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English
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The Hex Files
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Published:
2008-04-21
Completed:
2008-05-14
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24,929
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23/23
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Be a Good Boy

Summary:

Draco pulls Harry into a nightmare, but Harry forgets to care. *happens in the world of HBP*

Chapter 1: Part One

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns (Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books etc.). I only play. No money made.

 

Be a Good Boy, Part One

 

Sex was something that happened to other people. Harry Potter had kissed a girl (well, actually two) a few times, but that was it. He was having too much fun killing monsters and fighting Dark Lords to even look at Ginny in a funny way. And now there was Malfoy, constantly sneaking around, trying to drive him insane with his grey I'm-not-doing-anything-evil eyes. Draco Malfoy was evil. Harry was sure of it, and he was going to prove it. Tonight.

He strolled down the stairs, listening intently if anyone was out there about to step in his way. He was heading to the dungeons, knowing for sure that he would find Draco Malfoy doing something annoyingly normal while he was planning something sinister. He was a Death Eater. Harry had noticed that he kept hiding his left forearm, kept pulling the sleeve past his wrist. He ate with his right hand, too, never letting his sleeve slip. With a fork. Malfoys did not eat with only a fork. They were bloody aristocrats. They knew their manners.

Harry slipped into the Slytherin common room under his Invisibility Cloak as Blaise left for his nightly escapades. It was rumoured that he was having an affair with a Ravenclaw prefect, a boy with a golden hair, but nobody had ever been able to confirm it. Now was Harry's chance to find out, but he cared more about the blond menace than stupid rumours.

The common room was dark, only the two greenish lamps on the wall giving a flickering dim light that made everything seem unnaturally airy. He sighed, relaxing slightly. All was well, so far. He quickly moved to the stairs that descended to the dorms. Sixth year boys, that was his destination.

Tentatively, he stepped on the first stair, then the second, waiting for something disastrous to happen. Nothing did, and he continued his journey. The wood under his feet creaked and he stopped, holding his breath for a short moment. No sounds could be heard.

Soon, he found himself in front of the dormitory door behind which lay the Slytherin, who plagued his mind. He touched the rough surface of the heavy door, thinking that it looked exactly the same as the Gryffindor one. So similar, yet so different. Harry leaned against it, turning the handle and pushing lightly. This was it, the sanctuary of Draco Malfoy.

There were five beds in the small room, two and two against the opposite walls and one in the middle. All had their curtains drawn. It didn't take Harry long to figure out where the person he was looking for slept. Only Malfoy would insist on being the center of all attention. The stupid git.

He moved closer, suddenly tasting fear in his mouth. He was invading the privacy of sleeping Slytherins. It wasn't a very wise thing to do, not now when most of them were Death Eaters and very capable of using the Unforgivables.

Someone moaned nearby, making Harry stop on his tracks. It hadn't sounded like the person was asleep at all. He tried to calm down his frantic heart, thinking that it was probably wise to stay put for awhile. The person would probably fall asleep soon after.

The thought made him shudder.

Now that he wondered about it (for some odd reason), he had no idea why he had been thinking about sex when he left the safety of the Gryffindor common room. Maybe because he was a sixteen-year-old boy. That was pretty much all the explanation needed, but still... He needed to focus on the matter at hand, not the fact that he was still a virgin, and would die a virgin and... It was a depressing thought. He really needed to concentrate.

There was the trunk, Draco's stuff, maybe even his plans. What the hell was the boy doing in the Room of Requirement? He had to find out. Hermione was already avoiding him and his sulking and his muttering and his angry bursts and the word "Malfoy" escaping his lips all the time. He was obsessed and she had had enough. She had said to him that morning, "Harry, you need to forget him. You have other things to worry about." Harry knew this. He knew it better than well. He breathed it in every frigging day. Malfoy was the least of his problems.

Then, why was he thinking about the pillock all the damn time.

After five agonizingly long minutes of complete silence, he slowly crouched beside the old trunk that was exceptionally beautiful with its black carvings and shining surface. Inside that treasure chest, there had to be something that could set him free. He had to find something, anything that would prove that Malfoy was planning evil and unseemly things. He wiped his forehead, lifting the cloak slightly. He was starting to sweat.

"Potter... I'll kill... you," came a sleepy sound from the bed in front of Harry. Horror-struck, he fell on his buttocks, staring at the closed curtains with big round eyes. Had the Slytherin woken up?

Soon, Harry realised that Malfoy was actually dreaming about killing him. The boy's breathing was heavy, and he clearly hadn't emerged from behind the curtain. Malfoy talked while sleeping? That was hilarious. If only he could use that against the other boy. If only.

This time, he kneeled in front of the trunk, opening it very carefully, hoping that it wouldn't make a sound. It was scary enough to listen to the nightly sounds of the Slytherin boys. All he could see were clothes, books and a potions kit. He had to give Malfoy some credit; the boy really knew how to organize his stuff. Everything was neatly piled as though Malfoy had needed nothing from his trunk over the past months of their sixth school year. It was absurd; teenage boys should never be this clean. He closed the lid after one final searching hand going through the underside of the chest.

Harry was at his wits' end. Where was he supposed to look now? He had been sure that Malfoy would keep his secrets close to his bed. Maybe he hadn't written anything down. Maybe there was nothing to find. He felt frustrated.

Then he started thinking about his own secrets. If he had any, they were always under his mattress or his pillow, just to be on the safe side. It was very difficult to steal something in the first place, but that way it was nearly impossible.

Hermione, I need you, he thought, tip-toeing closer to the head of Malfoy's bed. I really don't want to spy on a sleeping Slytherin. Actually, it wasn't entirely true. He wanted it to be true, but ever since his growing obsession, he had been staring at the Malfoy brat far too often, far too long and far too openly. There was something utterly intriguing about his face. Harry was sure that he could learn to read the expressions on that pointed face, and if he could do that he could also predict his behaviour. Know thy enemy, and all that.

Harry was very careful, or at least it had been his plan: be very careful, move quickly and then leave without a trail. It had been a good plan. Unfortunately it failed. The moment he slipped his hand between the curtains, he could feel long strong fingers curl around his wrist, his invisible wrist and then pull him on top of someone, the very same someone who was hiding too many things, who had kicked him in the face at the beginning of that year, who was a bloody thorn in his bloody flesh... and not wearing a bloody shirt.

To Harry's surprise, nothing else happened, and very slowly his eyes began to get used to the almost complete darkness of the four-poster bed. Malfoy either pretended to be asleep or he really had been acting through his dream. Was he always like this? Had he done this to the other Slytherin boys?

Harry felt like blushing, but decided that it didn't really matter. It was dark and the other party of the embarrassing situation was completely out of the game. Harry shifted slightly, pulling his legs completely into the bed. That wasn't probably the wisest move, but he couldn't be sure that the Cloak was still covering them.

He lay on top of Draco Malfoy, his chest against the other boy's bare one, his left hand on Malfoy's right shoulder and his other hand keeping him a bit balanced, holding the mattress. His left leg was in between Malfoy's, feeling the warmth of his body. What a dreadful predicament. Could he get out of there without waking up the boy? And why on earth had Malfoy grabbed his wrist?

 

A/N: That's the first chapter of a completed story. I hope you liked it. Twenty-two more parts to come. ^_^