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in which i prove devon presciently right with his "slash fic" misread...
Okay fine, I did it. I kind of um, wrote a silly little fanfic. It's Harry/Draco slash, but completely G-rated as far as their interactions go. (Of course, I never actually write anything that's G-rated in an overall sense, so, warned as usual that I'm a sick fuck.)
It all started when Draco Malfoy purchased a cursed doll from that seedy little voodoo emporium on Nocturne Alley.
"Rather looks like Potter," Draco muttered to himself as he came across it on a dusty shelf towards the back. He looked up at Tituba Jones, the Barbadian witch who was busy reading a women's magazine article about the place your boyfriend will never admit he wants you to touch. "How much?"
"Oh, that old thing?" Tituba said, grabbing it. The doll dangled upside down from her heavily-ringed fingers by one protuberant ear. Draco revised his opinion. Harry's ears were far more delicate, like the inside of a sea shell, ah, never mind. Exactly like Potter. The repulsive git. "You don't want to mess with that, boy. More trouble than it's worth."
"I highly doubt that a Malfoy wouldn't be equal to a three-inch-tall doll, Miss Jones," Draco said.
"In that case, young Mr. Malfoy, it's on the house. See you soon!"
"Old bat," Draco said, not bothering to wait until he was out of earshot.
"Inside of two weeks, you'll be begging for my help," Tituba said in a calm, superior voice. "I might make you massage my feet and tell me you've been a bad bad boy," she called after him, to the amusement of several passers-by. Then she returned her attention to learning more about this strange Muggle invention called Astroglide.
***
That night, Draco decided to begin his rein of terror with an old-fashioned hatpin assault. As they sat down for dinner, he surreptitiously prodded the doll behind the ear. He watched, gratified, as Harry slapped the general vicinity and glanced about crazily, raving about magical mosquitos.
The second time, though, Harry looked right over at him, cheeks flushed a gratifying shade, and said, "Malfoy, did you just hex me? I swear to Merlin, if I see your lips move..."
Draco, lips sealed with a smirk, stabbed the doll, which was concealed in his coat sleeve, again. This time, he could see what he was doing, and he was shocked to see Harry turn a sickly shade of greenish-white and topple out of his seat. The Gryffyndors at the table started vowing revenge even though the whole room had been able to see that Draco hadn't hexed him. Utterly unfair, Draco thought to himself, feeling quite put upon.
When he returned to the prefect's bathroom and let the doll fall out of his sleeve, he realized he'd managed to lodge the pin straight through the doll's head and out the other side. When he pulled it out, he felt a twinge of guilt and paid a visit to Madame Pomfrey.
"Are you feeling all right, dear? At least you arrived walking, that's always a good sign."
"Oh, I just have a headache," Draco said, peering around her comforting bulk. "Whatever he has, it's not catching, is it?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Harry said.
"You didn't look fine ten minutes ago, dearie. In fact you were quite dead for a moment there."
"Dead!" Draco and Harry both shouted at once.
"Fortunately, that's often a temporary condition in these parts. Now, Draco, if you'd just sit down a moment while I finish this tincture."
"I know you did this," Harry said in a low, growly voice, "And I'm going to find out just how, and get you back twice as badly."
"What, will I be twice as dead?"
"Draco Malfoy!" Madame Pomfrey shouted. "You'll stop threatening my patients this instant! Now, Harry, when was the last time you visited the Caribbean?"
"The what now?"
"Caribbean. Looks like a voodoo curse, I'm afraid."
"Voodoo curse! That's preposterous. Hogwarts hasn't got a single black student. Come to think of it, isn't that a bit discriminatory?" Harry scratched his scar, as he often did when he was annoyed. Draco had noticed infinite ways that Harry gave away his mood. He wasn't obsessed or anything, he was just anticipating a golden opportunity at some point in the future to beat him at poker. Then the concept of strip poker entered his mind and he was forced to look away, embarrassed.
"Now Harry, you know we don't speak about that. Anyway, the good news for you is that there's a counter-curse that's automatically activated upon the person bothering you."
"There is?" Draco burst out.
They both looked at him.
"Er, I mean, good. Get the bloody bastard, eh? What does the curse do, then?"
"Oh, it's different for everyone," Madame Pomfrey said breezily. "Now Harry, take this, and you'll be right as rain by tomorrow."
"What if whoever it is tries something again?" Harry asked, glaring at Draco.
"Oh, I shouldn't think anyone would be that silly. It'd hurt him just as much as it hurt you."
***
Draco Malfoy had had quite a bit of experience with ill-thought-out ploys that hurt him just as much, and indeed usually far worse, than they hurt Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived But Couldn't Be Arsed to Be Friends With Him. When he went to bed that night, though, he decided to give this particular painful problem a miss and dispose of the doll the following morning. He tenderly stroked its hair and tucked it into a matchbox. However, when he woke up and discovered his own head was covered in bright red bull's eyes in the exact spots he'd poked the doll the previous evening, he figured that since the jig was soon to be up, he might as well get in a bit of final revenge.
He manufactured a reason for Harry to be sent to investigate Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Honestly, Gryffyndors were so gullible. If Harry hadn't believed that Myrtle was in trouble, he probably could have simply dared him to go. So much trouble saying no, Draco mused, and then of course his mind wandered to a scenario in which Harry wasn't saying no, and he had to slap himself and slip into the bathroom after him.
Oh, good. Harry was distracted by Myrtle over by the baths. "Do you think a boy will ever like me?"
Not unless you discover the secret place he won't admit he wants you to touch, Draco restrained himself from rejoinding. He crept into the last stall and positioned himself near the peephole. Yes, of course there was a peephole. For that, he could thank Pansy Parkinson, who'd mainly been sorted into Slytherin on account of her disturbing voyeuristic tendancies.
He pulled out the doll, trying to decide what to poke. Then something strange happened. He realized that Harry could feel his fingers on the doll, and actually seemed to be enjoying Draco's phantom touch. First on his shoulders, then lightly trailing down his chest and stomach...Get a grip on yourself, Draco thought sternly. This isn't My Little Hippogriff, it's a damn voodoo doll, and you'd better do something evil with it He tightened his grip.
"Are you going to kill me, Malfoy? You'd best get it over with, then."
Draco dropped the doll.
With a deft Accio, Harry confiscated it.
"I suppose you'll be turning me in now," Draco said, opening the stall door and gesturing to the telltale markings on his face and skull.
"I suppose," Harry said. "Just answer one question for me, will you?"
"Fine."
"Why'd you stop the fondling? I'd rather liked that bit..."
It all started when Draco Malfoy purchased a cursed doll from that seedy little voodoo emporium on Nocturne Alley.
"Rather looks like Potter," Draco muttered to himself as he came across it on a dusty shelf towards the back. He looked up at Tituba Jones, the Barbadian witch who was busy reading a women's magazine article about the place your boyfriend will never admit he wants you to touch. "How much?"
"Oh, that old thing?" Tituba said, grabbing it. The doll dangled upside down from her heavily-ringed fingers by one protuberant ear. Draco revised his opinion. Harry's ears were far more delicate, like the inside of a sea shell, ah, never mind. Exactly like Potter. The repulsive git. "You don't want to mess with that, boy. More trouble than it's worth."
"I highly doubt that a Malfoy wouldn't be equal to a three-inch-tall doll, Miss Jones," Draco said.
"In that case, young Mr. Malfoy, it's on the house. See you soon!"
"Old bat," Draco said, not bothering to wait until he was out of earshot.
"Inside of two weeks, you'll be begging for my help," Tituba said in a calm, superior voice. "I might make you massage my feet and tell me you've been a bad bad boy," she called after him, to the amusement of several passers-by. Then she returned her attention to learning more about this strange Muggle invention called Astroglide.
***
That night, Draco decided to begin his rein of terror with an old-fashioned hatpin assault. As they sat down for dinner, he surreptitiously prodded the doll behind the ear. He watched, gratified, as Harry slapped the general vicinity and glanced about crazily, raving about magical mosquitos.
The second time, though, Harry looked right over at him, cheeks flushed a gratifying shade, and said, "Malfoy, did you just hex me? I swear to Merlin, if I see your lips move..."
Draco, lips sealed with a smirk, stabbed the doll, which was concealed in his coat sleeve, again. This time, he could see what he was doing, and he was shocked to see Harry turn a sickly shade of greenish-white and topple out of his seat. The Gryffyndors at the table started vowing revenge even though the whole room had been able to see that Draco hadn't hexed him. Utterly unfair, Draco thought to himself, feeling quite put upon.
When he returned to the prefect's bathroom and let the doll fall out of his sleeve, he realized he'd managed to lodge the pin straight through the doll's head and out the other side. When he pulled it out, he felt a twinge of guilt and paid a visit to Madame Pomfrey.
"Are you feeling all right, dear? At least you arrived walking, that's always a good sign."
"Oh, I just have a headache," Draco said, peering around her comforting bulk. "Whatever he has, it's not catching, is it?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Harry said.
"You didn't look fine ten minutes ago, dearie. In fact you were quite dead for a moment there."
"Dead!" Draco and Harry both shouted at once.
"Fortunately, that's often a temporary condition in these parts. Now, Draco, if you'd just sit down a moment while I finish this tincture."
"I know you did this," Harry said in a low, growly voice, "And I'm going to find out just how, and get you back twice as badly."
"What, will I be twice as dead?"
"Draco Malfoy!" Madame Pomfrey shouted. "You'll stop threatening my patients this instant! Now, Harry, when was the last time you visited the Caribbean?"
"The what now?"
"Caribbean. Looks like a voodoo curse, I'm afraid."
"Voodoo curse! That's preposterous. Hogwarts hasn't got a single black student. Come to think of it, isn't that a bit discriminatory?" Harry scratched his scar, as he often did when he was annoyed. Draco had noticed infinite ways that Harry gave away his mood. He wasn't obsessed or anything, he was just anticipating a golden opportunity at some point in the future to beat him at poker. Then the concept of strip poker entered his mind and he was forced to look away, embarrassed.
"Now Harry, you know we don't speak about that. Anyway, the good news for you is that there's a counter-curse that's automatically activated upon the person bothering you."
"There is?" Draco burst out.
They both looked at him.
"Er, I mean, good. Get the bloody bastard, eh? What does the curse do, then?"
"Oh, it's different for everyone," Madame Pomfrey said breezily. "Now Harry, take this, and you'll be right as rain by tomorrow."
"What if whoever it is tries something again?" Harry asked, glaring at Draco.
"Oh, I shouldn't think anyone would be that silly. It'd hurt him just as much as it hurt you."
***
Draco Malfoy had had quite a bit of experience with ill-thought-out ploys that hurt him just as much, and indeed usually far worse, than they hurt Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived But Couldn't Be Arsed to Be Friends With Him. When he went to bed that night, though, he decided to give this particular painful problem a miss and dispose of the doll the following morning. He tenderly stroked its hair and tucked it into a matchbox. However, when he woke up and discovered his own head was covered in bright red bull's eyes in the exact spots he'd poked the doll the previous evening, he figured that since the jig was soon to be up, he might as well get in a bit of final revenge.
He manufactured a reason for Harry to be sent to investigate Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Honestly, Gryffyndors were so gullible. If Harry hadn't believed that Myrtle was in trouble, he probably could have simply dared him to go. So much trouble saying no, Draco mused, and then of course his mind wandered to a scenario in which Harry wasn't saying no, and he had to slap himself and slip into the bathroom after him.
Oh, good. Harry was distracted by Myrtle over by the baths. "Do you think a boy will ever like me?"
Not unless you discover the secret place he won't admit he wants you to touch, Draco restrained himself from rejoinding. He crept into the last stall and positioned himself near the peephole. Yes, of course there was a peephole. For that, he could thank Pansy Parkinson, who'd mainly been sorted into Slytherin on account of her disturbing voyeuristic tendancies.
He pulled out the doll, trying to decide what to poke. Then something strange happened. He realized that Harry could feel his fingers on the doll, and actually seemed to be enjoying Draco's phantom touch. First on his shoulders, then lightly trailing down his chest and stomach...Get a grip on yourself, Draco thought sternly. This isn't My Little Hippogriff, it's a damn voodoo doll, and you'd better do something evil with it He tightened his grip.
"Are you going to kill me, Malfoy? You'd best get it over with, then."
Draco dropped the doll.
With a deft Accio, Harry confiscated it.
"I suppose you'll be turning me in now," Draco said, opening the stall door and gesturing to the telltale markings on his face and skull.
"I suppose," Harry said. "Just answer one question for me, will you?"
"Fine."
"Why'd you stop the fondling? I'd rather liked that bit..."