Take that, Potter! (HP/DM, 1/1)
Title: Take that, Potter!
Author: MajinSakuko
E-Mail: MajinSakuko@yahoo.de
Beta-Reader: hailiebu
Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Main-Chara: HP/DM, SS/RL
Rating: PG-13
Genre/s: Humour, Romance (Slash)
Warning/s: Silliness, a bit morbid, reader's action
Summary: Draco curses Harry, but, as it is so often the case in these fics, it goes awfully wrong. Or does it? H/D Slash with a healthy dose of Snape/Lupin
A/N: Takes place in Harry's seventh year. A/U after middle of fourth year. Wormtail paid his wizard's debt, cooking Voldemort in the cauldron instead of reviving him. Sirius is liberated, Cho and Cedric are together, and Harry is free for all - evil - purposes.

Please follow the instructions while you are reading!

From the second Harry Potter cracked open his eyes on this fateful Monday morning, he knew it was destined to be a crappy day. Monday mornings usually were, what with all the Potions lessons first thing after breakfast, but this Monday was worse. Harry just knew it. It was, as they say, in the air.

At first, Harry overslept and had to hurry to wash up. When he stood in front of the mirror, it told him (apart from the usual "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" and "Ever heard of a hairbrush, tousle-head?") to "Love yourself - no one else does, anyway."

Harry gaped at the mirror in shock. Love advice - and such a crude one to boot - was not something he cared to receive. Maybe someone had hexed the mirror? Harry frowned. That would have been Fred and George's field of expertise, and those two pranksters had left Hogwarts already. Harry's already downtrodden mood went down even further. He shot a last glance at the mirror, wincing at his own forlorn look - no one loved him! - before leaving for breakfast and the next surprise - but he didn't know that yet.

Harry was just busy stuffing himself with pancakes and the likes while surreptitiously glaring daggers at all the cute couples around him - how dare they be happy and in love when he was not? - when the owl post arrived. He didn't bother looking up as he wasn't awaiting any letters. Thus he was surprised that a small barn owl that he didn't recognise landed on his plate. The owl carried a letter in its beak - a red vibrating one - and its gaze was piercing.

"Oh!" said Hermione. "Who's sending you this kind of letter, Harry?" Her eyes held a strange gleam to them, causing Harry to squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

"Dunno," he said.

"Whose owl is that?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I dunno," Harry repeated, untying the letter from the owl's leg and watching the bird fly back out of the window, maple syrup dripping from its talons. The small envelope was nearly throbbing in his fingers, and Harry feared that the Howler would start screaming any second now. He hated those letters; they were so bloody embarrassing. He'd only gotten a Howler once - unlike Ron who was receiving them on a regular basis from his mother - after he'd killed Voldemort so-to-speak. Obviously, only one Death Eater was going to miss his master; the others had sent Harry thank-you gifts and good-luck cards. It was a bizarre world he lived in.

The red envelope leapt into the air right in front of Harry. It ripped open, morphing into a mouth. For a fleeting moment, Harry could have sworn that it was smiling coyly at him before it screamed, "YOU!"

A thick cloud of perfume sprayed forth, directly into Harry's face. Harry sneezed violently, then coughed, then sneezed some more. He tried to suck in enough oxygen, which proved to be more difficult than he'd imagined. It was like hanging upside down over a smelly cauldron, though the scent of the letter was not entirely unpleasant, he had to admit.

Then the paper mouth moved closer to Harry and started whispering in his ear. At its words, Harry felt his face grow warm. His heartbeat seemed to slow down, even though he felt his pulse racing and his blood rushing in his ears - especially the one where he felt a papery tongue flickering.

"I love your hair;
it fits to you -
I love the air
surrounding you -
Each night I pray
to be with you -
I wish to say
that I love you!"

Harry's breath hitched; he didn't even feel all the eyes watching him. It seemed as if the sole interest of the students was entirely focused on Harry and his whispering love letter. Even a few teachers watched curiously. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling like a Muggle disco ball. It was a good thing no one paid him attention; looking into his eyes when he was in this state would be similar to looking unprotected into the sun - resulting in blindness in both cases. Lupin sent Snape a grin, raising his brows. Snape, reminded of the day when he'd received a Whisperer from his lover - though, thankfully, it had happened in a far more private place - blushed uncomfortably despite himself.

When the letter was finished, it flew once again in front of Harry. It stuck out its tongue, though not at all like a Howler would, before exploding in a flurry of pink hearts. The colour on Harry's face became a shade darker yet again. When he realised that the hammering of his heart wasn't the noise in the Great Hall, and that the entire Great Hall was actually waiting raptly for his reaction, Harry sank lower in his seat.

"So?" cried Seamus across the table. "Who was it from and what was the message?"

"Leave him," snapped Hermione, though it was clear to see that she wanted to know just as badly. "That's none of your business."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "We get to know first, right, Harry?"

Harry felt as if he was glowing. He didn't know why, but he wasn't hungry anymore. He pushed back his seat, mumbling something about having forgotten his Potions textbook, and hurriedly left the Great Hall.

Harry groaned, closing his eyes and preparing himself for the inevitable. Then, the Howler continued.

"You are the apple to my eye!" it screamed in a horrible parody of the Muggle song, causing Harry's own eyes to tear because the letter was blasting its breath into his face. "That's why I'll always be around! I'll be the apple to your eye!" it continued, and now there was not much of the Muggle song resemblance left, "Just wait till I got you around!"

Harry was frozen in his seat, unaware that the rest of the Great Hall was following his example. Snape was cackling gleefully under his breath - because, hey, it wasn't every day that the Potter brat got so embarrassed - until his lover kicked his shin. Dumbledore was twinkling away merrily, seemingly unaware of the painfully uncomfortable situation.

The Howler went up in flames.

No one seemed to notice.

Harry's face couldn't decide whether it should deepen or drain its colour at the moment. It settled on alternately blushing and blanching, making Harry appear as if someone was switching a red bulb underneath his face just for the fun of it.

"How poetic," Seamus chortled, his own face bright red because he had held in his retort for so long. "Anyone recognize the voice?"

Harry was still somewhere off in shell-shock-land. He vaguely registered Seamus and Dean discussing the possible singer of this message. Hermione was trying to shut them up. And Ron was back to wolfing down his breakfast as if nothing interesting had happened.

Like in trance, Harry pushed back his seat and made to leave.

"Where're you going, mate?" Ron asked, chewing openly. "Potions doesn't start for another half an hour."

"Just going for a bit of a walk," Harry said.

Once the doors to the Great Hall swung shut, Harry was able to breathe again. Oh, the embarrassment! As if being stared at because of a sodding scar on his forehead wasn't enough already. No, certainly not. Why not send the poor, emotionally distressed boy a supposed love letter and make sure that everyone was aware of it?

Harry crossed his arms under his school robes, quickening his pace. It felt like a blow to his face. At first the mirror telling him that no one loved him, and then this confession. Harry wondered who could be so mean as to play with his feelings like that. He pouted, seriously tempted to suck on his thumb. Then his day went downhill.

"Hey, Potter," a familiar voice cried.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said tetchily, not bothering to slow down, "before I do something I won't regret."

"Why so grumpy all of a sudden?" Malfoy didn't seem to realise that he was being ignored. "After receiving what was so obviously a love letter, I would have thought you were in higher spirits. What is it? Recognized the voice and not happy with it?"

Harry stopped abruptly, whirling around and whipping out his wand at the same time - years of ballet training had made it possible to not lose his balance doing that. Before Malfoy even had the time to blink, Harry cast a Jelly-Legs Curse on him. But Malfoy wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, and Harry would come to regret this. Harry's wand was still in the process of producing the curse, as Malfoy's wand was already trained on the Gryffindor in return. Sly little snake had obviously counted on Harry cursing him, so his wand would be occupied otherwise, leaving him ample time to cast his own spell.

Purple light hit Harry squarely in the chest, even as Malfoy's legs went jelly and he fell to the floor in an undignified heap. But even in that position, the blond managed to sound haughty.

"It's no wonder that Pettigrew had to kill You-Know-Who," he said. "You can't even block the simplest spells when provoked."

"What did you do?" Harry cried panicky, ignoring the snide remark. He was touching his body, searching for missing limbs. "Malfoy!"

"The one and only," Malfoy replied sarcastically, not adding the usual "thanks to you."

"What did you do, dammit?" Harry stalked over to the boy still pooling on the floor. He went to fetch Malfoy's wand, but the Slytherin was slyer - and therefore faster. He cast a quick spell to delete the previously used incantation, smirking in satisfaction as Harry blanched.

"You're going to find out, never you fear," Malfoy promised, proceeding to cast a counter-curse on his jellied legs. He rose to his feet, managing to sneer down on Harry, even though he was half a head smaller. "It's nothing dangerous..." He smiled nastily.

"Oh, and that's supposed to console me, or what?" Harry growled.

"No," Malfoy said simply, his smile morphing smoothly into a smirk.

Harry, being fed up with being played with for the day, grabbed Malfoy's tie, pulled him close and-

"Mr. Potter," another familiar voice sneered. Snape. Lovely. The day was just getting better and better. "If you don't want to lose your House twenty points more than I just took for fighting in the hallways, I would advice you to let go of Mr. Malfoy. Immediately, if you please."

Well, Harry wasn't pleased, but he let go nonetheless. Not much choice, anyway. "Yes, sir," he grit out, biting his tongue when Malfoy's lips quirked. Fate had the terrible habit of playing directly into the blond's hands. Or maybe Snape simply had a watch telling him whenever his godson was provoking Harry.

Another Monday morning, another horrible Potions class. Harry was grateful when it was finally over with and he, Ron, and Hermione were on their way to Charms. He hadn't yet told them about Malfoy's underhand attack, because he felt so stupid to fall for such a simple trick. He had sworn to himself to never let the Slytherin rile him up again, but he hadn't managed. Whatever he did, Malfoy got under Harry's skin. And even if Harry sometimes wished this getting-under-your-skin would be of another kind altogether, he didn't dare to get his hopes up. He was used to being played with, but he didn't want to get destroyed in the process. If dying a virgin was going to be the price of protecting himself, Harry was willing to pay - or maybe he'd just leave the Wizarding World behind.

Harry was going to corner Malfoy and demand to know what kind of spell he had used. Yes, he was going to do exactly that. Harry didn't quite realize that he fell behind a bit, while he was pondering all the nice ways to force the information out of Malfoy. He could push the blond up against a wall; he could grab him by his tie again; he could-

Just as Harry traversed a hallway crossroad, still deeply immersed in his musings, he was rolled over by a gigantic killer tomato. Unnoticed, it had shot from the left side corridor, knocked over Harry, leaving him a flat spot on the floor, and then it sped down the right side corridor, never to be seen again.

Snape and Lupin were suddenly there. The first crouching down next to Harry, scooping up some of the tomato ketchup from his back. Snape tested the substance between his fingers, then shook his head. Lupin broke out in tears.

"Oof," Harry groaned. Slowly, life was coming back to him. His back hurt like hell. He felt like he had been rolled over by a killer tomato. He didn't know how right he was. 'What happened?' he thought fuzzily.

"Harry!" Lupin said, half-relieved that the boy was all right and half-angry at the shock he had given them. "That's not funny!"

"What-"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape snapped. There was not much relief in his voice, but all the more anger. "Attention seeking is poor enough, but acting dead in the middle of the hallway to get said attention is definitely over the top, Potter!"

"But I didn't-"

"I am disappointed," Lupin said quietly, and Harry would have hung his head in shame, if he had been able to. This cut more deeply than anything the Potions master could throw at him. Lupin took Snape's hand, tugging him towards the teachers' room.

Harry stayed where he was for the time being. He was floored, literally. What had just happened? Harry ticked it off mentally.

1. Malfoy had cursed him.
2. Harry had been attacked by something, leaving him sticky, flat on the floor and faintly hungry for chips.
3. Snape and Lupin had thought Harry had just acted dead to get more attention.
4. Harry had no idea what had happened.

All he knew was that he needed to speak to Hermione.

Later that day, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry had his two best friends gathered around him, raptly listening to his adventure of the day. Naturally, Ron thought secretly that Harry had merely done it for attention, but changed his mind quickly as Harry told them that Snape had thought so, too. Hermione kept on nodding.

"Do you have any idea what kind of spell Malfoy could have cast?" Harry asked finally when he'd finished his tale. He had high hopes that Hermione could help him.

"Hmm." She leant forwards and brushed her fingers through Harry's hair. When she pulled her hand back, it was sticky and red. Harry hadn't had the time to actually shower yet. She took a sniff. "Smells like camomile..."

"That's my shampoo," Harry supplied.

"Hmm," Hermione said again, smelling again at her hand. Then she stuck out her tongue and tasted it cautiously. "Ketchup. No doubt."

Ron looked at Hermione incredulously. "Harry got attacked by ketchup?" Then he turned his attention back to the other boy. "Did you have a fight with Dobby again?"

"No, not that I can remember," Harry said slowly.

"I don't think there was an actual attacker," Hermione said. "I believe that Malfoy's spell and this ketchup assault are linked."

It was Harry's turn to make a vacuous sound. "But which spell lets you get attacked by ketchup, and so much later than the spell was cast, to boot?"

"That's the question," said Hermione, already packing her things to go to the library. "I'm going to do a bit of research. Don't wait up."

She needn't have told the boys.

Breakfast the next morning came all too quickly. Hermione hadn't been able to find out anything about Malfoy's spell, but that came as no surprise. No matter how intelligent the girl was, Malfoy was a sly snake who didn't let himself get caught doing something against the rules.

Harry sighed, melancholy coming back over him as he saw how Ginny fed a small piece of pancake to Dean. There were so many couples in Hogwarts; even Snape had someone to hold hands with under the table. Over the excitement about the spell, Harry had almost forgotten how lonely he was, 'almost' being the operative word. He wanted someone to feed pancakes to, as well. Malfoy - Draco, he thought giddily - would fit perfectly in his lap. He could ask him to open his mouth and then proceed to feed him piece by piece, licking stray syrup from his lips...

Not that it would ever happen. The spell the Slytherin had cast on him did tell him that much. This knowledge didn't prevent Harry from fantasizing, though, thus leading to the next incident.

Harry had just been touching the goblet to his lips, eyes glazed over dreamily, when suddenly-

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, his goblet refilling itself much more quickly than he was able to drink it. He tried to pull it from his mouth, but it was like stuck on his lips. However, before Harry could seriously drown in his own goblet, he fell over backwards, splashing himself with juice and passing out.

Ten minutes later he came to again; this time in the hospital wing. He could hear Lupin, Snape and Pomfrey talking about his emotional state of distress, as if he weren't there at all.

"This is a distinct cry for help," Pomfrey said seriously, clucking her tongue. "We have to help the poor boy."

Snape said something derisive about the help Harry really needed, thus earning him a smack from Lupin. Harry grinned.

"That's not funny, Severus!" Lupin said emphatically. "Harry tried to drown himself with his pumpkin juice. That requires professional help."

Harry cleared his throat, causing to catch the attention of the other three people. "I did not try to drown myself. It was the goblet. It got stuck on my mouth."

"Realization is the first step towards recovery," Pomfrey said briskly. "You've got a long way to go, dear."

"But I didn't-"

"Now, don't stress yourself," the matron interrupted, hushing Harry's protest and tucking the blanket back around him. If the boy didn't know better, he'd think she wanted to kill him herself, the blanket was so tightly pulled around him. "Get some more rest and you'll be able to go to the afternoon classes."

Harry had no intention to go to the afternoon classes, though. He already had a suspicion about what kind of spell Malfoy cast, but he needed some more time to think about it. And what better place to do so than the Room of Requirement?

Lunch didn't come quickly enough on this Thursday. Harry hadn't been able to concentrate in class all morning, because he didn't have them with Hermione. Alas, he had overslept again, thus managing to not see the girl half of the day. He wanted to know whether she'd found out anything the day before in the library. Knowing her, she'd probably managed. But Malfoy was sly; maybe he used a spell even she couldn't find. No, Harry corrected himself quickly, that wasn't possible.

Thinking of Malfoy - Draco as Harry only dared to call him in his head - the boy just walked out of the Great Hall, followed by the simpering Pansy Parkinson. Harry unconsciously tightened his grip around his spoon, imagining it to be the pug's throat. It only served as a small consolation. The fact that Draco kept snarling at the girl for following him around like a lost puppy begging for a bone did much more for Harry's wellness.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione said, plopping herself down next to her friend. Ron sat down, as well, immediately reaching for three plates at once - left hand, right hand, and teeth. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Did you find anything about the spell?" Harry asked immediately.

"Unfortunately not," she said, shooting the boy an apologetic glance, before she filled her own plate. "I'll keep looking, though."

Harry was disappointed, but not overly so. This meant that he could still confront Malfoy. 'Hehe,' he thought, slurping his alphabet soup absentmindedly.

Suddenly, the letters in his soup began to rearrange themselves, forming new words. As this was nothing special in itself - Wizarding soup[] tended to speak with its eater - Harry wasn't concerned. Until he read the words, that was.

"This is going to be your last meal!" it spelled.

"Hermione?" Harry said apprehensively, pointing to his soup.

Hermione took a look. "What a polite soup you have," she said, smiling. "Wishing you bon appetite, even though you're eating it." Then she went back to her own plate.

Incredulous, Harry's eyes snapped back to his plate as Hermione said the word 'polite'. The second she had looked away, though, the words morphed back from "Enjoy me!" to "You're not going to live to digest me!"

Slightly confused, Harry frowned. Why was he being attacked by food all the time? Then his eyes widened in disbelief as the letters built a new phrase.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He had barely the time to wipe out his wand as a green stream of light shot out from his soup, hitting him squarely in the chest. He fell from the seat, landing on the floor with a hard smack, out cold.

When Harry came to again, he was in his customary bed in the hospital wing. There was Madam Pomfrey shuffling about, Lupin was calming a nearly hysterical Hermione, and Snape was taking points from Ron for one reason or another. So it hadn't been a dream, after all. He had been nearly Avada Kedavra'ed by his own lunch. Just his luck that after Voldemort died, Harry was immune against the Killing Curse.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, when she saw that the boy had woken up. She rushed over to him. "How are you?"

"All right, I guess," he said.

The other occupants came over to Harry, as well. Snape was his old foreboding self, but it was Lupin who spoke up then.

"You could have killed yourself!" he said. "What did you think you were doing?"

"I-I," Harry stammered, flabbergasted that Lupin was against him again. "I didn't-"

"No, Potter, you didn't," Snape sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "You didn't pull out your wand. You didn't cast the Avada Kedavra. You didn't try to impress us all with your spectacular ability to ward off the Killing Curse. You didn't do it because you were the only wizard allowed to cast the curse, and you didn't do it because you had to. Let me guess," he went on, leaning closer to the prone boy. "It was the soup."

"How did you-?" Harry gasped. "You believe me?"

"Of course not!" Snape snapped.

"You really want to tell us that you were attacked by your soup?" Lupin said, torn apart between incredulity and pity for the obviously delusional boy. He looked over to his lover. "I never thought you could be right all along."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione stomped on his foot, causing him to groan instead.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head and clucking. "I'm sorry, but this doesn't look good for you. I'm going to have to do a complete check-up. Now, though, you require rest." She sent both of the professors out and told the other two students to only stay for a few minutes.

"Harry..." Ron said slowly. "I think I just realised something. Don't you think these incidents are kind of - familiar?"

"Familiar?" Hermione repeated, voicing Harry's thoughts. "How could they be familiar? Harry has never been nearly killed by his soup before."

"No, I don't mean this kind of familiar," Ron said. "And you wouldn't know, Mione. You didn't take Divination long enough."

Something clicked in Harry's mind at that. Divination. That was it.

"Out with the two of you," Pomfrey's voice echoed through the hospital wing just as Harry wanted to get into details. The matron didn't allow disobedience, though, and so Hermione and Ron left, albeit reluctantly, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts - and his escape plan.

Harry had to move quietly in order not to get caught. He wasn't supposed to be out here at all; he couldn't wait any longer, though. He needed some answers. When he arrived at the Room of Requirement, he thought of a place where he could think; a place where he would get the answers he was looking for.

Harry entered, finding himself in a room he hadn't expected. It was a bedroom, nicely furnished with four-poster, couch and writing desk. Harry went over to the couch and sat down heavily.

He knew now that all the things that had happened to him had been predictions he himself had written for his Divination homework. He and Ron had always thought of even more grotesque ways for Harry to die a nice and spectacular death, pleasing Trelawney to no end. So the first thing that had happened to him, the incident in the hallway the day before, had been a killer tomato. Harry stifled a chuckle. If it weren't so bizarre, it would be funny. Well, now he knew what happened to him, all he had to find out was why Malfoy had cast this particular spell on him...

Harry stood up again, pacing the floor in front of the couch. He couldn't tell why, but he had the indistinct feeling that Malfoy had only acted on first impulse the day before, when he'd cursed him. The Slytherin hadn't even had well formulated insults at hand to greet him. He had almost seemed - hurt? And as Harry knew all too well, if Malfoy was hurt, the boy lashed out at everything in his way. But Harry hadn't done anything to Malfoy, had he?

Harry stopped his pacing long enough to sit down at the desk, tapping his fingers on the wood. Malfoy had said something about the love letter Harry'd gotten, and then all hell broke loose. What had he said?

What is it? Recognized the voice and not happy with it?

What was that supposed to mean?

Harry went to look through the drawers in the desk for some parchment. He needed a list, and a mental one wouldn't be much help at the moment. Even as Harry thought it, he realised that he shouldn't need to search the desk. But there wasn't any parchment. Not on the desk, neither in his hand or anywhere else.

'Odd,' Harry thought, but didn't think this could be too important. He went back to the drawers, finally finding what he was looking for. However, the parchment was not blank. There was a poem on it - well, it did rhyme at least, however horribly. Harry's eyes widened as he recognised the words as the text his love letter had contained.

Just as Harry thought about the implications, the door to the bedroom swung open, and Draco Malfoy entered. The blond stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Harry, then his eyes widened as he realised that the other boy was holding the parchment.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked, trying to sound commanding, but barely managing not to turn around and flee again.

Harry hardly noticed. "What are you doing in the Room of Requirement?" he asked his own question.

"The Room of what?" Draco said. "This is my room. What are you doing here? And how did you get past the wards?"

"Your room?" Harry repeated. "No, that's impossible. I went into the Room of Requirement, thinking of a place to think, a place to find..." he trailed off. Harry remembered. He had been thinking of a place to find answers. And he had found them. Here, in these rooms. In Draco Malfoy's rooms.

"What - what are you doing there with that parchment?" Draco asked, trying to sound like he hadn't ever seen the letter before. "Don't bring your garbage into my room, Potter. And now-"

"No," Harry cut him off, suddenly realising what it all meant. Draco had sent him the letter last morning. He'd confessed his feelings, however peculiar. And then he'd wanted to know how Harry had taken it, and the Gryffindor had lashed out at him for no other reason than being grumpy. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Draco was thrown off-guard by the sudden change of situation. "You're sorry because you've broken into my rooms, or what?"

"No," Harry said softly, walking over to Draco, whose eyes grew again. "I'm sorry for being such an idiot yesterday..."

"Yeah, well," Draco said awkwardly, fidgeting and intending not to show any weakness by retreating back. "Glad you finally came to the realisation."

Harry laughed. He was now right in front of Draco, who looked vaguely panicked. "You know, I just realised something..." he said. Draco's gaze jerked down to the letter still in Harry's hand.

"Mirrors don't always tell the truth," the Gryffindor said, referring to the last day when his mirror had said that he was unloved, and Draco relaxed again - but only temporarily. "And I realised that it was you sending me the letter..."

"What - what letter?" Draco spluttered, momentarily forgetting everything he knew about perfect deceiving. "I didn't send you any letter!"

"I love you, too," Harry said simply, embracing a stiff Draco. "I hope we see eye to eye that we're now together?"

"Eh," was the most intelligent answer Draco could come up with. Here he was, in the arms of the boy he had secretly longed for since he was eleven, and he couldn't even say a simple three lettered word like 'yes'.

Harry came to his rescue. "I'll take that as a yes, all right?"

"Uh-huh," Draco managed this time. Slowly, he relaxed into Harry's embrace. It felt wonderful.

"So," Harry said slowly. "Wanna tell me which spell you used on me?"

Draco smiled sheepishly. "No idea," he said. "I just said a few syllables, and it worked. I only said it wasn't dangerous, because that was the only thing I knew for sure. I didn't put much force into the spell. I didn't think there'd be any reaction. I just wanted to - eh - scare you a bit..." He looked apologetic, squeezing Harry once. "Why? What did the spell do? I just heard that something happened today in the Great Hall, but I'm not sure what."

"Well, the spell seems to make the predictions I made in Divination true," Harry said. "I mostly wrote something about being killed while eating, or being rolled over by a killer tomato."

Draco blanched. "Killer tomato?" he repeated faintly. "You're not - uh - injured or anything, are you?"

"No," Harry smiled. "I think I already experienced all my predictions... We didn't get that much homework... No, wait, there's one left..."

"And what's that?" Draco asked.

A small smile grazed Harry's lips. "Oh, I predicted that I'd - I'd get together with Draco Malfoy."

"Really?" Draco asked. "But, are we now together because we want to, or because the spell made us?"

"Only one way to be sure..." Harry said, leaning closer until his mouth hovered over Draco's. "I predicted that after our first kiss, I'd die of shock..." Then he locked his lips with Draco's entirely, kissing his new boyfriend sweetly.

Harry felt distinctly dizzy, but he didn't die. Thank Merlin.

-End-