Draco SinisterAlternate Scene ~ Twist  

A deranged alternate scene from chapter 9 of Draco Sinister. Very strange. Contains spoilers for DS, up to ch 9. Contains slash. Rated PG-13 

This scene takes place duringDraco Sinister Chapter 9; when Draco is recovering at the Burrow from being, well, dead. He's been given Percy's old bedroom to sleep in, Harry's down the hall with Ron, Hermione and Ginny are across the way. This derangedalternative universeficletwas inspired by an evil comment made by my beta-readerHeidi Tandy(see note at the end). Harry may seem a tad OOC.... – Cassie 

He bolted upright in bed, hearing his own harsh gasps for air as if they came from somewhere else. There was a tearing pain in his chest and he pressed his fist against it, feeling it ebb slowly. His pajamas were drenched in sweat, sticking to him uncomfortably. He swung his legs over the bed, peeling off his pajama top, and his eyes caught a glimpse of a flash of light across the room – 

The sword, propped against the wall where Harry had left it. The light reflecting off the blade had a reddish tinge. Draco closed his eyes. That feeling was back, the feeling of having slept without resting, awakening more tired than he had been when he lay down. He felt overwhelmed by despair, and more than that, by a rising anger. And he was still exhausted. 

He lay back down on the bed, pulled the covers up over his head, and fell back into nightmares. 

*** 

I sit at the edge of the bed, watching him sleep. If what he's doing could accurately be called 'sleeping.' Nightmare pushes him in its slow dance from one side of the bed to the other. His head moves on the pillow, tousling the silver-blond locks into tangles, the lids of his shut eyes are blue in the dimness, and the sheets are tangled around his waist. Moonlight paints his bare upper body with silver, describing the curves of his shoulder, the dip at the hollow of his throat, the angle and plane of his cheekbones, the soft and slightly childish mouth: often hard, sometimes petulant. He bites at his lip, and cries out from the horror of whatever he sees behind those closed eyes. 

I could sit and watch him forever, but there is not enough time for that. I raise myself up on my knees, bend over him, and kiss him on the mouth. 

*** 

Out of a dream of dragons Draco woke suddenly, gasping, trapped by a sensation he vaguely remembered from earlier that day, just before he'd...died. There was a weight bearing down on his chest, and something pressing against his mouth, cutting off his breath. He realized with some bewilderment that the something was someone else's mouth, and pulled away in shock, staring. 

The shadows at the foot of his bed resolved itself into a pattern of lighter and darker shadows, and then into a familiar figure. White face, black, untidy hair, slender body clad in thin cotton pajamas, round glasses reflecting the glacial moonlight. Even when the darkness had leached all the color out of everything else in the room, Harry's eyes were still green. He said, "Sorry I woke you up." 

He didn't lookvery sorry. 

Through the daze of sheer exhaustion, Draco struggled to sit up, managing to prop himself against the pillows. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was amazed it wasn't audible. He cleared his throat, "Potter?" 

"Yes?" 

"Did you just kiss me?" 

The silence that answered this question was much longer than he would have anticipated. A succession of unreadable emotions flitted across Harry's face, usually so heartbreakingly transparent. His tongue ran nervously along his lower lip before he answered, a gesture that sent a sharp pang of inexplicable heat through Draco's chest. 

What's going on? 

"I didn't think you'd wake up," said Harry, finally. 

Draco just looked at him, wide-eyed. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting; it wasn't, in fact, an answer at all. "It's touching that you snuck in here to watch my sweetly sleeping face, Potter, but..." 

"You were yelling," said Harry, flatly. 

Taken aback, Draco said, "What?" 

"You were having a nightmare. I could hear you from down the hall." 

"So you decided justto..." 

"You act like you've never thought about this before. Come on, Malfoy. You know you have. I see the way you watch me. I know what you're thinking. You want this just as much as I do." 

------ 

The shock and indignation on his face is a joy to behold. He sits up straight, gray eyes darkening to black as they always do when he's angry. Cheekbones flushing with color. The moonlight outlines the shape of his lean torso, his slender arms, I can't help wondering if he's got anything on underneath those blankets wrapped so snugly around his waist. 

"I want what?" he says, and his voice is ice lined with razors. "I want you waking me up at 5 am so you can sit on the end of my bed and natter on about God knows what? I hardly think so, Potter. Did Weasley slip a ConfundusPotion into your hot chocolate before bedtime, or what?" 

"Leave Ron out of this," I say, sharply.  

"Glad to," says Draco. The corners of his mouth are curling up into a smile, now, in that way that both exasperates me and makes me wonder frantically what it would be like to kiss that curling mouth, to have those lips push back against mine, and a shudder runs through me. I can't count the times I've felt like this before. I can't remember the time I first realized I felt that way. During one ofour incalculable number of hallway brawls, I think. Looking at his icy gray eyes over the tips of our wands, his full of a wickedly brilliant inner mischief, mine probably full of rage. Hermione standing somewhere behind me, begging me not to let Malfoy get under my skin like that. With him grinning at me, silver hair falling carelessly into his eyes, I went from wanting to grab him and slam him up against the wall and beat him senseless to wanting to grab him and slam him up against the wall and kiss him breathless. To stop that sarcastic flow of words with my mouth, crush the breath out of him with my hands, make him moan and writhe under me and beg for what only I could give him. Obsession, you could call it. Our forced proximity only fuels it. Our bickering only fuels it. Everything fuels it. And it burns. 

But all this is wasting precious time. I focus on him again as he gets up on his knees and kneels opposite me, looking smug in the moonlight. He says, "Cat got your tongue, Potter? Or were you too busy trying to stick your tongue down my throat? Not that I blame you, really." 

"You're revoltingly smug, Malfoy," I tell him. I take a risk, then. "If you want me to leave, just say so." 

He hesitates, and in that momentary flash of wanting behind his gray eyes I see that I was right to come here like this, right all along. 

The grin fades off his face, and he says abruptly, "Either do it again, or leave." The grin comes back at the look on my face. "That's your problem, Potter. No follow-through. It's like I was telling you -" 

I silence him by leaning forward and sealing his mouth shut with mine. 

His head tilts back and he gives himself up to the kiss. Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy was capable of giving himself up to anything, Malfoy of the famous self-control. But he does. His lips are full and warm and silky, opening under mine, his tongue darting out to taste mine, to play with it. We are kneeling together amid the welter of blankets now. I note dimly that he is not naked, but wearing very thin cotton pajama bottoms, half-transparent and stuck to his body with sweat. His arms are around me, his hand gently cupping the back of my head, I've been kissed before but nothing like this. We sink down among the pillows, his arms still around me, pulling my body down to his. 

**** 

Harry didn't taste at all like Draco had expected him to. He'd always looked at Harry's mouth and thought, I bet he tastes like chocolate. Instead he tasted tart and just a little sweet, like windfall apples or wine. He took his mouth away from Harry's as they fell back onto the bed together, and said, "Were you drinking tonight?" 

"Maybe just a little." Harry's mouth moved over his cheek, and took his earlobe ever so lightly between his teeth. "Trying to get my nerve up." 

“That's not all you've been getting up." He grinned in the dark. The thin fabric of their pajamas didn't provide much of a barrier between them. 

"Very funny," said Harry, and buried his mouth in Draco's throat, printing it with fierce kisses, almost bites. He seemed disinclined to talk, and the pleasure-pain of the ravenous kisses soon drove thoughts of conversation from Draco's mind. He tangled his hands in Harry's hair as Harry moved back up to capture his mouth, his hands sliding down to touch and stroke him expertly, almost tooexpertly. "You've done this before," he whispered, half-angry, half-impressed, "Where did you--? With Weasley?" 

"I told you I don't want to talk about him," said Harry fiercely, and this time when he kissed Draco it was with nearly enough force to leave a bruise. They rolled together over the bed, bodies straining against each other, and the feeling of Harry's body against his was pleasure and tumult and pain. He gasped and tilted his head back as Harry's mouth ravished his throat and then moved down to his chest, licking and biting at his nipples. Hearchedup his back as his arousal grew more intense, and felt Harry's hips circling against his, and the pressure and the pleasure of it built and built and his breath was coming in shallow gasps and –  

Harry suddenly pulled away from him, and sat bolt upright. "I have to go," he said, very white in the moonlight. 

"Go?" Draco stared at him. "Go where? What?" 

"I have to go," Harry said again, sliding off the bed, and fumbling with the buttons on his pajama top. Draco could see that his hands were shaking violently. 

"Youcan'tgo! Jesus Christ, Potter. What the - are you all right 

Harry looked at him, and for a moment, Draco could have sworn his green eyes were bright with tears. "I'm sorry, Draco," he said, and Draco gaped at him, in a welter of shock and disbelief and disappointed desire, as Harry turned around, bolted across the room, and vanished through the door, slamming it shut behind him. 

" Potter!" Draco hissed under his breath, not wanting to wake the whole house. "Potter, this was your bloody idea, you know!" 

He grabbed a pillow and threw it so hard against the opposite wall that it burst open, showering down feathers like snow. "You stupidgit!" 

**** 

I slam the bedroom door behind me and lean against the wall, shaking. I try to take a step forward but my legs collapse and I fall to my knees, the pain ripping through me as the potion, having run its course, drains out of my blood. I cannot see myself changing, of course, but I know what's happening to me. I've brewed this potion enough times, taken it before in secret, testing it, making sure it works. I've watched myself change in the mirror, thinking of the moment, planning for it, waiting...for what? Encouragement? (there never was any.) An opportunity? (like this one.) I curl in on myself, letting the change take me, knowing what I'd see if I was watching myself from a distance right now. 

It comes like a wave, a ripple that passes over me. Arms and legs lengthening, these borrowed (stolen) pajamas are suddenly too small and too short on me. Green eyes blurring into blue. The black hair shortening, no longer untidy, lightening to red. Skin melting, changing, reforming over my transforming bones. I see my hands lengthen, the freckles appearing like tiny dots of ink. 

And it's over. The spell, the pain, the change. I pull off the glasses that now send everything around me into a blur of color and shape, get to my feet and walk down the hallway, moving automatically. I know where I'm going so well, I can walk there with my eyes shut, and I do. I find my bedroom door, twist the handle, walk inside, shut the door behind me. 

Brilliant moonlight streams in, lighting the room like silver fire. There is my empty bed, pushed up against one wall. And in the other bed, Harry. He lies on his back, asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes. He does not stir as I walk over to sink down on the bed opposite him. 

A heavy weight has settled on my chest, threatening to crush me. I thought I would feed my obsession and by feeding it, would kill it. Instead it has fed on me. My skin burns from his touch and my mouth still aches from kissing, but the emptiness inside my chest is ten times worse. I stare over at Harry in the opposite bed. I can see the wild tangle of his dark hair; his shirt had  rucked  up under his arms, exposing his slender body and just-visible ribs. He looks like he did when he was eleven; vulnerable, childish. I wonder how angry he would be with me if he knew what I did with the hair that had fallen onto his pillow that night and the glasses he left on my bedside table. I hope I never have to find out. 

**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~** 

Now to lay the blame on Heidi for this. We were discussing Draco/Ron scenes and how Draco might come to be interested in Ron. Heidi said, "Only if he Polyjuiced himself into Harry," and from that, this evil plot bunny hopped into my mind. Don't worry, Ron in DS is probably not concealing a mad passion for Draco, at least if he is, he hasn't mentioned it to me. -Cassie