Chapter Two
When Draco woke up, he felt well-rested. He wondered if it always felt
as good to wake up after publicly humiliating one’s school nemesis.
If it did, he would certainly try to do it more often. He dressed and
was fixing his hair when there was a knock on the door. Draco didn’t
have time to tell the person to piss off – the door opened and Pansy
came into the room. She was wearing the same loosely tied dressing gown
and red lace underwear that she’d sported the day before.
“Draco,” she purred in a tone that was very like how she’d sounded the day before, “I don’t know what dress to wear tonight.”
“Pansy, what the fuck are you doing here again? I told you yesterday, there is no way in hell that I’m ever going to date you again,” Draco drawled.
Pansy’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and her eyes filled with tears. “Yesterday? What are you talking about?”
“Yesterday! When you came in looking exactly like that!” Draco said, motioning at Pansy’s lack of proper clothes.
“I don’t— don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pansy said.
Irritated, Draco snapped at her, “Just get out of here, Parkinson.”
Tears were falling down Pansy’s cheeks. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”
Draco shook his head as she ran out. That had been some déjà vu. He turned back to the mirror and ran a hand through his hair.
“You look great,” the mirror told him.
Draco gave it a look, wondering if the mirror too was stuck on repeating what it had said the day before. He didn’t reply.
The Great Hall was still decorated for Valentine’s Day, Draco noted with dismay. Draco wondered why – the House Elves were usually good about cleaning away signs of celebration once the celebration was over.
“They’ve made it so pretty,” Goyle said stupidly, looking at the heart-shaped clouds on the enchanted ceiling. He’d said the exact same thing the day before, but that wasn’t unusual. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t have the intelligence of a rat even put together, so the fact that they could string together sentences was really quite amazing.
“I don’t see why they haven’t taken it down,” Draco sneered.
“Taken it down?” Crabbe asked.
“Yes, seeing how Valentine’s Day was yesterday that seems to be the logical thing, don’t you think?” Draco snapped at them.
He didn’t like how Crabbe and Goyle exchanged meaningful looks. They weren’t supposed to be bright enough to be able to do that.
He strode into the room. A look at the Golden Trio revealed a scene that seemed uncannily like the day before – Potter looked bored next to his two snogging best friends. It was strange, Draco thought, that Potter didn’t look the least bit sad or crushed. He looked up and met Draco’s eyes and his eyes held nothing that Draco could read. He’d have expected Potter to be furious or crying – something. But Potter looked like none of the events of the day before had happened at all.
Draco sat down in his seat and was served breakfast. Then, just moments later, owls poured in through the windows. Strangely, sixteen owls landed before Draco.
He got a sudden and horrifying idea. Things were far too much like the day before.
“Bulstrode,” he said to the girl sitting straight across from him, “what date is it today?”
Milicent Bulstrode looked surprised that Draco would actually address her in public – even with such a stupid question. For she seemed to think that; that it was a truly dumb inquiry. “It’s February fourteenth,” she said. “You know – Valentine’s Day?”
Draco’s heart sank to his boots. It was supposed to be February fifteenth – it was certainly not supposed to be Valentine’s Day. He’d already lived through this!
Or had it been a dream? The whole scene with Potter and all the lessons – had he imagined it all? But then, today’s events were happening exactly as he remembered them from the day before. Had he had a prophetic dream? And in that case, could he know that Potter was behind the anonymous gifts he’d received? Perhaps it was just a nightmare Draco’d had.
To keep himself occupied, Draco opened the letters and cards he’d received. There was one from Mandy Brocklehurst, one from Lisa Turpin and three more from Ravenclaws, eight cards from different Hufflepuffs and three cards from acquaintances he’d made outside of Hogwarts’ walls.
They were exactly as he remembered. Two silver necklaces and one silver dragon.
Draco swallowed. He had already lived through this day, but no one else seemed to remember about it. Any minute now, a final owl would swoop into the room carrying a single, glowing red rose.
The students gasped as the owl flew into the room and landed in front of a white-faced Malfoy.
“Who is it from?” Millicent asked.
Draco didn’t even sneer at her. He snatched the rose from the bird’s beak and fled from the room.
Draco hurried to the boys’ bathroom, holding the beautiful rose in his hand.
He’d already lived this once.
He already knew what the day would bring.
He would go through lessons – McGonagall would have her lecture about turning living things into other living things and Snape would have them make the Juroserum, then they would crystal gaze in Divinations and work on irritatingly hard numbers in Arithmancy – and at the end of the day, he would open a box of chocolates.
He was breathing quickly. He’d heard of people being stuck in time loops before, but there was always a reason behind it; usually some magic gone haywire. Draco hadn’t done anything of the sort and he hadn’t been hit with any strange spells either.
Perhaps he should just go through the day and then when he woke up tomorrow, it would really be tomorrow. It seemed like a good idea – perhaps this was just a— a magical hiccup.
Draco nodded to himself. That was what it was. This was going to solve itself and tomorrow would really be tomorrow.
It still left the question of Potter, though. Crushing Potter once had been fun but re-doing the whole thing? It had taken something out of Draco and it hadn’t felt that good. Or had it? Draco didn’t know. The image of Potter’s crushed face stayed on Draco’s mind. He hated Potter, of course – but putting someone else through that much pain actually seemed a bit too cruel.
Indecisive about what to do with Potter, Draco left the boys’ bathroom and hurried to his lesson.
Draco did very little differently from the first time he’d lived it. McGonagall’s lecture was even more boring now, when he’d already listened to it once. When she forced him to try the spell, however, it went a bit better than the day before. This time, the size of the mouse changed as well as its skin.
McGonagall gave him the same look that he remembered her giving him before. “I suppose you will have to listen a bit more carefully, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco didn’t reply. Instead, he looked over to Potter’s seat. As Draco had expected, Potter wasn’t glaring angrily this time either. He was looking at Draco rather contemplatively, watching in a way that seemed rather content. When he noticed Draco looking, Potter tried to rearrange his facial expression but he didn’t succeed.
Draco turned back. He’d already heard McGonagall’s continued lecture and could thus allow his mind to wander. For the first time since finding out that Potter was his secret admirer, he found himself wondering just how that had happened. With all the history between the two, it certainly wasn’t a ‘normal’ response for the Golden Boy to fall in love with someone like Draco.
Draco hadn’t even known Potter was gay. Then again, he supposed that it was the sort of thing someone like The Boy Who Lived would keep quiet about. The newspapers liked the idea of a straight hero that would settle down and marry some pretty girl once he’d fulfilled his duty and killed the Dark Lord. They – the papers, the world – wouldn’t like it if Potter turned out to like boys instead. Homosexuality was still frowned upon, after all. Draco’s own liaisons with the same sex had been quite a bit more in the dark than his meetings with different girls.
Then Draco wondered why he was thinking about Potter at all and he forced all thoughts of him out of his mind.
At the end of the day, Draco was incredibly bored. He didn’t like having to do the same work – work he’d done just fine the first time – over again. His Juroserum had become just as perfect this time and he had bottled it and given it to Snape with a satisfied smirk. The Weasel had done the same mistake as before and once again earned himself a detention for the explosion he’d caused.
Potter had looked at Draco this time as well and when Draco didn’t meet his gaze with complete disgust, he could see hope forming in the green eyes. Draco quickly sneered and looked away.
Since it was an exact repeat of the day before, the food served during lunch was the exact same as before – potatoes and meatloaf. Draco liked it, but it wasn’t quite as good the second day.
“Look, Draco!” said Pansy and pointed to the windows. “You’re getting more owls.”
Draco wanted to reply that he would get four of them and one of them would be from Harry Potter, but he didn’t. It would take too long to explain and talking to Pansy wasn’t interesting to start with.
Four owls landed in front of him. One of them had the square package, wrapped in red paper, that Draco knew contained the chocolates from Potter. He put it all in his pockets.
“Aren’t you going to open them?” Pansy asked.
“Why?” asked Draco. “They’re all idiotic cards from Hufflepuffs anyway. Or did you send me something?”
He added the last part with a drawl.
Pansy’s cheeks reddened. Draco knew that she wanted to send him a card, but didn’t dare. She’d be ridiculed by the whole House if she did.
“No,” she sniffed. “Of course not.”
“Then why are you so bothered with who sends me cards and who doesn’t?” Draco asked.
Pansy gave him a hurt look and turned away. Draco returned to his meatloaf.
Back in his room, Draco opened his bedside table drawer and found the items Potter had sent him – the things he’d thrown away the day before – lying in perfect order. Draco threw the drawer shut and sat down with his gifts. This time, Draco didn’t even bother opening the cards from the Hufflepuffs. He knew what they would say and the silly pictures on them. He also knew that he had no interest whatsoever in any of the senders.
This made him wonder if he had an interest in Potter. As he opened the wrappings around the chocolate box, he thought that of course he had an interest in Potter. He was very much interested in hurting him and killing him – it would make both his father and the Dark Lord proud, surely. Pleasing those two was crucial for his own survival. He dreaded the end of the year, when he would be brought back home to be initiated.
So yes, of course he had an interest in Potter.
He opened the box. The heart-shaped chocolates lay inside, as delicious-looking as they had been the day before. He took a breath and then picked one of them up.
The pull of the Port Key was immediate and within seconds, he landed in the old classroom. It looked just like it had before, with several hundred candles lit all around the room. Knowing that Potter was the one behind the whole thing, Draco couldn’t be bothered to guard himself with his wand this time.
“Aren’t you going to welcome me?” he sneered to the seemingly open room.
He turned to the door, where he knew Potter was somehow hiding himself. Again, he heard the mumbled ‘finite incantatum’ and now he saw Potter becoming first partly visible and then completely. An Invisibility Cloak that Draco hadn’t noticed the day before lay at his feet.
Feigning surprise, Draco said, “You are my secret admirer?”
He was surprised at how much his feelings for the situations had changed. Knowing how much he could hurt Potter if he wanted from this point on made it strangely uninviting to actually do so. At the same time, the words of his father about killing Potter if he ever had the chance rang in his ears.
“Uh, hi,” Potter said, like he had the day before.
Silence spread between the two. Knowing what he did, Draco found it very hard to say anything spontaneous, or anything at all that wouldn’t sound simply bored.
“Did you like the gifts?” Potter asked after a full minute’s uncomfortable silence.
Draco held back a sigh. “Why did you send them to me?”
Potter looked surprised at Draco’s bored but not unpleasant tone. Draco was quite surprised with it as well.
“I—” Potter said hesitatingly, “I saw them and thought of you.”
He spoke quietly. His hair fell in his face and he looked at his feet. It wasn’t the first time that Draco thought that if he hadn’t been The Boy Who Lived, then Potter would certainly have been shaggable. Really, Potter looked quite nice – if he could ever get some semblance of control over that hair of his – and had a good body. If their history had been any different, Potter would have already been on Draco’s list of conquest.
He wondered what Potter would think of that. What would he think of Draco taking him to bed, fucking him during one night and then leaving him out in the cold? It was possible it would humiliate Potter even more than ranting the way he had the day before. On top of that, it would give Draco quite a bit of pleasure.
In fact, the idea had some merit.
“Whatever for?” Draco asked, lowering his voice and taking a step closer to Potter.
Potter swallowed visibly, but this time it wasn’t for the same reason as it had been before. Draco smirked. This could turn out to be a lot of fun.
“I— I suppose—” Potter stuttered as Draco took another step closer.
“What do you suppose?” Draco asked.
“I— uh, I like you,” Potter said quickly, quietly.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You like me?”
Draco came up to him and ran a hand over Potter’s chest. It was surprisingly hard beneath Draco’s fingers. Potter obviously worked out some.
Potter swallowed again. “What— what are you doing?”
Draco smirked at him. “What do you think I’m doing? Candle lights and a place where we are all by ourselves, Potter? It would seem this is exactly what you had in mind.”
He leaned against Potter and Potter’s breath caught. Draco smiled predatorily. This really would be fun.
“Ever done it in a classroom, Potter?” Draco purred.
Potter seemed unable to speak as Draco rubbed himself against him. Draco liked the feel of Potter’s body – he was built as Draco liked his male lovers; the same height as him, lean and well-muscled without being pumped.
Potter growled low in his throat and Draco found his mouth captured in a searing kiss. Draco felt the hardness in Potter’s pants rub against his thighs and his own body became hot at once. This would be a good ride – and the thought of finishing it off with cold rejection made the whole thing even more inviting. This was not something that would ever last.
That evening, Draco didn’t eat dinner and neither did a certain Harry Potter. Instead Draco fell asleep in an old, unused classroom.
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