Title: The Watcher
Author: Deanna Jean ()
Furniture: grandfather clock.
Rating: PG (hints of PG-13, nothing too bad)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanksies to my beta Azriona. Hope this turns out alright, wrote it last minute *smacks self* stupid procrastinator.
Bong�one, two, three.
Bong�one, two, three.
Bong�one, two, three.
Harry restlessly counted the seconds between the chimes of the old grandfather clock that stood in the Entrance Hall. Idly, he wondered if the clock had been placed there purely to twist his mind into an unrecognizable ball of anxiety. He paced back a forth with each second.
Bong�step, step, step.
Bong; turn�step, step, step.
Six more chimes rang out through the hall, eighteen steps. And then�there. Harry counted the footsteps he heard drumming up from the dungeons. Through sound alone he had memorized the number of stairs on that staircase. Twenty-six.
On the seventeenth step the top of a silvery-blond head made itself visible. Twentieth, and the sparkling gray eyes and soft smirk came into view. By that time Harry was so mesmerized by the perfect symmetry that face seemed to embody that he forgot to count. He ended up standing with a vacant expression; leaning in what he hoped was an enticing stance against the wall in front of that damnable clock. Of course one tends to lose the enticing look when they begin the look of utter veneration. The other boy would reach the top, see Harry, and laugh. Harry would scowl and Draco would laugh harder. All normal procedure for eleven o'clock on a Sunday night.
Still, it amazed him that Draco managed to begin his trip up the stairs at the very millisecond the old clock stopped it's chiming.
Once he'd even been stupid enough to ask about it. Stupid, because Draco did not know the meaning of a short answer. Of course he'd received the customary answer: "Malfoy's are never late."
Draco had gone on to relinquish Harry with a story about how all Malfoy's were born on the stroke of midnight, exactly nine months after the date of conception. Harry had nodded and told him it was all very interesting but could please finish what he'd started for the sake of Harry's own sanity.
A trademark smirk had curled into place before Draco ducked his head once more. The conversation had pretty much ended there.
Harry had never figured out why it was they continued to meet in the same place. It was almost a year since it had all started and still the routine had not changed. He'd come to find that Malfoy's seemed to like routine as well.
A year. A year of counting and pacing. A year of laughing and scowling. A year of hungry green on gray gazes and the seductive striding forward of long Malfoy legs. A year. A year and still they were watched. Harry hated it. The way they were reflected back at him through one, ever-watchful face. He wanted to smash that face for all it had seen, for everything, everything that should have been only there's but wasn't. Not to Harry. To Harry it felt as though that clock had taken everything between them and stored it into a memory full of unheard of affairs and surreptitious meetings.
Some nights he would arrive early, just to glare at it. It would gaze back placidly, ticking on calmly, mockingly.
I know...
It seemed to call through the swinging of its tarnished bronze pendulum. It reflected back everything, distorted and twisted into a cruel sick joke of what it really was. At times, when Binns was being particularly monotonous or if Harry felt like pissing of Snape for some unknown reason he would zone out and imagine that, perhaps�the reflection was the reality.
But then he would shake his head and go on attempting to pay attention, or nap �napping was always a good idea.
A year of routine.
So imagine Harry's surprise when the face that revealed itself was not cool and smirking with coveting eyes, but troubled, frowning, and were those�nervous eyes?
Harry's brow furrowed. Draco stopped at the top of the stairs, but there was no laugh, and Harry did not scowl. Draco did not step forward to meet him and Harry did not wrap his arms around Draco's neck and pull him down to crush their lips together.
This was most certainly not routine. "Potter," said Draco in greeting. He was looking anywhere but Harry's face and his fingers where tangled in the hem of his shirt�it was almost as if he was-
"Are you fidgeting?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"No! I-well that is to say�"
Harry's face broke into a grin. Draco was scowling. "You are!"
Draco glared. "Fine, Potter. I'm fidgeting. It happens when I get nervous."
"But you never get nervous," said Harry. He'd stopped grinning in favor of staring curiously at Draco with his head tilted to the left.
"I do too get nervous�just not usually around you." He was still glaring but he'd also gone back to fidgeting. Harry was shocked to find it�strangely endearing.
"So�why are you nervous?"
"Because I have to ask you something, and I don't want to."
"Then why ask?"
"Do you not understand the meaning of the words 'have to'?"
"Oh, right. Look, just ask me," said Harry, shrugging.
"It's not that simple!" Draco almost shouted. He clutched his fists at his sides and he looked like a spoiled child having a tantrum.
Harry sighed. Draco glared. "You are not helping."
"Well sorry," said Harry, he was actually getting impatient and he took a few steps towards the other boy, something he'd never had to do before. A smile slowly graced his lips. "Can you ask me later?"
"No. Sit down, Potter."
"Here? On the floor?"
"Yes, I-," something seemed to occur to him and he stopped. "Wait, no. Don't sit. You have to be standing."
Harry's eyebrows shot into his hair. "Why do I have to stand?"
"Quit asking questions, you're making things difficult."
"Fine then, I won't say anything."
"Fine," said Draco, crossing his arms crossed his chest.
"Fine," repeated Harry, copying Draco's actions.
They glared at each other for about five minutes. Finally Harry had the sense to say something.
"Well? Are you going to ask me whatever it is your asking, or not?"
"I thought you said you weren't going to talk."
"You weren't doing anything! You were just glaring!"
"So were you!"
"I wasn't the one who was supposed to be talking!"
Draco glared. Harry gave up, waving a hand at him and rolling his eyes.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, fine!"
Harry watched as Draco kneeled down in front of Harry. Now, not be mistaken, he had done this many times before, but usually there was a cushioning charm involved. Also, Draco never tried this on only one�knee�
Oh, that's what he�Holy Hell.
Harry really wanted to keep a straight face, he did. But there are only so many things you can imagine Draco Malfoy attempting to do, and this was not one of them.
"What are you laughing at?"
Harry just kept laughing. There was that glare again.
"If you're going to laugh, you can forget it, Potter."
Harry shook his head attempting to stifle it. He snorted.
"Oh that's attractive," muttered Draco.
"You don't have to ask!" Harry finally managed. "Now please get up before I rupture something!"
Slowly, Draco stood up, and Harry eventually got himself to stopped laughing.
"I don't have to ask?"
"No."
"So is that a yes then?"
"Yes, it's a yes. Do you have a�thingy?"
Draco colored (not a blush, Malfoy's never blush) and Harry took that as a yes. He watched as the other boy fumbled in his robe pocket, eventually pulling out a little box. He flipped it open and held it out to Harry, one hand still in his pocket, looking anywhere but Harry's face.
Harry melted. He took the box, pulled out the ring and slipped it on his finger. He gazed back and forth from it, to Draco for about a minute.
"Erm�thanks. You've put a lot of thought into this."
It was a simple gold band, but the fact that Draco had gotten gold and not silver, and knew that Harry would not have wanted anything fancy was enough to tell him so.
"You're welcome," said Draco.
There was a pause.
"I suppose we have to tell everyone now."
"Probably. If I'm getting married�Ron and Hermione are going to want to know who the bride is."
A glare.
"I am not the bride."
Harry chuckled.
"Of course not. Never the bride," said Harry. "After all� Malfoys are never brides."
"Not male ones anyway."
"Right."
Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Draco's neck.
"Do you want to go to my dorm?"
"Are you going as well?"
"Yes."
"Do I have a choice?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow.
"Not really."
"Alright then."
Draco began walking up the marble staircase, and the grandfather clock stuck midnight. Harry stopped dead in his tracks and just looked at it�and something occurred to him.
You've been waiting for this, haven't you? You've been watching for this.
It chimed again.
"Harry, what are you doing? Come on I'm tired."
Bed. Bed with Draco. Good idea.
Harry shot one last amused glance at the clock before he went to Draco, knowing that it would stay there. It would wait�and it would watch, for the next unsuspecting couple.
As he wrapped an arm around Draco's waist and lead the way to Gryffindor tower the grandfather clock struck the twelfth midnight chime into the empty air of the Entrance Hall.