Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. When she begins to incorporate sadism, masochism, cutting, etc, I may be able to call it plagiarism, but for now, I don't think she wants to worry our parents.

Author's Note: This fanfiction is going to be slash, and involves slashy stuff between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, so if it's not your style, don't read it, for goodness' sakes! May or may not involve, sadism, masochism, sado-masochism, drugs, sex, cutting, torture, blood, violence, etc.

Princess-anime: your comments have been invaluable, and I am very grateful. I have to apologise for my last chapter though, I had lost the plot a bit, and forgotten I had already established a romantic relationship between the two. I promise this will be a much better chapter.

Miss. Charlet: How the heck old do you think I am??? I'm just angry from being flamed, 'rounded critique' being injurious the pride. Ah well, you gain some you lose some, still young enough for icky cliché to take a place in my heart, I suggest you read stuff by 'snaKo'. ~~~~~~'~~, ~~~@

Draco waited for Harry. Nothing more. All the while he would indulge himself in the sweet visitations with Harry, where he would find sexual gratification in the hands of Harry Potter, his would-be nemesis, except for the small fact that fate had chosen to play with his heart.

Or him, really. He doubted that this dilemma could have too much to do with his heart, at least not yet. He hardly knew Harry, in truth. But then again, do your enemies not see what your friends would remain obligingly oblivious to?

Questions, many questions, revolving around in a vortex of thoughts, flowing through the mind. His sense of humor prepared itself for a cynical remark on his taste for mental release from such things embodied in physical mutilation, for he had yet to find a sense of irony, an idea that had always appeared vague to him.

All that there was to seek was here, standing before him. He could see the anger that resided behind the shocked mask, lying dormant for now, at least. It was dear to him that Harry could so easily be read, from cover to cover. Or perhaps not. He did not like to be completely opinionated of someone at any one time. Too many times was he proven wrong. Behavioural adaptation, he guessed carelessly.

All that mattered was that this time, he would show Harry what he meant. He could hear a voice in the back of his mind, stifled by his own awareness, and disregarded it.

He advanced on Harry, feeling an urgent necessity to be in close proximity with the other boy.

~~~~~~'~~, ~~~@

He was walking - no, stalking closer, and Harry had a sudden flashback to the night under the mistletoe and his eyes widened with realisation and acknowledgement to what was happening - and panic began to overtake his mind.

Funny.

Voldemort had never caused him so much anguish, fear - alright, Draco was rivaled in hatred and pain- but not this uncertainty, and never this much confusion. He was at odds with himself in many more ways than one. And what he wanted to do led to two different paths, and it hurt him inside, like being twisted in an unnatural manner.

He closed his eyes and painstakingly settled his mind, knowing that all he had to do was admit one thing. He was attracted to Draco.

Already Draco was ahead of his thoughts, and they were staring straight into each other's eyes.

~~~~~~'~~, ~~~@

His hair was reminiscent of the autumn, and yet held all of the promise of spring. Draco had noticed when Harry had seemed to come to a conclusion within himself, and, thanking fate for the slim tendril of a chance that he had been handed, stepped close to Harry.

Perhaps quirks of fate tend to enjoy ruining perfect moments, for his tact abandoned him at the crucial moment.

"She meant nothing, you know."

In the mere moments it took for Draco to mentally throw himself off into an abyss for his tactless comment, he saw Harry grimace and walk out the door. So simple. So stupid. He watched the shards of his hope lay abandoned at his feet and drew his precious, fine knife from a fold in his robes, and quickly cast a sanitizing spell upon it.

He knew a dozen spells which could give him similar scars, the most crazed one being to summon a creature with claws, Hippogriff being the first in mind, but you never can appreciate and despise the touch of a knife being drawn through your flesh as much until you have felt it. Simply so.

~~~~~~'~~, ~~~@

Draco lay on his bed, staring at the dark canopy that was draped over the four-poster bed. He had welcomed the sound of raindrops beating against the window that night, and wished that it would pour and pour, such that the building would implode under the steady rain. But he had no such luck, and the worse for it.

He had been in bed since he had finished bloodying his shirt, which was now being laundered. You would really think that such things as cleaning up after yourself before putting clean clothes on would be remembered or common sense to begin with, but, alas, his mind had been elsewhere. Idiotic of him, really, he thought to himself.

He was thinking of..well, obviously, the Boy-Who-Lived. He wanted Harry, for normal, sexual purposes. He would lie to himself again and again, saying that that was the only reason, as well. He had stayed up for three hours, give or take a little, thinking of wild circumstances in which Harry would be his.

Following this train of thought, his own. His very own. To keep. To keep..to keep..to keep..To do with whatever he wanted...yes, that would be nice, perfectly nice.

His eyes flew open, literally bounced out of his bed, and felt a nefarious smile creep over his face as a truly wicked, manipulative idea began to form in his mind.

His eyes glittered with the prospect of Harry..as his slave. Truly Machiavellian, his scheme, truly, he thought to himself, before walking off to collect a few favors. It was always nice to have people who owed you; especially people of some import owing you favors, and ones with inconspicuously little import obligated to do undesirable deeds for you.

~~~~~~'~~, ~~~@