Title: Within These Pages
Author name: The Original Tango
Sub Category: Humor
Keywords: Harry/Draco Harry Draco Slash
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP
Summary: Under strange circumstances, Draco and Harry fall for each other. [Slash, Harry/Draco, Hermione/?]</p>DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Is a disclaimer really necessary? Don’t you all have the capability to see that we don’t own Harry Potter?
Within These Pages
Chapter One—Of Transfiguration and Secret Trysts
The pair of conspiring goddesses leaned together and giggled softly.
The younger one—the Goddess of Desire—was named Cupido, and had lustrous hair the shade of a perfect sunset and dark violet eyes that gleamed with affection and intelligence. Cupido could harness the power of love, cause desire, attraction, lust—and even love. It was she who evoked these feelings in mere earthlings.
The elder, the Goddess of Destiny, was named Fatum. She had endless waves of flowing blonde hair, her eyes as green as jealousy—and yet, seemed to hold pools of the mystery of wisdom itself. Fatum wove threads of danger, mystery, happiness, and sorrow, controlling the very lives and the outcomes of mortal lives.
Their beauty was unearthly, almost supernatural, and so was their mischief.
The two goddesses were sitting together, looking at the Board. It was massive, and it allowed the gods and goddesses to control every aspect of every mortal’s life. The board was a slab of creamy marble and a thing to behold. Every single thing on the earth—no matter how large or how small—was represented on this absolutely massive creation. Cities, farms, people, animals—the gods had control over all of these. With a simple flick of their hands, any mortal could fall in love with his boss, die of a heart attack, become the next world dictator, or write a best-selling novel. A city could be plunged into the sea; a farm could prosper. They could also bring one back from the Land of the Dead or send another through time if they chose.
The gods and goddesses considered themselves above the cretins of the earth, and usually did not bother with trivial details such as names—they simply did not care.
And so, Cupido did not hesitate to match Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Likewise, Fatum did not fret over binding them to each other for their brief—compared to the immortal gods—lives. What consequence was it to them if two earthlings suddenly fell in love?
They controlled the humans because they could. Fatum and Cupido brought Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy for no other reason other than the fact that it was possible.
Draco hated Transfiguration with a passion: in fact, to the depths of his very soul. It was the only subject he did not have to breeze through—and could not learn from his textbook, much to his dismay.
Potions came to him naturally, even without Snape’s bias against the Gryffindors. Charms classes were far too “remedial” for the Slytherin’s liking, and Astronomy was only a little more challenging than breathing. Anyone with half a brain—even Weasley—excelled at Care of Magical Creatures.
Draco’s wand—twelve inches, dragon’s heartstring, and ebony—was more suited to casting jinxes and charms. The dragon’s heartstring, although powerful, absorbed dark magic easily; much more than any other type of wand core. The more dark magic absorbed, the more volatile the wand—additionally, the ebony in the wand tended to force it to “lash out” occasionally, especially to small creatures, such as rodents, commonly used in Transfiguration class.
After reciting a spell, Draco might find, instead of a teacup or even a live mouse, a mouse’s corpse. Draco had gone through fifty mice over the years; Trelawney, one of the more eccentric teachers, had informed the rest of the staff that “the Malfoy boy” was a vampire—secretly murdering rats for blood so as to avoid drinking the blood of humans. Not even Filch believed her.
Ultimately, Draco Malfoy had difficulties in Transfiguration—which was why he loathed it. What was even more insulting was the fact that his poor Transfiguration grades were hindering him from receiving the Head Boy position.
Losing to the position to Terry Boot—a halfblood—would make Lucius very unhappy. Unhappy Lucius consisted of three modes: disturbed Lucius, surprised Lucius, and fuming, fire-breathing, Lucius. Draco suspected the latter would be the most likely in this case. His father was quite unpredictable when provoked, and sending Draco off to the Dark Lord in a raging fury could be the rather unsavory outcome.
As far as Draco was concerned, Voldemort was a pretentious halfblood with a giant boot up his ass, making him quite unstable—and likely to go on mudblood killing rampages like Pansy on shopping sprees.
Besides, Voldemort was one ugly guy, and if nothing else, Draco admired beauty and sanity. Voldemort had neither.
So, in order to keep Lucius very happy, and dodge the Dark Mark for a bit longer, Draco had to secure the Head Boy position—which meant getting his Transfiguration grades up.
This explained why Draco had been sitting for nearly two hours, poring over an absolutely massive text explaining the finer details of ebony and dragon heartstrings in wands.
It had been quite a frustrating two hours, in which Draco had found more than he ever wanted to know about ebony—Wand Core Theory’s table of contents showed the different pages that the properties of ebony, how ebony had to be grown, ways of cutting ebony—which potentially looked helpful, until he realized that with the exception of the title and table of contents, the entire book was in Mermish.
He yawned, glaring at the stack of books nearly large enough to rival his height—which was no small feat, as Draco was almost two meters tall. Pushing his chair back, he stood up, walking out of the library to use the loo—a small break couldn’t hurt, could it?
As soon as he left, a small black journal materialized above an open text on his table and floated gently down to rest on the pages of Dragons’ Magical Properties.
Harry was very suspicious, indeed. Hermione had been asking to use his invisibility cloak again. She had borrowed it almost every day of that week, and quite frequently in the months before.
When Harry had bouts of insomnia and came down to the Gryffindor common room, so as not to wake his sleep-deprived roommates, he would often catch Hermione stumbling through the portrait hole, looking dreamy and very giddy—and slightly rumpled. Briefly, Harry considered the possibility of Hermione using drugs, but now, he was more convinced that she was seeing someone. However, she tended to get cagey when questioned, using Prefects’ duties as an excuse. After all, Harry couldn’t deny that it was easier for her to catch students out of bed if they couldn’t see her.
Harry, however, was more perceptive than most Gryffindors. He had deducted that Hermione was either dating a Slytherin or another girl. What other reason would she have to hide anything? Frankly, as a hormonal boy, Harry was hoping for the latter rather than the former, although that was quite unlikely—not that dating a Slytherin was plausible. Still, there was another part of Harry that believed wholeheartedly in Hermione working on a very complicated potion or something of the sort. Anything would be better than Hermione dating a Slytherin.
It was eleven o’clock, and everyone had gone to bed—that is, except for Harry and Hermione—leaving the Gryffindor common room empty.
“So, um, can I use it?” Hermione asked, smiling timidly at him, plopping down in the stuffed maroon chair next to his.
Harry paused but shook his head a moment later. “I’ve got some things to do tonight—I need it.”
“Okay,” Hermione spoke, nodding and looking slightly disappointed. She hesitated only a few seconds before bravely climbing out of the portrait hole, clearly visible to all who looked in her direction.
Harry waited a minute, silently counting to sixty before rushing up to his dormitory, seizing his invisibility cloak, and rushing out the portrait hole, intending to follow Hermione and figure out the identity of her midnight liaison.
The hallway was filled with cool, crisp air. Harry sped up a bit, spotting a familiar head of unruly brown hair. Hermione was walking up the staircase on the far left side.
Harry was panting slightly. Whoever this person was, Hermione was very excited to meet him. She was practically dashing up the gigantic staircase.
She had reached the top and Harry had half of the staircase left.
Hermione had stopped. She embraced a masculine figure in the shade beside a large moonlit window that shone light directly onto the set of stairs; they spoke softly, Hermione’s giggles mixing with the soft rumbling chuckles of the boy.
Harry sprinted up, intent on seeing this mystery person when suddenly, his foot caught on a little black book—that he was certain hadn’t been there before—and he tripped, cloak falling off, and he was no longer invisible. The moonlight from the window shone onto his face, illuminating it in the darkness.
Hermione rushed over to the staircase and gasped when she saw Harry. The boy followed suit, although much more slowly. He was still concealed by shadows. “Who’s there?”
Hermione gasped as she saw him. The moonlight streaming in from the window highlighted Harry’s face. “Harry? You followed me?” she asked, peeved.
Harry groaned softly; his forehead had smashed onto the edge of a stair. He feebly pushed himself off the ground, but his hand connected with the cool leather cover of the book. Barely feeling the smooth leather under his fingers, he began to fade away.
It was a peculiar sensation. A sharp twinge, as if someone had pinched all of his joints, racked his body, but that soon faded, replaced with a floating sensation and a sort of dreaminess. He felt a dull thud somewhere around his navel, and it was bright—painfully so before he was thrown back into reality in a whirl of colors and noise.
The last things he saw before completely vanishing were Hermione’s worried face and the dark shock of wavy black hair beside her.
“Oh, my God!” Hermione shrieked.
Her companion looked completely confused. “What the fuck was Potter doing following us?”
“No! That’s—it’s not important, okay?” Hermione said shrilly, quickly panicking. “You don’t realize—what if—what if he’s in Voldemort’s clutches? He could die!”
“What the hell do you propose, then?”
But he was speaking to Hermione’s backside, for all the good it did—she had fled, undoubtedly headed for Dumbledore’s office. He sighed, and took off after her. So much for a midnight snog.
Draco looked at the little black book sitting on an opened copy of Magical Uses of Hearts interestedly. The book’s binding looked quite new, and it seemed to be a journal of some sort.
Draco grinned. He seized the book and flipped open the cover, hoping to find some sort of blackmail material.
And then, he was gone.
Harry blinked several times. He felt groggy—his eyelids were heavy, and his mind was befuddled, still baffled as to what happened; he was laying on the floor, feeling the soft carpet underneath his fingertips. His right hip and leg, though, was sitting on something rather bony.
He sat up, taking in the creamy walls with the soft stripe, the comfortable white carpets, the chocolate-brown silk curtains, the large, iron-frame bed, and the snogging couple on it? They obviously hadn’t seen him, too wrapped up in their amorous activities.
“Holy shit!” he muttered, eyes widening as he fully took in the scene in front of him. Two men were making out in a bedroom right in front of him and he was half-sitting on—
“Potter, get the hell off me!” an arrogant voice snapped. Harry looked down to see a livid Draco Malfoy. He immediately scooted off of him.
The couple broke apart—noticing the two had woken up.
“So sorry,” the black-haired man spoke. “Hadn’t noticed you’d woken up.”
The blond grinned. “No, you noticed. You just couldn’t get enough of me.”
“Licorice wands,” Hermione muttered at the gargoyle. “Come on, you asshole, open up!”
The boy looked faintly pleased at her use of language. “Rubbed off on you, have I?”
She glared at him. “Now’s not the time. Harry could be in trouble and you’re talking about—“
The staircase trembled, creating a rumbling noise. It moved, allowing the pair to enter. Hermione grabbed his hand, and dragged him into Dumbledore’s office.
Dumbledore sat, serenely, reading a copy of The Quibbler upside down similar to the way Luna Lovegood had in fifth year. He looked at the two students inquisitively, twinkling blue eyes showing no indication of how bizarre the situation was.
“Do you ever sleep?” Hermione’s companion asked, looking a bit irritated.
Hermione ignored him and wailed, “Harry’s vanished, Professor Dumbledore!”
Dumbledore looked at the both of them seriously before saying, “I see. Care for a lemon drop?”
Draco Malfoy was not a happy camper. Not only was Harry Potter sitting on him, possibly crushing his bones into a thousand fragments, but he was for some reason, in a bedroom in the middle of fuck-knew-where. Not to mention he had a headache and a slight hungover feeling.
“Potter,” Draco spoke, trying to control his anger, “Get the hell off me!”
Potter slid off his leg, obviously startled.
Draco glared at him, and with as much dignity as he could muster, sat up, trying to look unruffled. This attempt failed. His jaw dropped when he caught a glimpse of the two men—one blond, one with black hair—tangled in the sheets, sweaty-looking and looking at each other in an adoring fashion.
“So sorry,” one said, “Hadn’t noticed you’d woken up.”
“No, you noticed. You just couldn’t get enough of me,” the blond drawled.
Holy fucking hell! The blond bloke looked and sounded just like him!
Draco let out a stream of colorful and very interesting curses, all of them directed at the other people around him. He paused to glower fiercely at Harry. “I don’t know what you did to get us here, Potter, but believe me when I say I will have your fucking head sitting on a fucking silver platter when I get the chance.”
“What, are you going to get your daddy to beat me up, Malfoy?” Potter hissed back.
“Can’t even cast a simple ‘stupefy’ yourself, can you? Is your wand impotent or something?”
“Why, you—“Draco lunged at him, a snarl imprinted on his features.
“Shut the hell up, the both of you!” the blond man growled, eyes narrowing into a glare. “What did you say your names were?”
“Why the bloody hell should we tell you? You’re the ones who fucking captured us and you don’t know our names?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter said, glaring. Turning to the blond man, he responded, “I’m Harry Potter. And this shithead”—he indicated Draco—“is Draco Malfoy.”