Feedback: Worshipped and craved.

Disclaimer: Is there any cross-dressing in Harry Potter? No? Then I still don’t own it. (damn you, Vince, I have to think of a new one now)

Notes: .…none. ^^;;; Oh! Unbetaed.

M: Miracle Boy

Part Four of the "M" Series

By Kick Flaw


Oh wow. I think she likes me, I think she really, really likes me. I can’t believe it! Why would she like me? I mean, I’m not handsome or clever or keen or…

But she likes me.

I really, really like her too.

I’m so happy I could cry. Or maybe I’m just having a nervous breakdown. My brain feels like it’s been melting out of my nostrils since lunch. I haven’t been able to focus. My mind has been wandering out of every window. My eyes can’t seem to tear away from the doodles lining the edges of my notebooks. My heart has been fluttering about in anticipation and now it’s roiling over in small flurries of excitement, brewing up the courage to ask her out. I’m definitely going to. Crabbe said she likes me, and what Crabbe says goes, you know.

I can’t sleep like this. I’m too giddy. Kinda…dizzy.

Oh, Pansy Parkinson, what you do to me. The sweet blue of your eyes, the silky smooth brush of your fingers against mine, the waterfall of golden curls that washes over your petite back -- they hit me hard. Hard, right here, and draw out melodramatic clichés like the corny poetry I was just spouting. I can’t stay here, the drapes and blankets are so confined and I feel like I’m drowning as it is. I wish I could drown in you, it’d be like flying. Flying through the sheer, intense * blue * of your eyes.

I have to get out. Now. Hey, I never did write the conclusion of my paper. Ten inches, ugh. I should work on that --maybe it’ll take my mind off of these…things before it strays too far. I’ll head down to the common room and snuggle up to transfiguration near that gloriously warm fire Snape keeps constantly burning.

Getting out of bed, I remind myself that I * have * to remember to skip the third step from the top. It creaks as loud a blasted foghorn and echoes down here. Touch it with your little toe and it goes off like a blooming pistol. Not that I would ever touch one of those. Muggle weaponry is so messy.

Crabbe said she liked me back! Oh, oh, oh! Oh—

--shit! I forgot to skip that step! Bugger.

If only Draco was here, he’d never let me forget. We’d be sneaking out to pull pranks like a bloody poltergeist by now, wands in hand, muffling our laughter in our sleeves. And of course, he would have said “Greg –“

“—how many times have I told you to skip that step?”

Oh my poor, poor, over-stressed heart. I’m not this uptight usually! Now I have to pick up all my papers. The git.

“Git. You scared the curses out of me!”

“Shush. Snape will have an apoplexy if he finds us awake.” He murmurs absently.

It seems Draco hasn’t been getting much sleep tonight either. He looks more than the worse for wear, ragged, distracted. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor right in front of the fire, idly running his fingers over the scuffled line of stone visible between one throw carpet and the next. The many clasps and buckles of his robes have been undone, letting them hang loose off of his form. Not a good look for him; way too ruffled for his elegance.

I’m probably worse, though.

But Pansy likes me. I know she wouldn’t mind. So I’m happy and rumpled and happy.

Draco isn’t happy, I can tell. He isn’t unhappy though. What’s the word I’m looking for? I can’t remember…

“You don’t look so good, Drac.” I mutter, deciding to sit next to him on the floor instead of on the couch as I was anticipating.

“Well. Not good. Well.”

“I don’t care. What’s up?”

He slants a glance at his hand, which hasn’t stopped it’s motions over the cold stone floor, hesitating.

I know what this is going to be about. I’d forgotten, what with Pansy (WHEE!) and all. Now, let’s see if I can do this ‘understanding’ thing as well as I do art. Actually, his expression is rather fascinating. I wonder if I could capture that…look. Oh, what’s that word?! Bugger.

But it’s so silent. It doesn’t matter.

Finally, without looking at me, he asks a question. “Have you ever met someone you couldn’t define in a single term?”

No. There’s no such person. Everyone can be boiled down to some essence. Draco’s doing this ‘falling in love’ thing all wrong. “No. There’s no such person.”

“Me neither. Have you ever met someone who’s definition seemed too vast for you to comprehend?”

“Nothing is beyond comprehension.”

“How about someone who was such a complete antithesis of yourself that you couldn’t touch each other.”

“Never. To be an antithesis they have to be made in the same realm in the first place.”

“Yes. Love and indifference are both reactions within a human soul. So are hate and indifference. But what about love and hate?”

“Love and hate are the same thing, taken to the polar extremes. You taught me that, Draco.”

Draco nods slightly, his body language acknowledging me though his eyes do not. My hands fall to the floor, the effort I’d made to keep them gripped around my transfiguration text gone, siphoned out into focusing on giving the answers he needs to hear. I can feel carpet beneath them, thick and warmed by proximity to our fire. I wonder if the stone is warm too. Funny, I assumed it would be cold.

“Have you ever met someone, someone who made you feel like there was just enough?”

“Not too much. Not too little. Just enough.”


“I have.”


“Greg, Vince tripped me today, didn’t he? You remember, during Potions when I received the detention from Snape?”


“I thought so.”

Draco moves so that his elbows are braced on his knees, his hands are clasped in between, and his head is resting on his upper left arm. The metal clutches of his robes clack against each other. My hand has found the stone he was caressing moments ago. I was right. It’s cold. I let my fingers drift over it absentmindedly, marveling in the rough, real texture. We are still. For a long, long time.

“Greg?” his voice is barely a whisper. “Have you ever met anyone whose mere existence is a miracle?”



“Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter.” He echoes. “Miracle Boy. You remember how we used to call him that?”

“Used to?”

Draco’s eyes widen, and I know, I know I’ve hit it. It’s there. I know the word now! Dizzy! He looks dizzy, like someone who’s falling. No, like someone who has fallen and doesn’t know where they’ve landed.

No, like someone who is about to fall and doesn’t know how hard they’ll hit.


Like someone who is falling in every direction at once.

Falling so quickly, plummeting, but never moving. Someone who has reached a point of complete, equilibrium. Not by maintaining a balance --a gust of wind can disturb that– but by falling everywhere at once. Falling down and up and east and west and north and south and left and right all the time, every way, attaining a center of flawless, exquisite gravity.

Love is in that. A gravity applied. A dizziness.


He looks dizzy, tugged upon.

“Miracle Boy…” He isn’t paying attention to me anymore. He’s lost in his own thoughts, talking to himself. I think I should leave him here for now, I can finish this tomorrow during lunch.

As I am about to ascend the stairway back to the dorms. I hear one soft, familiar phrase drift through the silence.

“…oh, what you do to me…”


* * *

Skittering off now. Lusting feedback.

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