was not designed to push him away and steel him to the world. To beat out any softness remaining in him. Heal it yourself. You know how. You don’t need her. No son of mine would be so weak.
Lupin finally cut the silence hanging between them. “Well, I think that we both got a bit more than expected out of tonight’s lesson.”
Draco smirked, glad for the lightness of the comment. “On the contrary, I am quite confident that I can now properly deal with a Boggart.”
“Would you like to give it another go before we end this session?”
“I suppose I might as well,” Draco conceded.
They rose from their position on the floor. Draco realized that his legs had long ago seized up and found himself staggering.
“Alright?” Lupin caught his elbow.
Draco nodded, and hoped that Lupin didn’t notice him shiver.
Lupin lifted the lid of the trunk, and out came Blaise Zabini, slinky and gorgeous as ever. “Haven’t had enough of me yet, Malfoy?”
“Never,” Draco replied with a smirk. He watched them all come out, realizing now how quickly it had actually happened. Their words still stung, but they didn’t pierce through him now. He had felt the worst of it, and knew now that if he did ever have to deal with the situation in the real world, he would survive. He waited until his father was standing right before him and then closed his eyes and pictured the funniest thing he could possibly imagine happening to this group of people.
“Riddikulus!”
Phantom-Blaise was naked and kneeling in front of Harry Potter, who looked confused but intrigued. Granger looked terrified as Pansy Parkinson pushed her to the floor and straddled her. His father was wrapped passionately around Professor Snape, while Crabbe and Goyle were locked in a revolting embrace. The phantom version of Professor Lupin was nowhere to be seen. Draco laughed long and loud.
And then the budding orgy swirled up into the moon and was banished back to the trunk with a fond, “That’s quite enough, Draco.”
“You have to admit, it was brilliant.”
Lupin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You are far too young to have such thoughts.”
“I suppose you had none at all in your pure Hogwarts days.”
“Absolutely none,” Lupin replied with mock seriousness.
Draco turned to leave, realizing that he had worn out any excuse he had to stay. But then turned and asked, “Did what you had at Hogwarts last?”
Lupin didn’t have to ask him to clarify. “No.” He looked sad, for a moment, but not distant, as if this was a memory that had been jabbing at him recently. “Sixth and seventh year were bliss to me. Such a naughty, glorious secret we had. But he didn’t turn out to be the person that I had thought. Not at all in fact.” Again, the look of a fresh wound. Draco found that surprisingly he didn’t want to press it.
“I’m sorry.”
Lupin nodded. “Thank you. I know that you will find yours too, Draco. And you are nothing like your father.”
Draco wasn’t totally sure where the connection there was, but realized that he was fighting the urge to run to Lupin and throw his arms around him with all of his might.
“Thank you,” he said.
They were both surprised by this answer.
As Draco turned quickly to leave before he could say anything else he heard Lupin call after him, “I know it’s going to be hard for you sometimes Draco. If you need to talk again, my office is open.”
Something inside Draco swelled up, but he knew that this was not the time. He placed his hand firmly on the doorknob. “You know that I won’t,” he said without turning around.
“I know,” he could hear the smile in Lupin’s voice.
“I’m going to go out there and remember who I am and how absurd it was that you forced me to take this one-on-one lesson, and then I’m going to owl my father about how unfair, uncouth and skint you are, how this school is going to the dogs and how terribly superior and important I am.”
“I think it’s extremely important that you have this moment of clarity,” Lupin said very seriously.
Draco dared a look back as he turned the knob and was unsurprised to find a very Slytherin smirk reserved just for him, one that he returned full force. “Thanks, Professor.”
And with that, he was gone. Striding through the halls at full speed he realized that it was just past midnight. The smile was gone from his face and his stomach had just twisted up into a strange, painful knot. He could definitely not go back to that office.

“Bloody fucking Hell, Malfoy, what did Lupin do to you?” Blaise laughed when Draco finally made it to his dormitory. “I was beginning to think he’d decided to make you suck him off after that comment about him and Potter.”
Draco’s smirk only wavered for a split second. “Not at all. Detention was nothing. Met a dizzy, blonde Ravenclaw behind the statue of Melvin the Morose on the way back.”
Immediately it became clear that not one Slytherin boy was actually asleep and instantly they were jetting up in their beds waiting for details. Draco dove into his bed and drew the curtains, calling out very loud silencing charms and wards. He could hear mutters of disappointment and a muffled, “He’s full of it.”
He sighed in relief. Hopefully no one would press him on that little fabrication or he would have to get Lupin’s suggested charade going sooner than he had thought. He lay back and tried to sleep, but his mind was still spinning from the events of the evening. He curled up on his side and tried to put himself in the one place where he had ever felt really relaxed, in his bed at home with his mother rubbing his back. It was something she hadn’t done since he was very young, his father had seen to that, but it was always the image he relied on before sleep. After a moment, he realized with a sigh that there was finally a different pair of arms that he wanted around him, and he closed his eyes, pulling himself back to that brief warmth, the smell of skin, and outside after the rain. He finally fell asleep with a vision of two honey-coloured eyed staring into his.

++++++

True to his word, for the rest of the school year, Draco never did return to Lupin’s office, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew full well that the comfort offered there was not the comfort that he wanted from the man, and he brought himself off every night with a little cry of frustration, thinking about warm strong hands that would know exactly how to touch him. But they wouldn’t do it of course. Not in a million years. He wondered if his Boggart had changed.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was Hell now. It became his new charade, heterosexuality having been pushed to the back of his mind. He still made his comments, but they lacked venom. He was too focused on the quiet beauty exuded by his shabby professor. If his classmates noticed any change in his attitude, they said nothing. Likely because he more than made up for it in his other classes, particularly Care of Magical Creatures. Although gradually certain realizations struck him, and his sympathy toward half-breeds grew.

++++++

“Professor Snape let it slip to us this morning at breakfast! I got here as soon as I could!”
Professor Lupin jumped as the door to his office was thrown open without so much as a knock.
“Well hello, Draco. I didn’t think I would be seeing you back here.”
He smiled, and took in the boy’s eyes darting around the room. “You’re packing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well I had already been informed of Professor Snape’s announcement, so I handed in my resignation this morning.”
“What?!” Draco squeaked. “That’s insane!”
“Not really. The owls from parents who do not want someone like me teaching their children will likely be arriving as soon as this time tomorrow.” He offered Draco a small smirk. “I would imagine that your father’s will be first in line.”
The boy did not smile. “I don’t want you to go.”
This stopped Remus short. His hand, full of a pile of books, hovered over an open trunk that had not contained a Boggart in a very long time. He knew that his one evening with Draco had really meant something to the boy, and to him as well if he was being honest. He had even noticed a slight change in the demeanor toward him. Slight meaning that the barbs held less venom and the worst insults were muttered only behind his back, but for Draco Malfoy, it was an improvement.
“Well thank you, Draco,” he said and dropped the books into the trunk. “I appreciate that sentiment. I’m sure you understand why it’s inevitable though. In all honesty I’m surprised that you aren’t alarmed yourself.”
“I knew,” Draco replied simply.
Again Lupin found himself frozen. “How? When?”
“Shortly after,” Draco waved his hand. Clarifying what “after” meant was unnecessary. “I saw the moon in your Boggart. And then I started to notice when you weren’t in class.” He stopped short, as if that was giving too much away.
“And this realization did not cause you any concern?” asked Lupin in disbelief. ‘With your prejudice against those of Muggle descent, I can hardly believe that,’ he wanted to add, but held himself back.
Draco shrugged. “I suppose that after what you told me that night, it didn’t seem like a really big deal.”
Remus quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I can see how incurable lycanthropy pales in comparison to a preference for blokes.”
They shared a half-smile.
Unsure of why Draco was lingering in his office, Remus said, “Well Draco, thank you for coming to warn me about Professor Snape’s little announcement. I do appreciate it,” and moved as if to continue with his packing.
“Was it Sirius Black?” Draco had closed the door behind him and obviously had no intention of leaving. Remus stopped and gave him his full attention. “Was he the boy you met at Hogwarts?”
Remus blinked. “How did you know?”
“Snape once told us about how the two of you were close friends at school. I think he wanted us to believe that you had been helping him get into the castle. No one’s quite that daft though. I just remembered you saying that he didn’t turn out to be who you thought he was.”
So many months had passed, he was surprised that Draco remembered their conversation so well. “Well now you see what an understatement that was.”
He turned his back and grabbed something random to throw into the trunk, if only to hide his face. His acting skills had been stretched thin over the past day, but there had not been a moment his heart hadn’t been racing since he had discovered Sirius’ innocence. He was not so naive to think that the passion they had had as teenagers would have survived thirteen years apart, and a prison sentence to boot, but even the faintest glimmer of a chance felt like a road stretching out in front of him, and the sky looked brighter than it had for a long time.
“I wish I could do something.”
He turned his attention back to Draco. The boy looked genuinely miserable. ‘What a conundrum Lucius Malfoy has managed to produce,’ he thought, not for the first time. This strange, conflicted boy, whose ability to tread on those beneath him was already the stuff of Hogwarts legend, but who had stood here, quivering in this office, so unsure of himself that he could barely speak. By what twist of fate had he become the only one Draco could show weakness in front of? What bizarre thoughts had been batting around inside of this walking disaster’s head over the past few months? He resisted the urge to tell Draco once again that he did not have to be anything like his father.
“Again, I appreciate the offer,” he smiled kindly, “but I’m afraid there is not. A werewolf faces certain prejudices everywhere he goes. It’s just something one gets used to. I can’t say I can completely blame the parents. I am a potential danger to their children. We thought the situation was under control, but obviously it wasn’t. So it goes. Others who face similar prejudices do not have the same ‘monster’ justification though. Queers and Mudbloods for example.”
The faintest hint of a smile crossed Draco’s face. “Don’t make this about me.” And then he added, “You’re not a monster.”
Lupin nodded. “No, I suppose I’m not. Not right now anyway. Speaking of monsters and morality, did you not recently attempt to have a Hippogriff put to death, basically to alleviate your boredom?”
Draco shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. “It didn’t work, did it?”
Lupin sighed, but found himself smiling. ‘What am I going to do with you, Draco Malfoy?’
“Well Draco,” he held out his hand, intending to end this conversation, finish packing and sneak out of the school before too many similar scenes had a chance to play out. “I can’t say that it’s been entirely a pleasure teaching you, but it has certainly been interesting.”
That brought out the trademark smirk. Draco reached out and took his hand, but then paused, and rather than actually shaking it, squeezed it between his fingers, deep in thought. Remus waited.
Draco finally met his eyes. And cocked his head as if giving the invitation to dismiss his words before they were even out of his mouth. “I suppose it would be useless to ask you to make love to me.”
“What??” Remus found himself squawking and wrenching his hand free. He waited for the punch line, but apparently there wasn’t one.
Draco sighed. “I thought so. Bloody Gryffindor honour.”
“What if someone walked in here?” Remus demanded, not sure why that was the first protest out of eight billion possibilities that jumped to mind.
“You can ward the door?” Draco suggested.
Lupin shook his head in continued disbelief. “Absolutely not, Draco. I don’t think I need to list the reasons why, because that would take all day. What would put such an idea in your head?”
Draco deflated. “It’s all I can think about.”
Lupin took a deep breath, trying to regain some control of the situation, relieved at least, that Draco wasn’t going to push the issue.
“You’re thirteen years old. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“And?” Draco stared at the floor, obviously humiliated, but still there.
“And there is plenty of time for you to sift through a plethora of willing boys of more appropriate ages. Especially if you turn out to be as gorgeous as you claim you will.”
That got a small smile. “And if I say I’ve already found the one I want, and that I don’t care what bloody age he is, I suppose you’re going to say something very wise and condescending in response?”
“I’m sorry, Draco. I do understand how you might have come to feel that way. It’s probably natural after such an intense, confessional evening, to attach certain emotions to the person with whom you shared the experience, but I can assure you that I’m not interested.” He said the last words with a smile, in hopes that it would ease the sting. “Was that condescending enough for you?”
Draco ignored him. “You’re the only one who’s ever been able to comfort me,” he said softly. It was obvious that he knew the hope was gone, but he still wanted to cling to it.
“I am flattered Draco, but I don’t think that when your father told you to find the one who could comfort you, that he meant there could only be one.”
Draco met his eyes. “I think you’re wrong.” He paused and then added, “I can wait until I’m seventeen if that’s what’s offending your Gryffindor conscience.”
Lupin shook his head. “I promise you that in a few months you will have forgotten all about this, and that in the next few years you will have had so many ‘loves’ you won’t even be able to count them. You won’t be wasting two minutes waiting for me.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that I would be waiting for you in that sense,” Draco had his smirk back suddenly. “This is the only offer of my sacred innocence you’re ever going to get. By the time I graduate I’ll have shagged the whole male population of the school and probably some of the females out of boredom alone.”
“Glad to hear it?” Lupin snorted.
“But I will find you.”
The seriousness of the comment threw Remus even more than the total absurdity of this whole situation. He shook his head, stunned. “You’re going to look back on this and laugh in a few months, Draco.”
“It’s okay,” Draco said, and there was an eerie flash of someone beyond his years in his eyes. “You don’t have to believe me right now.”
And before Remus could do anything at all, Draco had crossed the room, taken his face in his hands and covered his mouth with his own. It was somewhat clumsy, and so obviously Draco’s first kiss that Remus was frozen to the spot, unwilling to push him away. He shivered as Draco’s lips gently caressed his still mouth. A tongue stroked his bottom lip.
When he finally pulled back, Draco Malfoy looked much much more like Draco Malfoy than he had since he’d walked through the door. Trademark smirk in place, superior air in full force.
“And here Professor Snape always complains that you’re so damned unflappable. Goodbye, Professor Lupin.”
And with that, he marched out of the office and left the door wide open, so that if anyone had walked by they would have seen an extremely bemused former DADA instructor, clinging to the edge of his trunk for support with his mouth hanging wide open, and looking thoroughly flapped indeed. After a moment, he pushed himself up, righted his clothing, and tried to pull himself together and finish with the packing. He glanced at the Marauder’s Map, lying open and forgotten on the desk beside him. The name Harry Potter was fast approaching. He supposed that everyone probably knew by now. He summoned almost everything into his luggage as fast as he could and then leaned over his desk with a ragged breath. ‘This has been the strangest afternoon of my entire life,’ he decided.
Harry knocked lightly on the door.
“I saw you coming,” he said with a forced smile.
He appreciated Harry’s concern, but he really didn’t need this right now. He reminded himself to count his blessings though. Harry’s visit could have come five minutes earlier.
‘He will forget’.

++++++

Draco Malfoy did not forget.
As he had promised, he went about his life exactly has he had intended, only falling asleep to the thought of golden eyes every night. He wished more than anything that he could owl Lupin after the glorious uproar when Parkinson caught him in the act with a fiery, redheaded Ravenclaw named Alice Blunt. And when he finally got his wish at the start of sixth year and found himself buried balls deep inside Blaise Zabini for the first time, he howled at the moon, knowing full well what night it was. His sudden intimate knowledge of lunar cycles went unnoticed, but he was always aware, at least in the back of his mind when the time came, and wondered where Lupin was. If he was safe. That same year he balanced the dreadful task with which he had been assigned, with the knowledge that its completion would surely bring about the end of whatever pathetic fantasy he was holding on to.
He had promised to wait until he was seventeen, but in the aftermath of the final battle, as he awaited trial and possibly Azkaban, he knew that his name had suffered too much for a pursuit of that magnitude. His hope did not die though. That night was the first time he had seen Remus Lupin since third year. Haggard, scarred both physically and emotionally, but still beautiful in his quiet way. Still a beacon of warmth in the midst of the darkest days of Draco’s life. He would continue to wait. Forever if necessary.

End.

Fic: "Boggart", Draco Malfoy/Remus Lupin, Part 1/2

2008-06-17T02:09:24Z

Title: Boggart
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Remus Lupin
Rating: R for language and imagery.
Summary: Professor Lupin thinks he knows why Draco refuses to face a Boggart in front of his peers. When he finds out the truth, he realizes that there is more to the spoiled boy than he had originally thought. Draco, in turn, discovers something in Remus that he had been searching for, but he knows that it cannot be reciprocated.
Warnings: Draco is thirteen years old in this story, but it’s mostly unreciprocated pre-slash, so nothing much to worry about. (There may be a smutty sequel brewing in my brain though =))
Word Count: ~13000
Disclaimer: I hope no one is actually “labouring under the delusion” that I am in any way affiliated with J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with her naked characters *grin*.

Boggart

Standing in the Hogwarts staff room, staring at an old wardrobe which was shaking so violently it seemed to be in danger of knocking itself over, Draco Malfoy was fairly certain that this was going to be the worst day of his life. After word had spread that the shoddily dressed, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had actually set the third year Gryffindors on a Boggart, he had spent his first few classes with undignified sweaty palms, but had eventually decided that the moment must have passed. Lupin was lucky to have found one Boggart hiding in the school for his little demonstration, surely he wasn’t going to come across another one. No such luck clearly. He had only had one period’s warning, as he happened to overhear an annoying Hufflepuff girl giggling about the class she had just had. Her self esteem had apparently shot up several notches after she had turned a looming image of her face covered in great gushing boils into a big, ripe strawberry. Draco felt a rush of irritation that less than a year after Lord Voldemort had very nearly succeeded in opening the Chamber of Secrets, this homely Mudblood was more afraid of something happening to her bloody face than pain, dismemberment or death.
“Really? You think that’s something to brag about?” Draco asked over his shoulder. The annoying Hufflepuff started, unaware that anyone had been paying attention to her. “I rather think a bunch of lovely red boils would be an improvement to your appearance. It would at least give people something interesting to look at.”
The girl managed to look offended, terrified and as if she were about to burst into tears all at the same time. Satisfied that he had managed to at least ruin someone’s day before second period, Draco continued on toward the DADA room, a knot forming in his stomach. Surely this couldn’t mean what he feared it must mean. Even with his regrettable sense of fair play, Lupin couldn’t have possibly tracked down three more Boggarts in such a short space of time, so as to educate the remaining houses on defense against them.
Draco had sat at his desk, hands clasped tightly together, uncharacteristically ignoring Crabbe and Goyle’s inane blithering, when he normally would have threatened them into silence. His fears were confirmed when Lupin didn’t even ask them to take out their books, and instead lead them through the castle to the teachers’ lounge.
Under normal circumstances, Draco would have been busy scrutinizing the area where the Hogwarts staff was expected to socialize. He would have snorted at the garish furniture, mismatched in all four house colours. He would have smirked when he noted that the one ornate piece of furniture in the room, a rich, emerald green armchair, clearly meant for the Slytherin head of house, looked about a century newer than the rest, likely because no self-respecting Slytherin could have tolerated being in this room for long enough to dent a cushion. Not this day however. Draco’s full attention was fixed on the shuddering wardrobe. He felt paralyzed and knew that all colour must have vanished from his face. Fortunately the rest of the class was too excited to pay any attention to him. Truthfully, although his house feigned distaste for anything relating to Gryffindors, he knew that interest in this class had heightened immensely since the much talked-about Boggart incident, and everyone seemed eager to try their hand.
‘Bloody fools!’ Draco thought to himself. ‘Behaving like idiot Gryffindors. Eager to have their greatest fear in the world on display in front of a class of scrutinizing idiots. Knowing full well that the story of what happens in this room will spread through the whole school before the end of the day!’
Draco felt the prickle of sweat starting to drip down the back of his neck.
“I’m sure that by now you all know what’s in this wardrobe,” Lupin was saying with a kind smile on his face, “but just for formality’s sake, can anyone tell me?”
Draco tried his best to burn a hole through the professor with his glare as Pansy Parkinson’s hand shot in the air with all the enthusiasm of a certain Mudblood he didn’t care to think of.
‘Idiot is probably wetting himself that he actually has the full attention of Slytherin house for the first, and likely last time this year! Let’s all share our greatest fears! Won’t it be a fun bonding experience? Afterwards we’ll drink cocoa and cuddle and talk about our hopes and dreams! Bloody fucking Gryffindor!’
This whole exercise was reminding him painfully of some of his first year classes where overly cheerful professors had had them stand and share something about themselves so as to “break the ice”. Except of course then he could save himself with scathing comments, biting wit and general evasiveness.
‘Let’s all get to know each other! Stand up everyone and tell us all about your greatest fear!’ Draco could envision Lupin saying this with the bloody stupid grin he seemed to wear day in and day out. ‘Ever stop to think that one’s greatest bloody fear might be personal, you skint idiot??’
Unfortunately, raging to himself wasn’t getting Draco anywhere in terms of avoiding the inevitable. He had missed Lupin’s entire introduction, and now the Professor was having them practice the incantation without wands. Clearly he couldn’t let this go by without at least saying something. Wouldn’t it be out of character?
“Professor,” he interrupted shamelessly, “I can understand full well why you wouldn’t have a problem putting the collection of Gryffindors who are currently disgracing the third year in danger, but don’t you think that forcing the rest of the houses into a foolish display of bravery is a bad idea?”
The whole class turned to stare at Draco. Crabbe and Goyle started to laugh nervously and some others joined them. Everyone was used to automatically agreeing with every rude thing to come out of Draco’s mouth, so they were unsure as to how to react when he was suggesting ending a lesson they had been anticipating even before they realized they were going to get it.
To his surprise, Lupin did not even attempt to disguise how patronizing his smile was (or at least it certainly seemed that way to Draco). “Mr. Malfoy, while it is very nice to see your concern for you classmates, I assure you this lesson is very well controlled. I have discussed it at length with the Headmaster and we both feel that a practical education in defense will be most effective, especially with times as they are.”
“You mean with Sirius Black being on the loose?” Draco asked, unfazed. “You think he’s going to attack us with Boggarts?”
“Hardly, Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin still hadn’t dropped that infuriating smile. “Boggarts are a sensible starting point however, as they have a nasty tendency to turn up in cupboards, drawers and pantries at the most inconvenient times. I do believe you will feel rather foolish if you end up unexpectedly quivering in front of your closet because you didn’t take the time to learn this lesson.”
Draco let out what he hoped was a dignified snort at that suggestion.
“Besides,” Lupin narrowed his eyes, “I know you’ve all heard the stories about the Gryffindor third years handily dealing with their Boggart. I do hope you don’t feel your house isn’t up to the task?”
And thus the killing blow was dealt.
“Well when you put it that way!” Draco exclaimed, rolling his eyes, immediately quelling the enraged snarls starting up around him.
‘Lupin should have been bloody sorted into Slytherin!’ Draco wasn’t sure if he was impressed, or just horrified.
Draco’s protests suitably dealt with, the class now turned their full attention back to the issue at hand.
“Miss Parkinson, would you like to start us off?” Lupin suggested, with a dramatic sweep of his arm. He stepped away from the wardrobe and let Pansy approach it. She looked nervous, but confident enough that she could handle what was about to emerge.
‘Probably another case of scary boils,’ Draco thought to himself, trying desperately to think of something that could possibly make his worst fear amusing. The fear in question seemed to have been momentarily replaced by fear of that moment itself, and for a minute Draco wondered insanely if when the wardrobe opened for him, a doppelganger of Lupin himself would step out and begin the lesson he had started five minutes earlier. He had a feeling his luck wasn’t going to be so merciful.
The wardrobe swung open at a tap from Lupin’s wand and out stepped a dark-haired man that Draco recognized as Pansy’s father. He held a wand in his hand, directing it at her with a leer on his face.
“You’ve been a bad little girl, haven’t you?” the phantom Mr. Parkinson said in a low voice, “I know just what to do with you. Cruc-”
“Riddikulus!” Pansy cried and immediately Mr. Parkinson’s wand turned on him and he was writhing on the floor in pain, his screams of agony echoing around the staff room. Suddenly, his wand hand popped off its arm and blood started to pour over him. Pansy laughed loudly and enthusiastically.
Draco spared a glance at Lupin, who had for once dropped his smile and now looked slightly green.
‘Thought you had the stones to teach Slytherins did you?’ Draco smiled.
“Ummm Mr. Goyle, step up please!” Lupin commanded, trying to regain some composure.
Goyle did as instructed, and Draco only half paid attention as the writhing form of Mr. Parkinson turned into a looming mountain troll. Several Slytherins backed up a few steps, but Goyle dealt with the Boggart with surprising speed, forcing it to beat itself senseless with its own club. Draco would have been thoroughly enjoying Lupin’s reaction to this class if he hadn’t been so busy trying to come up with a way out of the situation. He casually inched his way as close to the back of the class as he could get.
Crabbe was next up. The battered troll shrunk down so far that Draco could hardly see what was causing Vincent to quake so much. A murmur went through the class as a very familiar voice shouted, “You bloody idiot, can’t you do anything right? I don’t know why I let you follow me around all the time, you worthless git. I’m sick of your filth sullying the air around me!”
Draco now craned his neck to see an image of himself (‘I look bloody good in those trousers, thank you Vincent!’) red in the face, pointing his wand menacingly at the quaking boy before him. Crabbe turned around and looked at him hopelessly, as if he would have much much rather been faced with Longbottom’s cross-dressing Snape and the repercussions that followed.
Draco waved his hand casually, as if to say that he was really above whatever ridicule Crabbe wanted to put his gorgeous double through. Considering the situation he was in, it might be better to give the school something else to talk about. Crabbe looked noticeably relieved. He turned and cried, “Riddikulus!” and Draco immediately regretted his charitable decision as his horrified twin endured his beautiful blond locks lengthening and turning an ugly dull brown, while a gory lightning shaped scar marred his perfect forehead. Draco shut his eyes against the rest of the hideous transformation and tried not to hear the roar of laughter around him. When he cracked an eye open a centimeter he was furious to see that even Lupin looked amused.
“Tough luck Malfoy,” said Blaise Zabini, patting his back as he strode past him, “Looks like Crabbe brought your greatest fear out early!”
Malfoy shivered slightly at the unexpected touch and didn’t even notice what the ugly cross between Potter and himself shuddered and turned into. He was far too aware of the fact that only Blaise stood between him and his secret being betrayed to the whole school. He had one crazy thought, maybe just one chance, and it had to work.
As Blaise stepped out of the way, Malfoy caught a glance of a harmless cub gazing up at him from the ground. He barely had an instant to wonder if Zabini’s fear was a lion, and sneer at the horrific symbolism of that, before the form began to shimmer. Quickly, he made a graceful movement, bringing his want to chest-level and muttering “Protego” as quietly as he dared, hoping to pass the movement off as his usual showiness. The Boggart paused briefly, confused by the magic blocking it from its prey. Draco took advantage of that moment to strike, casting a stunner at the Boggart under his breath and knocking it backwards as he said “Riddikulus!” loudly and uselessly, hoping that no one had noticed that the timing of the spell would have been horribly off. With a superior toss of his head, he returned to the back of the line, acting as if he had performed his task at a far higher level, leaving his classmates glancing around disappointedly, trying to figure out if anyone had noticed what their polished leader feared the most. He didn’t dare look at Lupin.
The confused Boggart spun around and ended up in front of Pansy again, quickly turning back into the form of her father. She dealt with it speedily, and Lupin jumped in front of it, clearly unenthusiastic about seeing the pitiful, tortured form of Mr. Parkinson again. For a split second the Boggart shimmered into a glowing orb and then Lupin said, “Riddikulus” firmly and sent it spinning back into the wardrobe.
He turned around quickly. “Well done, everyone!” his stupid smile was back and he clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Five points to every Slytherin who correctly disposed of the Boggart, ten to Miss Parkinson who faced it twice! I don’t think it could hurt to let you all out a little early. Enjoy the rest of your free period!”
Even the snarkiest student could not sneer at his behaviour when offered a chance to get out of a lesson early. As one, the class turned and filed toward the door.
“Except you, Mr. Malfoy. I’d like a word.”
Draco froze, his hand on the door knob. He couldn’t possibly pretend he hadn’t heard. He feigned irritation and stormed back into the room. Despite Lupin obviously having seen through his charade, he couldn’t really be concerned. He had dodged what he thought was going to be the worst day of his life, and Lupin hadn’t called him on it in front of the class. Even a week of detention would be well worth it.
Lupin and he stood silently, waiting for the rest of the class to file out.
“That was an impressive stunning spell you performed there, Draco,” Lupin said conversationally when they were alone. “I don’t recall that being the assignment though.”
Draco didn’t bother arguing his innocence.
“Apologies ,” he said with a sneer, “but some of us are more dignified than to allow a classroom full of idiots to gaze at our private thoughts.”
“Ahhh, so you didn’t want your fear on display for everyone to see?”
Draco sighed, Lupin was really rather dim. “Clearly.”
Lupin nodded slowly. “I can understand that Mr. Malfoy, I really can,” he said. “However, I’m afraid I cannot let you get out of this lesson. As I said before, it really is important. Dealing with a Boggart could almost fall into the category of basic household magic, I’m afraid it is necessary for you to learn it.”
“We’ll see what my father has to say about that!” Draco was grateful that he was now able to fall back on his easiest excuse.
“I’m sure your father would not want to find you hiding under your bed, thinking you were being attacked when you could have been dealing with a common household pest.”
“Sounds like work for house-elves to me,” Draco said stubbornly.
“I don’t believe that house-elf magic, while powerful, responds well to this task,” Lupin said, not unkindly. He continued in a very soft voice, “Besides, Draco, you obviously are dead set on hiding whatever fear this is from the world. Wouldn’t it be better to be able to deal with it quickly and effectively if faced with a Boggart in the presence of others? They are really rather common, as I said before.”
Draco still looked unconvinced. “I can perform the spell. I saw everyone do it. If Crabbe and Goyle can do it, it’s not going to be a problem for me!”
“I’m afraid that you are going to have to demonstrate that for me Mr. Malfoy, before I will allow this issue to drop.”
Draco glared at him with all his might.
“I won’t embarrass to you by revealing what you did to the class however, you can come to my office after supper on Saturday and we’ll have a private lesson. Shouldn’t take too long really, we covered the instructional portion in class.”
“You...” Draco sputtered. “You want to teach me? Private lessons? You want to take up my Saturday night when I could be doing something worthwhile? You’re not even worthy of teaching here! You should hear what my father had to say when he found out who was teaching this class! He will not allow me to degrade myself by enduring one-on-one patronizing from you. I am a Malfoy! Look at what you’re wearing for Merlin’s sake! You’re not even fit to be in the same room with me! And can you wipe that bloody smile off your face for once in your pathetic life?!”
Lupin let Draco tire himself out from his tirade, not letting the pleasant smile slip.
“I rather thought you might feel that way, Draco,” he said. If any part of Draco’s rant had fazed him, he didn’t show it. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to learn this spell from me. I understand that you feel very strongly about this particular fear of yours, so if you don’t want me to see it, that’s totally understandable. I’ll make arrangements for someone you feel more comfortable with to give you a lesson. Would Professor Snape be your first choice? He’s more than qualified to teach this class you know.”
Professor Lupin was evil. Pure evil. Why the hell wasn’t he sorted into Slytherin?
“Well since all of the colour is draining from your face, that obviously wasn’t the best idea,” Draco had a feeling that Lupin was trying very hard not to laugh. “I know the answer though. I’d imagine you learned that impressive shield spell from your father. Shall I inform him of this snag we’ve run into? I’m quite confident that he could supervise your learning the Riddikulus charm quite efficiently.”
Draco felt all of the air leave his lungs.
“No?” Lupin asked softly.
There was a long silence.
“Believe it or not I do understand the thoughts in your mind Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin had finally stood up and was gathering his things, clearly having decided that this conversation was over. “I’m afraid though, that I am actually the best candidate for this particular task. You see, I suspect that your reluctance to face this Boggart has to do with shame you seem to feel in regards to your greatest fear. You need someone you can trust to keep it a secret. What better than Gryffindor honour?” Lupin turned and smiled ironically. Before Malfoy could respond with a biting comment, Lupin continued. “But more importantly than honour, I believe that the person you can reveal this fear to has to be someone for whom you have little to no respect. That way you need not worry about losing face in front of them, because how could you possibly care what they think of you?”
Lupin was now very close to him. Draco could smell a faint air of freshness about him. Like the outdoors after the rain. He tried very hard not to meet Lupin’s eyes and instead stared at the strands of greying hair covering his head. Lupin spread his hands, “Someone you know is trustworthy, but for whom you have no respect. Do I fit the bill?”
Draco smirked in response, realizing that for the second time in less than an hour, Professor Lupin had him totally cornered.
“This Saturday, after dinner,” Lupin repeated. He turned and made to exit the room. As his hand touched the door handle, he turned and said, “I will let this extra lesson go under the pretense of detention. Feel free to say whatever you would like to me during the next class we have together so that I may award you this detention in front of your peers.”
And with that, Lupin swept from the room.
Definitely should have been in Slytherin.

++++

“Professor?”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” Lupin looked up from the book he was skimming at his desk while the third year Slytherins frantically scribbled their answers to a surprise quiz on properly identifying and disposing of Boggarts.
“Has it come to your attention that you are in fact, being paid to teach at Hogwarts?”
Lupin did not reply, but looked sternly down his nose at Draco.
“I would assume,” Draco continued, “that despite how pathetic that salary might be, you might at least consider investing in some new robes. Not that I’ve had reason to frequent them myself of course, but I hear there are perfectly good second hand shops in Diagon Alley. I realize that it isn’t generally the Gryffindor way to be preoccupied with one’s appearance, but really, I feel that most students must find yours offensive, seeing as we are expected to actually learn from you.”
“Is that all, Mr. Malfoy?” Lupin raised an eyebrow at him. Draco recognized a challenge when he saw one.
“No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t. I was wondering about your parents as well. I can’t imagine you’re a pure blood, otherwise you wouldn’t find yourself in such dire straights financially, unless of course you’re a relative of the Weasley family. Now, I’m hoping you’re at least half-blood. I recognize that Dumbledore is a Muggle loving fool and all, so since I find myself unfortunately enrolled at this pathetic excuse for a learning environment, I will suffer through instruction from half-bloods. But even with my infinite patience I’m afraid I cannot stand the thought of learning magic from a Mudblood. You have to understand, the thought has really been of concern to me.
“Then there is the matter of your constant favouring of the Gryffindors, despite clearly having been sorted into the wrong house yourself. You’re having us bloody up parents, trolls and classmates, but you apparently quiver at the sight of glowing balls? Not very brave, Lupin. Did you have a bad experience with Trelawney after a round of fire-whisky? She show you where she keeps her special crystal balls hidden?”
The nervous classroom tittered at that, and subtly glanced around at each other, wondering what had gotten into Malfoy. He wasn’t really saying anything unusual, but he was generally more careful around teachers, a comment thrown in here and there, but saving this sort of speech for more harmless prey.
“No, that couldn’t be it, could it?” Draco continued. “It’s Potter you have a special relationship with, isn’t it? I heard you were giving him some extra lessons, Professor. I heard you were helping him deal with big bad Dementors so he won’t faint and pass out when they take Mummy away from him again. Where do you slip that chocolate you keep for him, Professor?”
Lupin’s eyes were now the narrowest Draco could imagine they could get. Their eyes met, their glares even.
“Detention, Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin said calmly, betraying nothing. “Saturday night, I think.”
“Right after supper?” Draco sneered, rolling his eyes.
“That will do.”
Lupin returned to his book as if the whole outburst had been a figment of the students’ imagination.

+++++

Saturday could not possibly have flown by faster. Draco sat at the Slytherin table at dinner, barely even picking at the meal before him, his stomach in a painful knot.
“Uh...Draco?” Crabbe asked tentatively.
Draco grunted in his general direction.
“Uhh...you’ve been acting a little....funny....since the whole....“Potter” thing...” he trailed off uncertainly. “You’re not still mad are you? It just seemed like...the best thing to do...”
Draco glanced up at him, barely registering the words. “No, I’m not angry about that.”
Draco in fact, hadn’t lost any face at all in light of the so-called “Potter thing”. In fact, most of the students found the idea that an image of Draco could be horrified into destruction by turning into an image of Potter to be highly amusing. Except Potter of course, he was noticeably offended by the whole thing, which was just the icing on the cake, really.
“Okay...” Crabbe trailed off again, seemingly unable to form a full sentence.
Draco waved a hand in disinterest. “Just thinking about this bloody detention, is all.”
He wondered vaguely why he was bothering to reassure the oaf. After all, no one could have predicted the favourable response to the “Potter” thing. He had really put Malfoy’s reputation in jeopardy.
“Okay...what made you talk in class like that, anyway?”
Draco raised an eyebrow at the surprisingly bold question. “Dunno. Just fed up with this fucking school I suppose. Needed to get something out.”
Crabbe seemed to accept that, but continued to look at him with large, uncertain eyes.
“You sure you’re not mad?”
Draco rolled his eyes and ignored him, then briefly wondered how far this annoying worship of him could actually be pushed. An image of Crabbe on his knees in front of him flashed through his mind. Surely if anyone could bend to him, but keep it quiet...
Banishing the disturbing thought from his mind, Draco suddenly was back to feeling ill and not only due to the impending meeting with Professor Lupin. No, that really wouldn’t do at all. He glanced over at Parkinson, her breasts already starting to become noticeable through her school robes. He pulled them off of her with his eyes. Imagining a sea of female flesh. She would never in a million years turn him down even if he walked up to her right now, in the middle of dinner and threw her across the table. He fixed that image in his mind. Nothing? Was he truly so far gone that the disgusting image of Crabbe in all his mentally stunted, pudgy glory was actually preferable? Fuck fuck fuck.

Part 2

Very quick rec post.

2007-10-09T12:48:18Z

Some of my new favourite Snupin:

Still Life by The Treacle Tart.

Midnight in the Owelry, also by The Treacle Tart.

Adagio by Xochiquetzl.

Lubrifico: My first fic in a LONG time!

2007-09-01T21:15:33Z

Title: Lubrifico
Pairing: Draco/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ron makes the mistake of pulling out a familiar sounding spell during a duel with Draco. The results are not exactly what he had been anticipating.
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 2500
Disclaimer: I hope no one is actually “labouring under the delusion” that I am in any way affiliated with J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with her naked characters *grin*.
Notes: It used to make me laugh how often the sentence “he murmured a quick preparation spell” occurred in Harry Potter fic. So convenient this magic is! Then I got to thinking, what would happen if someone did a little more than murmur that spell, or better yet, used it as a weapon? This started as a very silly little fic and quickly turned into a PWP. I hope you enjoy it.

LUBRIFICO

    Goddamn Malfoy. Every curse he threw at Ron seemed to be aimed to perfection, unlike Ron’s which seemed to be bouncing off everything in sight as he ducked in every which direction trying to avoid and attack at the same time. Malfoy, goddamn him, looked almost bored.

    “Is this the best you can do, Weasley? A little pathetic, even for you. I knew you wouldn’t put up much of a fight without Saint Potter to protect you, but this is just abysmal.”

    Ron’s face grew even redder as he struggled to land even one hex that would knock the smirk off the other boy’s face.

    They had run into each other - quite literally - on the stairs to the seventh floor. Ron had made a valiant attempt to get by him with no incident, being alone and seeing that Malfoy was for once without any cronies, he figured that the other boy wouldn’t be in the mood for a fight either. Unfortunately Malfoy had brushed up close against him and whispered, “Fucked Granger yet, Weasley? I’d be careful, I hear that a muddy cunt can do awful things to a tiny prick.”

    His immediate reaction had been to grab Malfoy by the shoulder and to fling him as far as he could, the direct result being Malfoy tumbling down approximately three steps before he righted himself, and knocked Ron flat on his back with a well-placed stun.

    “Honestly Weasley,” Malfoy had drawled, “fighting like a Muggle? That’s beneath even you I would say.”

    And that brought them pretty much up to the present time. Ron was thinking that he would very much like to be fighting like a Muggle as he did what appeared to be a creative tap dance routine trying to avoid Malfoy’s hexes. The other boy was just too sure-footed, even balanced on two steps. Ron tried desperately to think of a spell he knew to knock Malfoy off balance. He suddenly remembered a DA meeting where they had learned how to make the floor beneath an opponent’s feet become slippery and treacherous. That would probably do the trick. If only he paid more attention to Hermione! He was fairly certain he remembered the gist of it though. He aimed his wand at the floor under Malfoy and, while dodging a nasty looking stunner, cried, “LUBRIFICO!”

    Of course the spell that Ron had aimed at the floor was the only one that ended up hitting Malfoy square in the chest. Draco stopped attacking suddenly, his mouth dropped open and his face went pale. Ron’s brief moment of triumph vanished as he became aware that the floor was clearly still its solid self and Malfoy’s knees were buckling.

    “What did you do?” Malfoy squeaked.

    “I-I don’t know,” Ron stammered. “Are you alright? I just wanted to make the floor under you become all slippery...and stuff.”

    “Lubrifico? LubriPLANCO you idiot!” Malfoy yelled, his voice unusually high, even for him. Ron noticed that he was now holding onto the wall for support and there was a desperate (although granted, furious) look in his eyes.

    “Do you even know what that spell does you moron?” Malfoy hissed.

    Ron wracked his brain. He knew that spell had sounded familiar for a reason, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The fear was starting to build a bit. Malfoy was looking even paler and more strained than usual, and he had no idea what he’d done. Not that he was concerned for Malfoy’s safety, but if he had unwittingly used a curse that Hermione had found in the Restricted Section of the library, he was going to be in loads of trouble. Plus, Malfoy looked about ready to jump down his throat.

    Suddenly it came to him, and his face turned the same colour as his hair. It wasn’t a curse at all, it was a spell that he had read about in a men’s magazine that he kept hidden at the very bottom of his trunk. Fred and George had gleefully bought it for him when they had caught him jerking off to a slightly....controversial photo, although in a move very unlike themselves had never mentioned the event again.

    When he realized what he had done to Malfoy, that the other boy’s obvious discomfort had nothing to do with pain, his embarrassment quickly faded and he burst into enthusiastic laughter.

    “You think this is funny do you?” Malfoy sputtered.

    “Yes, I do rather,” he choked out, though his guffaws. Unfortunately he had completely let his guard down and had no time whatsoever to react when Malfoy flourished his wand in a figure eight and cried, “LUBRIFICO MAXIMA!”

    The smile fell from Ron’s face as quickly as it had come. Malfoy’s smirk spread from ear to ear. “How funny are you finding it now, Weasley?”

    Not very. He suddenly felt slick and stretched wide, eager to be filled. Desperate to be filled in fact. He found himself gripping the wall for support, trying not to slide to his knees, the longing resounding through every pore in his body.

   He was dimly aware of Malfoy sauntering over to him, obviously far less effected by the spell than he himself. “Now where would a prudish Gryffindor learn a spell like that?” he asked silkily. “I’m sure the Mudblood didn’t teach it to you.”

    He still had enough control to reach for Malfoy’s throat.

    “Don’t call her that!” he cried.

    Unfortunately, he realized too late that pulling Malfoy toward him had not been a good idea at all. He was suddenly acutely aware of Draco’s rough scent, the feel of the skin beneath his fingers, slick with sweat. Malfoy’s mouth was inches away from his, and the fact that it was twisted into an ugly smirk was doing nothing to curb his building arousal.

    “Like this do you?” Malfoy mocked him. “Where did you learn the spell? Surely you’re not going to tell me you’ve been with another man before? I very much doubt you’ve even touched a woman.”

    Ron glared, but it was unconvincing beside his ragged breathing and flushed face.

    “It was in a magazine I have,” he finally answered honestly. Not thinking he was really in the appropriate mental state to concoct a graphic lie about his nonexistent sexual escapades.

    “Hmmm,” Malfoy mused, looking Ron provocatively in the eyes, still inches away from his face. “I’m impressed, Weasley. I wouldn’t have thought you’d figure out you’re a fruit this quickly. Even though it’s plain to the rest of the school.”

    Ron’s anger flared, even as he tried frantically not to buck his hips into Malfoy’s which were so bloody close.

    “And you, Malfoy? You’re a perfectly straight bastard? You obviously know that spell better than I do. I didn’t even know there was a “maxima” version.”

    Malfoy smiled and purred, “I learned the heightened version from one of my male lovers. Lubrifico alone, which you just ineptly performed, serves only to lubricate and spread the passage. But, as you’re clearly experiencing right now, the Lubrifico Maxima, does not only that, but also creates an intense, burning desire to be fucked. You can’t find it in those little magazines of yours because it’s illegal, used too often to take advantage. But it is very popular among those who do not wish to waste time with foreplay. You feel it now don’t you? You feel like someone has been teasing your cock with his tongue for hours and all you need in this world is to be fucked so hard you don’t remember your own name.”

    Ron took in a sharp breath.

    “You would like that, wouldn’t you Weasel?” Malfoy breathed, leaning in so that his lips were just barely brushing against Ron’s as he spoke. “You would love it if I forced my hard cock into your tight little arse right here on these stairs, wouldn’t you? Do you think you could take it?”

    Ron let out a yelp as Malfoy’s hand found his erection and stroked it slowly, torturing him. Through the haze of his lust he wanted to ask who these male lovers were. He wanted to know how Malfoy could so calmly admit to the preferences Ron had been desperately trying to hide from everyone, including himself, for years. Suddenly more than anything he wanted Malfoy to show him what it was like. And Malfoy knew exactly what this spell was doing to him. He had cast it himself, so really could Ron feel any shame at giving in to the effects?

    “Yes,” Draco continued, “you need it don’t you? Do you want me to take away that horrible empty feeling Weasel? I know how you feel. You’re so open, so exposed even though you’re fully clothed. Your longing for a hard cock is unbearable. You need it so badly. I can feel your need right here.”

    Draco continued to stroke him through his robes, and Ron thought he was going to pass out from the combination of pleasure and the desperate need that it did nothing to quell. Without warning, he found himself spun around and pressed flat against the cold stone of the wall, with something very hard pressing suggestively against his back.

    “Do you want me to fuck you, Ron?” Draco’s voice was almost unrecognizably low. He couldn’t force himself to answer, but didn’t protest when his robes were lifted up and he felt hands around his waist, undoing his trousers. It wasn’t until cold air hit his bare flesh and he felt the tip of Draco’s cock pressing insistently against his entrance that he was jolted to reality and felt a sudden jab of panic.

    “Draco, I...you know I....” he stammered.

    “Having second thoughts?” Malfoy breathed into his ear.

    “No, but even with the spell,” he gulped, “you know I’m still a virgin, right?”

    Malfoy snorted. “Shocking, Weasley. Are you saying you want it gentle?”

    The obvious mocking in Draco’s voice made Ron growl and push back against him.

    “Hmmm, eager,” Draco commented, planting his hands solidly on Ron’s hips.

    Ron realized how desperately he wanted this, at any speed, and tried his best to keep quiet as Malfoy entered him, agonizingly slowly despite his mockery.

    Ron let out a low moan as the coarse hair at the base of Malfoy’s cock brushed his skin. The torturous desperation of the spell faded away now that he was stretched and full as he had so longed to be, and that feeling was replaced with something totally different.

    “Gods, move! Please Draco, move!” he cried out.

    Draco grinned and pulled out just as slowly as he had pushed in. “You said you wanted gentle.”

    “I did not!” Ron roared, and thrust backwards, impaling himself on Draco.

    It had the desired effect. Draco’s fingers dug into his hips as he thrust into Ron with abandon, totally forgetting himself and his dignified composure. Ron cried out again and again until Draco clamped a hand over his mouth, worried that they would be interrupted by some teacher thinking a student was being murdered. Over and over, Malfoy brutally assaulted Ron’s prostate until he growled, “Fuck yes!” and sank his teeth into Ron’s shoulder to hide his shout as he climaxed. Ron felt himself filled with hot semen and Draco collapsed against him. He moaned in frustration, grinding his hips into the cold stone, so close to climax himself.

    “Would you like something?” Malfoy drawled into his ear, allowing himself to slip from Ron’s body and sounding very smug indeed. Ron was pleased to hear the Slytherin so short of breath and to see the pale skin of his face so red.

    “You know what I want, Malfoy,” he said in a voice which he hoped sounded low and demanding, rather than raspy and needy as he felt.

    “Well,” said Draco, raising an eyebrow, “since you took my cock like such a good little bitch...”

    Suddenly in one motion Malfoy was on his knees and had swallowed Ron’s cock to the root. With no hand clamped over his mouth, Ron let out a try that echoed around the corridors as he came into Draco’s mouth. With a stunning amount of grace for such a lewd act, Draco turned his head and spat Ron’s seed against the wall.

    “Oh Merlin,” Ron murmured as he sank down to the ground, unable to control his legs.

    “Just Draco will do,” Malfoy said with a smirk, and they stayed there, reveling for a few moments.

    “Well that was unexpected,” Ron commented unnecessarily.

    “Yes, I had no idea that such things could come from your being such a bloody awful dueler.”

    Ron let the barb slide off him and chuckled.

    “Come off it Malfoy, you know you wanted that as badly as I did.”

    “Not quite,” Malfoy sneered, but there was no venom in it. Ron suddenly remembered how they had gotten there in the first place.

    “Are you alright?” he asked. “I mean, I hit you with the same spell, do you need me to...” he trailed off, trying to keep the childlike hope out of his voice.

    “Sorry to disappoint you Weasley,” Malfoy smirked. “Your pitiful attempt at the charm had worn off by the time I was pushing my cock into your arse.”

    “Fine,” Ron said evenly, “but that means that you wanted me that badly without the influence of a spell.”

    Draco raise an eyebrow, but didn’t deny it. “If that’s how you want to look at it. I wasn’t begging for your cock.”

    “That’s not quite how I remember it.”

    “You still surrendered your honour to an "evil" Slytherin. I wonder if you’ll have the Gryffindor stones to confess that to the Mudblood?”

    With a self-satisfied smirk, he bounced up and walked off in the other direction. “Thanks for the shag Weasel, be seeing you around.”

    “Draco wait!” Ron jumped up and cried out, with an edge of desperation in his voice.

    Malfoy slowly turned, his urge to gloat gleaming plainly on his face. He was totally unprepared when Ron whipped his wand into his hand and shouted, “LUBRIFICO MAXIMA!”

    Draco fell against the wall in stunned shock, his legs already beginning to quake, a look of horror on his face.
Ron stalked towards him with a decidedly un-Gryffindorish evil grin. Draco cowered away from him, but Ron grabbed his face and forced him into a passionate kiss. He smiled inwardly when he felt Draco give in and return the kiss needily. Ron spun him around and pressed him harshly against the wall.

    “Did I do it right that time?” he whispered into Draco’s ear as he rubbed his already hardening cock against the other boy.

    “Much better,” Draco said, unprotesting as Ron undid his trousers and pushed them down. “But the wand movement is still all wrong.”

    Ron slowly entered Draco’s body, hissing at the feeling of being sheathed in hot tightness for the first time. “Will you help me practice?”

    Draco writhed back against him.

    “Fuck yes.”

Rec

2007-08-15T03:29:07Z

I am now in love with Cybele's Harry/Snape fic. Normally kinky fic feels forced to me and kinky for the sake of being kinky rather than hot, but "Something to Write On" and especially "Quills and Ink" somehow make it work while at the same time inventing a whole new use for magic. Thoroughly enjoyable indeed.

Plug

2004-07-29T04:27:11Z

Everyone should check out "It's Just A Jump to the Left" by kimberly_a. I haven't been so intrigued by a Spike/Xander fic in a long time. It's available on her community kimberly_fan.

That's all I got. Short'n'Sweet!