Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation
Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation
Disclaimer: I do not own a single one of these characters, I just love to mess around with them every so often, and oh what delicious fun it is. Warning: Also, this story contains slash, which means, well I'm sure you know what it means, but in my story it is just the undying love that two boys have for one another. If this bothers you in any way, I suggest you hit the back button immediately.
Chapter 1- Bleeding Heart

Something hurt. Deep inside Harry's chest something ached bitterly. For the last few weeks it seemed to have always been like this, never ceasing, even in his dreams, he hurt. It burned and it stung and it tore at his insides; it was eating him alive. And the horrible thing was, Harry knew why almost exactly. It was because of *him*. Ugh, that didn't sound right. In fact the whole thing wasn't right and that was the main reason Harry spent considerable amounts of time feeling ill. It *wasn't* right, that was part of the problem.

Harry spent hours, long hours laying awake at night staring into blackness for so long that stars began to materialize and fade in and out of his vision. He spent these hours tearing himself apart, thinking so hard he began to feel numb, asking himself over and over again: why?

It didn't make sense, it just wasn't right. The endless stream of questions became so agonizingly monotonous that they began to always be present in Harry's mind. Always in the back of his thoughts were the questions. The probing, unrelenting, terrorizing questions.

God, he couldn't stand it, it was all so unbearably frustrating. He was so *sick* of all of this, he was so tired, so, so tired. The entire thing was tearing him apart, it was killing him. Seriously, literally, completely. He wanted to lay down somewhere and die. He wanted...uh, he didn't even know what he wanted anymore. All he knew was that breathing hurt, and feeling things hurt, and he felt so drained, so indescribably exhausted and sick of everything. He was sick of that hollow achy filling, like an enormous piece of his heart had been cut away and he was left with emptiness. He was sick of wanting something he couldn't have. That was it, the wanting. The crushing, agonizing desire that was killing him. And it was all because of *him.*

A moan escaped his lips, barely audible over the incessant throbbing of blood in his ears. There was a rustling noise to Harry's left. Someone was turning over in bed, stirring in their sleep.

Ha, sleep.

An ironic, slightly bitter smile curved the corners of Harry's mouth. The word sounded so familiar, yet the actual act, so foreign. How long had it been since Harry had slipped away into that world? When he'd been able to surrender to the velvety caress of darkness, to become lost in dreams. No, nightmares. They were all nightmares now. Harry's torturous thoughts would hardly abandon him when he closed his eyes. It was then that they could seize full control of his mind. It was theirs for the taking, and they ravaged it, filling it with all the horrible things Harry had been shoving away during the day. They swept over everything, painting their dark pictures, filling every inch of Harry with terror. Even the breath that emitted from Harry's lips was laced with pain, with torment and he awoke weak and shaking, with his heart pounding against his ribs and damp chunks of hair trembling on his forehead.

In fact now Harry was lying draped sideways across the bed, twisted in the sheets. He was exhausted from just trying to fall asleep, from all his restless thrashing about. A broken sigh escaped parched lips and Harry rolled over, groping for his glasses on the nightstand. He needed water. It would give him something to do. With a groan, Harry slipped from the bed of nightmares and padded silently across the dark room.

He paused in the still bathroom and tried for a single second not to think about the person constantly on his mind. For a split second Harry managed to think of nothing. But as quickly as the moment had come, it ended. It was impossible. Harry was always thinking of him, dreaming of him, yearning for him. For those silvery blue eyes, to be enfolded in those slender brown arms, everything about him was devastatingly irresistible. Every inch of Harry ached for him, but when he thought about what *he* would say, what *he* would do if he found out.... Harry fell back shakily against the wall, his breath coming in sharp, quick bursts. It was like knives embedded in his chest and every breath hurt. He shut his eyes and tried to wipe his mind of the look of utter disgust and loathing etched in *his* eyes. It was the look Harry knew he'd get if he ever found out.

Harry slid weakly down the wall to rest his head in his trembling hands. *Fuck you Draco Malfoy.* He hated him, he hated him with a passion, just because he was such a malicious little bastard. But at the same time, he was obsessed with him. He loved everything he did, it was an infatuation. Blind, mindless infatuation. It wasn't even so much that he really hated him, he just knew that he should, which really made the situation a hundred thousand times worse. It was so twisted, so wrong, but Harry couldn't help it. The frightening thing was the inevitable way Draco thought about Harry, which was of course he'd rather chop Harry to death with a blunt ax than have any sort of relationship with him. If Draco ever, ever found out how Harry felt...

Harry gave a horrible involuntary shudder. The thought chilled him to the bone, literally.

Harry drew his arms around his shivering shoulders and heaved himself off the damp bathroom floor. It frightened him how much he felt for Draco. Even when he did throw Harry murderous glares Harry's heart would swell with joy, just because *he* was looking at him. Harry would do anything for Draco, he knew he would. And it scared him to death. He'd never felt this way about anybody before. The emotions were so strong, that Harry felt he was drowning in them and he could do nothing but let himself get swept away, absolutely helpless to his devastatingly brutal, ravaging emotions. He felt destroyed by them, and really, it was too much to bear. If Draco had wanted to slice open Harry's chest and cut out his heart, Harry knew that he would fall to his knees before Draco, tearing open his shirt with eager and obsessive readiness.

The situation it seemed, was becoming desperate.

Harry slipped beneath the blankets and lay shaking for several moments with his eyes squeezed shut. He always felt cold lately, as if the very pit of his heart had turned to ice. Maybe that was why his chest hurt; maybe the jagged edges of his frozen heart were cutting away at his insides.

Harry turned in the twisted sheets, and buried his face in the pillow, feeling ill. The pillow smelled cold and stale, exactly how Harry felt inside. He was burned out to say the least, dead. And even if he wasn't really, he wanted to die. But all he could do was lay there wretchedly, miserable and shaking and thinking of Draco.

There was no way Harry could have known or even dreamed that, at that very same moment, in another part of the very same castle Draco Malfoy sat, on an icy window ledge clutching a bottle of vodka and thinking the very same things.


Review, please. Me only asking once is a ridiculous understatement. There will be more coming very soon, so don't despair. I hope you like this story as much as I love writing it, until next time~