Title: Getting Harry Potter

Author: liyu Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Draco and Harry are the properties of JK Rowling. Not mine.

Summary: Draco wants Harry Potter. Unfortunately for him, Harry is in confused denial. Draco has only the choice to resort to drastic, but clever, plans to get Harry Potter.

Note: Repost of formerly known Bored (yes, I know, very original title) by akuchan. The fic was left unfinished because Real Life killed my muse. I had to learn to live without a muse. I apologize to all who have waited for future chapter. But they are coming!

1. Confusing Harry Potter

He was so surprised he forgot to breath. He just stood there, not able to do anything, not able to think properly. All he could see was him. His skin was white. White like marble and like snow and ice. But warm; he could feel the warm radiating from this whiteness without touching it. He could smell it too. It smelt funny. It smelt hot but it smelt cold.

It gave him goose bumps and shivers down his spine.

It felt like a long time, but their lips were still glued together. His brain began to process what was going on. It was running to catch on.

He stepped back finally, looking stunned. But before he could say something, the mouth was on his again. This time, the lips were moving and he could feel the wetness of a tongue.

It sent his brain stray back to the obliviousness where it was a second before. And what a delicious obliviousness. All black and warm.

He looked directly at the eyes. They were half shut, but intense. The cold grey was burning, if that was possible. They weren't looking at him. They were staring at something he couldn't see, but that wasn't him.

He stepped back again, but the lips followed. Another step and he was trapped between the stone wall and the lips. The lips that were doing things to him he didn't have words to describe. But it was alright because it didn't feel bad. It was actually quite nice.

The lips finally stopped and stepped back.

All he uttered was "Why?"

But he couldn't tell if he was asking why the lips stopped, or why they started. He wished they had never stopped, but he also wished they never had started either.

He looked at those eyes and they were wide open, still intense but looking straight at him this time. He didn't know how to look back, so he looked down at the stone floor and began to count the cracks in it. When he looked up, he was alone.

All day long, he wondered. He wondered about many thinks that mainly started with "why". Why did he allow that? Why did he like that? Why didn't he stop it? Why, why, why did the lips do that anyway?

The lips, those lips, were never supposed to be engaged in that kind of relation with his own. Right, he could talk back to the lips, but only when they were at a normal distance from his.

He was pretty distracted and didn't notice much except when the lips came into his sight. He would glare at them. Not at the eyes above them because he couldn't yet deal with the intense look they surely contained.

That night, he lay in his bed, curtains closed in the dark. His head was still replaying the incessant flow of "why, why". It was almost like a chant, like some magical summoning. If only he could summon the lips here so they could answer the "why" questions he had.

But of course, it never happened. Magic never worked that way. He slipped into sleep without any answers.