Rating: R for violence and sexual situations.
Summary: Crossing the line between love and hate.
Enticing the Storm
Sometimes, in the heat of anger, lost in the fury of eyes the color of an oncoming storm, I just want to kiss him. It's been happening more and more lately and I think I'm starting to figure out why. Let's face it; I'm lonely. I mean, yeah, I'm surrounded by friends, and I'm never want for a study partner or a game of wizard's chess, but the older I get, the more I need. Everyone in Griffindor seems to be paring off. It's not uncommon for a game or a heated discussion of last week's match to be broken up by Hermione dragging off Ron or a look from Neville to Ginny across the common room. And, quite frankly, it sucks.
I wouldn't call myself shy. I have no problem speaking my mind in most situations... just not in love. Cho and I had that one awkward kiss back in my fifth year, and now, over two years later, that is all the romance I've had. It's not constantly on my mind. We're preparing for war after all, so there's lots to keep me occupied. But at night, when my scar is silent and the only sound is Ron's light snores and the call of hunting owls, my mind wanders.
All I've ever wanted was a normal life. I never asked to be famous. Hell, I never asked to be a wizard, not that I'm complaining, but I could at least be a plain, average, boring one. Not one who's gone up against Voldemort more times that I care to remember. Not one who's seen more death and misery than a child, or anyone for that matter, ever should. Maybe if I had a home to go back to... not the second bedroom of an oafish cousin or a spider filled cupboard, but a real home. One with parents and siblings, and... love. Because that's all anyone really wants -- to be loved and to love in return.
But I can't even do that right. No, I have to go and fall in... well, maybe not love, but at least in lust with my archrival. You know the saying, though: "There's a thin line between love and hate." Makes sense, too. Face it, who gets the brunt of my passion? Who else are you absolutely honest with, constantly showing your best and worst sides to than someone you truly despise? Through heated arguments and snide comments you get to know that someone as well as you know yourself.
But to top if all off, it has to be a guy. I never thought of myself as gay, but then I never really thought about it. I had a crush on Cho, and now I have one on Malfoy. Shyness on my part as well as a whole mess of other problems kept Cho and I from working out, but I've never been shy around Malfoy. I'm sure he's not interested, but what have I got to lose by trying? It's not like he could hate me more than he already does, and even if he could, it would at least make life more interesting. I suppose I'm a bit worried about my reputation, but who knows; maybe this will bring about more options.
It was during Double Potions, oddly enough, that I finally decided to take a chance. I was working with Neville, who had, miraculously enough, achieved decent enough scores on his owls to continue with the class. Besides, as an aspiring nurse, he needed it. Malfoy, paired with Goyle, sat just to our left. The snickering from that side of the room should have clued me in, but I was still startled when a chunk of pickled pine bark landed in my cauldron and caused the almost finished hair growth serum to fizzle down to a sickly green goo that stuck to the black iron like mucus.
Malfoy let out a marvelous laugh, body shaking so hard it threatened to tip over his own cauldron.
Needless to say, I was pissed. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear Snape shushing the class, the whisper of his robes against stone and the surprising sound of him taking ten points away from Slytherin. I ignored them all dutifully. Malfoy frowned and glared at me as if the point deduction was my fault, and I snapped.
Before I even realized, I was out of my seat and had crossed the aisle to where Malfoy sat. Somehow the throat of his robes were clenched in my fists, his back digging painfully into the table top as I held him down with enough force to leave bruises. Pale hands clawed at my arms, silver eyes alight with fear, and I loosened my grip. Big mistake. In the next instant I was on my back, Malfoy reaching for his wand, but I was faster.
His wand spun over Goyle's head, whizzed past Blaise Gambini and skimmed Pansy Parkinson's cheek to become entangled in Milliscent Bullstrode's rat's nest of hair. My wand clattered to the ground soon after as I sprang to my feet, arm cocked back, fist aimed at Malfoy's pretty face. He dodged, and my momentum sent me tumbling forward, slamming into him, forehead cracking against his with a dull thud.
There was a howl of pain, but I couldn't tell you for sure whether it was his or mine. Then I was shoved backwards, fingers scrabbling at Slytherin robes as I searched for something to steady me.
And then there they were: storm gray eyes so angry, so violent that I swear I saw a flicker of lightening. I nearly crowed with delight. This is what I've been waiting for; this is what made life worth living. In hatred, Malfoy and I became soulmates, sharing a passion most only dream of, enjoying a dance of words and wands that was far better than sex. I swung again, and this time my fist connected beautifully with his left cheek. My knuckles stung, and Malfoy was sprawled against the table, back arching awkwardly, but he was back on his feet in an instant, knee sunk into the pliant muscles of my stomach as the dance continued. I keeled over and then felt a wrenching against my spine; my organs fluttered forward as I flew back to slam into my own desk. The back of my head hit the table leg, and everything went black for a fraction of a second. Vision returned and a shadow loomed over me.... Something, either sweat or blood, tickled my neck and flowed, lost in the black of my robes.
Snape loomed over me, face set in an awful scowl, fist tight around his wand. My hand dropped and there was my own forgotten wand. Rational thought had fled long ago, replaced solely with the need to bring on the storm. My wand lifted, lips moved, and then Snape was gone. I had no idea what spell I had cast, nor did I care. Ignorant of the shocks of pain traveling across my skull, I was back on my feet.
Malfoy faced me, breathing in shallow pants, one hand on the back of a chair supporting him.
"You're dead, Potter."
It was the first thing I'd actually heard in minutes, and it was like music.
"Come and get me," I continued the song, and the soldiers stepped back onto the dance floor.
The next minute found his hands around my throat, fingers soft yet strong. Thumbs dug at my flesh, closing my esophagus, and black dots like fireworks sparkled behind my eyes. And then my foot contacted with his shin, and I was gulping down lungfuls of dank dungeon air. Everything was light; the floor swayed beneath me, but I pressed on, pummeling Malfoy's chest greedily. A fist caught my jaw, slipping to slash a fingernail across my throat. I screamed, a crescendo of all that I was. Adrenaline drove through my veins, and I tore Malfoy off his feet, slamming him hard against cold stone. I straddled him, only now aware of my growing erection. Furious hurricanes tore at my soul, and I met the gaze with any and every emotion I had ever felt. Pinks lips parted to show blood stained teeth caught in a growl. Oh, it was beautiful. With a final gasp and hands tight to bruising his shoulders, I kissed him.
My lips descended like death against his, hungry and wanting. Lips moved against mine in a compelling new dance, opening to allow a taste of blood and sweat. Hands clutched my sides, nails biting into flesh in an attempt to bring my hips down far enough to cause proper friction. My hands were dancing up his throat, caught between a strangle and a caress. Hips grazed each other, and a laugh caught in my throat as I realized just how much he had enjoyed this battle as well.
The epiphany caught me off guard and the next moment I was flat on my back, neck arched painfully as Malfoy explored every inch of my mouth. Hips bucked and erection met erection through six frustrating layers. A moan lifted from my throat, but was trapped and returned by his lips, his tongue. Slim fingers tangled in my hair; my hands dug under his collar to grasp at heated flesh. Bitter sweet friction formed a tension deep in my belly, and I cried out as his hips slammed down one last time.
Panting under Malfoy's trembling form, I laid back and shut my eyes. The stone was suddenly cold beneath my back. Malfoy breathed beside me, one sweat slicked cheek pressed against mine, hot breath tickling my ear. The world slanted into some sort of focus. Muted whispers hung in the air above me, and I remembered exactly where I was. Malfoy was rising to his elbows; my eyes cracked open cautiously, and I regretted it immediately.
Thin lips downcast, hot rage black in the depth of narrowed eyes, Professor Snape glared down at me. His wand was clutched in his palm, mouth open and chanting. Malfoy caught the movement of shadow over his left shoulder and cringed in anticipation, damp hair tickling my chin as he whispered, "Oh, shit." And then everything went dark.
I doubt I have to tell you that I spent the evening in the hospital wing or that the next two weeks were nothing more than a blur of class and detention. And believe me, you do not want to know how many house points I lost Griffindor for that little show.
But it was worth it.
Surprisingly enough, it was Malfoy that approached me a few days later to ask "What the Hell happened?" Not that I had an answer for him.
Lunch had just ended and in minutes nearly all of Hogwarts was circled around us, necks craning curiously.
A smirk and then silver eyes searching mine. "Want to do it again sometime?"
I smiled, "The fight, or...."
And then a laugh like crystal in sunlight, "Either. Both."
I was laughing, too. "Definitely."
His hand found mine and I let myself be pulled forward. My fingers dusted over the fading bruise on his cheek, and he flinched in pain. Our eyes met and then we were both laughing. And then kissing.
I write this as I lay beneath the cool green sheets in the Slytherin prefect's room. Draco is curled beside me, blond hair splayed against his pillow, a slight smile on his lips.
The year has come and gone and in less than a month we'll graduate. My scar hurts more than ever now, and I know the ceremony won't go unnoticed by Voldemort. More than ever I want him to come. I need this war to be over. My life is nearly complete and I want to spend the next sixty odd years enjoying it.
The fight with Draco in potions was our last. Something changed that day. The glass wall between enemy and lover was forever shattered. Of course we still share playful insults and a little rough housing or even a duel to get us in the mood. I wouldn't have it any other way. It all just goes to show you what a thin line there is between love and hate.
Um... I'll begin by answering questions I'm sure to be asked. The spell Harry used against Snape was nothing more than expelliarmus, but it was used with such force (and those who've read the fifth book know that the feelings behind a spell can affect the outcome) that it blew Snape, himself backwards and he was out for the next couple of minutes. Basically so I, the author, could get him out of the way. ^_^ What else? Why didn't Madam Pomfrey heal the bruise on Draco's cheek? It wasn't doing him any harm, so she figured the bruise would be a nice reminder to not get in fights. And how many points did Harry lose his house? I figured 10 for disrupting class, 50 for fighting, 50 for attacking a teacher, and another 20 for inappropriate behavior.
I'm rather pleased with this story. Typing it, rereading it... I get all caught up in it. My breath catches in my throat as I read the words. The inspiration for this story actually came from me pondering Rurouni Kenshin and Battousai's bloodlust. I felt the need to do something with that and Harry Potter just lent itself rather well. Ah. ^_^