Disclaimer: Only plot belongs to me. Characters and names courtesy of JK Rowling. And I apologise profusely for massacring canon!
Author's notes: My second fic - again, heavily focused on slash. But this time, I'm delving into the realms of Drarry.
This fic has actually been in progress since last year, and was going to be my first, but as you can see, it is quite a bit longer than my Speckett fic, and, if I say so myself, has a slightly more complicated plotline. I had it all written out, but was unsatisfied with the end product, so I've completely re-drafted it, along with a different ending. Drarry is my favourite slash pairing - no idea why. But I've wanted to finish this fic for so long, I'm so glad it's finally up to scratch.
My favourite Drarry fics have always been those in which I believed that the plot could actually happen - within the confines of JKR's fictional world, of course - because Harry and Draco are such contrasting characters, and I want to be able to accept that their relationship would actually make sense. Hopefully, I have achieved that effect to some extent, with the confused way these two explore their sexual feelings for each other. And I don't want to spoil it for you, but there is a rather nice little twist at the end!
As always: your reviews, comments, and constructive critique are all welcome.
It wasn't the first time that Draco Malfoy had been forced to contend with an unexpected erection midway through a class.
Neither was it a particularly momentous occasion – because, contrary to popular belief, he was a teenage boy just like all the others in his year. And he had the same raging hormones.
Normally, he would have barely paid attention to the arousal, as the hardened flesh at his groin pressed urgently against the seam of his trousers. He would ignore it, even if he felt discomfort. Ignore it, even if it hurt. From the tightness in his abdomen right down to the lingering, hot feeling between his thighs, this erection was the same as any other he had experienced, and he wasn't going to start taking notice now.
Something was irking him today, though, and no matter how much he tried not to, he couldn't stop himself from becoming distracted. You see, the previous statements weren't entirely truthful: this erection wasn't exactly like any other - mainly because Draco had no idea what had prompted it. He didn't sit for hours in deep contemplation of this fact, but he did take a fleeting glance around the Potions classroom, forehead creased pensively. It was quite clear, after barely a few seconds' observation, that there was absolutely nothing or no one here to delight his fancy; he wasn't known as one of the most fastidious in his tastes, but pickings today were decidedly slim. The dungeon was badly-lit, cold, and smelt terribly of damp – hardly a sumptuous setting – and the faces surrounding him could hardly be classed as an improvement. A fusion of emerald and silver, scarlet and gold swam before him, and as he cast his eyes disinterestedly over his fellow students, he knew for a fact that none of the Slytherins in the room – and definitely none of the Gryffindors – could provoke such an enthusiastic reaction in him.
Regardless of this, the throbbing sensation at his groin gradually deepened, and Draco felt his eyelids flutter closed, ecstasy washing over him in intense waves and having a distinctly unnerving effect on his composure. Taking in an uneven breath through his nostrils, he tried desperately to blank his mind, distract his thoughts from dampness and pounding blood, and instead to the potion ingredients that he should have been busying himself with measuring out. Today's assignment was a fairly simple one, actually: a basic potion that, if brewed correctly, would serve as a paste to be applied to minor cuts and bruises. In fact, its child-like simplicity had incited annoyed whispers from the Gryffindor clan, mainly about Snape showing favouritism for Slytherins, in view of an upcoming Quidditch match. Draco thought that they should really be a bit more grateful – besides, if one thing could be said for this particular potion, it did have quite a pleasant aroma. Draco inhaled it as he worked, and once he had distributed the list of ingredients accurately, he found it a lot easier to ignore anything his body was doing southwards of his desk.
However, it proved to be a little more difficult for his peers to ignore the change in his demeanour. Draco had no idea that the expression he was wearing was disconcerting to others, until he found himself graced by the ever-timely stupidity of Vincent Crabbe. Sitting opposite him, a few feet away, the boy was regarding him with both concern and bewilderment – a mixture of expressions that left him looking even more brainless than usual (if that was possible). On catching his eye, Draco cocked an eyebrow in questioning, his hand poised ready to tip a small phial of powder into his cauldron. Crabbe gave a sheepish half-smile, bunched up his shoulders, and leant across the desk to whisper to his friend – crushing a third of his ingredients in the process,
"What's the matter, Draco? Potter giving you trouble?"
At the mere mention of the name, around half a dozen Slytherins turned to see what they were missing out on, including Crabbe's partner in crime, Gregory Goyle, who cracked his knuckles markedly, curling his upper lip to snarl at the blissfully oblivious Gryffindors at the other side of the room. 'Bloody oaf,' Draco thought, fighting the urge to blatantly laugh in the other boy's face. It was only to be expected that an idiot like Crabbe would have no concept of lust or sexual excitement, immediately assuming that the only way Draco could act so strangely was in suppressing the onset of a row with his arch rival. It was true, however, that the stem of most of Draco's unusual behaviour was any level of exposure to the Boy Wonder himself – be it out of irritation, annoyance or complete, passionate hate. Even at the mention of the name, Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and his body temperature increase to uncomfortable levels. In spite of himself, he found his eyes travelling automatically to rest on the desk where Potter, the Weasel and the Mudblood were sitting. And with a sense of surprise that caused his eyebrows to rise upwards slightly, he saw that in fact, Potter was staring straight at him. His startlingly-bright, green eyes glimmered strangely in the dim light, and his lips were just slightly parted, as if he were about to say something but had lost the words. He seemed to have mistaken Draco's look of surprise for a sort of recognition, as he raised his eyebrows in much the same manner and his mouth twisted into a somewhat cautious frown.
It was then that it happened. Draco's cock gave an unmistakeable, and rather delicious, twitch. Much as if a bolt of lightning had struck him, Draco jolted a little in his seat, artfully disguising a soft moan by clearing his throat. His eyes wandered accusingly to his lap, before he glanced furtively at the students sat around him. To his great dismay and frustration, Crabbe and Goyle were still waiting patiently for him to say something – clearly, being ignored was not a strong deterrent for them. Trying his utmost to be nonchalant, Draco rolled his eyes, glaring spitefully at both of them before snapping,
"It's nothing, Crabbe."
He rested his forehead on his fist, releasing an exasperated sigh, before his attention was grabbed by something from the corner of his eye, and he added, as an afterthought,
"And you should have mashed that into a powder, not added it whole."
In the chaotic few minutes that followed, Draco managed to successfully use his friend's fatal error in judgement to his advantage, steering his housemates' attention away from himself (a rare desire) and instead focusing it on the attempt at rescuing the very little of Crabbe's potion that could still be successfully brewed. But his thoughts were divided for the rest of the lesson – and hardly focused on Potions at all. What – or who - had provoked that hard-on? Draco was at a loss to explain it. He was so distracted that he didn't even bother to finish his own batch of the healing paste, and thankfully, no one seemed to notice. Even Snape let him off the hook, completely ignoring the half-prepared cauldron as he inspected everyone else's efforts. Draco suspected that the professor knew he had given the students too easy a task, and felt Draco's capabilities far surpassed that of a simple healing potion, so it was only understandable that the boy wouldn't think it worthy of his time. It was possibly this thought that also inspired him to set the class five rolls of parchment on healing potions as homework, to be written in three days. Whilst the rest of the class showed their disapproval at the announcement, Draco was just relieved that the lesson had finally ended, and that he could venture elsewhere, away from the strange circumstances that had roused such an unexpected reaction in him, and namely in his trousers.
After that rather unpleasant shock, the students huffily packed away their belongings and stomped from the room, not quite able to hide their annoyance from the Potions professor. It was only to be expected really, Draco surmised, because it was rare that Snape's 'kindness' was anything but a double-edged sword. He dismissed his companions absent-mindedly and watched them leave, closely followed by Potter and his gang, before skulking out himself. He was always determined to be the last to leave a classroom; some sort of complex, he supposed. Perhaps it was something to do with being the one in control. About being the hunter, not the hunted. It could never do to have someone following him.
He packed away his things quietly and precisely, wrapped his cloak around his lean frame, and strode determinedly from the room, giving Snape a curt nod before pulling the door gently to a close behind him. Then, glancing cautiously up and down the corridor, he sloped his way up the ancient stone staircase in the direction of the Great Hall, where he would meet the rest of his House for dinner. Unfortunately, he was stopped in his tracks.
A few metres ahead of him, Harry Potter was propped up on all-fours, scrabbling about on the ground and picking up an avalanche of dropped notes, the parchment spread across the ground like a carpet. He had his back to Draco, his rear end waggling ridiculously as he gathered up the papers in his arms. The other two thirds of the Wonder Trio were nowhere to be seen. Draco's lips curled into a sneer, and he strode confidently forward, trying to ignore a dull aching feeling that had just begun to grip at his pelvic muscles. Stopping just a foot or so away from the Gryffindor prodigy, Draco found a tied up bundle of notes with his foot, aiming a lazy kick that sent them skidding across the stone tiles. Potter didn't seem to notice, and Draco, disappointed, was about to kick the boy himself just to teach him a lesson, when the shadow he was shedding across Potter finally alerted him to his presence.
Under a haystack of messy black hair, Draco was sure that Potter had mumbled something – possibly, "Oh, for fuck's sake…" but Draco, knowing of the boy's proficiency in Parseltongue, thought it could have been any and all manner of curses. Never one to take a hint, or care whether his presence was wanted or not, he decided to clear up a matter that had been playing on his mind in their earlier Potions lesson, whilst he had Potter alone and was feeling no particular violent tendencies against him,
"Did you have something to say to me, Potter?"
"What?" The other boy asked, his tone dead-pan, eyes still focused on the bunch of assignments clutched in his hand.
"You heard me. Last lesson... Potions? You looked like you had something to say. Out with it."
"Oh, that's right…" Harry exclaimed in false sincerity, slamming his parchment to the floor as if he had just had a 'eureka' moment. He turned his face skyward to look at Draco, who began to feel a curious sensation in his stomach.
"…I hate you."
Draco sighed, sweeping his long fringe from his eyes and giving a small shake of his head. Harry Potter, ever the eloquent master of the spoken word.
"Oh, very droll - my sides are splitting. But I'm afraid that one's been done to death, Wonderboy. You're going to have to use a little more imagination than that if you want to impress me."
Harry looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, his vision cast to the side and slightly misted-over. Draco felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth; he'd forgotten just how easy it was to win an argument against Potter. Honestly, he barely even had to try! But before he could get too confident, the other boy had snapped from his semi-trance, a new glint in his eyes, as he retorted,
"Actually, I don't think I've ever just come out and said that I hate you, Malfoy. I just relied on the fact that you were intelligent enough to figure it out. Obviously not. Neither are you intelligent enough to realise that, actually, I couldn't give a toss about impressing you."
Draco actually chuckled at this, though his laughter had a bitter edge that betrayed anything but amusement. His silver eyes glimmered darkly and he stepped forward a little, making sure he stood on one of Potter's essays just to see him wince.
"You're making profound claims about intelligence levels, Potter, but am I the one on my hands and knees, crawling around like a dumb animal?"
"You have your goons to thank for that. One of 'em cast a charm on my bag so that all the parchment flew everywhere. Must have been Pansy, I wouldn't credit Crabbe or Goyle with the ability to even find where they left their wands."
"Inspired." Draco grinned proudly, "Well, don't let me keep you. You look like you're enjoying yourself immensely." He made to walk away, then thought of something and added, "Probably all that time you've spent in the Sty with the rest of the Weasels has given you a taste for ground-foraging."
The look on Potter's face was priceless. Draco could tell he was thinking desperately of a way to retaliate, but was too clouded by rage to think of something coherent. It was a thrill, and Draco felt confident to resolve that it was almost as good as sex. Almost. He sauntered off down the corridor to the Great Hall now with what could be considered as a spring in his step, were it not for the sluggishness of his pace. Despite the lack of a suitable answer to his question, demoralising Potter was a better way to improve his mood than any other he could think of. Thoroughly preoccupied with his own smugness, he remained quite unaware as, minutes later, a set of footsteps to match his own struck up behind him. When he finally realised someone was following him, he didn't bother to turn his head, because he knew who it was even before Potter fell into stride beside him and gave him a contemptuous sidelong glance,
"I'm not... I was... just going to the-"
"No need to make excuses, Potter. You're just drawn to me, aren't you?"
Draco drawled, baring his teeth in what would normally be considered a charming smile, were it not laced with sarcasm. The other boy snorted, but didn't protest to the contrary. Draco felt it was the perfect opportunity to twist the knife in a little further, as the Boy-Who-Lived's earlier insults were still fresh in his mind, and hadn't stopped stinging yet.
"You know I hate you too, right?" He asked rhetorically, enjoying the words so much that they rolled off his tongue like velvet. Potter didn't look at him, but with lightning speed snapped,
"No you don't."
Of all the answers he could have given, this was amongst the most surprising and the most irritating. Draco's jaw fell open a little to protest, his hands balling into fists. But Potter suddenly cut in front of him, reaching out his left arm to twist the handle to the door of an empty classroom.
"Left an essay in here earlier. Goodbye, Draco."
As the dark-haired boy disappeared through the door frame, Draco's steely gaze burned into him. He wasn't going to take the hint: not after a profound statement like that. And he hated how Potter managed to rile him so much without even a harsh word. Following swiftly behind, he slammed open the door as Potter went to close it, wrenching it from the boy's grasp, and causing him to almost lose his balance. This violent action unnerved Potter – and Draco took full advantage of it,
"What... the fuck... is that supposed to mean?" He asked, his voice unsteady with rage, "Of course I hate you!"
He kicked the door shut and stalking towards the other boy, his expression bordering on murderous. Though at first seeming out of control, he managed to pause barely inches away from Harry, then sneered, took a swift side-step and went to sit at an empty desk. Harry, having been quickly in danger and then much more quickly out of it, was temporarily demobilised, but soon found his voice again. Draco severely hoped that the tone in his enemy's voice wasn't defiance, because he would really have to punch him for that,
Draco's face twisted into a hateful glare, but Harry wanted to press the matter further. He clearly wasn't going to let Malfoy push him around today, and wanted to get a few things off his chest. Draco just hoped he would make it quick, so he could beat him to a pulp and be on his way in time for dinner.
"I know what it is really."
Draco's face softened from anger to confusion, and a tight knot of apprehension formed in his stomach. What had Harry got in store for him?
The word hung dangerously in the air, but Draco simply made a scoffing sound, thrusting his chin upwards and averting his gaze from the other boy's. Nonetheless, in spite of this dismissive reaction, he didn't exactly make an attempt to deny the boy's claim.
"Don't be such a twat, Potter." He mumbled, clearly a little put out.
"It is. I know it. You've been painfully jealous of me ever since we first met. You just disguise it very well, hiding behind your family's precious moral standings. My history doesn't really give you a valid excuse for staring me down every Potions lesson, you know."
Draco was silent, but his posture had completely changed in a matter of moments. He was now slumped over the desk, with his arms folded and face set in a deadly scowl. Able to take a hint, unlike his rival, Harry apparently stopped himself before he got carried away, and turned away from the paler boy, his intended destination obviously being the door. His expression was hidden from Draco, but the silent triumph encircled him like an aura.
Unfortunately for him, he had already taken it too far.
And when Draco finally launched a verbal attack in reply, his voice was as cool and still as a frozen lake, which, for Potter, was probably worse than his shouting ever could have been,
"And what exactly do you think I have to be jealous of, eh, Potter?" He began to mark off the list on his fingers,
"That your parents are dead? That you have the most dangerous wizard in the world out to mercilessly slaughter you whenever he gets the chance? That the measly sum total of your friends reads like the who's-who of worthless scum? Or that everyone you touch becomes a corps-"
His venomous tirade was cut short by the well-timed connection of Harry's fist and his nose. The boy reeled back and fell awkwardly from his chair, grunting as the side of his head made contact with the stone paving beneath him.
Through blurred vision, he could see Potter's silhouette, motionless besides the enraged shaking of his clenched fists.
"You know what I meant, you slimy bastard." Harry spat, thrusting his hands into his pockets, obviously to stop them shaking with rage. It seemed he had no intention of getting into this exchange with Draco today, despite the provocation. Draco wondered why the less educated of his peers always resorted to fisticuffs where their eloquence let them down – a trait that he found frankly laughable. He couldn't help it if Potter found it difficult to accept his life as the complete shambles it was. He propped himself up on all fours, groaning a little at a piercing sensation that had just knifed through his bruised ribs, and half-turned his head to look at his attacker, who had apparently decided to abandon his lost essay and hastily make his exit. 'How bloody typical... How bloody cowardly.' His rival's behaviour was so predictable, so infuriating, that Draco actually found immense hilarity in it all; his laughter confusing, no doubt, to the previously-triumphant Potter.
He laughed without shame, softly and harshly all at once; a quiet sound, buried in his chest, poisonous and deceptive in its faintness. It was a sound rarely heard – true enough, Draco wasn't renowned for his sense of humour. But it had the desired effect, as Harry turned slowly, and sighed. He had to realise: Draco wasn't going to accept that he'd deserved that punch.
A glance would reveal that Draco was crouched on the floor, grasping a sore ribcage, his head bowed and platinum hair spilling downwards, as droplets of blood from his nose pattered onto the stone below. He lifted his head stiffly to speak, and Harry presumably felt a jolt of satisfaction on seeing that the left side of his face was pink and swollen,
"You know, we do have a lot in common, Potter, you and me." Draco announced, his voice throatier than normal, each word slightly painful owing to a bruised jaw. But he knew he had picked his words perfectly.
"Oh, please do enlighten me, Malfoy." Harry encouraged, in a voice that was far too sarcastic to suit him, but which pleased Draco no end. He knelt carefully, wincing at his aching joints, and regarded Harry with a malicious excitement in his eyes. No matter how he tried to portray the contrary, his enemy was obviously curious as to how the two of them could possibly have anything in common. And Draco was more than happy to sate that curiosity. There was not a hint of amusement in his voice as he stated,
"You seem hell-bent on proving how jealous I am of you… but I bet you've felt jealous of me on more than the odd occasion."
But for some reason, Harry did laugh, a cruel, metallic sound which Draco, much to the other boy's dismay, thrived on, rather than be put off by it. Harry was angry – and Draco was winning. He continued, despite Potter's obvious scepticism and an expression that suggested he would be storming out at any moment – or would give him a matching bruise on the other side of his face. Draco was suddenly reminded to take his revenge for that as soon as he had said his piece.
"Don't laugh." He ordered, and Harry stopped immediately. "You're quick to deal out that holier-than-thou crap to me, so you can be a good boy and take some back."
Potter raised an eyebrow, but apparently recognised a 'touché' moment when he came across one, so he stayed silent, despite the fact that he was clearly going through some intense inner battle to remain in the room. Draco was determined not to be put off by the way the other boy seemed to console himself by focusing intently on the bruise he had created on his enemy's face, and launched himself whole-heartedly into his next verbal attack,
"Let me guess, Potter. I'm sure I can figure out what the evidence for your argument was going to be. You were going to boast to me how – what was it? You've performed so many astounding feats of heroism within a measly few years at school, faced terrifying sights that children of such a tender age shouldn't ever have to see, and you did it all with a winning smile and a spring in your step, yadda, yadda, yadda..." He waved his hand dismissively. "...And I'm supposed to be impressed? Resentful? Jealous?" He emphasised the last word, a mean glint in his eye.
"But, as you are too stupid to realise: there's one thing here that bothers me more than all that other rubbish:" He mused, still knelt on the floor, the muscles in his side still tender. "You strut around this place like the arrogant sod you are, and you truly believe you're some sort of hero, expecting everyone else to think the same. But you'd never just come out and say it - would you Potter?" He addressed Harry directly, making total eye contact for the first time. Harry just scowled in response, so Draco answered for him, "No. You're too modest and humble for that." He sneered sarcastically, "Like you'd never just spit it out that you think you're better than me at Quidditch, at Defence against the Dark Arts, at life in general. And the most hilarious thing is that you're going to want me to think that you're being the better person here, too. But am I the one brandishing my fists like an uneducated moron?"
He snarled softly, grey eyes glinting with an ingrained loathing. Believing the worst to be over, Potter gave a huge sigh, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands into his pockets. But Draco knew that his words had cut deep, deeper than his usual casual insults. Potter was yet to realise that Draco had the complete measure of him, finding him easier to read than 'Potions for Beginners', and knew just what to say to make his self esteem plummet. He pressed the fingertips of both hands together, giving the other boy a crooked smile as he continued,
"So, to sum up: no, Potter, I am not jealous of you. But you do irritate the living hell out of me. Will that do?" He asked, not particularly seeking an answer, but clearly very pleased with himself. Potter's expression was blank, and he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, without showing any intention of leaving, either. Eventually, the dark-haired boy folded his arms across his chest, his eyes unusually soft as he replied to Draco with what he strongly suspected was pity. Pity - how dare he?
"I don't expect you to feel any of those things." He stated, a heavy sigh in his voice. Draco curled his upper lip, tilting his head back in what was a severely cynical motion. But Potter continued,
"I don't ask for anything from you, Draco. In fact, I'd be so much happier if we never had anything to do with each other. I'm sure you would, too. So why do you insist on making my life hell...?"
Draco stayed silent, eyes narrowing a little, as if already anticipating what Harry would say next,
"…That's where the jealousy comes in, you see?"
The Slytherin wasn't going to accept that. He never did.
"But that's the point, Potter. You seem to think this whole – 'jealousy'- thing is one-sided. But I bet you'd trade in all the things you are talented in, all the successes and defeats, to have had something that resembles a normal existence."
"Like yours, you mean? No. Bloody. Way."
Draco stayed quiet for a little longer. Clearly, he hadn't thought this argument through completely. But it didn't matter; he had obviously hit a raw nerve - he could see it by the way Harry's eyes were unfocused, but didn't move from his face, the way his hands wouldn't keep still. Potter looked vulnerable. And Draco's insides stirred. He raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly as he retorted,
"Well, at least I have parents. Real parents, that actually care whether I live or die, and don't lock me in a cupboard under the stairs."
"How did you kn-?" Harry started in disbelief. But Draco cut him short,
"And whilst some may surmise that I am mediocre compared to the Boy Wonder in some respects, I'd take mediocrity over false celebrity any day."
Now, it was clear that Potter was thoroughly pissed off, in no mood to talk about their respective backgrounds and histories, and not wishing to know anything about the boy who had made his life hell since he had stepped through the doors of Hogwarts. Turning away from Draco, it seemed he had finally conceded defeat, and was retreating to the Gryffindor tower to cry on Weaselby's shoulder. Draco positively beamed at his unbridled success.
"Thanks for making me miss dinner, Draco. And now I'm thoroughly exhausted and sick of the sound of your voice, so I'll be taking my essay and leaving."
Draco bowed his head sarcastically, gesturing to him with a dramatic sweep of his arm that seemed to say, 'Please, be my guest.' But, just as Potter was about to leave, completely essay-less, he stopped at the threshold of the room, placed one hand on the door handle, and turned to Draco, a grin on his face that the Slytherin recognised as one he would use himself, just as he was about to say something particularly witty. 'God, what now?'
"I'd go and see Madam Pomfrey about that bruise by the way, looks pretty angry. You might have to have your nose reconstructed, or something. And I can only imagine how your hoards of admirers will react to your now ugly, disfigured face."
Draco had realised some time ago that he perversely enjoyed his arguments with Harry Potter. It was almost like dirty-talk – apart from the obvious expectation of sex afterward - and it was because of this that he just couldn't seem to let the conversation lie. He was hooked on it like a drug, and wouldn't stop until either one of them ended up severely jinxed, or with a month's worth of detention...or both. Just as Potter thought he had the upper hand, Draco, rather than be taken aback by the insult, had a response dancing on the tip of his tongue before Potter could even consider leaving.
"Well, at least you recognise that true beauty needs to be preserved, Potter. I would have even thought you incapable of that."
Harry scoffed loudly – Draco suspected his answer had made him angry, and his expression almost betrayed that fact.
"Don't kid yourself, Malfoy. In no way are you beautiful – and thanks to me, you won't even be passable."
Potter was getting riled up now, Draco could sense it. But, thankfully, he was too far away to use his fists again, just inches away from the closed door. And now, Draco was getting somewhere fun. He began to wonder if he could get Harry to compliment him, without even realising it. He had almost done it before. It was strangely exhilarating.
"That's not the general consensus, Potter. You might be a complete idiot, but I trust you aren't stupid enough not to notice what everyone else thinks of my appearance."
Harry sniffed haughtily, and looked away. But Draco noticed he had once again prevented him from trying to leave. He grinned, narrowing his eyes slyly as he asked,
"Cat got your tongue, Potter? Am I making you uncomfor-?"
"-Yes." Harry replied quickly, casting him a scornful look, "I almost preferred it when you were harping on about my lack of parents, for the fiftieth time this week."
Draco's grin widened, which only caused Harry's expression to grow increasingly pained. The Slytherin wiped his bloody nose on the back of his black cloak sleeve, and, having discovered that winning an argument was an excellent tonic, found himself feeling tons better. The throbbing sensation in the left side of his face had gone now, as had the aching in his ribs from when he'd hit the floor, and so, with little pain, he managed to rise to his feet, straightening out his cloak and pressing his thumb to his nose where it still trickled slightly with blood. He stared Potter down, taking delight in the way that he seemed to be stuck in limbo between staying and leaving, his bright green eyes glinting with suspicion. Draco didn't need much more ammunition than that. He stalked forward, stopping only inches away from Harry once more, and even though the boy's form tensed, he didn't reach for his wand, or the door handle, or anything. He barely moved, except his eyes, which made a full, unintentional sweep of Draco's body. Draco was astonished to feel a small shudder course through him.
"That punch fucking hurt, Potter." He mumbled accusingly, inspecting his bloodstained thumb as he did so. The faintest of smiles twitched at Harry's lips, and Draco narrowed his eyes in annoyance.
"I admire your honesty, Draco, but you thoroughly deserved it." The dark-haired boy replied sincerely. Draco gaped incredulously at him, and replied in a tone of voice that could only be reasonably described as whining,
"I only insulted you in self-defence, you bastard! You started it, with all that 'jealous' bullshit! And stop fucking undermining me like that!" He added, jabbing Potter squarely in the chest with a long finger. The other boy slapped his hand away, shaking his head in an immensely patronising way,
"You know, you swear far too much. It's very unbecoming."
Draco sighed exasperatedly, and it was Harry's turn to grin. But the paler boy was soon on form,
"What do you care what language I use, eh, Potter? As much as it may shock you, I really don't care about being 'unbecoming' in your eyes. Do you want me to care what you think of me, is that it?"
"And you ask far too many questions." Harry snapped, ignoring what Draco had said. The Slytherin snapped back, his shoulders bristling,
"Well you avoid the fucking point too much."
"Which is? And language, Draco."
"FUCK OFF POTTER!" He yelled, his voice echoing loudly around the room, and then coughed in self-awareness, noticing Harry's smug 'I told you so' grin, "My point is: do you want me to care what you think of me?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Potter answered, with dismissive laughter in his voice.
"Well then stop harping on about being 'unbecoming', and 'admiring my honesty'. You'll give me the wrong impression."
Harry sighed, "You really are a prima-donna, Draco. As if I mean anything by what I say besides intimidating and humiliating you. Honestly, you're supposed to be the expert on this mind-games crap."
Draco felt as if he'd just been slapped. His mouth hung open, eyes dangerously narrowed. Harry glanced around him in the silence that followed, apparently having forgotten what silence sounded like. He glared at Draco, head cocked slightly to one side,
"And that's another thing: do you ever shut up?"
Draco felt his composure slipping. Since when did Potter start getting the upper-hand over him in this argument? Was he about to start beating him at this, too? At the risk of asking himself any more questions, Draco decided to use shock tactics. In a sudden fluid moment, he knocked Potter back against the closed classroom door, enjoying the dull thud of his head against the wood, before placing one arm at the right side of his head to prevent escape. Potter tensed, eyes darting frantically round the room for a moment, before it dawned on him that he was trapped. His pupils constricted, and he shrunk visibly under Draco's taller form. It seemed the power balance had quickly shifted back in the Slytherin's favour.
"Bad idea, Potter: saying things like that, getting too cocky... especially when I haven't paid you back for that punch yet." He whispered, smiling softly a his breath hit Potter's face and the boy's eyelids fluttered slightly. Close-up, Potter's features were enhanced clearly: the dramatic green vibrancy of his eyes; the raw, pink, lightning-bolt scar; and his lips, parted as if to speak like they had been in Potions not long ago.
Draco's cock had sprung to life rather dreadfully, causing a jolt of inexplicable pleasure to course through his body. With deadly clarity, Draco's stomach plummeted as he remembered why he had gotten a hard-on the first time, caught so off guard in Potions. It was that look. And, to his complete horror, he realised that he hadn't only noticed it when it was brought to his attention by Crabbe. In fact, he had been watching Potter subconsciously for the previous five minutes, his attention grabbed in a way that was impossible to explain. There was no way of rationalising it, nothing Draco could do to come to terms with the reality of the situation. And, much to his dismay, Potter had noticed the change in his expression.
"You – you're doing it again." The boy mumbled, his voice quietened by the proximity of their two forms – his former apprehension was gone, only to be replaced by reluctant curiosity.
Draco quirked an eyebrow, struggling to look Potter coherently in the eye whilst battling his inner demons and trying desperately to forget his erection - but he didn't speak. He was unable to. Draco began to realise, in this brief moment of panic, that he had also been vaguely noting the gentle ripple of Harry's muscles when he lifted the metal cauldron on to the desk, the soft sheen of sweat along his collar bone, and the tautness of his... Draco surmised that he probably spent too much time studying Potter, but that it probably came from loathing him so completely.
"That look..." Harry continued, his voice now slightly pensive. He seemed to be talking more to himself, and Draco was thanking every star he could think of that he hadn't noticed the bulge in his trousers yet. "...This morning, in Potions, I looked over at you and you were, well, looking like that, at me, and I wanted to ask you what the hell you were doing, but then you…"
And slowly, very slowly, Harry's eyes travelled downwards. Draco felt a lump rise in his throat. He must've known what the look usually meant, recognised it so many times on the faces of his friends, and probably even looked at people like that himself. And Potter had obviously realised that, earlier, in Potions, right after snapping out of his trance, Draco had looked…into his lap. In anticipation of what was coming, Draco lurched inarticulately forward, seizing Potter's jaw with his free hand to pull his gaze away, but losing his balance and stumbling against the other boy. Harry gasped as he was so unexpectedly pressed to the door, and on having dragged the boy's head to one side, Draco found their two faces to be a fraction apart. He barely had time to register this uncomfortable closeness when he realised that something of his was pressed against Potter's right thigh. 'Oh fuck...'
Harry, having noticed this almost immediately, jolted in shock, causing the minute gap between them to disappear, and their lips to crash together clumsily. He contact was intense and electrical, but both boys moved apart just as quickly as they had collided, panting and shuddering. Potter glared at him accusingly, a protestation obviously just on the tip of his tongue - but before Draco could even stop to think, he had closed the tiny gap again, and now he was pressing his lips fiercely and very determinedly against Potter's. 'So this is how I win.' In a swift movement, their bodies were flush up against each other, and whilst every nerve in Potter's body was fighting to pull away, he was indeed pinned to the door, and frozen to the spot in sheer confusion. Draco was confused too – hell, he was completely mystified – but for some reason, he couldn't stop himself. Potter squirmed against his body, trying to breaking away, but Draco, whilst slight in figure, held him in a firm grip, and found that Harry's movements weren't really helping matters. Eventually, the warmth of another body against his own, added to the softness of Draco's full lips and the insistent groans that were rising in the back of his throat, seemed to coax something from Harry - something Draco could never have anticipated. He kissed back. And whilst he was loath to admit it, having Harry Potter pinned to a door, and ravishing him completely, actually brought the fact to Draco's attention that the Gryffindor did indeed have quite an agreeable appearance, even if their kiss did taste of blood – which was all Potter's fault anyway.
Draco realised almost instantly that he couldn't just leave it at one hasty, accidental kiss. Not with Potter's lips parted so temptingly, not with the boy left vulnerable, lost for words and seriously owing some payback for hitting him. And whilst he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that Potter started making him quite so horny, it didn't seem to matter, because, just moments after the second kiss's initiation, the Gryffindor had begun to reciprocate – and there was no way of denying it. At first, Draco stifled his groans, but this just made the proximity of their chests even more uncomfortable. So he released his pent-up frustration with shocking carelessness, forcing his tongue into Potter's mouth in his urgency for satisfaction. Harry choked at the sudden intrusion, but didn't fight it – and Draco knew he had left him little option but to sit back and let the kiss take its course. His nose was still sore, warm liquid trickling down Harry's chin as they kissed, and he could smell the salt in his blood. It was an odd factor in an even odder situation. But odder still, it was this that preoccupied Draco's thoughts more than the fact that the lips he was pressed against belonged to his arch nemesis, the Boy Who Lived: nauseating do-gooder and general bastard.
Both boys were probably convincing themselves that this meant nothing, and was just their newest form of power struggle. Who could kiss hardest, longest, whose lips could crush, bruise most, whose teeth could draw most blood, would somehow be the victor. And the one who was first to yield, first to break the tempestuous clash of bodies, would be the defeated. And when the kiss endured several minutes, both of them were beginning to wonder if it actually mattered that much.
Their kiss was noisy now, brutal, their lust almost primal. Draco felt as if he would burst, he was so achingly hard. And if he angled his hips just so, he could feel Potter's arousal just as obviously. Potter's cock was jerking and pressing into Draco's pelvic bone as if there was no tomorrow. It was a strange concept that hadn't struck him immediately, but he knew he wanted it, all of it, too much of it, now. His hands were already raking fiercely at Potter's shirt, leaving angry marks over his chest and arms, so it was only too easy to slide a hand down his waist, over his hip, and between his thighs. Harry gasped, groaned, and arched his back so thoroughly against Draco that he nearly lost his balance, having to step backwards to stop himself. Deep, crude laughter rumbled from the back of Draco's throat, and he intensified the motion. But he wasn't satisfied, yet.
"Too much clothing," He whispered, a strangely metallic quality to his voice, his eyes dull with lust. Seeing Harry's dazed look of uncertainty, the blond boy fixed his eyes pointedly on Harry's crotch, before thrusting his tongue into the corner of his mouth and raising his eyebrows. The penny finally dropped, and Harry obligingly moved to unbutton his fly, letting his trousers crumple around his ankles, before seizing Draco's shoulders to pull him into another kiss. Draco, however, still hadn't gotten what he wanted, and pushed the other boy away, earning himself a hurt glare and a soft sigh of protest. He placed his hands on his hips, tilting his head expectantly to one side, and when Harry just gazed at him dumbfounded, he sighed loudly, tugging at the waistband of his own trousers with his thumbs,
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Harry's lips broke into a smile, as he tilted his head back and replied, "Sorry. Didn't realise you were incapable of doing that yourself."
Draco frowned, but before he could show his disapproval, Harry had moved to free him of his trousers, unbuttoning him with unexpected dexterity. Draco closed his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply at the sensation. It took a lot less time for the two of them to strip off each other's underwear, and once that small task had been accomplished, busied themselves again with their frenzied snogging. Draco locked the fingers of one hand into Harry's hair, planting trailing kisses down his neck whilst his free hand slid tentatively around the other boy's cock. He felt Harry's chest hitch against his own, his breath catching in his throat, and lathed his collar bone with his tongue while he began a swift, but gentle, stroking motion. Each movement caused a shudder to run through Harry's body, and Draco laughed into the crook of his neck, before nipping gently and following it with a small swipe of his tongue. He wasn't sure which part of this he was enjoying most: having Potter completely at his mercy, or the soft grunts which escaped the boy's lips every time he tightened his grip. Just as he was getting into his stride, he was caught unawares by Harry's hand snaking around his own cock, and starting to reciprocate in much the same manner, eliciting a deep groan from Draco that he hadn't previously thought himself capable of. 'So this is how you want to play it.' He thought, in his competitive frame of mind once more, and increased his grip. Harry groaned even more loudly, and increased his grip to the same level, which caused Draco a dizzying mix of annoyance and intense pleasure. The dark-haired boy then proceeded to capture Draco's lips with his own, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and nipping softly, and finishing off with a swift flick of his tongue. Draco kissed back energetically, interlacing Potter's tongue with his own, while every nerve in his body felt as if it were on fire.
Much as they would protest the contrary, neither boy had quite enough stamina to keep this frantic pace up for long. Draco's weeping cock jerked painfully with each one of Harry's thrusts now, and he knew he couldn't hold on to his composure much longer. He gasped for breath, a soft mist of sweat standing out against his skin, as he broke their kiss and gave Potter a very meaningful look, biting his bottom lip with the effort of staving off his orgasm. Harry, not quite as dumb as he looked, understood, changing the angle of his wrist so that a new wave of pleasure washed over Draco, causing his adam's apple to bob in his throat, his shoulders tensing and his jaw firmly set. His climax quickly followed, and as he coated Harry's hands in warm, sticky come, a deep, throaty groan vibrating his chest, he made sure to drive Harry over the edge just as quickly, the Gryffindor squeezing his eyes tight shut and shuddering profoundly as he too came very enthusiastically into his enemy's palm. It was all over startlingly quickly. And in the heavy silence that followed, the two boys who had shared so much found it hard to even look at each other. Both opened their mouths to speak at separate intervals, but found that, for once, words escaped them. What could they feasibly say now, that would make any of this alright? Draco cleared his throat, avoiding the other boy's gaze as he spoke, hesitantly,
"Look, Potter, I-"
"-Draco? Is that you?"
Thankfully, they were spared the ordeal of having to speak about what had just happened. A small mercy, in the form of Blaise Zabini, was waiting at the threshold of the classroom door, only just able to see part of Draco's head through the small glass pane, and seemingly undecided about entering the room. Maybe he could sense the uncomfortable aura in the air. Or maybe Draco had trained his friend well, making it very clear in the past that he hated being disturbed. Either way, Draco was thoroughly relieved that he had time to gather his thoughts – and his boxers. He produced his wand with lightning quick speed, muttering a quick cleaning spell over the two of them, and re-clothed himself, while poking his head round the door and saying icily to Blaise,
"Yes, yes, it's me. What do you want?"
"It's urgent. Can I come in?"
Draco panicked momentarily, "No!" He shouted, a little too loudly. Noticing the look of confusion on his friend's face, cleared his throat, before adding, in a much calmer voice, "No... I'll come out. Hang on a minute." He retreated back behind the door, only to see that Potter was stricken to the spot, still semi-naked, his expression braced as if for the worst. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically, looking Harry up and down before hissing, "For God's sake, Potter – button your fly!" He shook his head disapprovingly and left Harry to sort himself out while he emerged out into the corridor to talk to Blaise, leaving the door open a crack in case Potter needed warning to hide himself. Blaise looked over him warily, the hint of a smile on his lips. Draco quirked an eyebrow, trying his best not to betray even the slightest hint of what he may have been up to – not that it was the first time that one of his friends had caught him having sex in an empty classroom. But with Harry Potter? Ugghh.
"What were you doing in there?" Blaise inquired, craning his neck a little to try and look into the classroom behind. Draco automatically blocked his line of vision, though not in a way which was noticeable. He had the art of subtlety in his favour, after all.
"I left an essay in there earlier – but the place is such a bloody tip, I still haven't found it yet." Draco lied, with perfect precision, stopping himself even from blinking. This seemed to have the desired effect, and Blaise moved back, remembering why he had been searching for his friend in the first place,
"You have to get to Snape's classroom, right away."
"Why...?" He asked suspiciously, shoving his hands into his pockets. It wasn't unusual for his head of House to summon him, but he really wasn't in the mood right now.
"The most hilarious thing... someone spiked the healing potions!" Blaise exclaimed, with obvious malicious delight in his voice. Draco was pretty uninterested, but let him continue, "Not only that, but with a love potion, of all things," Now, Draco was interested. Stunned in fact. Could it be...?
"Anyone who was in the lesson has found themselves snogging the nearest person they find! I've been fighting off Pansy all afternoon." The boy was babbling, but Draco was in a world of his own anyway. It couldn't be... and yet, suddenly, everything started falling into place. Blaise was still talking, "When Snape found out, he said we all should've known, really. After all, healing paste isn't meant to smell like bloody vanilla..."
Then it clicked. And Draco couldn't possibly be any more relieved. He realised, just before he had looked at Harry, and had such a – 'charged' – reaction, he had been mentally remarking on what a pleasant aroma his potion had. So that explained everything. He wasn't horny for Potter, hell, he would have been horny for anything after inhaling such a potent potion. And Potter's enthusiastic reaction could only have come from having done the same thing himself – not to mention the way he had practically stalked him down the corridor. Draco found himself smiling even in spite of his usually cool exterior. But Blaise was too pleased with being the bearer of the news to notice,
"Well, are you coming? Snape's dishing out the antidote in his classroom now. Everyone's meeting there. Just make sure you don't jump on the nearest person in the room..." He chastised, grinning.
Draco snapped out of his thoughts, fixing his friend with a dazed look, before his words sunk in, "Yes, yes. I'll be there in a minute. Let me just find this blasted essay..."
"I could help you look, if you li-"
"-No. It's okay. You get yourself some antidote... and don't stand too close to me." He joked, but was fully aware of the irony of the joke, all the same. Blaise grinned, and headed off down the corridor. Once he was out of sight, Draco crept slowly back into the classroom, for a reason he couldn't establish. Perhaps he was worried that a lust-soaked Harry Potter would jump out and try to snog him again. Or maybe he was more worried that he would be the one doing the snogging. As he entered the room, however, he found Harry still stood in the same spot, thankfully completely clothed this time, but with the same look of relief on his face that Draco must've had when Blaise broke the news. Draco glanced contemptuously at him, before motioning out of the room with his head, and snapping,
"Try not to look too bloody pleased, Potter. And come on, the sooner we get that antidote, the better."
Harry snorted softly, but obliged, knocking accidently against Draco's shoulder as he passed out of the room, which caused him to jump about three feet out of the way and blush profusely. Draco shook his head, tutting softly, and commenced leading the way back down to the dungeon, fighting the urge not to have another dig at Potter for being such a post-coital girl. After a few seconds, however, Potter caught him up, obviously dying to break the tension by saying something, and Draco was far too fed up of his company to have the energy to shut him up,
"It's funny, really," He started, causing Draco to mutter 'Bet it isn't...' under his breath, "I'm surprised my potion even worked – Snape took great delight in telling me that mine had been brewed so terribly that it would be far too dangerous to test out on anyone."
Draco chuckled maliciously, always cheered up by discovering a weakness of Harry's, "I couldn't be less surprised, Potter." He also vaguely remembered that his own potion was left unfinished, but he had still inhaled the sweet, pungent fumes. He didn't care about the whys and wherefores, only that he would be getting an antidote very soon, and could blot this whole sorry mess from his mind as soon as it was administered. It seemed Potter was just as eager as him, as the usual ten minute walk to the dungeons only took them a fraction of the time. On entering the Potions classroom, the pair of them were met with a large number of quizzical stares – with good reason. The pair of them were never seen together, except for when they were ready to hex each other into oblivion. And as, slowly, each face turned away, casually losing interest, Draco realised that, to them, this occasion was no different. After all, Potter's hair was even messier than it usually was, sticking out at all kinds of angles from where Draco had been raking it with his fingers, and Draco himself had a rather angry-looking purple bruise across one side of his face, and a bloody nose. For all they knew, he and Potter had just been up to their usual behaviour. Oh, but if they only found out... Draco scarcely expected them to believe it, even if they did.
He and Potter assembled themselves with their respective friends, finally back where they belonged, and turned to Snape, who was stood at the front of the room with a rather large phial of green liquid in his hands. He looked furious. And with good reason. Love potions were banned at Hogwarts – but then again, that didn't really stop people from brewing them, all the same. And the most infuriating thing to the Professor was that, besides forcing Veritaserum down the throat of every student in the room, there was no way of discovering who had been behind it. His hollow, black eyes scanned every student's face, before he spoke, his usual deep, drawling voice thick with malice,
"I trust you are all quite aware why you are here, so I'm not going to waste anyone's time by discussing what transpired in my lesson today. Just remember these simple facts, children. One: love potions, in any degree of potency, are banned from this school. The result of being discovered as the culprit behind this pathetic prank? Wave your education goodbye." The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face, before he continued, "Two: you may think you have escaped this potion's effects, but often, the target of the drinker's affections does not become clear immediately – which is why I have brewed this antidote. Simply drink a spoonful, and you will find your symptoms disappear in a matter of minutes."
Draco couldn't stop himself from appearing immensely relieved at this. But, thankfully, so did the rest of the class - besides Pansy, who seemed to have enjoyed chasing Blaise around for the past hour or so. He smoothed down his cloak absent-mindedly, awaiting Snape's next instructions. But the Potions professor hadn't finished speaking. He held up a finger for silence to the muttering hoard of students in front of him, and delivered his third and final point,
"And three: If you didn't test your potion on a patch of skin at the end of the lesson, there's no need to take the antidote. Only those who tested their potion will have procured its symptoms. If you do insist on taking the antidote, I can only warn you that there may be some adverse side effects, so I wouldn't waste your ti-"
"-SHIT!" Came a loud exclamation from two sides of the room. Snape, having been interrupted so rudely, cast a disdainful glare at both sources of the shouting, not sure whether to punish the students' lack of manners or their bad language first. So he remained silent, waiting for an explanation from the students in question. Namely: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. The boys were glaring at each other, their expressions only describable as panic-stricken. Their friends had assembled around them in concern, all wondering what the source of such a loud reaction could be. But all the two boys could do was stare at each other in stunned silence, their bodies rigid with shock.
The source of their sudden outburst? Well, neither of them had actually tested their potions, had they? So what use had they for an antidote? If what they had could actually be cured, at all...