Title: I hate you, Truly I do.

Author: Reiko Katsura

Series: Harry Potter

Warning: Slash, unfaithfulness, homosexual [violent] sex, bondage, Subtle and slight Ginny bashing, etc…

Pairings: Main Draco/Harry, Ginny/Harry, Ron/Hermione, George/OC

Ratings: M for Mature Content

Summary: The war is over. After three years of playing professional Quidditch, 26 year old Harry Potter resigns and accepts a long awaited opportunity; accepting the position of a DADA Teacher at Hogwarts. Engaged to the beautiful Ginny Weasly, and now a Teacher at his old, beloved school, Harry believes that life couldn't have been any better. That is, if he disregards questions of his own sexuality when they begin to surface, as well as the unexpected presence of the new Potions Professor–– Draco Malfoy. D/M Slash. Set after HBP, with minor changes and additions. Ignores Epilogue.

Short Summary: Harry Potter hadn't had a good night's sleep in years, since the war against Voldemort came to an end. Now, engaged to Ginny Weasley and assigned to be the new DADA teacher at Hogwarts, life shouldn't be better, right? If only that were true. What's Harry to do when secrets of his own sexuality begin to surface? And why is it that he can only sleep peacefully in the cold arms of the new silver haired, potions professor, Draco Malfoy?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No Copyright Infringement Intended.

A/N: Hullo. This is my first HP/DM FF. I'll do my best to update at least once a week, but don't be surprised if I fall into a 1ch per 2 wk , it hasn't really been revised. At all, almost. Sorry about that. Well then; Please Enjoy "I hate you, Truly I do".

Title Derived from the Poem "I Hate You" by Julie Sheehan.

I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.

Look out! Fore! I hate you.

The blue-green jewel of sock lint I'm digging
from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.

A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.

My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant "good morning": hate.
You know how when I'm sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

***********CHAPTER 1: A BEGINNING************

"Harry James Potter, you are being utterly ridiculous." Hermione admonished, staring down at the green eyed adult who returned the glare stubbornly, if not foolishly.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and retorted, "Hermione, you wouldn't understand."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and plopped to the bed beside her friend.

"You're right, Harry. I don't understand, and quite frankly, I don't wish to. You're being stupid, Harry. You know this will never work."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to bite down the irritation he felt bubbling to the surface. He didn't want to be having this conversation with Hermione, or with anyone, for that matter. Well, he was lucky that it had only been Hermione who had noticed enough to confront him about it. If anyone else had bothered to noticed, then it would have been unlikely for the savior of the Wizarding World to walk with only a lecture. It was an irking lecture, one that hit the mark, but it was undoubtedly preferable to other things that would have happened if his secret went noticed.

"You can't do this to yourself, Harry. And you can't do this to Ginny, either."

"Then what do you expect me to do, then?" Harry snapped, glaring at the bushy haired girl in irritation. "Hermione, I'm not going to make a big thing out of this. I'm not going to risk my future marriage with the woman I am head over heels for, over something so trivial."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in what could only be incredulity, and she demanded, "Trivial? Is that what you think of this, Harry? In my opinion, feeling no sexual attraction towards your wife is not trivial. In my opinion, feeling attracted to the same sex is not trivial. Harry, there is nothing trivial about this!"

Having his mortifying troubles voice aloud, and by someone else at that, made Harry's face burn crimson. He dropped his head, buried his face into his hands, and sighed.

Yes, after two years of dating Ginny Weasley, Harry had finally realized that he held no attraction towards the girl.

He held no attraction to girls, period.

Some people might have thought him stupid for not realizing it earlier. Well, it wasn't so much that he didn't realize it, but more that he just ignored it. Harry had been in love with Ginny since his days at Hogwarts, but because of the war, had refrained from dating her, in hopes to protect her from a greater danger–– in which, at the time, was Voldemort. Even when the war had ended, there had been to much going on; with the Weasley's mourning over the loss of Fred, and the extreme mental distress of his twin George. With Harry's mourning over Lupin, and of the friends that he had lost during the final battle, and the events that led to it. With dealing with the ministry and the Wizarding World that tried so hard to put him on some pedestal, which he refused. There had been so much going on at that time, that he hadn't even considered dating Weasly again.

For a year after the war, Harry had subjected himself to a life of reclusive isolation. He locked himself within the walls of his deceased Godfather, Sirius's, house–– at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and led the life of a near-dead man; waking, eating, sleeping, and repeat.

Despite his friend's attempts to lure the boy who lived from out of his house, Harry hadn't moved an inch outside the Black's floors. It was his morbid house elf Kreacher who was forced to buy food for him, and forced to keep the house at least somewhat clean. In all honesty, Harry had lost all of his motivation to do anything. Since the day he was born, he had been a target for Voldemort resentment and murder attempts. Since the day he stepped foot into Hogwarts, his life had already been designed to fight the dark wizard, if there was any hope of surviving and keeping his friends safe. Since the time he had met Voldemort personally, and had heard his prophecy, he no longer had any say in the direction of his life. He was set on a road made by others, even those who were unaware of it, to fight Voldemort, and to kill him, lest he and everyone important to him die.

Harry had lived so many years for the sole purpose of fighting Voldemort to defeat him, that when his task had been accomplished, he felt the pangs of emptiness hit him full blown. What was left to the boy-who-lived, now? He had accomplished the only goal in his life, and had lost some of the most important people to him in the process, and he didn't know where to go from there. Harry's dreams of becoming an auror had died right along with Voldemort–– the last thing he wanted was to fight more. Nothing else appealed to him. Harry just felt so tired, and it was Ginny who pulled him out of such a despondent state.

It had been on his birthday, a year after the war, when Harry received an owl from Hermione, Ron and Mrs. Weasley begging Harry to spend the day at the Burrow. Harry reluctantly relented, only because he missed his friends and surrogate family fiercely. He didn't want to leave the comfort of Grimmauld Place, but just for that day, he decided that he would divulge in their presence. After all, a year of talking to absolutely no one–– disregarding Kreacher, since the elf could hardly be considered a good conversationalist–– could make a person rather lonely.

It was at the burrow where he was reunited with Ginny.

Ginny, after weeks of pestering Harry, had finally convinced him that he was doing himself no good staying cooped up in his house like a turtle in his shell. Harry had then been coerced into going to a Professional Quidditch match with Hermione and the Weasley's. There, Harry's love and excitement for Quidditch resurfaced. In the next week, Harry decided to stay–– with the help of Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny's encouragement–– at the burrow for a while. He and Ron and Charlie raced on their brooms every evening, which led to playing small games of Quidditch. Soon, those simple games weren't enough. He was encouraged by his friends to attend tryouts for a smaller Quidditch team, The Veal Ghouls, and began his journey towards the world of Professional Quidditch.

Finally, things had finally begun returning to normal.

Harry was twenty-three when he and Ginny started dating again. Harry could no longer ignore his feelings after all the woman had done for him. He remembered how happy he had been when they were together at Hogwarts, and in an attempt to get back that happiness, he asked her to date him again the night that his team had won their second year with Harry at nationals. Ginny, with tears of bliss in her eyes, had agreed.

Somewhere along the line, Harry had confessed to the red head that if he could have another career, it would be as a professor teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. It had taken him some time to remember the thrill of teaching the subject when he was a fifth year, and when they had, Harry began to determine whether or not he would be happier teaching, or playing Quidditch. He loved the game, however, dreaded the attention. Ginny, who worked as a part-time mediwizard at Hogwarts–– in place of Madam Pomfrey who died during the war––promised that she would support any of his choices.

At the time, there had been no teaching slot available at Hogwarts, so he put all of his effort and concentration on Quidditch. When Harry turned twenty-five, Ginny had basically ran (or apparated, rather) into the small house she and Harry resided in but a few miles to the Burrow, with news that the former Potions teacher, Slughorn, and D.A.D.A. Teacher, Luhert, would be resigning at the end of the term for "personal problems". There had also been an opening for a History of Magic. Harry had immediately owled the current headmistress, McGonagall, about that position.

The next morning, Harry received her response explaining her approval, if Harry was to pass his D.A.D.A. N.E.W.T.S. with an O, Potions with an E, and his Herbology and Charms N.E.W.T.S. with nothing less than an A, within two weeks before the new term, then he was eligible for the teachers position. The following day, Harry quit the team–– only relieved that he had at least helped them through Nationals, borrowed all of Hermione's notes (which she, in no surprise, had kept) from her days at Hogwarts, and studied like a mad man for the remainder of the year.

Now, here Harry was; packing his trunk in readiness to start his new career as a professor in Hogwarts, and trying his very best to tune out Hermione and her complaints.

"Are you listening to me, Harry?" Hermione snapped.

When Harry blinked, he flinched back in surprise when Hermione's face was nearly inches away from his own.

"Dammit, 'Mione! Are you trying to scare the bloody crud out of me?"

The witch rolled her eyes sarcastically, not finding any amusement to Harry's exasperation, and said, "Harry, the least you could do is listen to me."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Listen to you telling me that I should end the engagement to my fiancée?"

Hermione bit her lip, and sighed, "You know that's not what I mean, Harry. The others might not have noticed it, but I have, and it's only going to be about time that they do catch on. Ginny is already suspicious as to why you haven't slept with her in the past two years that you have been together––"

"I told her that I wanted to wait until we were married––"

"And someday someone is going to realize the way to check out guys––"

"I do not check out men––"

"Oh, come off it, Harry!"

Harry winced from the sharpness of her tone, and shut his mouth before he could say something else. Hermione could be really scary when she wanted to be, more so then Ginny could.

"Do you think I'm blind? How else do you think I realized your preferences?"

"They aren't my preferences––"

"Last Christmas at the Frozen Lake you couldn't take your eyes off of that brunette dancer for even a second––"

"Of course not! Did you see the way––"

"––His arse looked in those tight, black dress pants?" Hermione raised a brow.

Harry blushed, "I wasn't looking at his arse…"

"Yes you were, Harry, and that wasn't the only time that I've caught you checking out a man. Ron and the others might be oblivious to it, but don't insult me by assuming that I am."

"Fine! Fine, Hermione, you're absolutely right, okay? I look at guys. I check them out. I find them far more attractive than I find women. I'm probably some pathetic, flaming fairy who can't be attracted to his fiancée even if he wanted to. Are you happy now?"

Harry hadn't realized that he had stood up from his bed until he had calmed his erratic breathing, temperament, and realized that he was glaring down at Hermione who looked almost smug.

"Now, was that so hard?"

"Yes."

"So, what're you going to do now?"

Harry furrowed his brow and questioned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Hermione elaborated, "What are you planning to do now that you fully realize you're not into women?"

"… You don't mind?"

Hermione once again rolled her eyes and snorted, "Of course not. As long as you're happy, Harry."

Harry let out small smile, feeling slightly relieved that Hermione hadn't been disgusted with him, "Thank you."

"Now that that's settled, I want to know what you are planning to do with Ginny."

"Nothing, obviously." Harry spoke the words as if he were speaking to a toddler.

"Nothing, Harry? Nothing? Don't you think that it's unfair to both you and Ginny if you continue on with the engagement, and marry her, even though you don't love her?"

"Don't you dare say that I don't love her, Hermione," Harry fumed, "You know that I love Ginny. You know that I am in love with Ginny. Just because I'm not attracted to her sexually, doesn't mean that I don't want to marry her."

Hermione, as if immune to Harry's temper, responded like he hadn't almost been shouting at her, "That was stupid of me to say, Harry. I know you love Ginny. You two have been through a lot together, and we all owe a lot to the girl for pulling you through that 'turtle' state you where in for a year, and getting your life back. But how can you marry a woman who you can't have sex with?"

Harry crossed his arms stubbornly, "I can have sex with her. I just haven't."

By the look Hermione cast his way, Harry knew that she believed him just as much as he believed himself.

"Do you think that having sex with her while you thinking of someone else, most probably a man––" both of them blushed at this, "–– isn't the same as cheating? And what if you happen to come across a man who you do like? What will happen to Ginny then, Harry? It's going to be really hard for both of you, more so then when you are married. And what's worse, is that Ginny won't even have a chance because she isn't even the same gender of your preferences. Do you want to lead her on more than you are doing now. How long have you realized you were into men, anyways?"

Hermione sounded honestly curious, and though Harry wanted nothing more than to snap at her that it wasn't her business, he grumbled an answer anyway. "I think… about a year ago, when Ginny started really pushing for sex." He blushed again.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, if you become unable to bed her, things are only going to become worse. Sooner or later Ginny, or even one of the Weasley's, is going to notice, and then things will really turn rotten. I like Ginny a lot. If things had been different, then I would have figured her perfect for you. But she's not, and you know it. I do like her, however, you are my best friend, Harry, and I care far more for your happiness, then hers–– when that would mean you leading a miserable life. And we all know that you will, because once the marriage is settled, you will be far too noble to do anything about it."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. Everything that Hermione was saying was true. But that still didn't stop it from being wrong. Harry loved Ginny. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to live a life with her. He wanted her to bear their children.

Children. That was another thing Harry would have to give up if he wanted to "embrace his sexuality", or so he had heard somewhere before. In the past two years, he had dreamed of having little beautiful Potters running around. He wanted to raise little witches and wizards, and teach them everything to know about Magic. He wanted to throw a party when they received their first Hogwarts' letter, send them off on the train at Platform 9 ¾'s, take them shopping at Diagon Alley–– He wanted a family.

"I don't want to be gay, Hermione. It isn't normal. The Weasley's would hate me."

"You know that the Weasley's wouldn't hate you, Harry. Ginny will be shocked, and she'll probably cry a bit, but in time she'll get over it. Mrs. Weasly will be disappointed, but that will come to pass, too."

"And Ron?"

Hermione shrugged. "He'll get over it."

"And what of my hopes to raise a family?"

Hermione faltered at this question, and bit her lip. Second passed before she locked her gaze on Harry, and said, "You can always adopt, Harry. They do have orphanages in the Wizarding World, you know."

Harry nodded absently, and rasped, in an almost broken voice, "But I love Ginny."

"I know you do," Hermione whispered, standing up and pulling Harry into a tight hug, "but eventually, it's not going to be enough. The earlier you break it off, the easier it will be. For both of you."

Harry again nodded absently.

Hermione pulled away from him, and put a hand on his shoulder when she saw the hesitation, uncertainty and reluctance to her friends expression.

"You don't have to make a decision now, Harry. But at least promise me that you'll think about it. Ginny will be a full time healer at Hogwarts this year, so both you and her will be rooming in the castle. Take that time to think about it. To see if you can really be with her, despite not wanting her sexually. Alright?"

The emerald-green eyes that bore into Hermione's was intense, and this nod was more assured than his others. Smiling slightly, Hermione brought Harry into a brief hug, and said as she pulled away, "Now, you'd better be off."

Closing the two black trunks with the Gryffindor emblem embedded in the plastic had not been easy. Once his clothes, supplies and other necessities had been properly fitted, Harry used a shrinking spell to turn them into the size of a small book, and stuffed them into the pockets of his dark grey robes. He walked over to the fireplace, and grabbed a handful of floo powder in his hands.

"Oh, and congratulations on passing all of your N.E.W.T.S. with E's and O's. I'm also astounded that you managed to pass Potions with an O. If only you had done this well when we were in Hogwarts." Hermione shook her head dramatically, and Harry chuckled, the weight of their earlier conversation diminishing as the seconds went by.

"That's 'cause your notes are so much easier to read than Snape's were." Another thing gained by the passage of time was Harry's ability to speak of the war, and those in it, without falling into a bout of depression. Well, certain topics and people, at least.

"Don't fool yourself. You just didn't do well because it was Snape who taught the subject."

Harry laughed again, only this time with more enthusiasm.

"You're probably right."

"Also, has the Sleeping Draught been working out for you?"

Unruly and disheveled black hair shook messily as Harry's head turned side to side. "Not at all. Even the healers at St. Mungo's are perplexed. They haven't a clue why I can't sleep, despite my nightly intake of potions."

Hermione looked worried, "Harry, I'm terrified to see you without that glamour of yours on."

Harry snorted, "I'm terrified, too. By the way," he quickly chained the subject, "When will you be coming?"

Hermione scowled, "In a weeks time. Unlike you, I have to go through certain procedures to quit my job at the ministry legally. It's a bunch of gods-wallop if you ask me, but it has to be done. I really envy you right now, you know."

Another hearty laugh, "Don't worry Hermione. You'll be at Hogwarts in a week, and then you can torture your poor students with tons of work and assignments. Really, I'm sure you'll do mundane and sadistic Mr. Binns proud."

Hermione scowled at Harry's teasing, and Harry hopped into the flames before she had a chance to hex him.

"See you later, Hermione! Now, Hogsmeade!"

And with a flash of green flames, Harry disappeared from house he and Ginny owned, and towards the school that he had grown to love so much, despite all that happened to him while there.

Harry made his way to Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy was irritated.

He had been working on the Barax Bossetum potion–– a potion designed to cure drowsiness and insomnia–– courtesy of Headmistress McGonagall's request. It isn't a common potion because of the complexity of it. The potion itself takes up to seven hours to brew, in which the first four hours are made up of extreme effort and concentration. One turn to the left, instead of right, will cause a person to be unable to sleep for what could range from days to weeks. One turn sharper than needed can create a potion similar to Draught of the Living Death. The materials needed to make the Potion are rather expensive and hard to find, as well.

Another issue of the potion, and the worst of all, was that no matter which direction the potion went, it would always remain the same color–– a deathly blood red.

However, if the potion is successful, one cauldron could produce enough Barax Bossetum to last a month.

Draco had no idea why he was making such a draught, but Professor McGonagall has specifically ordered him to make it, and forbid him from asking questions until she deemed it ready.

So Draco had spent the entire night deprived of sleep. If he was honest, he would have admitted that he had somewhat enjoyed making such a complex potion, but he wasn't, and therefore, glared at the smiling woman every time she looked at him. There was no doubt in his head that he had made a mistake. He was Malfoy, after all, and never had one of his potions ever went wrong. No matter the type it was.

I'm going to kill them, Draco thought bitterly, staring at the grand doors of the Great Hall with revenge. The Sorting hat had started three hours ago, and supper nearly two. Unfortunately, because the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had failed to come on time, the whole hall–– including the staff–– was not allowed to leave. McGonagall had not announced any of new professors names, and refused to do so. Nobody had known that Draco Malfoy had been accepted as the Potions Master of Hogwarts, and he grew quite smug at the hanging jaws of the students and certain staff members when he walked into the hall.

But that smugness had passed, and had grown into irritation. He wanted so sleep, and the new incompetent, D.A.D.A. teacher was causing him not to do so!

Draco had almost dropped his head in exhaustion, when the sound of heavy cringing resonated throughout the hall, and soft murmurs whispered broke out among the students. Draco looked up with a start, and his expression hardened when the last person he had expected came running into the hall–– a bloody mess.

Black hair ruffled behind him as he jogged towards the teachers tables, and his cheeks were flushed from the run.

"I'm terribly sorry, headmistress," the man started, panting in front of where McGonagall sat, "you see––"

As if noticing that someone was staring at him intently, or so Draco figured since everyone was now staring at the man, the black haired wizard turned his face towards Draco.

Green eyes narrowed at they met cool, gray ones.

Draco Malfoy shivered.

Great. Just bloody wonderful.

It was Harry Potter.

A/N: Well, there's the first chapter. I've read a good number of HP FF's, and the HP series quite a few times, but I still don't know everything about the Wizarding World. If I make a horrible mistake, please correct me.

Also Note that I will probably be making up spells, potions and the likes as the story goes on. The Barax Bossetum potion is a good example of this. Some people will have died during the War (like Madam Pomfrey), but don't think too much of it.

Also, the italic-thingy isn't working. Sorry about that. So, what do you think?