Muse Blues

It started out as out as a joke.

One could only be stuck in class with Malfoy so many times before they either made light of it or lost their mind. The boy had an uncanny ability to get under your skin just by his mere prescence alone. If Dean had known it would lead to him getting under his skin in other ways, well, maybe he would have stopped. Or maybe not, as he turns out to have a hell of a mouth on him - but anyway, a joke. That's what it started out as.

Second year had been the first time Dean had drawn him. It was more of a scribble than anything, a tiny Malfoy tumbling headfirst into his cauldron. He discreetly tapped the parchment with his wand when he was finished, watching as the scene came to life. He passed it to Seamus just as ink Malfoy let out an angry shriek that had the other Gryffindor cackling.

He figured it was worth the detention they got from Snape, even if they had to sort through a pile of troll guts for an hour.

He'd gotten better about avoiding detention after that, but in third year, Malfoy had confronted him for the first time. He'd snatched the parchment depicting him sulking after the hippogriff "attack". Dean had been rather proud of it - his art had gotten a lot better since last year, and he'd put a considerable amount of effort in this time. (There wasn't much else to do, given that it was in Trelawney's class. One could finish their work quickly when the teacher was morbidly thrilled with death predictions).

Malfoy regarded it with a air of great injury, offense lining his face like Dean had shared it with the entire class. He hadn't - though it was less to do with kindness and more to do with him losing track of time. The room had been largely empty, and Seamus had dropped the class after the first few weeks.

"You'd stop making this trash if you knew what was good for you, Thomas." Malfoy had snapped, emboldened by the lack of Gryffindors to jump to his defense. His ever present lackeys were in tow, glowering impressively on command. Dean wonders if he'd trained them somehow, or if their faces were just that unfortunate. It couldn't be a Slytherin trait entirely, given that Malfoy's face wasn't unpleasant to look at. (Wait, what?)

Dean smiled breezily. "Trash? You know it's a picture of you, right, Malfoy? I didn't think you thought so low of yourself, but I get it."

The bruises lasted longer than the detention had, but he figured those were worth it too.

And so it continued. A joke that went well up to their fifth year, right around when Dean started treating art as an improbable but possible future. Certainly an artist should get the shade of those icy eyes right, make sure that the slope of that elegant nose was more than just a lazy stroke. And look, it's not like Malfoy is the only person he draws. He's not even the one that he draws the most, but he's somehow always the easiest. Dean finds himself drawing him whenever he's bored, or stumped on another piece that's giving him trouble. He can and has done it from memory by now, but he keeps looking anyway. Finds something new and noteworthy each time.

Currently, he's thirty minutes in to his latest sketch, lesson long forgotten. He's just touching up the soft fall of his hair when Ron breaks him from his trance with a disturbed whisper.

"Bloody hell, are you drawing a portrait of Malfoy?"

Dean flips the parchment over hastily, trying to will the heat to drain from his cheeks. "Wha-no! It's just a joke."

He looks around the room then, wondering where the hell Seamus went. He spots him sitting near Harry near the front of the class. Ron and Harry must have been talking enough to incite Mcgonagall's seat switching ire. A rare consequence only invoked when detention fails to earn obedience. She's stressing the importance of molecular knowledge when compared to transforming living and unliving things - or something. Dean figures paying attention this late in class is a lost cause and looks back at Ron's concerned, slightly nauseous, frown.

"Pretty detailed joke, mate."  He says, and Dean rolls his eyes. If they land a little too easily on Malfoy, sitting across the room and regarding their muttering with suspicion, he'll worry about it later.

---

Later comes the following week, but the day starts off fairly ordinary. Dean finds himself again lost in a sketch of the somewhat attractive (he's not blind, okay? it's not like he wants to snog him or anything) Slytherin. They're enjoying the outdoors between classes, and Dean has made himself comfortable against the base of a tree, sketchpad on his knees. The weather is of the in between sort, when it's pleasant but cold enough that anything strenuous just seems like a chore. To give him some sort of hope for his sanity, he sticks to the reasoning he hadn't meant to draw him this time. He'd been doing a stone archway, one that boasted a quiet regality despite showing the beginnings of decay.

But Malfoy had wandered by, and it was...distracting.

He figured he might as well get the itch out of his system so he could finish what he'd originally started. Seamus is hanging from one of the lower branches, hair swaying in the breeze as he watches. The ends are singed black again, carrying with them a dull burning scent. It's unpleasant if not nostalgic, but Flitwick's exasperated disbelief when he'd caught a cup of water on fire was hilarious.

He can feel his friend's pensive frown as he draws. They've moved beyond his little joke sketches, and neither of them really know when it happened. Still, there's surprisingly little judgement on his latest obsession hobby. Seamus is good like that. He still expects some sort of television worthy intervention any day now. Given how much he can count on Ron's discretion, the entire Gryffindor house might get involved. Though, he wonders if this behavior would warrant an intervention, or if he'd be chucked from the house entirely, considered a lost cause. Voluntarily drawing a Slytherin with no punchline in sight. The horror. The audacity.

"I mean, I get you're probably never gonna see someone with such a ferret like face again, but you should move on if you're gonna be the next Picasso or whatever. I hear Ginny would love to model for you."

Dean strongly suspects his friend is waggling his eyebrows, and chooses not to give him the satisfaction. "Well, I like Van Gogh better than Picasso anyway."

"Tch, that loon who chopped off his ear?"

"You know, some people think it got cut off by Gauguin."

Seamus makes a sympathetic sound, closing his eyes sagely. "Ah, a lover's quirrel. How tragic."

Dean barks out a laugh. "Oi, shut up, they weren't shagging each other!"

Malfoy is looking in their direction now, surrounded as always by his brain dead followers. It looks like they're debating on stomping over here, but Dean goes back to drawing anyway. He's nearly done, so there's no point in stopping now. And truthfully, starting to draw Malfoy has been the problem for awhile, not finishing. If he needs to exercise restraint anywhere, it's there.

He's well aware he's being kind a creep, but it's not like Malfoy knows who he's drawing. He suspects maybe, the suspicious little prat - a few confrontations in the past had been when Dean wasn't drawing Malfoy at all, though that only made him get pissier somehow. It's like he has a thing against art or something, or maybe it's just Gryffindors in general. Whatever it is, he likely won't come over here until the area is empty. Besides, let them come over if they want. He isn't a thirteen year old anymore, and his latest growth spurt has him above all of them. It'd be a weedless day in the Hufflepuff common room before he was afraid of a Slytherin.

Seamus eventually drops to the ground with a thud, looking over his work with a disappointed hum. "Shit, well at least give him a tail or something."

The other Gryffindor snatches up a pencil when it doesn't look like Dean is going to listen. They scrabble for a few good moments before Dean emerges victorious. He laughs when Seamus curses, plucking leaves out of his burned hair.

He draws the tail anyway.  It looks way more appealing than it should.

---

Before the day ends, they're in another Dumbledore's Army meeting. Thoughts of Malfoy are gone for now, and Harry's trying his damndest to teach them how to conjure a patronus.

Trying being the operative word here.

At least most of the group is doing just as rotten as Dean is. Neville seems close to tears, Seamus' wand is spitting out threatening sparks, and Hermione looks robbed, like she'd gotten a failing grade on the most important test of her life. The fact that the lessons here could be the most important in their lives does little to improve morale.

Harry's luminescent stag travels the room alone until he recalls it, giving everyone earnest assurances that they'd get it in time. Luna, who'd been closer to succeeding than anyone, smiles into the distance dreamily. "I'm sure he'll make a lovely teacher someday. Don't you think so? You seemed rather close to forming one, Dean."

From anyone else, he would have found it sarcastic. His little whisps of a patronus didn't look like any animal he'd ever seen. The Ravenclaw just isn't built like that, though.

"Yeah, Harry's probably gonna get the Defense job before Snape at this rate. And thanks, Luna. Maybe next time."

Seamus and Neville sidle up to them, waiting for their turns to filter into the hall. They're in comically opposite moods. Neville still looks like someone had pushed his grandma down the stairs, but Seamus is genuinely grinning. Dean's glad he'd come to his senses about the whole Harry thing. Drama tends to be a little awkward when you room with the guy you have it with.

"I almost made one too, ya know." Seamus says. "I swear I saw fur or scales or something."

"I think that was just your wand catching on fire." Dean teases, thumping Neville on the shoulder. The morose Gryffindor manages a smile as Seamus puffs out his chest proudly.

"Probably gonna be a dragon, then. Easily the most suiting for me."

Dean might find that funny if it weren't true. If anyone has the fire power to summon a dragon, it's Seamus Finnigan.

Luna hums thoughtfully. "It could always be a fire breathing slug. They're much more vicious than dragons, you know. Most people don't believe in them, of course, but they're very real."

Seamus makes an expression so offended that even Neville laughs. "A slug?! You think I'd have a slug?"

Dean can just imagine it, Seamus' fiery expression as he brought forth a tiny slug that oozed toward perplexed dementors. "Ha! Maybe they'd die of laughter if nothing else. Hell, you'd probably end up in a book somewhere."

"Or The Quibbler." Neville offers, flushing warmly when Luna beams at him. "Oh, that's brilliant, Neville! You'll work on that, won't you, Seamus?"

Seamus scoffs in wounded disgust. "You're monsters, the lot of you."

By the time they make it through the door, about half of the group is gone. They try to time it out in the least suspicious way possible, but Dean shouldn't have underestimated the dumb luck and vindictiveness of Slytherins. Especially one in particular.

Neville and Luna split off on their own, the Gryffindor trying valiantly to keep up with her cheerful skipping. Dean has his arm slung across Seamus' shoulders, their DA galleons tucked safely out of sight.

"A slug." Seamus is still lamenting. "I swear I worry for her sometimes."

Dean nods sympathetically, trying not to laugh again. "If you believe it'll be a dragon, Seamus, I believe it'll be a dragon. Probably a great Chinese Fireball, do you think?"

Seamus only nods, mouth tilting into a grin. Dean should have been suspicious about how easily the matter was dropped. " I mean, anything's better than a ferret."

"Heh, yeah, I couldn't imagine getting - hey."

Seamus puts his hands up in an innocent manner, but his eyes gleam with mischief. "I'm not gonna judge you, Dean. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

Dean may have longer legs, but Seamus has the adrenaline of self preservation on his side. The taller Gryffindor is readying to dash around the corner after his friend when a flash of color catches his eye. A flash of green.

Seamus' laugh fades into the distance, leaving Dean to stare back at a slightly crouched Malfoy. He's hiding behind some sort of misshapen statue of which even Dean has no idea. He catches Dean's eye, but he's easy enough to read that the Gryffindor knows he didn't see where they came from. Already scowling, the blond straightens at Dean's casual approach.

"Hey, Malfoy. Playing hide and seek with your cronies?"

"They're on their way, Thomas." Draco says hotly, and it's such a cliche thing to say that he can't help but laugh.

"Well, better find a new hiding spot then."

He expects and hopes Malfoy to rise to the bait. Besides just being fun, it would probably get him to move elsewhere. There are still students that need to leave DA, and he doesn't want Malfoy here when they do.

He's surprised when the blond remains silent though, the anger cooling on his face into something more controlled. He even leans back against the statue, looking at Dean like he has some sort of leverage on the situation. It's Malfoy in his native element, and Dean waits for whatever dramatic declaration he's preparing.

When it doesn't come, Dean raises an eyebrow. "Malfoy, what -"

"You know, you could stand to be a little less obvious. I get that you're a mudblood and all, but even you can't be this stupid." He says, and it's probably the most he's ever said to Dean at once before. He steps closer out of curiosity if nothing else, even if he is walking into a trap. It's been awhile since the pretty dolt demanded his attention like this.

"Obvious about what?" Dean snorts, raising both eyebrows now. Malfoy takes it as some sort of challenge, steeling himself before snapping, "You and Finnigan."

The surname is spat like it's something disgusting, and it brings Dean up short. Protective anger simmers up instinctively before he even knows what he's saying.

"I dunno what you're getting at -"

And then, for some reason, he does. It's laughable almost, and entirely predictable that he'd be getting this from a Slytherin. He can't help but roll his eyes. "Jesus, I know I've been out for years, but Seamus and I are just friends. Friends can walk down halls together, Malfoy. Except for you and yours, apparently."

He makes a show of looking around, discretely checking that the entrance is still clear, and glances back. The Slytherin's cool eyes are narrowed, the self assured hold he had on the situation slipping away like a failed patronus. He wonders what Malfoy's patronus would be, or if he could make one. He shuts down the thought process before he can dwell on why he's wondering about it at all.

It's only then that he notices that they'd both gotten rather close to each other. Malfoy scowls at him prettily, but doesn't move away. To be fair, there's really nowhere to go unless he shoves Dean out of the way. There's a door adjacent to the statue, but it looks slender enough to be a closet.

"Whatever, you know what I'm talking about, Thomas." He spits, and Dean raises his eyebrows again. "The wizarding world isn't a tolerant sort of that kind of behavior."

"It's called being gay, Draco. Or bi, in my case. The wizarding world can go fuck itself if that's what it thinks about that kind of behavior."

The blond looks scandalized, but warm color rises to his pale cheeks. Dean thinks it might be because he's never called him by his first name. Regardless, he's never seen him blush before. His fingers twitch, eager to put the shade onto paper.

"You-" Malfoy starts, but is cut off by someone calling his name. It sounds like Zabini, if Dean has to guess, but it isn't like he's an expert on Slytherin voices. He could probably pick Malfoy's out in a crowd though, and geez, that's a little -

Dean only just swallows his shout of surprise when he's yanked through the nearby door. It is a closet, dark and far too small for the both of them. Dean hisses out a curse as he nearly tumbles over a bucket. He really should think about taking up a workout routine if Draco Malfoy can pull him around like this. His ire is quickly forgotten when a cold hand slams over his mouth. From what little light is filtering through the door cracks, he can see that Malfoy looks slightly sick. Panicked. Dean is lost for all of five seconds. Some of the tension drains from Dean's shoulders, but he still wrestles his mouth free to murmur, "Damn, Slytherins take hide and seek seriously."

"Shut up!" He hisses. He plasters himself against Dean when Blaise's shadow goes by the door, like they'd be less noticable if they took up less space. The shadow doesn't linger, but Dean's pity does when he can feel the other boy's light trembling.

"Draco...there's nothing wrong with being gay."

He expects the Slytherin to jolt, to angrily deny it. Quietly, though, because Draco Malfoy's world would end if someone found him standing that close to Dean Thomas, let alone in a closet with him. At least that's what his brain is probably telling him right now. Probably a hell of a lot of other people too, and Dean doesn't really feel equipped the handle this. He stills gets shit from people sometimes, but Gryffindor had gotten over his sexuality fairly quickly. His family had known about it from the start. So, he doesn't know what Draco's going through entirely, and definitely doesn't know what to do about it.

Doing nothing seems kind of callous though, even if it is for a Slytherin, so he grabs Malfoy's elbow gently. He means it to be stabilizing, maybe comforting, but the other teen goes rigid like Dean had petrified him. They remain still in the near darkness until Dean figures someone's going to have to say something. That, or leave the damn closet, which isn't really an option with Malfoy clinging to him like there's a boggart hiding behind the mops.

"Look, I dunno what all you're going through, Draco, but there's nothing wrong with you. I mean, there is personality wise, but it's definitely not your sexuality. I know that may be hard to believe right now, but it's true."

Dean swallows at his continued silence, which stretches well past awkward into what the hell am I still doing here? Clearing his throat, Dean's other hand comes up to grab his other arm, ready to push him away so he could leave -

And then Draco Malfoy's kissing him.

Bloody hell, Draco Malfoy is kissing him.

It's Dean's turn to be frozen, but even the shock of kissing a Slytherin in a fucking closet of all places isn't enough to distract him from how soft his lips are. How many times had Dean drawn them? He'd certainly never done them justice. It's a little too rushed and somehow too hesitant at the same time to really be spectacular, but somehow the fact that it's Draco makes it spectacular anyway.

Merlin, I'm so fucked.

The Gryffindor moves forward, taking as much control as he can being pinned to the wall. He doesn't mean to, wants Draco to take whatever control he's capable of right now, but it turns out to not be very much. He's shaking like a leaf, and his breath is coming in sharp, but short drags like he's about to break. Dean exhales, licking his lips and feeling Draco give a full body shudder when the motion catches his own. He runs his hands down the Slytherin's sides soothingly.

"Is this okay?" Dean says quietly, and he expects the words to get lost in the dark, to remain unanswered and alone. Honestly, he's kind of convinced he's dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamt of him.

"I...y-yes." Draco breathes eventually. Despite the stammer, it sounds angry somehow. Some sort of flinty and bitter determination that's turned ragged. He's still shaking. Dean swallows a sigh, unable to resist pecking his lips again quickly.

"No, it's not."

Draco flinches, pulls away like Dean had slapped him, and he hurries to clarify. "Draco, I didn't mean it like that. You don't have to rush into anything you're uncomfortable with. Hogwarts isn't going to collapse when we leave this closet. There aren't going to be aurors waiting for you."

Draco's hand slips from Dean's shoulder, the progress maddeningly slow, before he scoffs. The atmosphere shifts as Malfoy puts his walls back in place, the ones that he wants and maybe even needs for now. Dean chews the inside of his cheek as Malfoy shoves away from him, straightening his robes with angry motions. Eventually, he just throws caution to the stale air and says them, says the words that will probably be his undoing. "But I can be, if you want. I wouldn't mind doing this again someday, you know. If you're ever interested."

Draco looks at him, blue eyes catching on a sliver of light. For once, there's no harsh lines pulling them tight. They're wide, pale lashes fluttering uncertainly. His pupils are kind of blown, and it makes Dean feel pleasantly warm. The moment doesn't last of course, Malfoy retreating to the door to crack it open cautiously. The lines of his shoulders are tense, and his voice refuses to raise above a harsh whisper. It's the last thing Malfoy leaves him before he escapes back into the hall.

"Stop fucking drawing me."