Muse Blues

Dean tries.

If there's ever any sort of interrogation in the future, veritaserum involved and all, he could truthfully say that he tries.

In the weeks that follow, DA makes it easy to get distracted. And despite how far away their O.W.L.s are, he knows that he should take a page out of Hermione's book and start studying early. Malfoy is largely ignoring him anyway, and he wasn't aware of how much the Slytherin used to stare until he stopped. Dean doesn't seek him out, figuring Malfoy needed time to come to terms with himself or avoid the matter entirely. He can't make that decision for him.

So, Dean does good for awhile. Whenever he gets the urge to draw, he picks random things. Whatever plants still persisted this late in the year, a scenic sunset that had caught his eye, a few Gryffindor pets that were calm enough to sit still for more than a few minutes. He'd even sketched a few Gryffindors themselves. Neville had flushed up to his ears when Dean showed him the one of him dozing in the common room. Trevor had even been added, the cranky frog acting as a silent look out while he'd slept. Neville's resulting stammers of thanks drew Ginny's attention, who'd smiled at Dean and asked when he was going to do one of her.

That's where he found himself on a Sunday afternoon, drawing Ginny against the backdrop of a stained glass window. It's one of the few that don't move, but it's beautiful. The colors are muted, spans of gentle shades that twist and swirl into different shapes. It's striking on it's own, but Ginny's bright hair catches it ablaze.

She takes her self appointed modeling role seriously, even if she does pull ridiculous faces that leave Dean torn between laughing and demanding her to sit still. He's given way to the former by the time they're done when an obnoxious voice rings through the air.

"Aw, Draco, look. Weasley actually managed to turn Thomas. I guess she is good for something after all."

Ginny rolls her eyes towards Pansy Parkinson, looking entirely unimpressed. Pansy herself is looking quite proud of herself for the joke, even though it made little sense bi wise.

Malfoy is there too, both of them probably prowling the halls to twist their prefect duties for their own amusement or gain. Dean catches his eye, but the other boy seems torn between glaring and not looking at him at all.

'Wouldn't want to be too telling, now would we?' Dean thinks, and then feels awful about it almost immediately. He tears the finished picture out, biting back a sigh. Gathering his supplies into his bag, he goes over to hand it to Ginny. He's careful to do it outside of Pansy's reach, which is getting closer as she bridges the distance.

"Here you go, love." Dean says, chuckling when Ginny wraps an arm around his waist. "It's the least I can do for curing my queerness."

Ginny fans herself with her picture gently, leaning into Dean and raising a foot like a lovestruck princess in one of his sisters' fairytales. "Oh, it's my pleasure. Always happy to be of service, darling."

Whatever response the Slytherins have is stopped by a passing Professor Mcgonagall, who snaps at them to stop loitering in the halls.

He can't see Draco's stare on his back when he and Ginny leave, but he can feel it. It probably shouldn't make him smile as much as it does.

---

Up in the common room, Ginny sits next to Dean on one of the couches, leaning against him absentmindedly. She has her picture out, gazing over it fully.

"You know, this is actually really good, Dean. Like, kind of amazing."

Dean's not immune to praise, and he returns her smile easily. "Hey, it's easy with a good model." He teases, though it's true. It had taken the better part of the afternoon to finish it, but she hadn't complained.

Ginny tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. When she looks up at him, there's a question in her eyes. "Let's do it again sometime, then?"

I wouldn't mind doing this again someday.

To avoid answering, Dean gives the paper a tap with his wand. The charm is second nature by now, and Ginny laughs delightedly when her paper self comes to life, blinking up at them before smiling. "That's so cool."

A weight leans on the back of the couch suddenly, and Dean expects the older brother suspicion of Ron that he could relate to. He's almost glad his little sisters don't go to Hogwarts - he'd be more insane than he already is.

Instead, it's Collin Creevy. The boy is still as tiny as ever, though it might just be his ever present camera making him look small by in comparison. He regards the drawing with a skeptical air.

"It's kinda cool, I guess." He admits with a sniff. "But taking pictures is so much easier. You should really switch to photography, Dean. Your eye is wasted on this stuff."

Dean bites back a laugh at the tiny Gryffindor, and Ginny rolls her eyes good naturedly.  He'd become a bit of a photography snob, but it's kind of endearing. The kid always sends mounds of pictures to his dad every week, never faltering once. Dean had been like that when he was younger, sending so many drawings to his mom he hadn't been able to see the fridge when he came home.

"You should try it sometime." Collin says, grinning. "Trust me, it's way better."

He even grants Dean the honor of holding his camera, which he almost uses to document the rarity of the situation. "Maybe I will, but I dunno it's for me. I can get a photo anywhere. Drawing is a way of making something mine."

He realizes it when he says it. Realizes how it must sound to Ginny when he hadn't been thinking of Ginny at all.

She beams at him, and for a moment it looks like her face is trying to mimic her hair. Her blush doesn't last nearly as long as Draco's - Merlin, get him out of your head - but it's still pretty.

Dean nearly stumbles off the couch in his escape, throwing a quick goodbye to the two perplexed Gryffindors.

---

It's in Charms class when Dean cracks. It's not his fault, at least, but he still cracks all the same. Professor Flitwick is giving out a project on magical art of all things. It's worth a fair amount of their grade, and Dean feels every eye fall on him when the word partners is thrown out. It's his charm, his favorite one. The one that brings his art into imitated life. Apparently it's rather advanced, and Professor Flitwick doesn't expect perfection, but does expect a perfect effort nonetheless.

Dean slumps further in his seat at the suddenly predatory air, silently cursing his tallness. He's already inching closer to Seamus, who looks ready to defend his bestfriend/ticket to a passing grade to the death. Then, the universe decides that it hates Dean Thomas in particular.

"I'll be choosing partners this time." Professor Flitwick announces, tapping his wand against his book stack to regain attention.

Dean puffs out a breath, throwing Seamus an apologetic look. They might still be put together, he guesses, but it seems unlikely. Professor Flitwick is a bit of a loose cannon predictability wise. He proves it when he pairs Seamus with Hermione, both of whom groan audibly. If there's any reasoning behind it, it's probably the professor hoping she would help curb his pyro tendencies, but that'll be a lost cause. Hermione's good, but she's not a miracle worker.

The rest of the class is paired off rapidly, and Dean loses track of it mostly, only feeling the creeping tendrils of dread when he realizes both he and Malfoy hadn't been picked yet. Flitwick's not above pairing students of different houses together either, as he proves when he lumps Goyle and Neville together. Both of them look equally horrified.

There's still a few left, though, so no need to -

"Malfoy and Thomas!" Flitwick cries, having far too much fun on his chaos inducing power trip. At least someone's enjoying themselves.

Dean looks at Malfoy, who's predictably not looking back. The Gryffindor sighs, resigning himself to doing this project alone. The process seems a bit unfair anyway, with one partner meant to act as a model and one meant to do the painting or drawing or whatever method they chose. They're meant to work on the charm together after, though, and apparently Flitwick had some sort of way of checking.

That doesn't stop a fair amount of disagreements from taking place. A few nights later, Hermione is complaining about Seamus' likeness of her, which is currently looking like a smaller looking Hagrid. Still, Dean finds it rude considering she doesn't have an artistic bone in her body. She won't even attempt to draw him.

"Don't listen to her, Seamus." Dean says. "It looks just like her."

He dodges the pillow Hermione throws at him, and pretends not to hear as Ginny calls for him on his way through the portrait. The Fat Lady is practicing her singing again, so it's nothing that arouses suspicion.

Fleeing is surely unbefitting of a Gryffindor, but the simple statement of 'I'm not interested' seems complicated all of a sudden. Is he really not interested? Ginny is beautiful and brave and witty and also...not Malfoy. Malfoy who of course isn't interested in Dean, or at least won't admit he is. And for all Dean knows, the kiss had just been an experiment. A way for Malfoy to indulge in a desire he'd denied himself for so long. Who better to do that with than one of the only out students at Hogwarts who wouldn't blab about it?

All in all it's just a clusterfuck of weird that he'd rather avoid right now.

Collin had inspired him in a way, though, given him something else to do for now. It'd been awhile since he'd sent his sisters anything, and they'd always been fascinated with stories of the giant squid. Dean's never seen it up close, but he has it on good intel (Sir Cadogen had apparently fought its ancestor) that it could be lured out faster with coconut instead of the bread students like to treat it with. After being bombarded with said fruit from helpful house elves, he makes his way down to the lake. It's an awkward journey, and he's sure he looks absolutely mad lugging an armful of whole coconuts across the grounds. But the elves looked downright suicidal when he tried to refuse any, and he doesn't need that blood on his hands.

There's only a few hours of daylight left, but it's turning the sky a brilliant shade of orange that he's already distracted by. It shouldn't take long to at least get the basics down, and he can always come back later. He's a little wary of having to ask the elves for more coconuts, though, unsure of the severity a second request would garner.

Dean settles in when he finally finds a decent spot. He debates for a little on if he's supposed to crack the coconuts or throw them in whole. He tosses a couple in eventually, watching them bob on the surface silently. A few minutes pass, and then a few more. It's probably well past an hour before Dean comes to the conclusion that he shouldn't take advice from a painting, especially one that claims to have been knighted before he was out of nappies.

The soft lap of the water against the shore is soothing though, and the sky has darkened to a pleasant muted shade that settles over the grounds like a blanket. This is nice, in a way, just sitting out here. Even if his hand is freezing and aching from use -

Dean looks down with dismay, realizing he'd been drawing Malfoy again. It's just a little version of him, but the details are all there. Cursing, Dean sets to furiously drawing something else, just to take comfort in the fact he did. He did not trek down here with tropical fruit just to draw Draco Malfoy for the hundredth time.

A quick picture of himself comes easily enough, but he spends more time than he needs on it out of spite alone. When he's done, he regards the finished product as a hollow victory. The two little figures are nowhere near each other, as it probably should be. For reasons he doesn't dwell on, he runs his hands together to warm them and gives the parchment a tap with his wand. The charm isn't as complicated Professor Flitwick would lead people to believe. Nowhere near as complex as the Hogwarts paintings, and it wears off in a few hours. The little Dean and Draco come to temporary life, walking to the edges of the page curiously. Malfoy seems skeptical, and eyes the empty area around him with clear distaste.

Dean snorts, readying to close the page on the little twat when the tiny Dean starts making his way over to the tiny Draco.

"Don't you dare." Dean snaps at himself, mortified. The feeling only grows when little Draco meets him halfway, accepting a hug that slowly turns into -

Dean closes the page with more force than is needed, his ears warming. Merlin, how old is he, nine? He begins to pack up his stuff methodically, along with whatever remains of his sanity. He leaves the remaining coconuts, still lying in a haphazard pile near the shore.

He hears him before he sees him, bitten off curses as he tries to navigate weeds and rocks surrounding the lake's edge. For a moment, Dean has the thought that it's the Malfoy he'd drawn, complaining angrily from his bag. But no, it's the real thing. He looks increasingly pissed as he nearly takes a tumble into the water. There are twigs caught in his hair, most likely from the overgrowth one had to brave to even get to this spot. The lighting had been so great, though...

"Thomas, what the hell are you doing out here?" Malfoy hisses, stomping his way over to him with what sounds like wet shoes. It takes away from the intimidation that he's probably going for. The amusement must show on his face, because Malfoy scowls.

"What are you smirking at? I shouldn't have to hunt you down like this. I'm not failing our project just because you want to go hiking around the grounds."

It takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, Dean lets out a disbelieving laugh.

"Hunt me down? That's rich, considering you can't even look in my direction."

Malfoy scoffs derisively, his breath puffing out in a misty cloud. He angrily tries shaking his boots out on the shore before coming to his senses and using a drying charm. "There's nothing worth looking at, Thomas. Don't flatter yourself."

He keeps his eyes on his shoes as if his to prove his point, examining them deeply like they aren't already dry.

Dean rolls his eyes skyward, seeking patience from whatever god is out there. "Well, it's going to be hard to draw me without looking at me. But have at it, then."

Malfoy's head snaps up at that, eyes narrowing like he's expecting a joke. "Me draw you? Don't be more stupid than you usually are."

Dean strongly considers ignoring him - just trekking back up to the castle and accepting the failing grade for them both. A failing grade in Charms of all classes. Dean's not a brainiac, but that's harder than failing Care of Magical Creatures. Malfoy had probably come the closest, what with the whole hippogriff incident.

In the end, he decides that he just can't be bothered. His grades aren't nearly good enough to scorn an easy project. Plopping down onto a nearby rock, Dean stretches his long legs out in front of him. Malfoy watches the motion with a frown.

"Well, you don't want me to draw you, so I dunno how else you expect this to work."

He'd still drawn him anyway,  but...you know. Semantics.

Malfoy, after a moment of hesitation, mimics him to sit on a rock opposite of his. The Slytherin is so uncomfortably prim that it's comedic, like some nobleman that got tragically lost in the woods and has accepted his fate. He peels off gloves that Dean hadn't had the forethought to wear - green leather adorned with serpents that look more expensive than the contents of Dean's trunk - and pins the Gryffindor with an unimpressed look.

"Don't be ridiculous. If we're going to pass, we're better off using someone who's actually competent in the subject."

Dean's eyes widen, and he leans forward on his knees. "Blimey, Malfoy, did you just give me a compliment?"

There's that flush of color again, splashing across pale skin in liquid warmth. "I only said you were competent -"

"Sounds like a compliment to me. Coming from you, anyway."

"I will get up and leave right now."

"Come on, Malfoy -"

"Right this instant."

"I thought you didn't wanna fail?"

Malfoy makes a frustrated noise, glaring harder like it would wipe the smile from Dean's face through sheer will alone. "Whatever, Thomas. Just -" He makes some sort of swirling motion with his hand that's apparently meant to signify drawing. "Get it over with."

Ever the charmer, this one.

Dean crosses his legs at the ankles, tilting his head a bit in exasperated amusement. "I love your enthusiasm, but in case you forgot, you don't want me drawing you anymore. What kind of person would I be if I ignored that?"

A psychotic, obsessed one that apparently needs therapy.

"It's for school."

"Dunno, Malfoy, it still seems kinda wrong -"

Malfoy straightens further, his boots disturbing the earth at the sharp motion. His mouth contorts into something jagged when he hisses, "Oh yes, the honor bound Gryffindor who kisses people in broom closets. Pity that you don't share this project with the Weasley girl instead."

Dean is dumbstruck for nearly a full thirty seconds before snapping, "You kissed me!"

A bird springs from the edge of the trees at his volume, flying into the darkening sky. Malfoy's crumbling glare follows it before looking over his shoulder at the nonexistent path. Like anyone would be crazy enough to come out here but them.

"Malfoy, there's no one out here but us. You can relax."

Dean is curious though, rolling a pebble with the end of his sneaker. "How did you even find me out here anyway? It's a bit off the beaten path."

Malfoy tries to reignite his glare, but seems to be out of fuel for now. He still growls when he clears twigs from his hair, flinging them into the lake. "You don't say."

Dean doesn't get an answer to his question, and reckons he won't. The Slytherin is a right stubborn piece of work, and Dean's getting too cold to try to wrestle an irrelevant response from him. He rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them.

"Let's do this another day, Malfoy. I'm pretty sure the lake is gonna freeze over soon if I don't first."

Malfoy's only response is to take his wand out of his sleeve, casting a charm Dean had never heard of before. The air around them feels warmer suddenly, like their own little bubble of protection against the elements. Dean whistles, impressed.

"I didn't know you could do that." He says. It's a weird thing to say, considering he barely knows Malfoy at all. Dean clears his throat awkwardly at his blank look, which turns speculative when he regards the pile of forgotten coconuts.

"I didn't know you liked...coconuts. I didn't even know Hogwarts serves them."

Dean laughs a little. "They're not for me. I was trying to lure out the squid, but the bugger isn't biting."

"Trying to lure the giant squid with coconuts." Malfoy looks like he's rethinking the steps in his life that had brought him here. "That's ridiculous."

"Life tends to be sometimes." He muses, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Draco Malfoy is sitting by the lake with him. This has to be an alternate reality or something. He still has a twig in his hair, and Dean reaches to get it before thinking. The Slytherin tenses, but doesn't pull away, watching silently as Dean tosses it with the others. Whatever spell was cast makes the air shimmer when it passes through it, but he can still hear the little splash when it lands in the water. Dean clears his throat a little, feeling a little claustrophobic all of a sudden. He brings his sketchpad back out in an attempt to ignore the feeling. There's really no reason for it, considering they're outside, the lake sprawling grandly before them. But the bubble is small and Dean's legs are still outstretched, just touching Draco's boots as the other boy shifts a little.

"So..." Draco looks a bit uncomfortable, the tiniest motion in his throat as he swallows. He looks at the water before seeming to steel himself. When he looks back at Dean, his icy eyes are fiery. "What do you want me to do?"

For a moment, Dean forgets what he's asking. It seems like a deeper question than what it is, but the familiar weight of his sketchpad brings him back to reality. Albeit, a strange one, but not one he's entirely averse to. Dean's lips twitch into a smile he can't hold back, and the Slytherin's eyes flick to it instantly. And maybe, just maybe, one that the other boy isn't averse to either.

"Just sit there and look pretty, Draco. That shouldn't be too hard for you."