Code Cracking for Gryffindors (Drarry)

Code Cracking For Gryffindors

Code-cracking for Gryffindors

By Sara's Girl (fanfiction.net)

Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff. I know it, you know it, yes? Alright then. All of this belongs to J.k Rowling and Sara's Girl who you can find via fanfiction.net

Please Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck me, Harry's got a tattoo," are the first words Harry hears as he stirs into consciousness.

Without opening his eyes, he shifts slightly under his sheets and realizes that, yep, they've apparently slipped down around his hips along with his pajama pants during the night, allowing the cool morning air from the nearest open window to rake across his exposed hipbones—both the bare one and the one that has grabbed Seamus' attention: the one with—

~500

50

1000~

—inked across it in a delicate black script.

He's about to open his eyes and tell Seamus to bugger off and close the window when there's a sudden shuffling and creaking and two more voices join the conversation. Harry freezes.

"It's just numbers," Neville says, sounding intrigued and far too chirpy for this hour of the morning. Whatever hour it is, Harry's not sure yet. Opening his eyes would probably help.

"Nah, it'll mean something, won't it," Dean suggests from somewhere near Harry's feet, and it occurs to him that if he opens his eyes now, they'll all be staring at him, and it'll be all kinds of weird. With an inward sigh, he elects to feign sleep until they lose interest.

"It looks a bit like a snake if you tilt your head and squint your eyes," advises Seamus.

"Why would you get a tattoo that you had to tilt your head and squint your eyes to understand?" Neville asks, not unreasonably. "And anyway, it looks nothing like a snake. I don't know what kind of snakes you've been looking at, Seamus."

Seamus snorts, and Harry grins inside for his once-diffident friend.

"Why would you get one at all?" Dean wants to know. "It's like self mutilation."

That man, Harry thinks, is worryingly obsessive over his—admittedly perfect—skin. Harry should know; he has to share a bathroom with him.

"What are you lot mumbling about?" Ron demands, voice rough from sleep, and Harry is rather impressed they've managed to wake him with their speculations. Ron sleeps like the dead.

"That," Nev says, dropping his voice. Like there's any point anyway, but still, Harry continues to pretend he's asleep, which is turning out to be more difficult than he'd imagined. His mouth wants to twitch and show his amusement, his fingers are itching to grab the sheets and pull them up over his cold skin, and there's a bit of hair hanging into his eyes that's driving him insane.

Not only that, but he knows what curiosity did to the cat, but he suspects there's enough curiosity on both sides of this equation for each to cancel the other out. If, indeed, it works like that; it's not as though he's an expert.

Ron yawns, stumbles closer to Harry's bed and emits a small 'mleh' sound. "Oh, that. Dunno, mate. He had it when he came to stay with us this summer. Wouldn't tell me what it means. You know what he's like."

Harry's eyebrow twitches before he can control it, but no one seems to notice.

"That I do. Maybe it's like... how many girls he's shagged," Seamus says, managing to sound envious.