Forbidden

Chapter Summary: The first match of the season, Gyffindor vs. Slytherin.

Author’s notes: Ok, I’ll be honest...I hated writing the Quidditch bits, so I only wrote the bare minimum. I’m sorry if it’s terribly written...it wasn’t easy.

Draco was dreaming. He writhed in his bed, smiling as Harry’s hands traced lightly over his bare chest, sliding over his stomach to the waistband of his pajamas. He let out a breathy moan as Harry slipped one hand under the silky fabric to ghost over his cock, which was hardening rapidly.

Harry...beautiful, sexy, gorgeous Harry who loved him, who wanted him. Draco sighed, contentedly.

Draco felt Harry gripping his cock hard, too hard, and he suddenly realized he wasn’t dreaming at all. His eyes snapped open and he screamed when he found himself face to face with Pansy, revulsion and horror washing over him. He flung her off him, and she fell through the closed curtains onto the wooden floor, shrieking in surprise.

“Pansy!” he shouted, his face red with anger, getting out of bed to glare down at her. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?” The other seventh year boys woke up at the noise, peering blearily out of their curtains.

Pansy looked up at Draco from the floor, tears spilling from her eyes. “I was just trying to give you a p-present before the match,” she wailed.

“I don’t want that kind of present from you, Pansy, and I never will, all right?” he yelled, harshly.

“But you love me, I know you do,” she howled. “We’re meant to be together.”

Draco shook his head in exasperation. “You stupid fucking cow! I just barely tolerate you...it’s called, ‘trying not to hurt your feelings’. It doesn’t mean I love you, and it certainly doesn’t mean I want your paws all over my prick!” He noticed the other boys gaping at them in interest. “Some privacy, please?” he snapped.

The boys grumbled as they left the room, disappointed at having to miss the show. Pansy blubbered on the floor, rubbing her eyes pitifully.

“Pansy,” Draco said, trying to regain control of his temper. “I am not interested in you romantically,” he ground out. “Don’t ever try that with me again, or I will hurt you. Now please get out of here, I have a match to get ready for.”

Pansy shot him a look of pure loathing. “Is it that Mudblood bitch? Are you still shagging her?”

“What?” Draco asked, confused.

“Granger!” Pansy said, harshly, getting to her feet. “I know about you two. I found your notes. I looked in your trunk!”

Understanding dawned on Draco, and he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to smash Pansy’s face in. “Get out,” he growled, gripping her arm painfully and dragging her to the door as she cursed and shrieked. He shoved her out roughly and leaned back against the closed door to wait for his fury to abate. Thank Merlin the stupid bitch thought those letters were from Hermione and not Harry. If she’d guessed the truth, she would have informed her Death Eater father at once, of that he was sure.

Harry tried to ignore the knot in his stomach as he led his excited team from the changing rooms onto the noisy Quidditch Pitch. The stands were packed, and Gryffindor and Slytherin supporters were clamoring to make themselves heard, chanting at the tops of their lungs.

Madam Hooch stood in the middle of the Pitch, and Harry watched as Draco and his team lined up on the other side of her, mirroring the positions of the Gryffindor players. Harry looked into Draco’s impassive face, and the noise of the crowd faded to nothing as a spark of longing streaked through his chest. All he could hear was his heart thudding, and suddenly, Draco was holding out his hand to shake Harry’s, and the thudding turned into a roar.

Harry raised his hand slowly, placing it in Draco’s, and felt the warmth of their palms pressing together. Draco dropped his hand almost immediately, and Harry was momentarily confused before the blast of noise from the crowd hit him, and he remembered where he was.

Draco was acutely aware of his father watching him from the stands, and he sneered at Harry in a convincing display of loathing as they all mounted their brooms and waited for Madam Hooch to signal the start of the game. He couldn’t resist casting a venomous look at Carl as well, and was gratified to see the younger boy pale.

Madam Hooch released the Snitch and blew her whistle, and all fourteen players shot into the air, one of the Slytherin Chasers taking possession of the Quaffle immediately.

“There goes Rena Prescott with the Quaffle,” Terry Boot’s voice boomed over the Pitch, “Slytherin’s attempt to score is blocked by Gryffindor Keeper, Ronald Weasley, and Gryffindor Chaser, Rusty March now has possession of the ball.”

Harry circled above the other players, his eyes peeled for the Snitch.

“March passes to Carl Taggart, and Taggart races down the pitch! He dodges a Bludger sent his way by Slytherin beater, Vincent Crabbe, but can he get the Quaffle past Keeper, Blaise Zabini? Yes! He scores!

Harry whooped with joy, looping through the air in celebration. Carl soared towards Harry, grinning with excitement, and Harry slapped Carl’s outstretched hand as he passed him by, grinning back.

Draco burned with jealousy, and he looked away, his gut twisting.

Pansy sat in the completely deserted library, flipping hastily through a book of hexes from the Restricted Section. She muttered to herself, making notes on a scrap of parchment when she came across anything that looked promising. She wanted something that would cause a tremendous amount of pain before ending the victim’s life.

She scanned through book after book, her thoughts a jumbled, tortured mess. Suddenly, a page in a heavily stained book caught her eye, and she was transfixed by the gruesome illustrations of a man succumbing to the Iron Lung curse. A small, curious smile twisted her lips as she read the description of the effects of the curse.

The accursed one immediately feels pain to rival the Cruciatus as the lungs tighten and begin their slow transformation from flesh to iron. The victim is unable to breathe without causing the pain to intensify, as any attempts to inhale will accelerate the change exponentially. It often takes as many as twenty excruciating minutes before the victim suffocates to death. The effects can be countermanded by stalling the transformation with an Inertia spell, and following with a direct transfer of magic to the victim in combination with Reversal and Regeneration charms. If the Inertia spell is not used within the first two minutes, however, there is no possibility of lifting the Iron Lung curse effectively.

Pansy’s smile widened, and she excitedly copied down the incantation. This was the perfect means of revenge. She would use the curse as soon as the Quidditch match ended, when there would be too much commotion for anyone to notice the kind of curse that was used or that it had been she who cast it. By the time someone figured out exactly what kind of curse was killing the Mudblood, it would be too late to use the counteracting spells. Pansy quickly put the books back on their shelves, and hurried out to the Quidditch Pitch.

“Slytherin are in the lead, with 60 points to Gryffindor’s 50, and the Seekers have yet to spy the Snitch!” Terry Boot bellowed.

Harry circled the Pitch, noticing that Draco hadn’t been employing his usual strategy of simply following close behind Harry and allowing him to find the Snitch before going after it himself.

“All right mates, you’re doing great, just keep at it, yeah?” Harry called encouragingly to Rusty and Dean, who had each scored once, and to Carl who had scored the remaining three goals. He watched as Ginny and Seamus sent a Bludger each after Max Walbaum, one of the Slytherin Chasers, as he flew towards the goal hoops and attempted to score. Harry cheered along with the other Gryffindor supporters when Ron saved the Quaffle neatly.

Suddenly Harry saw a flash of gold above and to the left of the Gryffindor goal posts, and he felt the familiar rush of excitement thrill through him as he set off towards it, leaning low over his broom to pick up speed. The crowd noticed his movement and roared in excitement.

Draco streaked over the Pitch as well, determinedly focusing on the tiny fluttering Snitch instead of noticing the way Harry looked on his broom. He heard the humming sound that signaled the approach of a Bludger, and he shouted to Goyle, who was the closest Beater, to take care of it. He was a few yards from the Snitch, and Harry was just a couple of feet closer. Draco had a good chance of getting there first.

“Both Seekers are in close pursuit of the Golden Snitch!” Terry Boot cried. “Finnegan’s Bludger is coming awfully close to Malfoy, but Gregory Goyle is approaching to assist. Potter and Malfoy are neck and neck, just feet from the Snitch. Goyle swings his bat at the wayward Bludger! He misses! He swings again! And...NO! Goyle has hit the Bludger towards his team’s Seeker! Malfoy’s broom is knocked off course, and POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

A/N:

To Rei: Thanks for the review...for some reason I didn’t receive your e-mail, please try sending it once more.

To mysticneko, Kristin and Aki-Chan: Thanks for the prezzies. Too sweet of you. :o)

Thanks to everyone else who read and/or reviewed. Writing this story is a lot of fun for me, and I’m really happy to be able to share it with you all. Hugs and kisses.