reenka

I have come to see IC!Draco as a challenge! A pinnacle of unreachability! The impossible summit of achievement!

But there is always subjectivity, and character growth, and blah blah, I never write fic anymore anyway. The end.

I sort of think of HP fandom like I sort of think of the United States. :))

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Heheh, well, as long as one doesn't accept the impossible as actually being... impossible (so what's the use of trying, in other words), then it's All Good, I feel :> And yeah, I know, re: subjectivity & character growth, it just struck me as funny/sad that so many people don't bother themselves with improving their writing, I guess? But then, that always, uh, puzzled me in fandom ^^;; And y'know, I'm quite a lazy person except when I care about things, so I can only assume they don't care...?

You know, the fandom = US analogy really makes a bit -too- much sense, when you think about it ^^;; *facepalm*

And! I hope you realize I'm still expecting the hugfic from you (and therefore me!)... sometime this decade at least, missy! :P :X

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It's the fourteenth of August and Harry can hear the rain from where he sits, cross-legged, at the bottom of Ron's bed. The duvet is thrown back, the sheets full of crumbs, and Ron is half-lying against his headboard, one hand still inside a packet of crisps, snoring. This scene might be amusing if it weren't for the fact that Harry has spent the past eight days this way, and that the rain is starting to give him a headache.

. . . plus 25 pages, as of now. GOD I WILL NEVER BE DONE.

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OMG OMG I LOVE IT ALREADY, I DUNNO WHY BUT I DO, THEREFORE YOU SIMPLY HAVE TO PERSEVERE AGAINST ALL ODDS, LIKE I KNOW YOU CAN!!1 ♥♥ It's just... so... cute, and reminds me of how HBP opened and oh Harry <333333333 :D :D

(...and you realize I totally don't tend to go for like, -any- HBP!H/D anymore, so.... heheheh.) Here, tit-for-tat as promised:

That week in early October, there were floods in Essex and Norfolk, several severe storms leading to mass losses of power and widespread collisions, a tornado in Birmingham and a blizzard in London. The wind speeds reached points high enough to hurl unsuspecting wizards and witches into the air without a broomstick, landing them on the front yards of unsuspecting Londoners. The Muggle news were full of speculation about the acceleration of global warming and people in the pubs shivered and muttered about some new bioweapon or possibly the Second Coming.

Sitting quietly and listening in the Mother Hen, a place even more dodgy-looking than the Hog's Head, Harry coughs into his hand and heads outside, thinking he'd just heard the wind picking up.

Somehow, Harry's not surprised to see Draco Malfoy falling from the sky, landing socks first in a puddle in front of him.

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OMFG DRACO MALFOY LANDING IN A PUDDLE WHY ARE YOU SO GENIUS. I LOVE IT. CAN WE KEEP GOING. (Actually, I can't keep going much longer, because there are parts unfilled in, but at least . . .)

‘I found the book on Helga we were –’ Hermione begins, poking her head in the door, though at the sight of Ron she cuts off with a slight smile. ‘Sorry, I thought you were still working.’

‘Taking a break,’ Harry shrugs, indicating Ron’s still form just as he gives a spectacular snore. Hermione gives them both a wry glance and then sits down on Harry’s bed.

‘Your room is a mess, you know,’ she says conversationally. ‘Have you even left since yesterday? I swear I heard Ron Accio those crisps up here. Honestly, being able to use magic is a privilege, and besides, it really wouldn’t hurt for the two of you to get out more often –’

Harry says, sharper than he means, ‘Get out where, Hermione? You want to take a stroll around Grimmauld Place? Maybe pop over to Diagon Alley and see Fred and George’s new jokes? We’ve got to find out – about the Horcruxes –’

‘I know what we’ve got to do,’ Hermione says in an even tone. She’s barefoot and wearing the same loose t-shirt she was wearing the day before, but her hair smells of lavender, as if she’s just washed it. ‘I’m working on it. We’re all working on it. But don’t you think –’ here her voice goes meek, the way it does when she is about to say something she is sure he will not like – ‘don’t you think it all seems a little unreal? Like we’re – sort of – playing at being adults?’

On the wall, a map of the United Kingdom is hung crookedly with Sellotape; Harry’s Invisibility Cloak is draped with most of his discarded clothes over a chair too rickety to bear anyone's weight; next to him, Ron is snoring amidst several empty crisps packets, a thick book spread open on his chest. Harry has no idea what time it is, he hasn’t seen Molly Weasley or Remus Lupin in three days, and he can’t remember the last time he showered.

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OMG, I SO LOVE YOU :(( I mean, I honestly thought I didn't want post-HBP fic, really, and then there's -this- and they seem so them it almost -hurts- and I wanna see where this goes!!1 :(( Ahhh, Helga and Accio'ing crisps and you are so the genius here :(( I can -see- it, yeay!! :D :D :D It's really like I'm back with Harry all of a sudden, I'm so happy :(( <333333 This is what fanfic's -for- :(( Ahhhh! :(( Harry saying things sharper than he means-- and-- lavender-haired!Hermione, and-- playing at being adults, and-- not-showering!Harry just like in OoTP, and-- *CRIES AND CLINGS*

Here, some more of my sad effort:
Malfoy lay rather still with his shirt unbuttoned and his black tie loose, arms flung out at his sides. He looks like some twisted funhouse version of himself; frighteningly old-style suspenders and dirty black dress trousers, as if he'd been on his way back from some drunken Death Eater gathering when the freak storm took him. There are bloody smears on his lapel, and ice crystals had formed on his eyelashes.

The drizzle starts to drip down his nose and the fierce wind whips the hair forward onto Harry's forehead violently as he crouches. Malfoy's too-sleek hair was in his eyes and his mouth was slack, and Harry can't think except to press a finger to Malfoy's neck, where there's a very slow, unsteady pulse. He doesn't think he'd do any good checking for broken bones or any of that, so--

He doesn't think twice after looking at the soaked-through clothes and the gray tint to the other's skin, and tries to drag him upright, but can't manage by pulling with only one arm. In the end, Harry stifles a sigh and bends further across, scooping up Malfoy's prone weight and ending up straddling his thighs awkwardly, huffing a bit. Malfoy better be grateful for this, he thinks, because Harry definitely doesn't have the time to deal with any of it and now he's off schedule and Hermione will doubtless nag him, and Ron might have a fit when he returns....

Harry cringes at the sickening pressure as Apparation takes him; his last thought before his stomach twists is that Malfoy's neck smells like sweet grass.

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A DEATH EATER DRUNK PARTY. MALFOY AND HIS OLD-STYLE SUSPENDERS. COULD THIS GET ANY BETTER. OH WAIT, ICE CRYSTAL EYELASHES. MALFOY'S HAIR IN HIS MOUTH. GOD.

I am going to keep going until you are like, okay, enough already. Also, my title is Inexpert and Unexpected Things, which is possibly my favorite title in years:

Because he knows she is right, Harry says angrily, 'I'm the one who wanted to go after Snape, but you said we had to do research! And now you have a better plan? What do you want us to do, charge around the countryside shouting Voldemort's name?'

'I only meant –'

Ron chooses that exact moment to wake up, and he struggles to a full sitting position before saying blearily, 'Whazgoinon? What's this about You-Know-Who?'

'Hermione thinks we're wasting our time,' Harry snaps. 'That all we've been doing for a week is totally useless.'

'It's not useless, I only think –'

'Well, what exactly –'

'I could have told you that,' Ron says loudly, interrupting both of them. 'I just spent two hours reading about Rufus Algernon Barbary, and all I found out was that his wife slipped him some Alihotsy leaves and he's still raving in St. Mungo's. Load of rubbish.'

'You tell me where the next Horcrux is, then!' Harry exclaims, shoving his own book – the diary of Rupert Belby, grandson of Flavius – off his lap. It slides further than he means it to slide and drops with a soft thud onto the floor. Harry isn't surprised to see a little cloud of dust rise up from the carpet.

Hermione worries her lip. 'Harry, I'm sorry I said anything – it's just that Zacharias hasn't owled us back yet, and it's been five days – and nobody knows where Snape is – and when I talked to Lupin in the fire, he said Dumbledore's portrait is still sleeping, and Remus still thinks R.A.B. is Regulus, but he hasn't any proof –'

Ron says, 'I wish Sirius were here, he'd know.' As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he sends Harry a look that lies between guilt and apology, but Harry only nods. He'd been thinking the same thing.

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AHHH HOW ARE YOU MANAGING TO WRITE EXACTLY THE FIC I DIDN'T KNOW I WANTED TO READ??! :D :D :D Me, I predictably focused on just Harry and Draco, but with all the canon-extrapolation and sleeping!Dumbledore and cautious!Ron and... heheh I love the way you name people :> Though I only have like, 6 pages with holes in things (naturally, I tend to write the beginning and the end, and then waffle on the middle), so I can't keep going that much longer, but ♥:

Harry doesn't know why he looks for answers on Malfoy's face, except that it's there and it always has been.

"I don't know what to say to you anymore," Harry says out loud, staring down at Malfoy's motionless face. "Kind of a pitiful bugger now, aren't you?" He sighs. Malfoy is still kind of annoying-looking, even in deep sleep. With his eyes closed, Malfoy looks frail and pretty much exhausted, and Harry doesn't know why he was so worried the other was up to something, until he remembers how close Malfoy really came to killing Dumbledore, and then his fists clench and he wants to lash out, wants to break something and just forget about the mission and everything, because Malfoy had always been conveniently there, and now he's here again, and--

Hermione peeks her head in through the door. "How long are you going to watch him, Harry? He's not going anywhere, you know."

"I know," he says, but he doesn't get up, enduring her long-suffering silence, knowing her expression without having to turn around. "I'm almost done," he says stupidly.

"I'll be back with some soup," she says shortly, and Harry nods, not listening. Malfoy twitches and Harry starts, immediately on alert. He tells himself patiently that Malfoy's no threat now, it's all right, this is ridiculous, but he can't even listen to himself. All he wants to know is that Malfoy is the enemy, though right behind that is the niggling awareness that he's purposefully ignoring certain things. Mostly, that he's ignoring what Dumbledore would've wanted him to do.

He tries to stare bloody holes into Malfoy's forehead at the thought of Dumbledore, but quite demonstrably, he can't. He knows whose fault all this is-- it's Snape's. Malfoy's not worth it, he thinks, trying not to run through the confrontation on the tower yet another time in his mind. Obviously, Dumbledore didn't know everything, or he wouldn't have trusted that greasy, murdering bastard. Dumbledore was only human, Harry thinks bitterly, and leaves the room before he breaks Malfoy's defenseless face open.

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"I'M ALMOST DONE," HE SAYS STUPIDLY. THIS IS THE BEST LINE IN THE WORLD. MALFOY'S DEFENSELESS FACE. THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR MY LOVE.

This is the end of the first scene, so! But later there is Phineas and Mundungus and Gabrielle Delacour and Azkaban and Madame Pince and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Minus Florean Fortescue. God, this has made me excited to write again. Too bad I have no time. Ahem:

'Anyway, Ron, your mum's coming by tomorrow with Ginny,' Hermione says, after a pause filled only with rain. 'And she said to tell you not to forget about airing out your dress robes, and to tell her if they need cleaning before the wedding.'

'As if I need her when I've got you to nag me,' Ron snorts, looking put off. 'She'll only try to convince you to stay at the Burrow, Harry – and Gin'll want to stay here, of course, like she ever shuts up about it –'

'We work better here,' Harry says resolutely. They all know it's true; the Burrow is chaotic on a typical day, and with Fleur's entire family in temporary residence, it's become a madhouse. 'Your mum even knows that. And Ginny –' here he felt a twinge of something in his stomach, some longing, but he pushed it down – 'isn't of age, she's still got to live with your parents if they say so.'

Hermione leans back on Harry's bed, resting her head against the wall. 'Maybe we ought to quit for now,' she sighs. 'Just tonight. We're all too frustrated to get anywhere, anyway. We can get takeaway and – and play Gobstones.'

Ron stares at her. 'Hermione,' he says, 'have you ever played Gobstones?'

'Fine,' Hermione sniffs, 'then Exploding Snap,' which, to Harry’s knowledge, she has never played either. Ron points this out, and she gives him a disparaging look. 'Some people,' Hermione says, 'had better things to do in school than waste time playing games.'

'No time like the present,' Ron says. Neither he nor Harry point out that the time they are wasting now is even more precious than an extra hour of revision. They just let her Apparate to get the food and slouch downstairs to wait, past the portrait of Mrs. Black, who never shrieks anymore.

GOD I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE HUGS. HAHAHA.

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*squeals* Oh man, I'm starting to think -you- should write canon :)) Seriously, I love this to pieces, and you can't just leave me like this :(( I mean, I can wait, but!! Just, the way you write them is so -them-, it's -amazing-... to the point where I'm like, 'maybe I should just tell her to write Trio-shippy fic', ahahah <3 I'm now wondering just how much of an appearance Draco puts in with those 25 pages, but I don't mind 'cause Harry pushes down longing for Ginny in this casual way, Hermione tries to distract them with games(!!) and Mrs Black never shrieks(!!1) and I'm like WHEEE, GENNNNN!!1 Whereas I think I just write H/D disguised as canon-extrapolative fic... barely.... But I'll definitely write more if you will. *eyebrow waggle*

Here's the last snippet in linear progression:
Malfoy doesn't speak immediately when he wakes up, taking every opportunity to glare at Harry for all he's worth.

"What do you think you're doing?" he says hoarsely, when it becomes clear Harry's not about to be any more communicative than he has to be.

"Saving your ungrateful arse is what it looks like, I'd say."

Malfoy's eyes narrow. "I was perfectly fine until--"

"Fall through the sky every day, do you, Malfoy?"

Harry takes care to look past him, to the largish window which is presently casting little light. The world is grey and nearly drowned in unending rain, cold and rather painful when it had edged into sleet the day before. The rain hadn't let up for a week now, and the floods were becoming rampant. Harry could only hope Malfoy Manor was up to its upper floor in water, even if it had to be empty even of house-elves by now.

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A FLOODED MALFOY MANOR. FALLING FROM THE SKY. HOUSE-ELVES. GOD, I LOVE GENFIC. And also, he does show up quite a bit, you shall see! Because I am a tease:

'So you are here,' Harry manages. 'Were you planning something? Because this doesn't look like an ambush.'

'I'm the one with the wand against your throat,' Malfoy hisses.

'Yeah, forgot about that,' Harry says. He concentrates, and a minute later, Malfoy is thrown back against the nearest upright chair, several large ropes having wound themselves around him. Harry can't help showing the small grin of triumph when Malfoy struggles and cannot move. 'Nonverbal magic,' Harry says casually. 'Someone wasn't paying attention last year, it seems. Too busy working for Voldemort, were you?'

*FLEES*

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AAAAAHHH!!! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE THIS! AAAHALFsafkajlhfal;salfhskjhs *incoherent* GENFIC IS MERELY A COVER FOR THE FACT THAT WHENEVER THEY'RE AROUND EACH OTHER, FIREWORKS GO OFF :D :D :D :D!!

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Can we do the snippet exchange again sometime please :(

(I found this in my favorites, haha.)

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sure, anytime. HAHAHA WE CAN EVEN DO IT ON THIS LJ IF YOU WANT HAHAHAHAHLFAskjflsakjfaslfkjasflkj it might get me to start writing again (having a dry spell AGAIN). HAHAHA IF EVERYONE'S COMING BACK I GUESS I CAN SLINK BACK SEEEEKRITLY :)))))))

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godspoodle.livejournal.com

It would be so awesome if they just kept being bitter and prickly like that ('too busy working for Voldemort?')

I keep reading good manga with a lot of build-up where the two characters are really prickly and... nit-picky and easily annoyed with each other, and I always think-- see! see! WHY DOESN'T THIS PERSON WRITE H/D FANFIC?? hahahaflaksjflaksjfalksjf I actually think this a lot with like, published writers, ok. There is no hope for me. *facepalm* Especially when I read realistic antagonism between boys. *starry-eyed* Not like, over-the-top omg-they're-so-witty antagonism, mind you. I'm not saying I can write it myself, even, but it's so awesome when I read it.

Not like 'omg ur evil!!1' but little everyday annoyances where you just think the person is a prick (but grow fond of them anyway). I've never seen a long H/D that runs with this dynamic all the way through. WHY. D: D: *sobs* I've read manga that do it-- even malafede, she does have a similar dynamic but she writes too meta. What I want is a deep everydayness, a sort of... antagonism that's grounded in the quirks and misunderstandings and frustrations that a person you know (and get annoyed with yourself) might have. Write a cool-but-annoying Malfoy and you're my god-- like, not just a pathetic prick (he has a certain charm) and yet someone it takes awhile to *like*. This is why I'm like, yeah fine caring-Harry-blah-blah but this ruins that dynamic! Where yeah, the other boy grows to care for him gruffly, but it's not like... it's anywhere near fast. There's a really drawn out period where the uke boy is just... a little bitch. Eventually he gentles and becomes sort of... tamed (like a cat! just like a cat) but he still bristles and puts on airs and doesn't say what he means and is frustrating and prickly and goes out of his way to hide his insecurities with snideness. ♥.

Right before I went to sleep last night I had the brightest vision of Draco as a sopping wet, snarling white cat. He just wants some milk and cookies and a cozy corner, but he'll scratch your eyes out if you try to pet him. And Harry's such a typical wolfhound puppy, all growly and self-possessed and easy to anger and protective and 'what kind of crazed nuisance are you' and totally an alien creature. It takes dog!Harry quite awhile to appreciate cat!Draco's ways. :3 What am I saying. >___>

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And once you've won a dog over he's fiercely loyal, but a cat you have to keep winning over again :))

My fic is so disjointed right now. Weirdly I've been writing in strange spurts so they're more notes and half-sentences than full paragraphs anywhere. I need to start turning these 125 pages into actual . . . scenes . . . Right now they're full of dashes when I'm too lazy to write out full sentences, which makes for good overview but bad for finishing anything. And bad for snippet-izing!

Oh, prickly snide Malfoy. It is ironic that this post was initially about not trying for IC!Malfoy. Which I think is like -- why even write H/D, then?

WE TALK EVERYWHERE, we're so sneaky, haha.

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godspoodle.livejournal.com

;alsfk;aslkf talk everywhere about the SAME THINGS like a self-replicating virus :))

I just saw Harry!puppy (http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/images/huskypuplay.jpg) <3333 *___* And here's Draco!kitty (http://granitegrok.com/pix/angry_wet_cat.jpg) :D :D :D Heeeeeeee. Puppies are so cute. Why do people hate puppies :( Does anyone actually hate puppies :( But I get upset for no reason thinking about it :))

Hilarious that you were saying you're out of fandom back in '05. Well, I thought I was back then (sorta), haha. I still prefer people are aware they're writing OOC than doing it without even being self-aware. If you don't care, I wonder why you write... but I get it (I mean, fanon!Draco is hot? er? even if boring... if you want hot, why pick Draco? why not Spike? ahh, I shall never know). I used to angst a lot about why people write OOC stuff (whyyyyyyyy.....whyyyyy) but it's sort of like angstying about any given unanswerable question about human nature. I just beat my head against the desk and tear my hair out dramatically and never get anywhere. And then, inevitable, I start laughing hysterically. -.-;;;; Best not to dwell on it :)))

Hahaha you've actually achieved a height of laziness I haven't yet (with not even finishing sentences). I admire that :D :D I think it's fun to just mess around and not think about the end result, though. Have fun with it, by all means; whatever flows is good, whatever doesn't isn't worth considering. This is the philosophy that leads me to finishing ...nearly nothing. BUT STILL. I BELIEVE IN IT :))

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KDLFJSK. That picture of Draco!kitty made me literally LOL, hahaha. Harry!puppy is adorable though. But together! Together they are ridiculous! Why do we sound like H/D shippers circa 2002? Speaking of 2002, I am pretty sure I was saying I was out of fandom back THEN, much less in 2005.

No seriously, Reena, this file is 130 pages long, and it's full of notes mixed with half sentences and quotes, it's ridiculous. Here is an example:

The trees lining one side of Grimmauld Place were in full bloom that summer: it was as if they knew how close they had come to another fate altogether, and were flourishing all the more for it. This early in the morning, there were no cars – blah.

All was quiet at number twelve, where – peeling wallpaper and old gas lamps, countless serpent candlesticks, fanged taps and creaking pipes; home, too, to an ancient house-elf curled up in the cupboard behind the kitchen, one snoring redhead, and a boy with tousled black hair and a lightning bolt scar, who was staring at the ceiling.

Or worse:

HR – pulled them back before they could follow Ginny through the portrait hole. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she hissed. ‘We have to do something.’

but Floo-ing isn’t allowed

‘blah

HARRY – it has to be you – please. He won’t like it if Ron or I show up – besides, we’re Head Boy and Head Girl, we can’t be breaking rules

So you want me to do it for you, Harry said dryly.

and:

surprisingly empty; the wallpaper was faded in some places and not in others, as if large paintings had been only recently removed, and in the corner, a bookcase stood half-empty, the remaining tomes toppled over on one another.

Harry was just about to

voices arguing, growing nearer.

130 PAGES OF THIS. WHY CAN'T I JUST WRITE WHOLE SENTENCES.

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Fanged taps :D :D
I love the canonish intro where we slowly pan in on Harry, the Boy with the Scar. AWWWW. Hahaha the rest of it is kind of hilarious, actually. Does your mind always work like this and you overcome it, or do you like, have this tick with this fic alone?? :)) heee!

As long as you can figure it out later. I mean, it's like, as long as it works. Of course, this means more boring work later (unpacking). Possibly not as boring as just filling in holes (which is what I avoid). My holes are always where the boring stuff is, whereas yours seems more egalitarian :D :D

Here's a snippet from the Sirius fic:

Recently, Harry had fallen into a habit of thinking about as little as possible, staring out the window at night, watching Hedwig swoop and circle outside; a smear of white in the starry sky. He was loath to call her back. Hedwig was restless too; Hedwig knew things were about to go to hell. Any day now. Any moment now.

Sirius said he belonged with him in a house on the hill, but Sirius lied. Harry didn't think he belonged anywhere anymore, except maybe with Ron and Hermione.

He got up to climb onto Ron's bed and nudged Ron's side with a knee. "Wake up," he said, tired of the direction his thoughts had taken. "Ron!"

No response, except Ron turned his back to Harry. Figured.

"There are probably presents," Harry said reasonably. "Downstairs. With breakfast. And sausages."

"Shove off," Ron muttered, giving a little gurgle. "Gimme an hour."

What the hell. "Fine," Harry said, and climbed into bed with his best friend, nudging his cold toes against Ron's ankles, though Ron's only reaction involved jerking his legs up and away. "Have it your way, then."

Still. Not the worst Christmas morning in history, even though they were all but smooshed together and Harry felt like sneezing.

"If you touch my arse, you're a dead man, Harry." Somehow, Ron sounded more than awake enough for breakfast. The air in their room was kind of nippy, however.

Harry snorted.

"I'm just saying, is all," Ron said with all dignity.

And Harry laughed and couldn't resist pinching Ron's arse, just to have him turn around, looking extremely aggrieved. "Now you're in for it, aren't you!" Ron huffed, but he was grinning, and Harry thought they hadn't wrestled like this since second year, probably.

Five minutes later, Mrs. Weasley came in just as Ron was gaining the upper hand, hands on her hips and a sort of mockingly stern expression on her face. Harry had the weird feeling she was relieved and the chiding about waking up the tired Aurors and such was for appearance's sake.

Harry could hear Ginny giggling all the way down the hall, and felt a little warmer.

Maybe he was hungry after all.

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OMG. Sirius, Hedwig, and Christmas morning play-fighting. This is the best fic in the world. The boyish tussle!

Here, in return you can have some Weasley mourning:

‘I made him a sweater,’ she sobbed. ‘I – bought too much yarn, you see, out of habit, and I just hate the thought of him getting c-cold, wherever he is now – oh!’ She buried her face as a fresh wave of tears hit her. ‘Harry, dear,’ she managed to sniffle, ‘you shouldn’t have to see me like this, I’m so sorry . . .’

‘It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s fine.’

‘And poor George, I’m forever surprised to see him alone and it only makes it so much worse for him, how everybody’s always looking at him and – w-waiting–’

For some reason I really love Slughorn too.

‘Bit of a daredevil, are you, Harry?’ Slughorn said, beaming like he might at a precocious child. ‘Now, Draco, he just likes a bit of adventure, is all. I remember when I taught Myron Wagtail – lead singer of The Weird Sisters, that is – years and years ago. Now there was one who liked trouble!’

‘He had a dragon!’ Malfoy said; Harry thought he detected a hint of desperation in Malfoy’s voice. ‘In first year! I saw him!’

‘Oho,’ said Slughorn, not put off in the least, ‘a dragon? You don’t say! Useful creatures, those are, particularly when young. The price a box of scales would fetch, why, it’d pay my salary for months . . .’ He trailed off dreamily, then had the audacity to wink at Harry. ‘Going into the trading business, are you, Harry? If you know the right people, it can be lucrative! You know, I found Vincent Jewkes in the Department of International Magical Cooperation his very first job, he’s always sure to put in a good word for me. I’ll invite him to our next little get together, shall I?’

‘I’m not that interested in trading,’ Harry said quickly.

‘Yes, Potter hopes to be an Auror,’ Malfoy snorted. It could not have been plainer that he viewed these aspirations with derision, yet Slughorn brightened at once.

‘An Auror!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why, Harry! You never told me that! Gawain Robards and I are old friends, the very oldest! How utterly delightful, I’ll have to drop him an owl.’

‘We met once,’ Harry shrugged. ‘He told me that if I got the required N.E.W.T.s he’d accept me into the training program.’

‘He did, did he!’ Slughorn chortled. ‘Splendid!’

Malfoy was near grinding his teeth. ‘Potter almost killed me once,’ he bit out. ‘He used this horrible spell that ripped my chest open – there was blood everywhere, Professor!'

Slughorn actually chuckled out loud. ‘Don’t know your own limits, do you, Harry? It’s not every day a powerful wizard like you comes along. Well, I’m sure you didn’t mean it.’

‘Oh, he meant it,’ Malfoy said.

‘Just like you meant the curse you were throwing at me!’ Harry yelped. He was not stupid enough to tell a teacher just what Malfoy had attempted, but it was fresh in his mind. ‘I was acting in self-defense!’

‘Boys, boys,’ said Slughorn, shaking his great gleaming head fondly. His silver moustache twitched. ‘These childish fights are best put behind us. It is the alliances we make that count, yes? Philbert Deverill – he’s the manager of Puddlemere United, you know – well, we were quite at odds once, he thought I supported the Tornadoes! Wouldn’t speak to me for years! And it didn’t do either of us a bit of good. Of course, I don’t play favorites in Quidditch, I’ve so many friends in the league. Though I don’t suppose Gwenog – that’s Gwenog Jones of the Harpies – would be pleased to hear it, she’s always fancied the Harpies as my top team – quite the temper she has, you know–’

He trailed off into fond memories, muttering, then started up again. ‘Why, Gwenog was a fine student as well, quite the Potions mistress herself, she was! Between her and your mother, Harry, I’ve seen some fine women at a cauldron in my time, that I have, that I have. But Harry, Harry, I’ve noticed that your marks are slipping this year . . .’

Harry thought with some regret of the book he had left in the Room of Requirement, now lost forever to the Fiendfyre. ‘I’ve been, um, distracted, Professor.’

‘Have you?’ Slughorn said, peering at Harry. ‘Yes, yes, a bit lovesick, are you?'

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Ahahahah that was awesome <333 Oh Slughorn, that was hilarious, hahahah I was lol-ing the whole time :D :D He's really adorable. I'm impressed you've got his voice so down pat! Amazing!! :D And Mrs Weasley is awesome, too. I thought so before, when I started to read Transformations... it's like what you write feels like it should be canon, it just feels so familiar, and then I open JKR's books at realize she doesn't write nearly so-- affectionately?-- or with such a light touch?-- I'm not sure. I can definitely feel where you're just taking it and making it your own, and at the same time there's that warmth of recognition, the sense that you're really revisiting those characters faithfully. Especially in the gennish situations, it works really well :>

Hehe, I like playing with gennish situations for Harry & Draco, but somehow it always reminds me more of my own fics than canon, see. This is from the Sirius fic too:

And then there was the Malfoy Problem, with him coming to stalk Harry and Lupin (again) during their one rather brief and fruitless visit to the Ministry.

He'd been there with his mother, both of them dressed up like a pair of popinjays, apparently there to ask (more like beg) for Ministry asylum from Lord Voldemort only to be denied on grounds that they'd bloody well brought this on themselves; Harry thought Malfoy looked rather mutinous and unrepentant.

"Going to gloat, are you, Potter?"

Well, the thought had crossed his mind, perhaps, but it wasn't sporting to say so. "Never," said Harry.

Malfoy hissed, flushing all the way down to his neck. Harry could tell that he'd whip out his wand and start hexing if not for his mum no more than ten steps away, and them in the Ministry. "You watch your mouth if you know what's good for you, Potter!"

"Back to threats again, Malfoy?" Harry almost grinned. Almost, but not quite.

"This isn't a threat," Malfoy said with a sudden, hard-to-read shift in expression. He smirked. "I might have... er... moved on to bigger and better things." He sounded matter-of-fact, though still... excited?

"I'm sure the Aurors and Minister Scrimgeour would love to hear all about that," Harry said with a slow grin.

Malfoy was unmoved. "And whyever would they be interested in my modest ambitions? I was thinking of taking up a hobby; something simple yet satisfying for the spirit, like oh, I don't know-- pottery? Woodworking? I may even learn to cook."

"You're so full of it, it's started to pour out of your ears," Harry said amicably, and Malfoy sneered at him.

They might have continued in that manner indefinitely if Mrs. Malfoy hadn't returned to Draco's side, glaring at Harry and leading her son away in a huffy yet pointed silence. Harry rolled his eyes.

Malfoy wore his self-important loathing like a badge of pride, like he felt some intense personal satisfaction in being able to make his lamely mocking little stand against Harry. It was a bit flattering, in a completely mental way. Somehow, Harry suspected they'd still hate each other no matter what happened with the world: no matter who won or lost or switched sides. Malfoy would never waver in the single-minded dedication of his crusade against all Harry was or perhaps could be; if neither of them was dead at the end (an unlikely prospect if there ever was one), Harry supposed Malfoy would be there, challenging him to a pointless exchange of barbs one more time.

Malfoy was all Harry's problem, no matter who Harry had to help him. That felt good, especially whenever Harry slipped and remembered just how much had changed these days.

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Of course he's all Harry's problem, aww. See, there's that possessive streak coming in again :)) AND THERE'S WHERE I READ EVERYTHING SHIPPER-LY, even when it isn't. You know. Plus I happen to love scenes in the Ministry. Particularly with mutinous Malfoy and going-to-gloat Harry. "It was a bit flattering, in a completely mental way." Of course it was, Harry.

I really want to read this fic! I also really want to read your OotP!AU fic, because. I do, and I love OotP besides.

I really wanted Harry and Malfoy to be fighting over Slughorn's favor, with Harry not even wanting it but Malfoy trying to sabotage him anyway! Here's some more from way way earlier:

Malfoy shot Harry a filthy look, but an instant later he was beaming up at Slughorn again, looking for all the world as if Slughorn were his long-time idol. ‘What are we working on today, Professor?’ Malfoy asked as Harry dumped his things on a desk further away. ‘I did so enjoy your lessons last year, and I’m looking forward to repeating some of them, I’m sure there’s always more to learn from you–’

‘I see he’s wasted no time,’ Hermione said, sitting down beside Harry. ‘Honestly, he’s one of four students in Professor Slughorn’s house, you’d think he’d be an automatic favorite.’

‘Slughorn’s always been wary of Death Eaters, though,’ Ron put in, nearly spilling Hermione’s ink as he slopped his things down across from her. ‘Malfoy probably feels as if he’s got extra work to do.’

They all looked at him: across the room, Malfoy was saying, ‘—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work for another year under such an accomplished Potions master as yourself—’

Ron rolled his eyes. ‘Never been much for subtlety, has he? But Slughorn’s eating it right up. Though I suppose he’d eat anything up, really–’

‘Says the boy who ate six full plates of food at the feast last week,’ Hermione snorted.

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Hee :D They're all adorable. Hehe Malfoy really would go after Slughorn, and little do they know that they're a match made in Heaven, haha. So cute <3. Fighting over Slughorn's favor :D :D I can just see Slughorn reminiscing about how wonderful Harry was in sixth year, little realizing how much Draco hates him :> :>

Oh, and some OoTP!AU fic:

Boredom and aimless lust both did strange things to one's normal thinking patterns.

Case in point #1: Dudley Dursley, welcome relief from the heat. On some level, Harry was looking for an excuse, of course. An excuse to snap. And Dudley provided just the right one, too.

"Who's Cedric-- your boyfriend?"

Some people were just asking for it. Didn't know when to shut up, that was some people's problem. That was it. They just needed to shut the bloody hell up about stuff they didn't know shit about.

Case in point #2: Malfoy, who was so pretty it kind of hurt Harry's feelings. Except no, he wasn't. He was the same ferrety skinny little freak he always had been, and Harry taught him a lesson about that on the train not long ago. If Malfoy kept talking like a junior Death Eater, what did he expect from Harry? Who asked him to come to Harry's compartment in the first place? Who asked him to be a horrid bloody prat in every way imaginable?

"Feh." Harry ground his face into the pillow in his room at Grimmauld Place, thinking it smelled vaguely moldy, like dust and old people and places you shouldn't go to. It was Sirius's home, though Harry could've done without the introduction. Being alone here made him feel like he was imprisoned in a whole new way from the Dursleys.

Malfoy's mum was a Black, too. Harry didn't know what that meant to him. He was Sirius's cousin, but that didn't mean much even to Sirius.

By November, nothing had changed. He barely looked fed. His ribs probably stuck out. His hairdo glittered, all shiny and sleek like a poof's. He bit at his lip when he concentrated, looking... constipated. He probably snored loud enough to wake Crabbe and Goyle. Probably.

In any case, it was going to be a normal Quidditch game, first of the year, Gryffindor against Slytherin, and he was going to show Malfoy how to shut up. Harry was in no mood to be messed about with, not when Quidditch was the one thing he enjoyed with things at Hogwarts the way they were.

Malfoy wasn't going to have any idea what hit him.

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QUIDDITCH :D I am really excited about this OotP!AU. I hope you finish it. I still love that drunk scene, I want to read mooore.

Malfoy sauntered up to him, though most of his attention remained on the box of chocolates he was picking through.

‘Package from your mum?’ Harry asked.

‘Obviously,’ said Malfoy. He chose a chocolate at last and popped it in his mouth. ‘With my father in Azkaban, his bank accounts transferred to her. She likes having control of the family finances, it suits her. These are from Paris.’

‘She sent you chocolates from France?’

Malfoy nodded. ‘Far better quality than Honeydukes, though I suppose you wouldn’t know any better, would you. Want one, Potter?’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Sure.’

‘Too bad.’ The smirk on Malfoy’s face was so smug Harry felt like knocking the whole box out of his hands. ‘I only give my sweets to those who deserve them.’

‘You’re such a prat, Malfoy,’ Harry said, annoyed despite himself.

Malfoy just stood there fishing through his chocolates. He took an exaggerated bite and made an unnecessary noise of appreciation. ‘So,’ he said, when he’d swallowed. ‘Word has it you haven’t got a date to Slughorn’s party.’

‘Don’t you have anything better to do than stand around eating chocolates and gossiping like a girl?’

Malfoy flushed but said, ‘You haven’t got one, have you? Perhaps you should try a bit harder, Potter, I’m sure someone would be willing to suffer your company. Moaning Myrtle, maybe . . . I hear that fat toad Eloise Midgen hasn’t got anybody to take her . . .’

‘Eloise is nice,’ Harry said automatically; to his recollection, he had never exchanged a word with this Eloise Midgen in his life.

I think I'm out of real snippets, haha.

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stellabelle.livejournal.com

Oh, man. This may really be one of the main reasons why I never read fic anymore. I think my issue with this is about the same as your issue. Sure, I understand someone realizing and accepting that they don't write Draco totally in character. I mean, I don't think I do. But then, that's why I want to keep trying with some sort of goal in mind instead of being like, OH WELL, I'll keep writing him completely OOC anyway, even though I know that's what it is. That kind of...gets to me. I just don't really understand why people who have that attitude don't try to write something else?
Uh. If that makes sense...?

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