Incendium

CHAPTER FIVE: Vide

Harry lay in bed that sunny Saturday morning. The weekend had finally come, but he was anything but relieved. He rolled over and wriggled further under his blankets to hide himself from the morning. Before he could get himself back to sleep, however, thoughts of the previous night bombarded him, and sleep was unattainable. He flopped around and lay on his back, staring blearily at the ceiling. Why does this have to keep haunting me? He asked himself, rubbing his eyes free of sleep and sighing deeply.

Haunting was a definite understatement. Harry's mind had been plagued with thoughts that he could barely follow when he had gone to bed the night before, and it was only the weariness that came from exerting his mind that allowed Harry some rest. This morning, however, his thoughts came back, eager to be sorted through.

At that moment, Ron threw back Harry's curtains, forcing Harry to sort through his jumbled thoughts as he was hurried down to breakfast. Ron ordered Harry around like a drill sergeant, and Harry obliged happily, pulling his clothes on in record time and hurrying out of the dormitory after Ron. Harry was happy for the distraction, and managed to delude himself that he was totally carefree. Until, of course, he entered the Great Hall and immediately spotted Malfoy, who glared at him expectantly. Harry averted his eyes and sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Why can't I get that damned kiss out of my head? Harry thought to himself in annoyance, trying to distract himself with the generally groggy morning conversation.

"Thank God it's the weekend," Seamus groaned into his goblet, his eyes barely open. Neville nodded his head in response, and Harry saw that it was going to be difficult to distract himself with conversation of this calibre.

Why did I like kissing Malfoy? Harry thought suddenly to himself, and he knew a peaceful breakfast was out of the question. It's not so much that he's a boy, though that is a significant part of my concern, but... Malfoy? I thought I had better taste than that. Harry pushed his food around his plate and frowned. He had gone over his previous kissing experiences in his mind earlier, and found that neither Katie nor Hermione had incited such riotous feelings within him. His rational mind said that it was probably the scandalous nature of his kiss with Malfoy that had his stomach in knots, but Harry violently argued with himself that he had liked it. That was the most frightening and unbelievable part of the whole experience - that he had actually enjoyed the taste and feel of Malfoy's lips against his own.

Harry shook his head angrily and firmly told himself, No. This is ridiculous. I cannot like to kiss boys... to kiss Malfoy. I refuse to accept this fate! He took an angry bite of his toast. I have to prove to myself that this is not possible.

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Martine Bell was a sixth year Ravenclaw. She had sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde hair. She was famous for her beauty, which had only seemed to bloom over the past two years. She resented the attention it got her sometimes, because it most often manifested itself in Slytherin boys of all ages catcalling at her in the corridors. It was for this reason that she never took an active interest in boys, and still didn't have a boyfriend. She found many boys attractive - especially the boys on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team - but they had all disappointed her intellectually or emotionally in some way.

The sunny Saturday afternoon in question, Martine had escaped the clutches of her so-called friends to watch the Gryffindors practice on the Quidditch pitch. She was leaning against the cold stone of the Hogwarts building, shrouded in the shadows. She had always wanted to play Quidditch, but knew that she wasn't a strong flyer and that she would never be able to compete against Cho Chang for the spot of Seeker.

The Gryffindors flew silently in the air, their scarlet robes billowing gracefully behind them, and Martine sighed wistfully to herself. The one boy she had always admired, but had never got to meet, was Harry Potter. She knew he was an unattainable goal, even for all her physical beauty, and she hoped that she would build up enough self-confidence to talk to him before the year was out. But, she thought sadly to herself, I'm only deluding myself that The Boy Who Lived would even consider looking at me.

She sighed again, punctuating her thoughts. The Gryffindors flew to the ground, their hour-long practice finally over. Martine remained in the shadows, watching as the team filed out of the front gate. Her gaze fixed intently on Harry as he took up the rear, his head held high and his determination unwavering. What he was so determined of, Martine couldn't know, but she knew he definitely looked sexy when he was concentrating. She giggled lightly to herself at her thoughts and, as if having heard her, Harry looked in her direction. She stopped giggling but didn't move her eyes from his. Harry stopped in his tracks, passed his broomstick to another team member and waved the rest of them on when they looked around. Martine suddenly panicked. What is he doing? Is he actually looking my way? Is he... he's coming towards me! Merciful Merlin! What should I do? I feel like running. My feet! My feet are stuck! I can't move! Help!

Harry stopped in front of Martine, their bodies mere inches from each other, and looked down at the slight girl. Martine let out a squeak as he took her wrist, an electric shock coursing through her as his skin connected with hers. Martine felt scared, but she told herself to calm her nerves. At least he's looking at me, she reasoned to herself, looking back into Harry's glinting emerald eyes. He was a good head taller than her, and her neck was strained to look at him.

"Would you..." Harry's voice poured over her mellifluously, instantly calming her nerves, "Would you mind very much if I kissed you?"

Martine's eyes widened and she parted her lips to reply, but before she could, Harry's lips had closed around her own, smothering her words. She found herself responding immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, putting a hand at the base of his neck and lifting herself onto her toes to get closer to the source of such a giddy feeling. Pleased with her reaction, Harry put his hand on her waist and pushed her backwards into the wall behind her. She knocked her head on the stone, momentarily breaking contact with Harry's lips, but before she could even take in a breath, Harry was on her again, pressing his entire body into her. He lifted her hand to the wall and entwined his fingers with hers and she slowly forgot the dull pain in her head. He kissed her feverishly, pressing hard against her lips, forcing them apart and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She gripped tighter onto the scruff of Harry's neck, jolted by his sudden force. He, in turn, fumbled around under her robes desperately, tugging on the bottom of her shirt. Another shock jolted through Martine as skin touched skin again, Harry's hand finding the tender flesh of her midriff.

Hang on, she thought rationally to herself as Harry's hand crept slowly but surely higher, this is definitely not right. She moved her hand from Harry's neck and pushed gently on his shoulder. He paid no attention and barely wavered in his pressure. She pushed harder, but it only served to fuel Harry's efforts. Finally, before Harry's fingers could reach her breast, she wrenched her mouth away from his and pushed his hand swiftly down and out of her shirt. Harry let go of Martine's hand and stumbled backwards.

"Shit," he exclaimed loudly to himself. "Shit, bugger, and damn."

Martine straightened out her clothes wordlessly, utterly confused at Harry's behaviour. He looked up at her and offered a weak smile.

"Sorry." And without further comment, Harry had disappeared around the corner of the building.

Martine stared at the place where Harry had just been standing and shook her head incredulously. I cannot believe it. I simply cannot believe it. An entire school of boys, and not one of them has an ounce of self-control!

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Harry stormed up the front stairs angrily, bursting through the large front doors melodramatically. He stormed up the stairs and burst into an empty classroom on the first floor, slamming the door behind him.

"God damnit, bugger, fuck, shit, Jesus Christ, bollocks, fuckity-fuck-fuck, fucking hell, buggery, DAMN!" Harry screamed to himself, kicking chairs over and throwing his fists angrily into the wooden desks. After injuring his left hand by thrusting it too hard into the wall, he clenched his teeth and flopped into a chair that was still standing. "It isn't fair," he whined.

Kissing Martine - that was her name, wasn't it? - hadn't helped Harry at all. In fact, it had only made him feel worse about the situation. He had wanted to show himself that he could feel the same about kissing a girl as he had about kissing Malfoy, but had only emerged to realize that all his kisses with girls had been pretty empty. Even with Hermione, there hadn't been any real feeling behind it, just embarrassed and tentative exploration. Malfoy had been the only one to make him feel so satisfied and so emotional at the same time. Harry knew it was because he shared something with Malfoy that he had never been able to share with anyone - boy or girl.

It was also an undeniable fact that Draco Malfoy was an incredibly attractive male. Harry hadn't ever thought about it, but now that the opportunity presented itself, he had to admit that Malfoy wasn't exactly an ugly boy. He had quiet, effeminate features and a slender, toned form. Harry knew exactly how much training he was put through as a Seeker, and it had only done his opponent's body good over the past four years. Harry had only seen Malfoy without a harsh facial expression a handful of times during their time at Hogwarts, and had never really paid attention to the boy's capacity for stillness. However, now that the veil of hate had been lifted, Harry was free to notice and scrutinize Malfoy's every expression. True, Malfoy's trademark sneer could transform his face into a detestable vision, but Harry's mind was drawn to the expression on Malfoy's face before he had kissed him. He had looked vulnerable - an expression Harry found truly attractive on Malfoy's face.

"This is utterly ridiculous," Harry said to himself, his head hung sadly, "I can't believe it." He stood up, groaning, and went to the teacher's desk at the front of the room. "I don't even know why I'm doing this." He rummaged around in the drawers and pulled out some parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. "Well, I do, but I probably shouldn't be." He scribbled some words on the parchment in his slanted scrawl and folded it up. "There are many things I never thought I'd do..." he mumbled, replacing the quill and ink, "and this one definitely takes the cake." He left the classroom with a set face. "Maybe even more than being a wizard." He exited the building again and hurried to the Owlery. "I mean, that was weird, but this..."

Harry hurried to attach the note to Hedwig's ankle, and she pecked him in the head. He looked up at her and brushed his hair out of his face. "Hedwig, deliver this to Draco Malfoy, would you?" The snowy owl gave him a confused stare. "Oh, just do it would you? I don't want to give it to him myself." She ruffled her feathers and shook her head. "Come on, Hedwig." She remained stubborn. "Fine, I'll just let Dengry deliver it," he said, reaching for her ankle. Hedwig gave an indignant look and spread her wings. "Thank you, Hedwig," Harry said with a smile as she soared out the window.

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Draco Malfoy sat at the back of the library, dozing peacefully next to a window. He had fallen asleep trying to get some homework done, drenched in the lazy afternoon sun. He awoke to the sound of tapping against the windowpanes. He looked over and saw a large snowy owl fluttering at the window, tapping frantically against it with its beak. Draco recognized the owl as Harry's instantly, and opened the window. Hedwig swooped into the library majestically and landed on the table in front of Draco, looking at him sternly. Draco looked back, confused, and Hedwig shook her head and tapped her feet.

"Oh," Draco said, and reached for Hedwig's ankle. Hedwig looked, to say the least, displeased at having Malfoy so close to her, but didn't move until he had finished. As soon as the letter was completely in Draco's hands, Hedwig spread her wings and flew out of the window, sending Draco's loose papers flying. Draco rolled his eyes and opened the letter.

You were right, Malfoy.

Meet me in the courtyard at midnight.

- Harry