Дженнифер (zhonnika) wrote in hd_holidays,

Happy H/D Holidays oddnari!! | Draco Malfoy is a Stupid Wanker - R

Title: Draco Malfoy is a Stupid Wanker
Author: emmagrant01
Gift for: oddnari
Pairing: Harry/Draco (and a brief mention of Harry/Ginny)
Rating: R
Summary: Romilda Vane's crush on Harry Potter evolves into a slashy obsession.
Length: ~7000 words

Notes: Set during HBP. Oddnari's list of requests was long, but one thing really stood out to me was that she said she'd love a fic that featured Romilda Vane. This may not have been what she had in mind, but I hope she will enjoy it anyway! Other author notes are placed at the end. Thanks to R and M for the betas!


She wasn't quite sure how it had happened. One day, Romilda Vane had simply had a normal schoolgirl crush on Harry Potter. She'd daydreamed about him, giggled with her friends over pictures of him she'd cut from the pages of Witch Weekly, and plotted ways to catch his attention. And then sometime between Slughorn's Christmas party and the month of March, it had developed into something else entirely, something she found she couldn't tell anyone about, let alone explain to herself.

And now there was no going back.


"Look, he's here!"

Rebecca Entwistle jabbed Romilda with her elbow, and she turned to see that Harry Potter had just entered the Gryffindor common room. He was still wearing his Quidditch kit and looked oddly glum considering that they'd just beaten Slytherin. Romilda smoothed out her hair, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

Unfortunately, every other member of Gryffindor house stepped forward with her, and she found her path blocked. She glowered at the younger students in her way and pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on her goal. The girls were all staring at Harry, starry-eyed and giggly, while the boys slapped him on the back and congratulated him for his wisdom at selecting Ron Weasley as keeper (though Romilda wasn't so sure about that), and on the smashing victory. Harry seemed not to be listening, though -- he was looking around with a strained expression on his face, and not really hearing what people were saying at all.

He glanced in Romilda's direction, and she plastered on her most brilliant smile. His eyes widened a bit when he saw her and he took a step backward.

"Harry!" she called, stepping into the gap left by the first year whose toe she'd just stomped on. "Brilliant game today. I just love the way you hover above it all and shout instructions down at everyone."

"Erm," he replied, looking around again. He was shy for a hero. Romilda liked that about him. "I was looking for the snitch, actually."

"Right, of course. That's what I meant." She didn't know much about Quidditch, but she could fake it well. She smiled expectantly.

He blinked at her. "Right. Thanks."

He started to turn away, and she stepped in front of him. "So you're going to Slughorn's party, aren't you? I was just telling Rebecca during the game--" She shot Rebecca a sharp glance and her friend leapt forward, effectively blocking Harry's escape route. "--how fascinating I find Professor Slughorn."

"Um…" Harry was still looking around the room.

"And I was saying how fantastic it would be to have a chance to go to that Christmas party he's planning, wasn't I?"

"She was," Rebecca added, nodding.

"And I know you're going and that you don't have a date yet. I mean, you haven't asked anyone to go, that I know of. So if you--"

"Sorry, but I'm really thirsty," Harry said, stepping between Romilda and Rebecca. "Excuse me." And with that, he headed across the room and nearly collided with Ginny Weasley.

"That went well," Rebecca said.

Romilda tossed her hair over her shoulder. "He just went to fetch a drink. He'll be right back."

But he didn't come back. He talked to Ginny for a moment, and then looked across the room to where she was pointing at a tangle of arms and legs in the corner. It was a moment before the pair were recognizable as Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown.

"When did that happen?" Romilda whispered, nudging Rebecca with her elbow.

Before Rebecca could answer, Hermione Granger came storming past, bumping the two of them as she did.

"Hey!" Rebecca called after her. She shook her head. "Just because she's a prefect, she thinks--"

Harry was heading right toward them, though, and Romilda squeaked with delight. "See, I told you he'd-- Hi, Harry!"

But Harry kept walking past them, following Hermione out the portrait hole. They watched the portrait swing closed again.

Romilda folded her arms over her chest. "He's got a lot on his mind, I suppose."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Like Hermione Granger?"

"They're just friends," Romilda said, a bit more venom in her voice than she'd intended. "Harry's going to ask me to that party. And even if he doesn't, I have a plan."

"A plan?" Rebecca's eyes lit up. "What kind of plan?"

"Fetch me a butterbeer and I'll tell you."

Rebecca skipped away, and Romilda turned back to the portrait hole with a sigh. She didn't have a plan, truth be told. She had tried everything to get Harry's attention, but it was like he didn't even notice her.


"So has he asked you yet?" Eleanor Midgeworth was gazing at Romilda through her thick glasses, having all but abandoned listening to Professor Binns's lecture.

Romilda's smile exuded confidence. "He's so shy. I know he wanted to ask me Saturday, but there were just too many people around at the party."

"Not to mention that he went chasing after Hermione Granger before he got a chance," Rebecca muttered, scribbling notes on a long roll of parchment. Romilda ignored the comment; she needed to stay in Rebecca's good graces so she could copy those notes later.

"Maybe he'll ask you today," Eleanor said, a dreamy expression on her face.

There was a snicker from the row in front of them, and a coiffed blonde turned to sneer at them. "You're completely delusional, you know that?"

"Shut up, Penelope," Rebecca spat, glaring at her.

Penelope ignored her and kept her gaze firmly on Romilda. "He's not going to ask you to that party, so you might as well stop daydreaming."

Romilda hated Penelope Prewitt for more reasons than she could count, starting with a particularly nasty incident in potions first year that still made Romilda angry to think about. She didn't hate Slytherins as a rule, like some of her friends did, but Penelope was the one person she planned to hex if she ever caught her alone. "Think he'll ask you, do you?"

Penelope exchanged a glance with a long-faced girl sitting next to her, and they both burst into giggles. In some lessons, that would have earned them detention, but one could set a fire in one of Professor Binns's lessons and he probably wouldn't notice. Penelope's expression was almost gleeful. "Are you deficient? Potter hasn't asked anyone to that party, and he isn't going to do."

"How would you know?" Rebecca said, raising her voice far more than she usually dared during a lesson.

Penelope turned to Rebecca, which was an unusual occurrence -- she never acknowledged the existence of Muggleborns if she could help it. "How can you be in the same house as Potter, and not know?"

"Not know what?"

Penelope turned back to Romilda, her expression one of supreme smugness. "That Potter's gay."

It took Romilda a moment to find her tongue again. "Harry Potter is not gay!" she spat. Several heads turned toward them, and Romilda lowered her voice, cheeks flushing. "How dare you spread such a nasty rumor about him!"

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Nasty, is it? I thought you Gryffindors were a tolerant sort."

"Harry Potter isn't gay," Romilda whispered, leaning across her desk now. "You're a filthy liar."

"I am not."

"Oh? Whatever happened to your cousin from America who was going to come to Hogwarts this year?"

"Yeah," Rebecca added. "Mary something-or-other, wasn't it?"

Penelope sniffed and looked uncomfortable. "There was a change of plans, though it's none of your business."

Romilda smirked. She'd always thought Penelope had made up that cousin just to get attention.

"At least I'm not in love with a boy who'll never notice me." Penelope leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Think about it, Vane. He's the hero of the Wizarding World, and he could have any girl he wanted. Girls throw themselves at him all the time, but he just ignores them. He's never even had a proper girlfriend."

"He's far too busy for that," Romilda said with a sniff. "And besides, he dated Cho Chang last year, didn't he?"

The girl sitting next to Penelope snickered. "Not to hear her tell it. They snogged once, and he never made a move again."

Romilda tossed her hair over her shoulder. "That just means he's a gentleman."

"Then he's the only gentleman at Hogwarts," Penelope quipped. Several people around them giggled at that.

"Not everyone can be as experienced as you," Romilda retorted. Penelope responded with a rude gesture, and before any more words could be exchanged, Professor Binns floated their way.

Romilda picked up her quill and focused on the parchment in front of her, ignoring the whispers of everyone around her. It was too ridiculous even to consider. Harry Potter, gay? Honestly.


Try as she might, Romilda couldn't get Penelope's words out of her mind. Every time she saw Harry in the common room or passed him in the corridor, or saw him in whispered conversations with his friends Ron and Hermione (usually separately, as those two seemed not to be speaking to each other since Ron had started dating Lavender Brown), she couldn't help but wonder -- could it be true?

She never saw Harry talking with any girls other than Hermione and Ginny Weasley. He didn't watch girls in the way most boys did, either. He seemed wrapped up in his thoughts much of the time, staring into space and looking as if he were thinking rather hard.

He was probably quite clever, or something. Clever people weren't as social as others, from what Romilda had always heard.

And then one day she was in the library looking for a book she needed for an assignment when she overheard Harry and Hermione whispering on the other side of the shelf. She couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but she heard several mentions of the name "Malfoy". And then she clearly heard Hermione say, "You've got to stop thinking about Malfoy so much, and start worrying about--" The two wandered away before she could hear the rest of it.

Romilda bit her lip and clutched the copy of Ancient Runes and You! to her chest. Why was Harry Potter spending so much time thinking about Draco Malfoy, so much that one of his very best friends had to tell him to stop?

After that, she noticed Harry watching Draco at odd moments. He watched him across the Great Hall during meals. His eyes followed Draco when they passed in the corridors or emerged from classes together. And whenever Romilda had a chance to listen in on a conversation between Harry and one of his friends, Draco Malfoy seemed to be the main topic.

Draco himself seemed oblivious. He was looking tired and distracted, more so every day. But every now and then, he and Harry would look at each other as they passed in the hallway, and there was a sort of animosity between them that seemed to go far beyond schoolboy rivalry.

It all began to fit together. It was possible that Harry Potter was not only gay, but also in love with Draco Malfoy. Romilda didn't want to believe it -- it was too horrible to contemplate. Harry Potter, the hero of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, the probable Vanquisher of Lord Voldemort -- a poof?

Not if she had anything to say about it. His friends clearly knew and had done little to help him, but Romilda wouldn't sit idly by and let him go down this path of pain and loneliness. It just wouldn't do.

It was up to Romilda to save him from himself. And she knew exactly what he needed.


The girls in the bathroom crowded around, staring at Romilda in awe. "Wow! Where'd you get it?"

Romilda smoothed down her long hair and studied her reflection in the mirror. "From the Weasleys' shop in Diagon Alley, of course. They have all sorts of love potions."

"And you're going to slip it into his drink?" another girl asked, giggling. "That's so clever!"

"Does he make a habit of accepting drinks from strangers?" a red-headed third-year asked from the next mirror over, wiping a smudge of something dark and slimy from her forehead. "He's not very bright, is he?"

A flurry of chatter burst out, everyone offering a different idea for slipping a love potion to Harry Potter. Romilda smiled at her reflection, ignoring the giggling around her. Though she didn't expect to fail, she wouldn't mind if someone else got to Harry first. The important thing was that he'd have fallen in love with a girl by the end of the day. It just might be enough to convince him that he didn't have to be gay.

A toilet flushed behind her, and Hermione Granger stepped out of the stall. Her eyes met Romilda's in the mirror, and they stared at each other for a moment. Hermione didn't look pleased, but she turned and walked away, leaving the bathroom without so much as a word.


Romilda was waiting inside the common room door when Harry returned.

"Hi, Harry! Fancy a gillywater?" She held out the opened bottle and smiled brightly at him.

Hermione shot a look at him as she passed, but said nothing, which Romilda took as a good sign.

Harry looked back at her. "No thanks. I don't like it much."

Romilda was surprised -- after all, who didn't like gillywater? -- but she'd been prepared for such a setback. She held out a box of chocolate cauldrons that she'd been holding behind her back. "Well, take these anyway. Chocolate Cauldrons. They've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

"Oh, right. Thanks a lot." Harry took the cauldrons and stared down at them, a blank look on his face. "Er, I'm just going over here with ..." He trailed off and stumbled after Hermione.

Romilda stifled a grin as he walked away. That had been far easier than she'd expected. By dinner time, with any luck, he'd be begging her to go to that party with him, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy banished from his mind.

But that wasn't what happened at all. She'd waited expectantly that night when he walked into the Great Hall for dinner, but nothing had happened. In fact, he'd spent most of his meal staring at Draco Malfoy.

Either he hadn't eaten the chocolate cauldrons, or love potions didn't work on boys who were… gay.

She slumped into her seat, the breath knocked out of her. So that was it, then. He really was gay, and there was nothing she could do about it. She stared glumly into her pumpkin juice for several minutes, ignoring the chattering of her friends around her.

"What's with you?" Rebecca asked at last, nudging her. Romilda shrugged, and Rebecca patted her on the shoulder. "It didn't work, then?"

"No," Romilda replied. She started to say something more, but stopped herself. It wasn't any use, but it was pointless to explain that to Rebecca. "It's just a stupid party, anyway. Who cares?"

"Oh, a lot of people! It's all they ever talk about. In fact, did you hear that Hermione's going with--"

She half-listened to Rebecca's gossip about who was dating whom, but her eyes were focused on Harry.

Harry Potter was gay. He liked boys. It wasn't so shocking, the more she thought about it. Actually, it was kind of sweet. She wondered if his friends knew, and if they accepted him for who he was. They didn't seem too happy about his crush on Draco, but she could hardly blame them. Draco Malfoy was, after all, a stupid wanker. Harry Potter deserved someone much better, someone smarter and nicer, and more interesting.

But who? There weren't any other gay boys at Hogwarts, as far as she knew. She'd have to think on it. Perhaps she could help him find a boyfriend.

"And even if you don't get invited," Rebecca was saying, "a lot of people haven't, cool people even. Like--"

Across the room, Draco leaned over to whisper something to a boy sitting beside him. The two of them looked over at Harry, and then exchanged a grin. Romilda glanced over at Harry to see that he was staring back, an expression akin to suspicion, even jealousy, on his face.

Romilda shook her head. Draco probably knew how Harry felt, and he was toying with him. Wanker.


Romilda's eyes darted back and forth between the two boys. They hated each other and always had; that was something everyone knew. But what if it was all an act to hide how they really felt about each other?

"What do you know about Draco Malfoy?" Romilda asked, interrupting Rebecca's stream of gossip.

Rebecca looked startled for a split second, but didn't miss a beat. "Oh, loads. He doesn't have a girlfriend, though people are always talking about him and Pansy Parkinson. No one's ever seen them so much as snog, from what I hear. Why, do you like him? I don't think he was invited to--"

Romilda smiled. Maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't such a wanker after all.


"Luna Lovegood?" Romilda dropped her potions text onto the table and gaped in amazement. "You're joking!"

Rebecca was flushed with excitement at being the first to share this new gossip. "Can you believe it? I can't believe he actually likes her."

"No, no -- they're just friends. We saw them sitting together in the train compartment last September, didn't we?"

"Yes, but if he asked her to the party--"

"He doesn't like her like that," Romilda snapped, drawing a look of surprise from Rebecca. "He just… needed to ask someone, and she's his friend. That's all."

Rebecca's expression changed to one of smug sympathy. "Don't feel bad that he didn't ask you. Maybe next time there's a party--"

"It isn't that," Romilda said, picking up her text again and flipping through it. "I don't even like him that way any more. I just want to see him happy, and I know for a fact that Luna is not his type."

"Then why'd he ask her?"

"Because he couldn't ask the person he really wanted to take."

"But why not? That doesn't--" Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Wait a tick... You believe what Penelope Prewitt said about him, don't you? You think he's…" She made a gesture.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? How many girls tried to slip him a love potion to get his attention? He couldn't have avoided all of them. Maybe they don't work on someone who's gay."

"He's not gay!" Rebecca said, her voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. "How can you even think such a thing?"

"There's nothing wrong with being gay," Romilda retorted.

"Of course there is. It's disgusting!"

"It is not! And who are you to be prejudiced, anyway? How many times has Penelope Prewitt called you a…" She paused, and then mouthed the word mudblood.

"That's different! I can't help that my parents were Muggles."

"Exactly, and Harry can't help that he's gay. He was born that way, and there's nothing to be done about it."

Rebecca took a step backwards. "Hold on -- are you gay too? Is that what this is about?"

Romilda rolled her eyes and slammed her book closed again. "You're bloody stupid, you know that? I'm going for a walk." She felt Rebecca's eyes on her as she climbed through the portrait hole, and she didn't look back.


The night of the party came, and the last thing Romilda wanted to do was sit around the common room and mope with everyone else who hadn't been invited. So she told her friends she had to study, packed up her bag, and headed towards the library.

But she was too distracted to study, so she left the library after ten minutes. She wandered the corridors for nearly an hour, and without thinking very hard about it found herself heading in the direction of Slughorn's office. As she drew closer, she could hear the sounds of the party: people talking and laughing, music playing, and the occasional increase in volume as someone opened the door to go in or out.

She sat around the corner listening, trying to imagine what was happening inside. She wondered if everyone was having fun, and if they knew everyone who hadn't been invited was envious. She'd even heard there would be a vampire attending -- a real vampire! At least Penelope Prewitt hadn't been invited. That would have made Romilda's life completely miserable.

She'd been sitting in the corridor for so long she had started to fall asleep when the door opened and two figures came out, one nearly dragging the other. They walked right past her, and it was only then that she realized who they were.

"If you think all of this sneaking about will come to any good, you're mistaken," Professor Snape said as they passed. His hand was clenched around the wrist of Draco Malfoy, who didn't look pleased to have been removed from the party.

"It's none of your business what I do in my private life," Draco retorted.

They were out of earshot before she heard any more. Just as she was about to climb to her feet, Harry Potter hurried past, following. He disappeared around a corner, clearly hoping to catch up.

Romilda scrambled to her feet, but when she rounded the corner, she could see no one. All three of them had disappeared.


By February, Romilda was certain Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were having a secret love affair.

She followed each of them whenever she had a chance, which was sometimes difficult, as they were extremely secretive. They both seemed to spend a lot of time hanging around in a corridor on the seventh floor near a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and Romilda decided it must be their secret meeting place. She tried many times to wait for them there, hoping to catch a glimpse of them together, but she wasn't successful.

And when she couldn't find either of them, it only fueled her imagination.

The pictures of Harry Potter that had previously decorated the canopy of her four-poster were now accompanied by pictures of Draco Malfoy, several of which she'd bartered with Colin Creevey for in exchange for the last of her love potion. She'd tried several charms to blend a picture of Harry and of Draco together, and though many of her efforts looked rather fake, she'd managed to create one in which the two boys appeared to be smiling affectionately at one another. She stared at it by wandlight as she stretched out in her bed, watching over and over as Harry laughed and smiled, while Draco brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up. She'd even timed it so that their eyes appeared to meet at one point.

She'd started going to bed earlier every night in order to have time to stare up at her pictures and think. She thought about Harry and Draco a lot, piecing together little clues she'd learned about them, and it wasn't long until she'd figured out the story of their relationship.

Or stories, rather. There were several versions of the story, and she wasn't sure which she liked best. In one version, they'd served detention together, perhaps even in Professor Snape's class, and while performing some odious task (the task itself wasn't that important, and she usually skipped the details of it in her mind), they realized they had far more in common than they'd ever known possible. That story usually ended with a very romantic kiss, one that sent a little shiver down Romilda's spine every time she thought about it.

In another version of the story, they were partnered together in a lesson and had to spend time working together to create a potion -- a love potion, in one particularly inspired version -- that backfired in such a way that it made them see each other in a new light. In yet another version, their legendary rivalry had sparked a fistfight on the Quidditch pitch, and somewhere in the scuffle punches had turned into something else altogether.

Of course, Romilda knew these things hadn't actually happened, since a potions accident or a fight would hardly have been kept quiet. That didn't stop her from thinking about it, though. In fact, she thought about Harry and Draco quite a lot, to the extent that her friends began to tease her for spending so much of her time daydreaming. She didn't tell them what she was daydreaming about -- after her argument with Rebecca before the Christmas holidays, she'd learned to keep such thoughts to herself.

And there were several stories that she was careful to think about only when completely alone. Those were the ones that made her squirm under the covers at night and squeeze her thighs together, and sometimes made her blush at the mere sight of Harry or Draco in the corridors the next day. She only had vague ideas of what two boys might do together in bed, but those ideas led her to imagine very interesting things.


"Harry Potter tried to kill Draco Malfoy!"

The news had spread through the school more quickly than any rumor in recent memory. It moved from classroom to classroom as if being carried by magic. In some cases, it was: charmed notebooks sped the message along as friends scribbled notes to each other during lessons. And of course, the further the message spread, the more exaggerated it became.

"Did you hear?" Rebecca squealed, grabbing Romilda's wrist as she walked out of an ancient runes lesson, apparently having waited outside the door for some time. "There was a huge fight with unforgiveable curses, and Harry and Draco are both in the infirmary! They might not survive!" Rebecca seemed oddly excited at the prospect.

Romilda shook her off and rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." But her heart was pounding.

They'd barely made it ten feet down the corridor before they overheard some third-years saying that Moaning Myrtle had seen the whole incident and was telling the story in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. They rushed through the corridor and down an uncooperative flight of stairs, which deposited them on the opposite side of the building, forcing them to run all the way back around again. They pushed through crowds of excited students, many of whom were heading up toward the sixth floor boys' bathroom where the fight had reportedly occurred, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bloody mess.

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was also packed, though, and they had to squeeze in to get close enough to hear her story. She was still sobbing, silver tears streaking down her translucent face, and she blew her nose into a handkerchief.

"And I told him to stop," she blubbered, "because Draco came in quite often to tell me his troubles. I think I was the only one he could talk to, the only person who would understand his terrible secret."

"Secret?" Rebecca whispered, elbowing Romilda. "What's she talking about?"

Romilda couldn't reply -- she was transfixed, her heart in her throat.

"He was tormented, the poor thing," Myrtle continued, dabbing at her eyes. "No one understood him, and no one could help him. He was telling me everything, crying his eyes out, and then Harry Potter had to interrupt!" She paused as her lip began to quiver, and there was a chorus of pleas from around the room, begging her to go on. "He had no right, as he knew Draco didn't want to see him, but Harry came in anyway, and they started hexing each other!"

"Who started it?" someone asked, but Myrtle was sobbing too hard to hear.

"And then Harry cast some dark curse, and there was blood everywhere, and it was so horrible! It was murder, I tell you!" And with that, Myrtle dissolved into wails again.

Whispers about dark magic filled the room then, and someone nearby said she'd seen Harry Potter running through the school covered in blood. No one seemed to know what had happened to either Harry or Draco afterwards, and the speculation on whether or not Draco would survive ran wild.

"Come on," Romilda said, tugging at Rebecca's wrist. "We've got history of magic."

"They'll cancel lessons for a murder, won't they?" Rebecca asked, eyes wide.

"There wasn't a murder!" Romilda spat, glaring at her. "It wasn't like that at all!"

"You weren't there. How would you know what it was like?"

Romilda shook her head and started down the corridor. Her mind was filling already with thoughts about what really happened and why, and she knew she'd spend most of the next lesson sorting them all out. She'd seen Draco followed by pairs of girls lately, and she'd imagined that he was fighting his feelings for Harry, perhaps even trying to deny them.

She froze in her tracks as it hit her -- of course! The fight in the bathroom had been a lover's quarrel, perhaps even a confrontation about their relationship. Draco had broken it off, probably, having difficulty accepting himself, and Harry had gone to that bathroom to patch things up. And when that didn't work, Draco had tried to hex him, and the fight had turned nasty.

It was all Draco's fault. If he weren't such a stubborn twat, if only he'd accepted the love Harry had offered him, none of this would have happened. Harry was the Chosen One, and under quite a lot of pressure. It wouldn't take much to snap his patience. It was surprising that Draco had turned to Moaning Myrtle for support, though. Romilda felt a little stab of guilt -- she should have reached out to him, perhaps, let him know that she was supportive. She would have listened to him, and maybe even helped him. A fantasy began to spin in her mind in which she was friends with Draco and helped bring the boys together.

But that wasn't what had happened. Maybe if she'd spent a bit more time reaching out to Harry and Draco, and less time staring at pictures of them, things would have been different.

The Slytherins were notably absent from history of magic. Everyone around her spent the lesson whispering about the incident while Professor Binns droned on about some goblin revolt, but Romilda found herself lost in thought, alone.


Draco Malfoy spent a surprisingly short amount of time in the infirmary, apparently never having been as close to death as rumor had suggested. He didn't even have any marks or scars, and though he reportedly refused to discuss the incident with anyone, he went about his life as though it hadn't been significant at all. Harry Potter, for his part, seemed withdrawn and tired. His eyes still followed Draco, but he seemed to spend much of his time lost in thought.

Romilda knew exactly how he felt.


The final Quidditch game of the season was all everyone could talk about, but Romilda had to be dragged down to the pitch by her friends that Saturday. Neither Harry nor Draco were present, and so there wasn't an opportunity for Romilda to gather information to fuel her private fantasies. She couldn't even imagine that they were off somewhere together making up, since she knew Harry was serving detention with Professor Snape.

The game was exciting, though, and she couldn't help but be caught up in the elation of Gryffindor's win of the Quidditch Cup. She happily followed the crowd back to the common room, where a raucous party broke out. Seamus Finnegan had smuggled in a bottle of firewhiskey to spike the punch, and someone had charmed the draperies in the room so that the words "Gryffindor rules!" flashed across them periodically. A fast-paced song by the latest hot band was playing on the wireless, and many of the figures in the portraits were dancing and singing along.

Romilda was laughing at a particularly raunchy joke told by Dennis Creevey when the portrait door opened and a roar broke out. Romilda turned to see that Harry Potter had just come in. The expression on his face seemed to indicate that the victory was as much of a surprise for him as it had been for everyone else.

"We won!" Ron Weasley shouted, dashing toward him and holding the Quidditch Cup over his head. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"

A huge grin spread over Harry's face, and then there was a blur of movement as Ginny Weasley pushed through the crowd and threw herself into Harry's arms. He crushed her against him and then kissed her -- not a friendly, sisterly kiss, but a full-on, open-mouthed, tongue-twining snog.

Romilda felt the blood drain out of her face. Around her, the room grew silent, and when the kiss broke, people whistled and giggled. Romilda heard a crunching sound to her left, which she would later learn was the sound of Ginny's ex-boyfriend Dean Thomas crushing his punch glass in his bare hand. Romilda could do nothing but stare though, as Harry and Ginny disappeared through the portrait hole together, clearly planning to find a more private spot.

"Well that was interesting!" Rebecca giggled, shocking Romilda out of her stupor. "I didn't even know they were dating."

"They aren't," Romilda said. Her voice echoed oddly in her ears.

"Well I imagine they are now! Isn't it sweet?" When Romilda didn't answer, Rebecca rolled her eyes. "What's with you?

"She's all wrong for him! What could he possibly see in her?"

"Uh… beautiful, smart, plays Quidditch. I heard he spent Christmas at her house, actually. Do you think that's when they--"

"No!" Romilda spat, finally looking away from the door. "He didn't so much as glance at her before now! She acts like she's so perfect, but she's…" She cast around for the best word. "She's a slut!"

Rebecca looked shocked. "Lower your voice! That's a horrible thing to say!"

"It's true, isn't it?" Romilda continued, not caring that people around them were shooting her strange looks. "She's not good enough for him. He deserves better."

Rebecca shot her a withering look. "Give it up, Romilda. He doesn't like you. And face it -- you can't compete with someone like Ginny Weasley."

"It's not about me," Romilda replied, but stopped herself from saying more. No one would understand. She wasn't sure she understood herself.

She excused herself from the party, claiming she needed some fresh air.


Romilda curled up in her bed and pulled the curtains closed, then pulled her diary from its hiding place under her pillow. She tapped it with her wand and whispered the password, and it sprang open. She rifled to the page she was looking for, her forehead furrowed.

    "But we can't tell anyone, ever!" Draco said frustratedly, turning away from the dark-haired Gryffindor seeker whom he loved madly with all his heart.

    "I know," Harry replied, taking the blonde (blond?) in his arms and pulling him close. He could feel his lovers heart beating in time with his own, fast and quick, drumming out a rhythm that was instinctively familiar, yet somehow very foreign.

    Oh, how he wished thing's were different! If only he and Draco could be together, where no one would judge them, where no one would think that being a poof was wrong or disgusting. If only they could find one true friend at Hogwarts, someone who would understand them, help them be together.

Romilda grinned and fished for her quill. She was just getting to the good part. After two solid weeks of having to face a world where Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were the "it" couple of Hogwarts, it was a pleasure to retreat to her own little fantasy world.

She'd finally accepted that Harry and Draco had broken off their secret affair. Harry seemed happy to flaunt his newfound heterosexuality in Draco's face, but Draco wasn't rising to the bait. In fact, Romilda hardly saw him these days. She had begun to feel badly about her earlier assessment of him, and her mind began to spin elaborate stories of exactly how things had gone wrong between him and Harry.

And that was what led her to start writing them down. Putting quill to parchment was cathartic in a way she hadn't expected, and the thrill of seeing her ideas in print was a bit addictive. But best of all, writing the stories got them out of her mind once and for all, so she could begin to focus on her end-of-term exams. It was almost like having a pensieve.

She bit her lip and dipped the quill in the inkpot. She'd been thinking about writing this particular scene all day.

    "Don't think about that now," Harry continued softly. He stroked Draco's silky blonde flaxen hair and stared into his eyes, which were the loveliest shade of grey he'd ever seen. Grey as a storm cloud on a late summers day, just before it opens up and dumps it's rainy tears all over you. He feared the Slytherin might burst into heartfelt tears at any moment, just like that metaphorical storm cloud. And he had forgotten his handkerchief. "We have tonight," he whispered quietly.

    "Yes," Draco replied lovingly, "and it will have to be enough, won't it?" He shifted his hips against the brunets and they both gasped at the sensation of

Romilda squealed a little: she couldn't believe she was really going to do this!

    their two hard lengths pressed together through their school robes.

She wasn't sure "hard length" was quite the term she wanted, but it would do for now. It was what those romance novels her mother read called it.

    "Oh, Harry, I love you so much!" Draco gasped breathlessly. "I've been thinking about this all day!"

    "Me too," Harry replied hastily as he kissed his Slytherin boyfriend passionately. "Are you sure you want to do this now? We had talked about waiting until we can be married…"

    "I can't wait that long, and neither can you. We may not have much longer anyway," said Draco sadly. He quickly reached between them and unzipped the Gryffindor's trousers quickly and efficiently. "I've wanted to do this for so, so long."

Romilda felt her cheeks flush at the very thought of what was coming next.

    Harry sucked in a harsh, dry breath at the overwhelmingly amazing sensation of Draco's fingers on his turgid manhood. It was already really hard, but it seemed to get even harder at his childhood nemesis' touch. It was as if Draco already knew exactly how to touch him, like they had been meant to be together. A sob escaped his parched throat.

    "Whats wrong?" Draco queried worriedly, cupping the brunets face in his hands. "I'll stop if you don't want--"

    "No, don't ever stop!" Harry half-shouted. "It's just that I…"

    "I know," Draco nodded understandingly. "You are afraid we won't have another chance." He kissed the boy hero tenderly and softly, fervently desperately wishing there was something he could do to make it right.

Romilda chewed the end of her quill as she re-read the passage. Her professors had always told her she was a talented writer, and she had to admit this was a truly fantastic bit of prose. She had big plans for this story, too. Harry and Draco's relationship would be discovered by an evil character who would threaten to expose their secret, but someone would come to their aid -- a beautiful, popular girl named Ravenna, who would not only help them find ways to be together, but who would use her charm and intelligence to convince the rest of the school that there was nothing wrong with two boys loving each other.

She might even introduce a love interest for Ravenna at some point, and she already had plans for a sequel. She looked up at the picture of Harry and Draco affixed to the canopy above her head, wondering if they would ever get back together. Maybe when it was finished, she would send a copy to Draco. He would probably like it. He might even give her some tips for improving it.

And maybe, just maybe, reading it would remind him of how much he'd been in love with Harry, and would convince him to give it another go. And it would all be due to her!

She looked at the page again and grinned. It was time to take off some clothes, and she was going to start with Harry. She dipped the quill into the ink again, considering. Did Harry have any interesting tattoos?



~ fin ~

Author notes:

• I should note that a few lines of dialogue in this fic were lifted directly from HBP, and were done so in the spirit of making this fic mesh with canon -- no copyright infringement is intended.

• I need to acknowledge Amanuensis here, as one of her fics was an inspiration for this story. ;-)

• I searched for a mention of who taught History of Magic during HBP (since it was hinted that Binns was finally retiring after OOTP), but I found nothing. I decided to keep Binns in the position, because it was convenient for the story.

• All errors in Romilda's fic are entirely intentional. ;-)
Tags: [fic], rated: r, round: winter 2006

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