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The Slytherins are up to something.
Harry knew what it was, but he was still slightly suspicious.
He and the rest of the Seventh and Eighth years had received dark green and silver invitations to the ‘Annual Slytherin Talent Show.’
Harry pointed out to Ron that it had to happen every year for it to be annual, but Ron just told Harry to not be so nit-picky and get him and George invited.
The week leading up to the event was a blur of activity. Harry was not the least bit inclined to ‘try out’ for the show, and was determined to only attend as a guest.
He was in the minority, as it seems.
Hermione, Luna and Ginny decided on some elaborate storytelling experience that they wouldn’t talk about outside of their little circle. George and Ron, though not currently students, had been given license to perform, and they refused to tell Harry even a hint about their plans.
So Harry spent most of his time with Neville, who had also elected not to participate, and was a bit surprised he’d even been invited.
The night of, they found their way to the Room of Requirement.
The entryway was guarded by Millicent Bulstrode, who demanded the password before allowing them entry.
“Mills, everyone in our year is invited.” Neville laughed.
“Password!”
Harry sighed.
“Salazar’s Glittering Bollocks.”
“Welcome!” She grinned, stepping to the side for the two to enter.
Both boys stopped in their tracks upon seeing the room.
Their classmates were buzzing about, getting refreshments, finding seats or chatting excitedly. There was a large stage a few feet off the ground at the back of the room, with black, green and silver decorations. Lights hung from the ceiling at differing heights, and the walls were covered in velvet fabric. It was very luxurious.
Theatre seats were seemingly built into the floor, and Harry and Neville found Goyle sitting toward the front.
“Hey lads, I saved you a couple seats.” Goyle says. Of all the unlikely friendships formed this year, this had to be one of the more surprising. Harry couldn’t remember a time he’d ever heard Goyle speak, but at the beginning of the year, he came up and thanked Harry for saving his life.
They’d had an easy, casual friendship since, and since Goyle was the only one in his friend group not performing, they’d made plans to sit together.
When the clock (someone had intentionally decided to put a grandfather clock in the Room, which struck Harry as funny for some reason) struck six, the remaining audience found their seats, murmuring in anticipation.
The show was magnificent.
It began with Blaise Zambini, the tall handsome boy Harry had still never spoken to, who was wearing a pure white muggle-style suit. He sang something Harry didn’t recognise, but it was deep and rich and sounded like how apple cider feels. No, Harry would not care to explain further than that.
Next up was a group of Hufflepuffs, who performed a variety of insane acrobatics that made Neville lean close to Harry and whisper something about the likelihood of them being Imperiused. Harry snorted and shook his head with a smile.
After them, Hermione et al performed a magical animation of the story of the Deathly Hallows and the brothers Peverell using a black silk cloth, four hairpins and a bit of moldable clay. It was spectacular, and both Harry and Neville whooped loudly for them.
There was a Ravenclaw brother-sister duo who had some sort of Clairvoyant act, though from what Harry could tell, it wasn’t Legilimency, but some sort of seer type thing. He decided it might be best to not try dating either one of them.
The variety of acts grew, and Harry wondered who had set the program, as it was a perfect order of pacing, a loud followed by a quiet act, a fast paced followed by a slower. Really well done, and it kept the crowd’s energy high and enthusiasm going.
Harry sat forward in curiosity as the Weasley brothers took the stage. The entire audience whooped and laughed as Ron came out wearing a sparkly black ball gown with a wide grin on his face. He twirled for effect, and George bowed to him dramatically.
Their performance was a hoot, as they’d taken the standard muggle ‘magic’ shows and turned them on their head. They pulled a hat from the mouth of a rabbit, Ron was locked into a table and duplicated so that he had a head poking out each end. George opened a vanishing cabinet and out stepped a handful of students, looking confused at having appeared on stage before retaking their seats.
The show began to wind down as it grew later. Harry had no regrets about not performing, as he would’ve missed this production being backstage.
The lights on the stage went out, and shadowy figures took their places - three, by the looks of it.
Only the lights behind the performers came on, highlighting their silhouettes. An upbeat tempo started the song, and Harry realised it was muggle music. The centre figure, who Harry believed to be Malfoy, lifted a muggle microphone, though Harry doubted it was for anything but effect.
She got a body like an hourglass
But I can give it to you all the time
She got a booty like a Cadillac
But I can send you into overdrive-
Harry’s mouth dropped open.
“Since when can Malfoy sing?” He asks Goyle, not tearing his eyes from the stage.
Goyle laughs.
“He’s always been able to, who do you think started the talent show?”
Harry gapes for another moment, deciding to ask about that later.
The spotlight is on suddenly, and Harry nearly chokes on thin air.
Malfoy’s wearing shorts and heels.
The heels, or more specifically, boots, are extremely tall, and the black leather goes all the way up his leg to above his knees. The shorts are tiny, cutting off high on his thighs. Tucked into the shorts is a shiny, silky grey shirt that’s open all the way down his chest.
He’s also wearing makeup with black lipstick and kohl smudged around his eyes, making them look so grey even from the distance.
He looks like a tart, frankly, and Harry is very interested.
A second spotlight reveals Pansy Parkinson in an all black leotard with long sleeves, the entire thing covered in glitter. She too is wearing black lipstick, but Harry isn’t particularly interested in looking at her while she sings.
She might'a let you hold her hand in school
But I'ma show you how to graduate
No, I don't need to hear you talk the talk
Just come and show me what your momma gave ya -
She and Malfoy dance around each other as they sing, and the audience has started cheering and clapping almost too loud to hear their voices.
The third spotlight introduces Parvati Patil, wearing a short, fancy muggle dress that swooshes out as she turns.
Swimming in the grotto
We winning in the lotto
We dipping in the pot of blue foam, so
Kitten so good
It's dripping on wood
Get a ride in the engine that could go-
A few whistles and gasps make Parvati grin, winking at someone in the audience. Harry did not know she could rap.
Then Malfoy was singing again.
See anybody could be good to you
You need a bad girl to blow your mind-
Malfoy tilts his shoulders back to hit the note, and Harry’s mouth suddenly feels entirely too dry.
The song ends to wild applause, and the trio onstage blows kisses into the audience before disappearing offstage. Harry sees Malfoy's eyes land on him and his heart stops at the blond's wink. Goyle in the next seat laughs and elbows Harry's side.
The Room’s lights come up, signifying the end of the show, and Harry turns immediately to Goyle, gripping his arm.
“ What?” Is all he can manage.
Goyle laughs, the sound still foreign - but not unpleasant - to Harry.
“Yeah, second year, Draco found the Room and at the end of the year, we had a show for just our class, a break from the stress of the term ending. It’s sort of… escalated from there.” He says, waving his arms to indicate the room.
“You’ve had a secret talent show every year since second?” Harry asks.
“Oh yeah, we started inviting other years, and once, we invited the Ravenclaws so all the Slytherins could do a chorus of Weasley is our King .”
He laughs, and Harry probably would too if it wasn’t so entirely shocking.
“You’re having me on.”
“Absolutely not, ask Draco if you don’t believe me. Or any Slytherin.” Goyle shrugs. “I’m going to find Daphne, I’ll see you around, Harry.”
Harry turns back to Neville.
“You alright, mate?” Neville asks with a laugh.
“Perfectly.” Harry says absently. “What now?”
“Now we go find our friends and congratulate them.” Neville says, tugging Harry along to the curtains separating the backstage from the rest of the room.
They find the Weasleys, Hermione and Luna easily enough.
“Harry, did you see! Wasn’t it splendid!” Luna asks excitedly.
“You all did such an amazing job!” Harry congratulates, giving them all hugs. They’re sweaty and Ron’s dress is scratchy but Harry doesn’t care.
Ron tells Harry about how he was certain the fourth trick wasn’t going to work, and he thought he had been in mortal danger while George rolls his eyes and says Ron’s just being dramatic and that he was fine.
Hermione folds up the silk scarf and tucks it into her expanded bag while she explains her spellwork.
It’s all very exciting.
Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, spinning him round.
“Hello Potter, did you enjoy the show?” Malfoy asks. His eyes look smokey and mysterious, and his pale skin glistens with sweat. He’s got a towel hanging from his neck and is still wearing those heels, so he towers over Harry. Harry doesn’t mind it one bit.
“Y-yeah, Malfoy. Really good show, you planned it?”
“Naturally. Good turnout this year, if McGonagall ever found out I’m sure she could just excuse it for the ‘inter-house unity’ of it all.” Malfoy says easily, running a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t know you could sing.” Harry says instead of any other, better, more helpful response.
“I’m a man of many talents, singing is just the beginning.” Malfoy says. “What about you, do you sing?”
“No,” Harry scoffs. “No, I don’t sing.”
“Pity. Well, enjoy your evening.” Malfoy says, turning and walking off. He tugs the towel off his shoulders and flicks it around one hand, and Harry’s certain he’s doing a sexy walk on purpose.
He turns back to his friends once Malfoy is out of sight.
“ Harry, he’s flirting with you.” Ginny says with the widest grin. Harry flushes bright red.
“F-flirting?” Harry squeaks. George laughs.
“Obviously, why else would he come find you when he’s got more important things to do. You know he’s running the whole thing, right? When we all got here, he had the stage up and was charming the lights and all.”
Harry balks. He knew Malfoy was dramatic, but this sort of take-charge and talent-show-producing thing didn’t fit what he knew about the bloke.
He stays with his friends for some time until Pansy Parkinson approaches and punches him lightly in the arm.
“Haz, you’ve got to come with me, Draco’s driving us mad talking about you, he’s meant to be helping us pack up.” She says curtly.
Pansy Parkinson, the girl who’d tried turning him over to Voldemort, had also approached Harry at the start of the year. Her stuttered, scowled apology was awkward but heartfelt, and Harry still cringes to remember it.
“Talking about me? Why’s he talking about me?” Harry asks.
“You didn’t compliment his performance, I guess. Who knows why he ever talks about you, but go shower him with praise for a few minutes so we can get a move-on.” She says, nudging him toward the curtain.
Harry finds Malfoy easily. He’s still among the taller students, even though he’s taken his shoes off and is only in the shorts and shirt while he holds one end of a- something, Harry doesn’t know what it is to be honest, and Zambini holds the other.
“Malfoy-” Harry says, walking up. “I didn’t mention it earlier. Your performance was great.”
Malfoy drops his end, and Zambini curses. Harry picks it up, helping Zambini carry it down the stairs and off to the side.
“Thanks.” Malfoy says when Harry goes back onto the stage again. Zambini has gone off somewhere, leaving them alone.
“I- I couldn’t look away from it.” Harry says honestly. “You’re a natural on stage.”
“I know.” Malfoy says, though it isn’t egotistical despite how it sounds. He’s still staring at Harry like he’s shocked out of his wits.
“You alright? Uh- need help with anything?” Harry asks awkwardly. He’s never complimented Malfoy before and he’s not sure what comes after.
Fortunately, Malfoy seems to snap out of it, looking around.
“Er- yeah. Yeah, come with me.”
Harry follows Malfoy round the back of the stage and down underneath it, where they’re inexplicably able to stand upright despite Harry knowing the stage is only a few feet off the ground.
“Stop me if I’m reading this wrong.” Malfoy says huskily, turning around to look at Harry. Harry is about to ask what he means when Malfoy’s hands are on his shoulders and he backs Harry up against… something. The side of the stage, probably, Harry isn’t fussed. He's more concerned by the dark look in Malfoy's eyes.
Malfoy leans in a bit, and Harry’s hands land on his hips. That seems to be enough confirmation, and Malfoy’s lips are suddenly on Harry’s.
Fuck, Harry’s kissing - being kissed - by Malfoy.
Malfoy’s torso presses into Harry, his hands tangle into his messy hair and his tongue traces Harry’s lips.
Harry shudders.
It’s overwhelming, honestly. It feels as if someone’s cast a Muffliato on him and there’s buzzing in his ears.
Then abruptly, Malfoy pulls away with a yelp.
“Snog later, we’ve got things to do! No one can figure out how you got the curtains up and we need your help getting them down again.” Pansy Parkinson says, shoving Malfoy back out from beneath the stage. “Nice work, Haz.” She says to Harry with a nod.
Harry stays beneath the stage for some time, trying to catch his breath and figure out what to do now.
When things start coming crashing down nearby with Pansy Parkinson’s screeching voice barking orders, he decides that being under the stage is probably getting less safe by the second.
He can’t find his friends around now, the equipment piled about and people rushing around being too disorienting to locate anyone or thing, so Harry settles against the wall outside the Room to wait for them to be done.
It takes a long time, and he waves at various people as they leave for the night, yawning and mumbling farewells.
Harry is drifting to sleep as the door opens again, and he jerks his head back upright. Malfoy is backing out, waving his wand at something else and shutting the door without noticing Harry there. He leans against the wall with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes.
“Malfoy?” Harry asks. He startles, head snapping up and looking surprised that he’s not alone.
“Potter, you’re still here? Thought you’d gone to bed.” He says, sounding overwhelmingly tired. Harry stands up.
“I was waiting for you.” Harry admits. Malfoy’s heavy-lidded eyes blink closed slowly as he smiles lazily.
“‘Course you were. What can I do for you?”
“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Harry says.
“Thanks. Producing a show will do that, I hear.”
Harry decides to ask questions (such as what the fuck, Malfoy, and holy shit, how? ) later, when Malfoy seems a bit more present. For now, he wraps his arm around the little waist and lifts the pale arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight. Malfoy leans his head against the top of Harry's. Harry smiles.
“I’m not ill.” Malfoy scoffs, but doesn’t pull away.
Harry walks him down to the dungeons, where Malfoy mutters the password. He leads the way to his room, a single, which surprises Harry.
“You got your own room?”
“Of course, who would want to sleep near a war criminal?” Malfoy shrugs, unbuttoning his shirt. Harry watches in confusion.
“You’re not a war criminal, Malfoy, you were acquitted, remember?”
Malfoy doesn’t answer, slinging the shirt into a hamper and unbuttoning the shorts.
“Turn around, will you? I haven’t got anything underneath these.”
Red-faced, Harry complies. He turns back when he hears the sound of Malfoy getting under the covers with a sigh.
“I’m not the best company tonight, but while you’re here, you might as well stay. I’ll be plenty of fun in the morning.” Malfoy says through a yawn. It’s possibly the least sexy way to proposition someone, but Harry’s body reacts to it anyway, and he kicks off his clothes down to his pants and slips in beside Malfoy.
“You’re naked.” Harry says in surprise.
“Mhm, brilliant deduction, however did you manage to win a war?” Malfoy says drily, pulling Harry closer and sort of sprawling on top of him. He isn’t hard, but it seems he’s interested, and Harry decides not to comment on that. He's distracted by the feeling of Malfoy's skin against his chest.
Malfoy nudges Harry’s hand to rest just above the swell of his arse, and Harry strokes the skin in fascination. Malfoy relaxes into him, pressing his face against Harry’s neck.
“Are you always this warm?” Malfoy sighs.
“Usually. You always this cold?”
“All the time.”
Malfoy snuggles closer, and it’s such a strange, backward way of approaching things that it shouldn’t be relaxing, but Harry falls asleep easier than he has in a long time.