Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, staring moodily at the sputtering flames that were attempting to unify into something a bit more impressive. Usually gazing into the enormous stone fireplace that lay like a gaping mouth at one end of the room was a bit like looking through a window and into hell (perfect for pacing moodily in front of while plotting ones next great defeat at the hands of good) but the entire effect was decidedly underwhelming today.

This could of course be because leather doesn’t burn particularly well.

The large box Draco had so quickly written of as more underclothes had turned out to contain a pair of pants. Black as sin, too tight for an anorexic pixie, absolutely indecent.

And leather.

Draco was insulted. The author hadn’t even bothered to try to explain where they had come from. What a perfectly obvious attempt to make him step out of character and into the wide realm of exhibitionism, where despite his undying vanity he had no desire to go.

His first act upon deciding that he would probably be just as safe in the rest of the dormitory suite as he was hiding in bed had been to throw the bloody things in the fire. Upon further reflection, he supposed he should have saved them and sold them to the highest bidder. With all the strange behavior among his classmates lately, he was sure he could’ve found someone who wanted them once classes were back in session. With a final gusty sigh over chances lost, he pulled his chair closer to a nearby table and turned his laptop back on.

The fact that he had one was a blatant mistake on the part of the author. The very idea of wizards who couldn’t even figure out how to hold a telephone having computers was an inexcusable slip-up on someone's part. On the one had, Draco wished he wasn’t giving into the deluded author on even a little issue like this, but on the other, he felt that in this case he was justified in not looking in the gift horse’s mouth.

He was collecting information.

Dear god, this stuff is awful. As if I’d ever send him roses! Besides, I’m allergic. Writing this story off as unimportant, he hit the backspace button and continued perusing the archives.

“Done that… tried that… No *way* am I visiting the astronomy tower... hinges on the pants anyway- Which I burned!” (this last was shouted to the world in general and the author in particular.) “I’m not an insomniac, so that one’s out... and... oh disgusting!”

//...your tongue continues to trace its slow way across my collarbone. As you follow an achingly slow path back up to my mouth, I close my eyes so all I can do is feel. Your fingers push their way into the space between the buttons of my robe and encounter the fabric of my long-sleeved shirt. It hardly matters that it’s there- I could feel your touch through a wall of stone...//

This is supposed to be us?

//...you’re so near, I can’t help but kiss you...//

“Draco?”

//...kiss you...//

“Hey, Draco!”

“Huh?”

“Um. I don’t think most people sit quite so close to the screen.”

“Oh.”

“And your mouth was hanging open. Are you falling asleep or something?”

“Maybe he’s sick. Does he look a little flushed to you?”

“Shut up! I’m just fine.” Draco slammed the laptop shut. It closed with a smug sounding click.

“Ummm… Drae?”

Draco rolled his eyed. “Greg, you’ve never called me Drae in your life. And I will take steps to ensure you never do again, if necessary.”

“Okay, er, Draco. ...What’s in the fireplace?”

The Slytherin grandfather clock was a masterpiece in its own right. Large, old, and with a booming chime specifically designed to awaken reluctant minions of the Dark Lord from their disturbed slumber, it sat in the hall that connected the fourteen dormitories, ensuring that everyone had an equal chance at being annoyed and ticking out its wicked thoughts with an old man’s cackling laugh. Draco had tried, unsuccessfully, to tip the thing over during his first week at school.

At the moment it was striking two.

Below in the deserted common room, something went ‘Ouch.’

Draco sat up in bed.

A floorboard creaked. A door conspicuously tried not to groan as it was nudged open. He reached for his wand.

Nothing happened.

After a suitably off-putting amount of time, the drapes around Draco’s four-poster began to move.

Draco, however, was ready for this. Moving with patented seeker speed, he flicked the curtains out of his way and brandished his wand at the empty air.

“Adicern!” He shouted, flailing about himself angrily. A spray of green sparks shot into the air, drifting down like powdered sugar and creating the outline of a figure standing at the foot of the bed. “I know it’s you, Potter.”

“Drat,” said a slightly muffled voice, and a moment later the form became very definitely that of Harry Potter as he shook off both Draco's tiny lights and his invisibility cloak. “That wasn’t a real spell!”

“So? Authors like this one are always making up their own spells.”

“Point conceded. How did you know I was coming?”

“I did a little research.” Draco kept his wand trained on the other boy. “How did you get in?”

Harry looked confused. “I don’t know. Everything was just sort of... open, you know?”

“No.”

“No? Well then, maybe I overheard-”

“Don’t think so. Greg and Vincent have been here with me all day, and you’ll notice that this place is otherwise conveniently empty.”

“Perhaps-“

“You don’t know, do you?”

Harry blushed. “Well, you don’t know either! This is just where the author chose to start the scene! We don’t have to worry about what was going on before now!”

“That’s a slipshod way of writing.”

“I agree. Useful, though.” Harry grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Draco poked him in the chest with his wand. “Get up right now.”

“What? I’m only sitting.”

“Oh, sure, you’re only sitting *now.* But in a minute it’ll be ‘I’m just moving over a little bit,’ and then ‘I’m just going to lie down for a minute,’ and then... don’t give me that look!”

“What look?”

“That glazed-over, I’d-really-like-to-jump-you-now look.”

“Oh. This look?”

Harry was leaning forward, his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Draco. Draco couldn’t help but stare into the beautiful green eyes before him... Wait a minute… since when to I think his eyes are beautiful? Since when do I think Since when do I think about my own thoughts? I know what I’m thinking, don’t I? Ack! He rolled out of the way just in the nick of time, knocking the steadily advancing Harry onto his face and falling off the bed in the process. “That’s it. Out. Now!”

There was a momentary pause as his nemesis lay with his face smashed into a pillow. “It smells like you,” he commented indistinctly.

“I’ll thank you to stop having sick fantasies about my bed.”

“They’re not sick.” Harry clarified, rolling over. He blinked. “Did you know there’s mistletoe hanging over your bed?”

“It won’t be the only thing hanging if you’re not out of here before I finish this spell.”

“Alright already! You win for tonight.” He stood up. “But remember, I have to win eventually. Otherwise this whole story will have been a waste of time.”

It will if I have anything to say about it!”

Harry turned back around in the doorway. Framed by the dim light of the hallway, his face seemed softer than usual. “I love you.”

“The feeling,” Draco responded. “Is *not* mutual.”

”I love you,” Harry said from his place in the doorway as he turned to walk away.

“Harry,” Draco whispered. “No, wait.”

The length of the room melted into nothing as they turned to each other. Draco was painfully aware of the strength of his heartbeat. And then the other boy was on him, pushing him backwards onto the bed as their lips and mouths connected for the first time, and nothing had ever felt half so good in his life. Then there was nothing but taste and feeling and Harry, Harry, Harry...

Draco sat bold upright. It was dark, deep night. And he was thankfully, blessedly alone in the blackness. He could feel the sweat gathering on his forehead. He took a quick, soothing gulp of air cold dungeon air.

“Oh, now that’s mature.” He told the bedroom. “Couldn’t get me to really do anything so you write me the sappiest dream you can think of? Well maybe not sappy, but certainly...” his brain abandoned his mouth. Surely it was too late to be arguing with an author? Reluctantly, he lay back down.

Certainly... something...

Over the course of the next few days, Draco became sinkingly aware of the fact that nobody was on his side. The depth of the faculty’s hatred for him seemed to him to be measured by the lengths they were willing to go to to get him and his rival together. The final blow had come the morning after the night that would not be named.

He knew absolutely that it had been ridiculous to think he could hide from this author.

“For the last time,” he explained patiently to his two friends, “Hogwarts does not celebrate the New Year.”

“Well, they are today,” Vince said stubbornly. “And we’re *making* you go.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“We’re not thinking about it. We’re doing it.” Goyle explained patiently, pushing Draco out of the common room.

“Shame you burned those pants,” Crabbe remarked, casting a final look around the room before following the other two out. “You could’ve worn them.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I thank god for small favors.”

Draco had to admit that someone had put a lot of effort into this considering the number of students in attendance (perhaps thirty total... unless it was ten. The population of Hogwarts fluctuated even on a good day.) It was even beautiful, in an overpowering, my god why didn’t someone stop them kind of way. Every spare inch glittered and shone.

He was most earnestly longing to break character and pull out a pair of sunglasses, but he felt the author had mucked things up quite enough for one evening, though it was barely ten, and already things were breaking up. The teachers had almost all gone to bed, and the few students who were still hanging about appeared mostly to be interested in watching him and Harry.

Draco was making sure they had very little to watch.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so good?”

Draco looked up from the confetti covered tablecloth. Dear lord, not Snape. Of all the characters entangled in this bloody mess, Snape was perhaps the most grossly misrepresented of all. This was amply evidenced by the twinkle in his eye as he pronounced Draco’s final sentence.

“The party is, I believe, almost over. I must stay to clean up, but there’s no reason to detain you. However, as I can’t have you wandering the halls alone... Mr. Potter will escort you.”

Was that a smile?

Then again, maybe Snape was the same sadistic man he had always been.

“But Professor! I won’t be alone! It’ll be me and Crabbe and Goyle!”

“I’m afraid they left long ago. Destination: Astronomy Tower, I believe.”

Draco glared daggers. “Potter! Get over here. We’re leaving. Try to hold my hand and die.”

They walked side by side, perfectly quiet, through the long hallways leading to the dungeons.

“That,” Harry said finally “Was pretty bad.”

“Well, it’ll all be over soon.”

“I know.”

“Don’t sound so upset, Potter. We both know that this isn’t really right.”

“It is for me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You don’t get it, do you?!” They had stopped walking now, glaring at each other, strangers across a not-so-crowded hallway. “I’ve been waiting for an author like this! Granted, the writing leaves something to be desired...”

“Yeah, like me. And I’m staying that way.” Draco spun halfway round on his heel, striding down the hallway as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run.

“Yes, like you!” Harry was catching up. “I’ve needed to tell you this for a long time, and what have I gotten? Parodies, mysteries, comedies, fluff with Ginny Weasley! I can’t wait until we get another slasher! You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Of course I know that!” Draco snapped over his shoulder. “Now leave me alone.” He had turned the final corner... the suit of armor that guarded the door was in view...

“You’re not giving me a chance!”

“Because I don’t need to!”

“Yes you do!” Harry had caught up to him, was grabbing for his hand, forcing him to stop again. “Just- look I know it’s asking a lot, but- just give me one kiss.”

Cornered, Draco finally looked at the other boy. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because... I don’t know! Because if I do- and if I... No. I just won’t.” Wrenching his hand free with a painful jerk he made a break for the safety of Slytherin house, slamming the inner door shut behind him.

Because if I do... and if I like it... I can’t. I wouldn’t! I won’t sink to this writer’s level. I can’t...