Happy New Year! And...a bit of fic! (Yes. Really.)
Fic, indeed, but blather first.

Please excuse the re-post of the first two parts of this...but it's been so incredibly long since the last time I wrote a bit of this that I figured I'd better re-post it all because I'm rather sure that no one remembers the first bits. *g*

Also, if you do read part 3, please trust me on this---this really is H/D, even though the new third part doesn't seem like it.

Also. Parts of this little H/D story arc are writing themselves in my head and I'm happy and excited about that, but they're writing themselves from the point of view of other people than Harry or Draco. (Some of them are from Harry's or Draco's pov, but a handful are not.)

To that end, I have a query: Does it bother you when H/D fics are told from other povs than H or D?? Will you read it if I write it that way? If you will, do you have a preference on pov? Ron? Pansy? Someone else? Please do let me know...although *shamefaced* I make no promises about writing how you tell me to. The Muse has momentarily reappeared, but she's a recalcitrant wench and skittish as all get-out. *pets her soothingly* Honestly, while I do rather desperately want to know your opinion on this, I also really want to keep the wispy thing around long enough to write more.

Also. (Last 'also', I swear. You know, for this post.) Happiest of New Years! I do wish you all a healthy and blessed 2009. ♥♥


ETA: This fic is from the 'Concatenation' universe; Concatenation is a Ron/Pansy fic I wrote ages ago, and while you absolutely do not have to have read it to grock what's going on here, it does answer possible questions about who knows what and how Ron and Pansy got together to begin with. Also, I actually kind of like that fic...dunno why. :P Still and all, I totally forgot to mention that 'Inadmissible' is from the 'Concatenation' universe; it's the played-out H/D subtext I wrote into the Ron/Pansy story. :)

If you want to read (or even skim, haha) it, here are links:

Concatenation; first ten vignettes

Concatenation; second ten vignettes



Part 1 of Inadmissible



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Inadmissible

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"Say it…." Draco's voice was soft and persuasive, whispered directly into the ear so close to his lips.

He reached up, his fingers careful, gentle as they found the knot of red and gold striped silk, working it loose and stroking the strong neck briefly before slipping the button beneath the knot free. A soft sigh was released; the sound was almost inaudible, but the breath puffed warmly against his neck, and Draco bit back a moan, waiting.

Harry's body relaxed against his, the give of the muscles instinctive and involuntary and Draco closed his eyes tightly at the surrender implied by the weight pressing against him.

"Just…just say it." He loosened the knot completely and tugged gently at one end, slipping the tie from Harry's neck and letting it fall to the floor. "Please." The last word was mouthed silently, the desperation in the single syllable entirely contained in Draco's soul, but either Harry didn't need the plea or he understood it without having to hear it, because one arm came up and circled Draco's neck, the movement bringing him close enough to Draco that when he spoke, his lips brushed against Draco's skin.

"I want you." The words were low, hushed, the reluctance in their vocalization borne not of an unwillingness to say them but rather of the knowledge that once said, they could never be unsaid. They filled Draco's head, flooded his bloodstream. They were a confession, an admission of something heretofore inadmissible, they bound Harry to him in a way that made him dizzy and euphoric and terrified all at once.

"I want you." The words were stronger the second time, firmer, almost defiant, and then, "Draco."

Draco's breath caught, and he turned his face so that his mouth hovered just over Harry's.

"Draco."

The voice caught him sharply, and he started, his eyes snapping open and the hand wrapped in red and gold silk burrowing into the folds of his robe. He stared, still caught in the twilight of sleep, trying to reconcile the warmth of the dream and the ache in his gut with Vince's borderline-impatient tone. Greg stood beside him, eyes on the common room door, his posture clearly indicating his indifference to the conversation in front of him. When Draco simply stared, Vince shrugged. "I said, everyone else is gone. If you don't come with us, you'll miss dinner."

Dinner.

Still silent, Draco stood slowly and straightened his robes, the tie he'd found in the Quidditch lockers--the one with H. Potter's laundry marker on it--now safely in his pocket. He blinked twice and shook his head slightly, still trying to clear it.

Dinner.

"Yeah. I'm coming."

He followed Vince and Greg out of the common room, wondering how many ties Harry Potter owned, and whether he'd had time to find another one before dinner.

~fin part 1


Part 2 of Inadmissible. H/D. Rating: PG-13.



Inadmissible, H/D, PG-13, part 2/20

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Part 2: Denial

~*~

Harry stands there, hidden behind the stacks, and watches as Pansy Parkinson's dark head bends even closer to his best friend's. They're looking at Ron's Astronomy book—he can see the open textbook propped between them, and it's clear even from where he's standing that Ron's explaining something—but he'd bet ten Galleons that there's more than just Astronomy going on. No matter how much Ron might deny it. He chews at his lip and wonders if it would be better for Ron if he just went back to Gryffindor Tower, but his parchment and books are still on the table, and he knows Ron won't leave without him.

He decides the best thing he can do is stay away for as long as he can. Study hours are nearly over, so it's not much, but he figures that a few minutes alone with the person you're crushing on is better than nothing.

Because Ron is crushing on Pansy. Harry's sure about that, even though Ron hasn't said a word about it. He knows Ron well enough to know that at least part of the reason he hasn't said anything is because in Ron's mind, Pansy is all tangled up in the whole Slytherin-Draco Malfoy-rivalry-competition thing that's been going on between Harry and Malfoy ever since first year. Ron's so staunchly loyal to Harry—and so perennially pissed off at Malfoy—that if Harry even asks Ron about Pansy in the wrong way, Ron will probably never speak to her again. As it is, Harry thinks, Ron's probably developing a guilt complex just over the fact that he's crushing on Pansy. And, Ron being Ron, he's probably also convinced himself a dozen times over that there's no way she'd ever be interested in him, anyway.

Harry watches as Pansy looks up at Ron, her eyes huge and serious and obviously hanging on Ron's every word, and rolls his eyes mentally. Admittedly, Harry thinks, he's not the best guy around at interpreting the signals girls send out, but even he knows that a girl whose Astronomy grades are as good as Pansy's doesn't need that much help from anyone.

And if truth were told, Harry would really just as soon that Ron get over the whole guilt thing. He'd really rather not be the cause of anyone's choosing—or choosing not—to date someone, and given what's going on in his own head he'd be the last person to point fingers at inter-house dating. He's got enough to think about there, thank you very much, and he'd be quite happy not to add his best friend's love life to the load.

He casts a quick glance at the clock on the wall; if he and Ron are going to make it back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew, they have to leave in about ten minutes. He wavers between allowing Ron as much time as possible to be alone with Pansy and walking over to join them, knowing even as he debates it that he's almost certainly going to do the latter. He tells himself that going back to the table and sitting with them would be the polite thing to do; after all, it would look odd if he showed up at the last second and they all had to hurry to make curfew. He should at least go say hello. Talk for a few minutes before they had to leave. It might make things actually easier for Ron if he—and Pansy—knew that Harry really didn't doesn't have a problem with them being together.

Oh, yes, that's right; you just want to be polite. The voice in his head is mocking. You just want to make things easier for Ron. That's the only reason you want to go sit with them; how very altruistic of you. The fact that sitting at a table with Pansy Parkinson is likely to be the closest you'll get to sitting near the person you really want to doesn't enter into it at all. The fact that she might talk about him—might drop some piece of new information—that's not on your mind at all. Riiiiight. You keep telling yourself that, Potter. Denial, much?

Shaking his head as much to clear it as in denial—and the irony isn't lost on him—he moves slowly toward the table, watching as Ron's head lifts and he catches sight of Harry's approach. It's all there in Ron's face, just the way Harry knew it would be: the slight defiance, the defensiveness, the apprehension. The guilt.

Harry keeps his face deliberately friendly and sits, offering an easy, "Hello," and breathing a sigh of relief when Ron's tension lessens visibly. There is an awkward, too-rushed, over-explained flood of comments from them both about Astronomy homework and alternative methods, and the difficulty finding someone who knows how to do the very hardest problems and the importance of being able to check them before class, during which he just nods solemnly and pretends to believe them both. Conversation moves on to vague and safe topics and he lets his gaze move from one obviously besotted set of eyes to the other, knowing that Draco's name won't come up and carefully ignoring the last taunt from the scornful voice in his head.

And you think Ron's the one with a guilt complex. Ha.


~fin part 2
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Part 3 of Inadmissible


For scrt_kpr, whose support and encouragement and gentle nudges have been instrumental in helping me get this latest bit done. Thank you ever so, H. ♥

Also for for the sweet, generous and very thoughtful person who gifted me with a quill. It has done exactly as you wished it to. *loves, muchly*



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Inadmissible, part 3, H/D

Ron rubs his hands over Pansy's back, kneading gently at the muscles and enjoying her small sighs of contentment. They'd been playing chess, but finished their game a while ago; now they're just talking—sharing inconsequential bits from the day.

Pansy sprawls easily on the floor, her face tipped toward him and her arms up over her head.

The position pulls her jumper up a bit at the waist, leaving a gap of pale, pretty skin open to his view, and he's been enjoying the feel of it beneath his hands when he moves them down to the small of her back. They've been together for a few weeks now, and while they've done a fair amount of kissing and a bit of over-the-clothes touching, they haven't gone very far beyond that. Ron doesn't feel a need to rush things—he's still alternately euphoric and bemused at their relationship—but he's savoring this new step. To him, the fact that the touching has no real sexual intent makes it even more intimate; he's not sure why, but he doesn't want to think about it right now. Right now, he just wants to let it continue. On one pass, he lets his hand linger at the bare skin, tracing patterns idly with his fingers. When he slides his hand back up over the knitted fabric it shifts a bit, revealing part of a brutal looking scar and he moves his hand back down to examine it, running the tip of his finger over the part that's exposed.

"Scar." Her laconic comment is obviously intended as an explanation and Ron snorts.

"No kidding." Curious, he pushes at the jumper to see the rest of the scar, and is pleased when Pansy doesn't move, remaining pliant and relaxed. The scar is long: it runs diagonally from her spine to her side and wraps around her ribcage. "What did you do?" He's curious, but also oddly worried that she should have been so badly hurt. "Are you okay?"

She blows her fringe out of her eyes and flips over, propping herself up on her elbows. "I'm fine."

He raises his eyebrows and she looks up at him, laughing. "Really, it's nothing. It happened years ago. It looks a lot worse than it really was—it was just scrape."

His words are skeptical. "Right. A scrape." He runs his finger along the angry-looking seam; it ends a few inches below her left breast and he's careful not to brush against it—he doesn't want her thinking he's faking concern just to cop a feel. "Last time I checked, scrapes didn't leave scars like this one."

This time she's the one who snorts. "It shouldn't have left a scar at all, but Draco was total crap at healing."

Ron freezes. "Malfoy?"

She heaves an exaggerated sigh and pulls a face at him. "Yes, Malfoy. Do you know anyone else named 'Draco'?" When he doesn't answer, she sighs again, this time in resignation. "Ron, I've known him for practically my whole life. He's one of my best friends. I'm not going to pretend he doesn't exist just because you and I are…." She gestures vaguely with her hands and her voice trails off.

Ron knows he should reply, but he has no clue what to say. He and Pansy haven't made a habit of talking about their friends, and when they do, it's in general terms, about safe, mostly school-related topics. Now that he's been presented with irrefutable evidence of her past intimacy with one of the people he dislikes most, he finds himself feeling betrayed. He knows that he has no right to feel that way, that it's totally irrational and unjustified, but he can't help it.

He shrugs and starts to pull his hand away. "That doesn't mean I have to like it that you and he used to be together."

Pansy reaches out and grabs his hand, holding it firmly in hers. "We weren't. I mean, not like that. It's never been like that with Draco and me."

"Never?" He can't believe how desperately he wants the reassurance, but memories flood him—memories of her dancing with Malfoy at past Yule Balls and sitting next to him in classes, cheering for him at Quidditch games, and laughing with him in the Great Hall. He pulls his hand from her grasp and sits back on his heels. The small distance he's put between them feels like a chasm, and she looks at him with genuine distress but he can't bring himself reach back out to her.

"Never." She sits up and pulls her jumper down, covering the scar. Her face is creased in a concerned frown and she bites at the inside of her lip, obviously willing him to believe her. "I mean it, Ron…it's really not like that." He stares at her without answering, his eyes hooded, and she reaches out but then pulls her hand back before it touches his. When she speaks again, she sounds almost exasperated. "It's not! I mean, for heaven's sake, he's…." She cuts herself off abruptly and stares at him, obviously frustrated but not continuing.

"He's what?" Ron knows he sounds belligerent and demanding and he hates it, but something inside him pushes at her, pushes the issue because, he realizes suddenly, he really wants to be convinced that she's never been with Malfoy.

Her hands flutter agitatedly. "He's…" She stops again and then she shrugs helplessly and shakes her head, her hands now clasped together, the fingers twisting. Finally she says, "He's like my brother." Her words sound just as defiant as his now, and Ron doesn’t think that's what she was going to say originally, but he believes her, suddenly and without knowing why, but he does. Before he can say anything, she continues, her voice tremulous now, as though she's near tears. "And the way you feel about him isn't any different than the way I do, you know. About Granger."

His head snaps up, his astonishment showing. "Hermione? You're jealous of Hermione?" He reaches out now and takes her gently by the shoulders. "You don't have to be. It's just like you said—it's never been like that."

He's not sure how or why, but Pansy believes him. He can tell: her shoulders relax and he sees the weepy relief in her eyes.

They stare at each other for a minute, and then they both breathe, past the horrid moments and into an easier, more sweetly secure place. He pulls her closer, curling one arm protectively around her shoulders and feels a fierce surge of satisfaction when she buries her face in his chest.

Her words are muffled. "Well, you've spent practically every minute in her company since first year. What was I supposed to think? And she's always glaring daggers at me these days. Even if you don't think she's interested in you like that, she's not happy that you're with me."

Warmth, deep and soul satisfying, spreads through Ron. Malfoy's never kissed Pansy—never touched her the way Ron's doing right now. And Pansy likes him enough to be jealous of Hermione.

He frames her face with his hands and lifts it to his. "I'm happy that I'm with you." His voice is low, his mouth brushing against hers as he speaks. "Really happy." He kisses her gently on the mouth and then pulls her close again, resting his chin on top of her head and breathing in the clean scent of her hair.

One hand is at her waist now, sliding under the jumper to stroke her back and he finds the scar again. He moves his fingers carefully over it, tracing it from her spine to her ribcage and back again.

She pulls back and squints up at him, her head cocked to one side, then offers him a lopsided grin. "We were twelve. We were picking apples and had been expressly told not to climb the trees, but of course we did."

"Of course." His response is dry, but he's grinning at her.

"Well, all the best apples were up high." Her eyes squint mischievously. "And climbing trees was the best part." She grins ruefully. "Until I fell, and the end of a short, sharp branch caught at me on the way down. The scrape wasn't really that bad, but it was bleeding a lot and I didn't dare tell my mother how I got it. Neither of us knew much about healing back then, and we argued for quite a while over who was better at it." She laughs softly at the memory. "He finally convinced me that even if I was better—which he very much doubted, mind you—that I wouldn't be able to do a good job because I couldn't see the wound." She laughs again. "His healing hurt worse than the scrape—a fact I reminded him of daily for about six months."

Ron finds that he's actually smiling, and when she looks up and sees it, she slides her hands up around his neck and she smiles back at him. "And I promise you, that's the first and last time he's ever seen it." There's a pause, and then her eyes take on a wicked glint. "Now you, on the other hand…I'd be more than willing to let you have a second look. You know, if you wanted to."

~fin part 3

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