Defiled by xErised

Tricky, tricky, tricky.

Steepling his fingers, he let his gaze drop down the length of the youth's body coolly, appraising him like how an art connoisseur would study a painting to deduce its worth. Slit, dark lanes of calculating red scoured Draco Malfoy critically, taking in his detached and aloof countenance. Draco was dressed completely in black and immaculately-cut clothes with not a single strand of white-blond hair out of place. The eyes of the sixteen-year-old almost on the cusp of adulthood, but just not yet- were half-lidded in deference and focused on the older man's feet.

Lord Voldemort liked what he saw.

Draco's features were elegantly constructed, as refined and chiseled as royalty, his lips bloodless and pressed as thin as the wick of a candle. The blond had conducted himself with a certain distance and dignity, not saying a word, waiting until he was spoken to. Draco's face was a blank slate of neutral painted cream, a pale oval with only a touch of cherry-red in his cheeks giving his nervousness away.

Voldemort tilted his head and straightened his sinuous body, drawing himself up before concentrating his skewering gaze onto Draco's bowed head. He let his breath out in a loud hiss.

"Look at me, Draco, I won't bite," he drawled easily, his long, snake-like tongue rolling the r of the Draco's name enticingly. Draco seemed to tense himself fractionally, his fists clenching slightly, before he lifted his head, locking eyes with Voldemort. The boy's grey, diamond-bright eyes were alight with missionary fervor, sparkling like polished crystal.

Promising, very promising.

"Are you a virgin, Draco?" His question, colder than stone, was snapped out as fast and hard as a crack of a whip, and Voldemort's glacial, relentlessly deep gaze immediately sharpened on Draco, scrutinizing the effect that his controversial and unexpected question had on the boy.

"No." Draco's reply was swift and sure, his voice crisp, impersonal and as sharp as cut-glass.


"Who did you give your virginity to?" Voldemort chose his words carefully, planning them out with accurate precision in his razor-sharp mind, with the correct inflection and appropriate tone, all rehearsed meticulously to gauge the boy's reaction.

This time, Draco took a bit longer to reply. The blond's jaw tightened behind his polite veneer, and he shifted his gaze slightly from Voldemort's eyes. His blush, originally the shade of pale pink sugared almonds, gradually deepened to rose. Licking his lips, Draco's answer was slightly quieter and hesitant than before.

"Blaise Zabini."

Well, that does make things slightly easier.

Voldemort's lips quirked up into a bleak, dangerously intent smile, his pillaging, crimson eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Your task, Draco, is to take Harry Potter's virginity."

The blond's reaction was instantaneous; his upper lip curled in distaste, and his eyes narrowed in hostility, but his lips remained resolutely shut, knowing that it was an order that must be carried out, not a request of any kind.

"Ah, you scoff, my dear boy. But when you deign to delve deeper, it is not as straight-forward as it seems. Harry Potter is a sentimental, idealistic, Gryffindor fool. His virginity is not something that can be so easily obtained. And you, Draco Malfoy, have already presented yourself as his nemesis. Furthermore, you cannot include any sort of magic such as a potion at all, because Potter would not be fully dominated. What makes you so sure that you can touch him, let alone get him to surrender himself to you?"

Voldemort rose from his seat and began to pace the room in premeditated, controlled strides. A touch of scorn underlined his words as he scowled at Draco. The sureness of his actions was almost hypnotic, reeking with authority, causing Draco to feel a powerful gust of adrenaline storming through his veins.

Nagini slithered into the room, her serpentine and long body snaking across the cold marble floor. She threw the blond a withering glance, accessing the situation to deduce whether Draco was friend or foe. Glaring haughtily at Draco, she turned her attention to her master, settling herself placidly at his feet.

"Potter has not been touched before. He is the embodiment of pristine, untainted pureness, the exact opposite of what I am. Think about it, Draco. You will be the one that he will submit to, the one that he will yield to. Can you imagine how unhinged, how exploited, how humiliated he will be when he realizes that he has given up his virginity to one of my men?"

Nagini was now wrapped around his arm, and Voldemort extended a rigid, skeletal hand, stroking his beloved snake with fingers like the enveloping legs of threatening spiders. His words were whispered in a teasing air of a magician, and a small, inhumane laugh spilt forth from his compressed lips at the end of his taunts.

"This assignment requires the manipulation of Potter, exerting authority over every single part of him, namely his body, his mind and his heart, for this to work. You will need to hug this secret to yourself, hide your true emotions behind your smiles in front of him. It's a performance, Draco, a grand performance that requires painstaking deliberation and finesse of every move, every touch and every word. You will own him, Draco. You will have the power to make him crumble from within, destroying him utterly and completely in whatever way that you see fit to." His voice, so carefully controlled, gradually changed. Voldemort was now purring like a prowling panther, liltingly tempting Draco with authority over Harry Potter.

"Prove your mettle and your loyalty to me, young Malfoy. Do not dare return until you have what I hanker for."

With that, Voldemort returned to his seat, turning his wrist to the left. Nagini hissed, bowing her flat head before descending from his arm and gliding towards Draco. She stopped just inches away from the blond, whose wary eyes were darting between Voldemort and Nagini. She lifted her head, her eyes cocked in combat as her forked tongue slinked out smoothly from her jaws.

"It has come to my attention that… family means a lot to the Malfoys. Perform your task well, Draco, if not… an accidental flick of a wand when dear Narcissa brings my tea out or oh no, perhaps, just perhaps a muttered spell when darling Lucius' back is turned. Know where your allegiances lie, Draco. If not… you might face a future fraught with nothing but nightmares and pain, or maybe something even worse…" Voldemort trailed off delicately, his words dripping with silky iciness and rife with danger.

As if on cue, Nagini jerked her gleaming head up, her body undulating dangerously while she moved slightly towards Draco, snarling and baring her sharp, deadly, venom-tipped fangs threateningly at him.

"I understand, my Lord," the blond acquiesced obediently, dipping his head towards the other man. "May I ask a question, my Lord?" Lifting his eyes up to Voldemort for permission, Draco continued.

"How would I know if I've… dominated Potter?"

"Ahh… I almost forgot," Voldemort replied, smiling a smile that didn't really reach his eyes. Extracting his wand from his robes, he waved it with a lazy grace. Draco gasped; both in surprise and discomfort as he felt something like strings loop themselves around his cock. Balling his hands up into fists, Draco could feel another string wrap loosely around his heart, but it wasn't as tight as the one between his legs. He knew that these constraints weren't physical binds, but magical.

"You will know when you have succeeded, Draco," Voldemort whispered ominously, before getting up and turning his back, dismissing the boy. Draco ran his tongue over dry lips, a sliver of uncertainty hovering in his eyes while he bowed somberly one last time to Voldemort and retreated.

Let the game begin.

He normally wouldn't go near saint fucking Potter with a bloody pole. The brunette was short, with lanky, gangly limbs that didn't suit him at all, always with that ghastly pair of glasses hanging askew on his nose with completely no sense of style.

And don't get me started on that disgusting head of hair, exactly like a bloody bird's nest.

After six years of conflict, Draco knew that every emotion that Harry felt was etched so clearly on his face, don't you know, Potter, that when everyone knows how you're feeling, they can use you in ways that your plebeian, pathetic mind cannot grasp- wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Draco Malfoy had nothing but contempt and disdain for the other boy. The blond had concealed the turmoil churning in his stomach during the exchange with the Lord, his pride biting like shoes three sizes too small. He recalled how the deep swirl of excitement, the delicious thrum of anticipation had given way to knots of apprehension and disbelief when the Dark Lord finally divulged Draco's task.

Harry sodding Potter. That lowers my standards to abysmal levels, Draco glowered darkly. But that was what Lord Voldemort wanted, and that is what he will get. The lives of his parents hung in the balance, and Draco would be damned before he let Voldemort lay a single finger on them.

Licking his lips, Draco dipped the nib of his quill into his inkwell, marshalling his thoughts as the windmills of his swift mind whirred frantically. He had to figure out a flawless scheme that would run smoothly with absolutely no hitches at all, weaving a litany of shameless lies around him. Draco's legs were like lead, his mouth full of acid while he leant his heavy head on his hand, his quill hovering near the parchment, ready to outline whatever dastardly plan that he figured out.

He could not expose his ulterior motives to anyone at all, not even the other Slytherins. This conspiracy of deception and subterfuge revolved around him, and him only. The tactics that he had to use would employ every sleight of hand, every sneaky trick in the book that Draco had picked up. Anxiety accumulated in his chest one grain at a time while he skimmed through the Dark Lord's words.

"…sentimental, idealistic Gryffindor fool-"

A Gryffindor prides friendship, trust, affection, faith above all others-

"…a performance, a grand performance-"

-exactly what a Slytherin abhors with passion. A Slytherin hides his true intentions with a honeyed smile and a bloodied dagger behind his back, lies as light as air tumbling out oh-so-easily from their mouth.

"…one that he will submit to-"

Draco would have to swindle and cajole his way into Harry's life, changing Harry's perception of him. To do that, the blond knew that he had to understand Harry as well as the back of his own hand. As if a thunderbolt had struck him, Draco gritted his teeth and dipped his quill in ink again. He began to list down the characteristics and personality traits of the Gryffindor, underlining those that Draco could use to his advantage, and circling those precarious ones that might give him away.

"… exerting authority over his heart-"

Draco's quill was speeding over the parchment now, words forming as fast as wildfire.

What is the one emotion that Potter prizes? The one that he clings to desperately, the one that saved him from Voldemort all those times? This was the crux of the issue; this was the one that Draco had to make the focal point of his plan. This feeling that makes rational thoughts irrational, coloring every single thing in your life. This sensation that swallows you whole, tearing you apart from the inside if it spun out of control.

A squiggle of apprehension wormed its way through Draco's stomach.

Oh God.


The Gryffindor yawned widely, stretching his body like a cat. Today's Quidditch practice was one of the best; Harry could see that his team was gelling together properly with each swerve and turn, moving like a well-oiled machine and racking up points like there was no tomorrow. He had stayed back a bit later after practice today to work on some Quidditch maneuvers, and he was confident that Gryffindor would beat Ravenclaw for the upcoming match.

Grinning happily to himself, Harry began to make his way back to the Gryffindor Tower to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He threaded and wove through the many corridors of Hogwarts, his path lit by the soft stream of shimmering moonlight that shone from the sky.

Suddenly, Harry tilted his head in surprise when he heard low voices in a nearby classroom. Wrinkling his brow questioningly, he crept stealthily towards the room, silently opening the door a mere slit.

Oh fuck.

Draco Malfoy was on top of Blaise Zabini, fucking the life out of him. Blaise was on all fours on the teacher's table, his chocolate-colored limbs quivering in agitation. His head was hanging and lolling unsteadily, tendrils of liquorice-black curls swinging limply. Blaise's long fingers were hooked and scrabbling weakly on the edge of the table, his elbows jerking slightly due to the force of Draco's fucking.

Draco's thrillingly taut forearms were visibly vibrating with ardor; strands of dislodged blond hair flopping weakly over his forehead with each hard thrust. Harry caught a tantalizing glimpse of pink tongue between thin, pale lips, and the brunette could feel his own erection harden significantly, undiluted lust thrashing in his blood.

"Fuck, Draco, fuck, want it harder-"

"I know how much you want it, you fucking slut-"

"Don't stop, oh yeah, fuck-"

This was a visually delicious treat, an unexpected exotic feast that saturated the senses, and Harry drowsily savored the scene in front of him, his dazed green eyes large and drawn like magnets towards both Slytherins. The contrast of Blaise's dark skin clashing violently with Draco's beautiful alabaster's body was aesthetically pleasing, steeping Harry's excitement levels to insane heights. The Gryffindor's hormones were rampaging out of control at the filthiness and obsceneness of it all, and Harry drank the sight of it in greedily. Each hitch of breath, each restrained cry and each hiss of pleasure was magnified ten-fold in Harry's ears, and the brunette closed his eyes, relishing the sounds. The scent of sex wafted temptingly in the air, and Harry could almost taste the delectable, salty tang of sweat.

Biting his lip urgently, Harry let out a soft moan out of the corner of his mouth and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't, because those two boys were so fucking hot-

God, I'm watching Draco Malfoy fuck Blaise Zabini and I'm enjoying it.

Abruptly, Draco's head snapped up, hooking his gaze instantly onto Harry's intense green eyes, which were half-lidded and swimming in wantonness and hunger. Harry was frozen into sheer immobilized terror, every molecule of his body on high alert. Draco's eyes were a blood-thirsty silver fire, literally frazzling Harry's eyeballs, giving heated looks of unequalled desire, boring right through Harry's sexed-up brain. The brunette moved his tongue, wanting to explain, but it was dry and heavy like a block of wood. His face burnt in shame, and Harry's stomach squirmed, launching into a wave of self-disgust and mortification.

Slowly, Draco's lips turned up into an unmistakably triumphant smirk and his eyes narrowed in undisguised pleasure. The blond jerked Blaise's head up roughly before letting his lips descend ruthlessly onto Blaise's. His tongue was like an unsheathed silver dagger, hot, sudden and quick, sliding smoothly between Blaise's pearly-white teeth, pillaging the other Slytherin's mouth.

we can do it fast, we can do it slow-

And all this time, Draco's unblinking and unwavering gaze was lasered remorselessly into Harry's eyes, as though he was the one that Draco was kissing so devastatingly.

baby I've got something for you-

Swallowing quickly, Harry swiftly looked down to his shoes when Blaise emitted a loud cry as he came hard onto the table. The Gryffindor's knees were trembling uncontrollably like whippets, and he had to summon every inch of self-control not to take his own cock out and jerk himself off there and then.

"Draco, I know you're going to come, please-"

"Oh yes-"

Like a little boy scared of a horror show, but still wanting to watch it, Harry hesitantly lifted his eyes towards Draco. The blond's plundering glare clamped onto Harry, never shifting and Harry gasped softly in sheer shock when Draco's lips formed Harry's name while he came in Blaise.

tell me what you wanna feel, tell me what you wanna do-

But it was more than enough; Harry could feel that tight, scraping feeling of self-loathing and treachery catching up to him. Turning sharply on his heel, willing valiantly for his erection to subside, Harry fled.

Harry Potter is innocent.

But not anymore.


Blaise was breathing deeply, feeling the ebbing waves of his orgasm taper away regretfully. Draco, however, was already zipping his pants up, running his fingers through his tousled hair.

"Same time tomorrow?" the brunette asked as he reached for his underwear.

"No, I don't think so. I've had enough," Draco replied perfunctorily with a terse smile.

Blaise raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. The blond picked up his wand, letting his eyes sweep over the length of Blaise's naked body in disappointment. He marveled at the expanse of gleaming coffee-colored flesh, the powerful, rippling muscles, those gorgeous shoulders…

And to give up all of that, and settle for Potter's scrawny body. What a bloody waste.

"See you at the dorms," Draco muttered darkly before stalking out of the room.

Blaise pursed his lips curiously. He had noticed a few changes in his friend ever since the beginning of the new school year, the way Draco kept to himself, the way Draco didn't show such a huge interest in Quidditch anymore, how sometimes during meals he would find the blond's attention wandering absently over to the Gryffindor table.

Blaise had gently tried to ask Draco about it, but each time he did, Draco simply ignored him. And now this… cessation of sex.

But the brunette knew better than to pry into Draco's private affairs.

Oh well, he thought flippantly as he dressed. Such a shame, though. Draco was so good in bed.

The first letter came during breakfast two days after he saw both Slytherins having sex.

Blinking and swallowing his mouthful of cornflakes, Harry opened it gingerly, holding the letter down to his lap shiftily so that Ron and Hermione couldn't see it. There were no names at all in the letter, but Harry immediately knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it was from.

"I didn't know you were the sort that liked to watch."

Draco's eyes, as sharp as switch-blades, swiveled over to Harry, studying the Gryffindor over his goblet of orange juice. He saw the brunette blush a brilliant red, before lifting scandalized eyes to Draco. Scowling angrily at the blond, Harry tore the letter up into pieces.

The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference.

Draco couldn't help but smirk into his orange juice.

He waited three more days, letting Harry stew and flounder in confusion and turmoil before he sent the next letter.

"I wonder if you're thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you."

Draco had purposely selected this sentence to steer Harry away from the overwhelming images of sex, and maybe instill some sort of… light romance into the fray. Upon reception of the letter, Harry's eyes had widened into saucers, a soft tinge of pink flushing his cheeks. Draco had gazed serenely at the brunette, resting his chin on the crook of his curved palm and pasting a small, sweet smile on his face.

Draco saw the Mudblood and the Weasel exchange a concerned look. Granger touched Harry's arm lightly and asked the brunette a question, her eyebrows knitted in slight worry. Harry only managed to flash them a brief, non-committal smile, assuring them that everything was alright. Draco caught a fleeting movement underneath the table, and he knew that Harry had hidden the letter.

Harry Potter values friendship.

But even the best of friends keep their dirty little secrets from each other.

Each word that he had penned was turned over meticulously in Draco's mind a thousand times for maximal shock value. Draco had chosen to kick-start his plan with nothing but raw, passionate sex, something so foreign and delicious to Harry so that Draco was completely sure that Harry had been thinking about nothing but sex. And now, the presence of the letters would reinforce Draco's dominance, how Draco took the first step in approaching the other boy. Harry's reaction to Blaise and him fucking and the letters was perfect and exactly how Draco had predicted it to be.

Draco would give Harry a total of one week to breathe and simmer in his own niggling thoughts before he struck again. This next step was the most important of them all; it would test every ounce of Draco's play-acting and histrionics. If he fucked it up, he could kiss his parents goodbye.

This time, he would take no prisoners.

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he ran a hand through the black chaotic swirls of his hair. He took a step, but paused and took three steps back. He stood a short distance away from the classroom where he had stumbled on Blaise and Draco exactly one week before, an impending sense of déjà vu descending on him.

He couldn't stop thinking about the two of them, as though his mind was stuck on replay, rewinding that particular heart-stopping scene. Recently, his dreams had careened off to dangerous territory: he kept fantasizing that he was the one that was writhing in desire under Draco Malfoy.

And he didn't like boys.

No, he definitely did not like boys, Harry inwardly muttered to himself, trying as hard as he could to suppress his erection. Dragging his fingers through his unruly fringe, the Gryffindor exhaled sharply, resolutely moving forward and cracked the door open.

The classroom was empty.

Harry Potter is curious.

But sometimes, curiosity kills.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry tried to ignore the way his cock wilted disappointingly. He gently closed the door and turned around, ready to return to the Gryffindor dorms-

-and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

The brunette gave a terrified yelp and shrank back, his back flattened against the door and his route of escape blocked by the ruthlessly advancing blond. Harry's toes were bent double with embarrassment. Within a matter of seconds, Draco's long, lanky figure was only a mere teasing inch away from Harry's shaking body. The Slytherin's palms were slammed loudly on the door, his strong, sinewy arms locked near both sides of Harry's head. A bony knee was nudged unceremoniously between Harry's parted thighs, and the brunette had to stifle a gasp.

Draco's pale, thick lashes were lowered suggestively over slit grey eyes, a sly, cat-like smirk reposing on his lips. He was wearing a thin, white shirt that was transparent enough to reveal the darker shadows of his nipples, and Draco's legs were encased in a pair of black pants that was skin-tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Harry's erection was back with a vengeance.

Harry swallowed nervously, but he squeaked in surprise when Draco twisted the door open, manhandling Harry into the room. Flinging the door close with a hard backwards swing of his leg, Draco pushed an astonished Harry brutally up against the blackboard, the length of both their bodies pressed thrillingly against each other. Draco suddenly gave his hips a sharp jerk, and Harry felt their erections rub tantalizingly together. The brunette couldn't help but moan, grabbing tufts of blond hair at the nape of Draco's neck.

Harry's nerves were jangling, his palms moist with sweat, and he abruptly felt that his breath was constricted. The unfamiliar, alien vanilla scent of the other boy invaded his nostrils, and Harry's entire body was awash with sensational heat, sweeping him away to the abyss of lust and desire, their hips brushing, arms wrapped around each other, hard cocks scraping, foreign lips on his neck, sucking, biting, licking, fucking-

this may not last but this is now-

"I'd take you on any time on my own. Tonight, if you want," Draco rasped out, hot breath ghosting over Harry's collarbone. His voice was like rich, decadent chocolate, his words, which were laid on thick, were flowing smoothly and seductively like the sweetest honey, Draco's every touch leaving cloying, bitter-sweet welts bubbling away unexpectedly on Harry's skin.

Harry couldn't reply; every fibre of his being was being clutched in the remorseless grip of lust. The air was crackling with electric current, their warm bodies magical with desire. Finally, the fact that this was Malfoy finally caught up into his hazy and muddled brain. Summoning up the last vestiges of his resistance, Harry planted his palms on Draco's shoulders, pushing the blond away from him.

Defiant emerald melded hotly with calm, grey silver as both boys glared at each other. Draco's eyes were glowing predatorily like Galleons, the whites of his eyes gleaming hungrily in the darkness.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco whispered tauntingly, his lips curving up into a superior smirk that held a hint of a challenge. Harry was suddenly reminded of the jeering and insults that his friends and him had suffered under Draco's sharpened tongue. Snatches of the mocking conversations that both boys had exchanged throughout the years washed over Harry, crashing over him like a brutal tidal wave. Matching the intensity of Draco's glare with his own, Harry leaned in, his upper lip curling in battle. Hostility rose up in his throat in waves, his neurons fizzing with maliciousness, aggression and bitterness pumping in his boiling blood like a storm.

Harry Potter gets angry easily.

But only if you know how to push his buttons.

"You wish, Malfoy."

Draco snorted derisively. "You wait, I'll have you." With that, the blond swooped down on Harry like a hawk, their biting lips mashing together audaciously, both their front teeth banging painfully against each other. Their tongues were doing a mating dance, vying for dominance. Neither was willing to give in to the other, until Draco lifted a hand up, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and jerking the other boy's chin up. Taken back by surprise, Harry moaned, powerless to resist, letting Draco's tongue slip easily between his teeth.

if you wanna go higher, get closer to the fire-

Draco smiled inwardly to himself as he felt whatever little dominance that Harry possessed crumble into fine dust. Lightning streaks of desire were darting like fireflies through Harry's body. The spiraling sensations of heat and sex churning in Harry increased of their own accord, as though his body recognized a fantastic lover even if his mind denied it.

All of a sudden, Draco pulled away, breaking the kiss. His lips were plump, swollen and blood-red. Draco's eyes were alight with the triumph of sexual possession, a victorious grin on his face, searing Harry with his unblinking gaze.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?"

Harry gulped. His scattered thoughts refused to thunder back into his foggy brain. He didn't know what to say or what to think. Was he supposed to be angry or confused or horrified or pleased? The only thing that filtered through his smoky mind was that Draco Malfoy was a bloody good kisser.

The Slytherin stared at Harry for a while more, his streaky blond hair falling over his forehead helplessly. Harry watched in amazement and consternation while Draco seemed to deflate before his very eyes like a pierced balloon. Every strong line of his pale face, every springy wave of his hair collapsed, and the remnants of bravado in his demeanor faded. Draco slumped down hopelessly into a chair, his once-proud and handsome exterior and lazy confidence shriveling up like a prune. Draco's lips, which were once the color of perfect raspberry sorbet, were now drained and bloodless.

Letting out a longing sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Draco cast a worried, troubled gaze onto Harry. His shoulders sagged with the admission of defeat. There was a catch in his voice when he murmured, his voice quivering with emotion.

"I-I'm doing it all w-wrong, aren't I?"

Harry was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. The wheels of his mind refused to spin, and he could only stare in shock at this Draco that he had never seen before, this Draco who looked so small and pitiful.

Harry Potter has a hero complex, which can bring untold fame and glory.

But it can also be his downfall.

"I f-fancy you, Harry. I shouldn't have kissed you so roughly, I'm s-sorry, but I, I just- I, oh, please," Draco whispered softly, his voice aching with need as he pressed the heels of his palms on his eyes, leaning his elbows heavily on his thighs, dislodged alabaster hair dangling weakly, the absolute picture of despair.

Harry wanted to run away and never return, but his feet seemed to have been hammered to the floor. This… admission, as sudden as a bolt of the blue, was something that he would never have expected at all. He's Malfoy, he's a Death Eater's son, it's a trick, it's nothing but a trick, he's acting! Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he cleared his throat before spitting out venomously.

"You're mad, Malfoy."

Draco swiped at his face roughly with the back of his hand, lifting up his face to gaze forlornly at Harry. His long-lashed eyes, which were oh-so-sure and flirtatious just minutes ago, were now round and defenseless like a puppy's.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me! But I had to tell you, I had to! Don't think that I haven't noticed how… tense and disconnected you feel when you're with Weasley and Granger, it shows during mealtimes and classes! Maybe, maybe all you need is someone to talk to!"

"And so, you're trying to comfort me simply out of the pureness of your heart? You're a Death Eater's son, I don't bloody believe a single word that comes out of your mouth!" Harry snapped back, his lips turned up into a sneer as he advanced towards the blond, his body tensed to iron hardness. This was comfortable, familiar territory. Draco would insult Ron and Hermione, and then Harry would reply with an equally scathing comment about Draco's family. Harry had gotten used to their verbal sparring matches, and he refused to think about how weak and forsaken Draco looked. His green eyes burning through his curtain of fringe, he glared at Draco, expecting the blond to reply with an acerbic come-back.

The Slytherin let out a distressing sob, and his head hung just a little bit lower, his lips turned down just a little bit more pathetically, his hands trembled just a little bit more, and when he spoke, Draco employed just the right amount of stutter and stammer.

"H-Harry, it's… it's so easy to fall in love with you." broken whisper, dripping with silent anguish-

All the gumption was suddenly knocked out of Harry as though a fist was slammed into his solar plexus, replaced with a hot, seething mass of incredulity and suspicion. Running a hand through his hair, Harry could only blurt out unthinkingly, his voice ascending on a hysterical upward spiral.

"But I'm not in love with you!"

"I know, Harry! I'm not asking for that right now! I'm just asking you to… give me a chance…" Draco trailed off morosely, a soft cloud of pink colored graciously onto his cheeks. The blond quickly stood up, padding over to Harry, passion evident in the core of his being.

"Please," the blond murmured beseechingly into Harry's ear, a guileless smile on his lips. Draco's pale fingers were gently stroking the side of Harry's face in a hypnotizing manner, caressing the brunette's cheekbones and his petal-soft skin. Gently sweeping Harry's hair away, Draco lowered his head, pressing a loving kiss onto the Gryffindor's temple in an intimate gesture.

God, no one has touched me like this before, Harry thought drunkenly as he inadvertently lifted a hand up, wrapping his fingers around Draco's elbow, a sensation like the sweet tinkling of bells resounding in his stomach. Draco Malfoy, Draco, Malfoy. Yanking himself out of Draco's embrace, Harry ruthlessly pushed the blond away.

"Leave me alone!"

With a terrified and confused look etched on his face, a bleary-eyed and foggy-brained Harry fled the scene once again.


The persona I don't mind trying on someone else, changing my disguise- that he had donned so skillfully like a coat gradually slipped off. Draco sighed weakly, collapsing back on a chair. He had tapped onto his large repertoire of emotions, schooling his features so precisely and carefully to achieve maximal effect. He felt as wrung out as a rag doll, weaving his conscientious and fragile web of lies and deceit around himself like a cocoon.

Tonight's goal was to toss Harry into a whirlpool of emotions, throwing Harry completely off-kilter. The seed of doubt at his two best friends was planted, but Draco would be surprised if that took root. The three Gryffindors had gone through thick and thin together, and Draco knew that he didn't have the power to sow discord amongst the trio. It didn't matter much anyway, that wasn't a major part of his scheme.

All Draco needed was to allow a chink of weakness through his hard carapace of a personality, and it was more than enough to let Harry have second thoughts about his nemesis. A cold surge of elation shot up in Draco's stomach when he recalled the look of irresistible confusion on Harry's face, the way the brunette liked to believe the best in everyone, the way Harry almost gave into Draco's longing caresses that were in actual fact dripping with the sincerity of a prostitute's kiss.

I can't believe I kissed Harry Potter. Merlin, I better brush my teeth twice tonight, Draco sniffed disdainfully, the ever-present knife of dislike twisting in his gut. Grinning suddenly to himself, Draco closed his eyes and remembered how Harry had surrendered during the kiss, and how Draco had bit the other boy's lips, drawing miniscule amounts of metallic blood.

You can't use what you can't abuse.

But the stage was set; this was mind-fucking at its best.

You're dead, Potter.

Harry looked miserably at the six flowers that were lying innocently on his bed. Every single day during breakfast for the past six days, Draco had relentlessly owled a flower to Harry. With every flower sent, a small note accompanied it, stating the place where Draco would be every night at eleven pm should Harry choose to meet him. The message was crystal-clear:

I'm not giving up.

Harry tried to pretend that it was all a dream, that there was no way that Draco, his long-time enemy of five years, had actually professed his love for him. But every time he opened his trunk, the place where he hid the flowers, he would cringe slightly, feeling the flowers shoot accusing glares at him. The flowers were exceptionally beautiful, each one magically and intricately designed in different shades of colors.

Harry picked up his favorite one; a rose enchanted with bright red and silver swirls on its petals, but when Harry gently unfolded the petals to peek a bit further in the rose, there was the hidden color of white buried coquettishly between each petal.

It was his favorite flower also because it smelt so delectably of Draco. Lifting the rose up to his nose, Harry felt his heart give a skippety skip of excitement when the syrupy-sweet fragrance of the blond's vanilla scent wafted to his nostrils.

The other flowers were equally gorgeous; there was a daisy which changed its color according to Harry's mood, a sunny, optimistic sunflower that had bright green glitter etched on its petals. Whenever Harry brushed the sparkles off with his finger, the glitter would take mere seconds to re-form.

Harry sighed and looked at his nails, which were bitten down to the quick in nervousness. Running his fingers tenderly over the stems of all six flowers, he carefully bunched the flowers together and replaced them in his trunk.

sparked up, sparked up like a book of matches-

He had made his mind up already; he was going to see Draco tonight. His initial hostility and bewilderment had given way to just plain, neutral confusion, and a teeny bit of flattery.

"H-Harry, it's… it's so easy to fall in love with you."

He couldn't stop thinking about the blond; his body, his lips, his voice, his dominance which turned Harry on to no end. The brunette had always been the leader among his peers, and it was extremely refreshing to take a step back and relinquish the reins, surrendering them to someone else.

Even if he was Draco Malfoy.

Besides, the sooner he saw Draco, the sooner the Slytherin would stop sending the flowers. It was not that Harry didn't like it, but he was quickly running out of excuses to tell Ron and Hermione whenever they breached the subject of the flowers. He didn't know why he didn't want to reveal the whole matter, but he felt that it was something… private that he chose to keep to himself. Ron and Hermione were still too busy trying to hide their true feelings for each other anyway, Harry thought to himself wryly.

Hauling himself up from his bed, the Gryffindor stood up, pulling apart the curtains of his four-poster quietly. He patted his pocket to ensure that his wand was tucked away in his clothes. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, Harry swiftly ran though a list of hexes and spells that he could employ in case he got attacked.

Draco could give him a whole bloody garden, whisper nothing but the most honeyed professions of love to Harry the whole night, but under no circumstances would the brunette willingly meet Draco without arming himself with the necessary wards.

He was Malfoy after all.


Fucking, sodding flowers, Draco thought darkly to himself as he leaned back against the trunk of a tree beneath the cover of the skies. Crossing his arms huffily over his chest, Draco directed a scowl to nothing in particular. The cool night air was sweet, still and warm. A huge pale moon hung contentedly in the velvety black sky, casting its trail of milky light on the blond. Thin, wispy scraps of clouds floated gratifyingly in the sky. Around him, the trees rustled peacefully in the gentle breeze.

God, how Draco wanted to stuff the flowers down Potter's throat and choke him to death. He had spent so much time in the library working out the spells and wand-work necessary to conjure up the enchantments on each plant. Draco also had spent countless, tedious hours re-working and repeating the spell of each flower to get the perfect, desired effect.

Glancing down at his arms, Draco lifted his inner left forearm up to the moonlight. Narrowing his eyes, he squinted at his skin, studying every inch, ensuring that every trace of the Dark Mark was hidden. The Malfoys were prized with translucent, pale skin, but it proved to be a problem when Draco had tried to conceal the Mark. He had to use a complex concoction of spells to mask the tattoo, and on top of that, he had to apply selective amounts of Muggle make-up to hide and blend any possible shadows of the Mark on his alabaster skin.

He better turn up soon, if not I might just push him up against the sodding wall and rape the life out of him.

But Draco knew that that wouldn't work. If he did that, he definitely would not be dominating Harry's heart.

But it was a bloody good thought, though.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps advancing towards him. Blinking and giving himself a mental shake, Draco straightened up, ready to execute Act Two of his performance.


Harry's clammy palm was gripping his wand tightly while he made his way gingerly towards the Slytherin. Wobbling a bit unsteadily on his feet, Harry sat down beside Draco. The brunette tensed himself fractionally while he gazed at Draco, drinking in this shimmering blond beauty. Draco's pale-lashed eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and Harry let his gaze drop down surreptitiously to Draco's delicately fashioned arms, which were completely relaxed and exposed. Biting his lip, Harry shifted his position slightly, craning his neck at awkward angles to see if there was any hint of the Dark Mark on Draco's left arm. He knew that the Dark Mark was a powerful sort of Dark Magic, and if one simply uses concealing spells, remnants of the Mark would still show through the disguise.

Harry Potter is wary.

But wariness can be thwarted by perfect lies.

Draco's arm was an even, perfect shade of cream.

Relaxing slightly, Harry leant back onto the tree trunk. Very slowly, Draco inched his hand towards Harry, tentatively wrapping his fingers around Harry's wrist. The brunette froze at the contact, but didn't pull his hand away. As though Harry had given him the green light, the blond tenderly laced their fingers together.

"I don't trust you, Malfoy," Harry said bluntly, bringing up his wand just a mere inch, pointing it at Draco. The blond smiled serenely, lifting grey and glittery eyes up to Harry. Draco's fingers started to move, lightly stroking Harry's smooth fingernails.

"May I kiss you?"

The Gryffindor was completely taken back. He had expected Draco to retort with some sort of sarcastic reply, but…

"I, er, uhm, well, yeah," Harry muttered as he lowered his eyes down to the ground shyly, his cheeks a flaming red. Draco smiled as he dipped his head down to Harry, cradling the brunette's face in his cupped palms. Harry felt that rush of affection and pleasant surprise quicken, electrifying every nerve ending. His skin was hyper-sensitized, magnifying Draco's every touch to unbearable heights.

when you gave me that kiss it made me go oh-oh

It was like suddenly discovering a new taste, a new flavor that Harry had never tried before. Unguided missiles zoomed frantically all over his body, and he could feel his resolve disintegrate helplessly when the kiss, as sweet as powdered sugar, rhythmically deepened. He could feel the warm butterfly touch of Draco's fingers wandering purposely over his face, smoothing back riotous curls of black hair and the backs of Draco's fingers stroking his cheeks lovingly. The blond's arms snaked down to Harry's waist, where Draco stealthily disarmed Harry's wand from his limp, distracted fingers.

oh, if only you knew, Harry-

that that was nothing but-

the perfect Judas kiss-

Harry pulled away, swallowing lungfuls of much-needed air, trying to clear his mind and assemble his thoughts. It was a strange sensation when he broke the kiss, as though he was released from an enthralling spell. He felt his senses click back into place, making him conscious again of sound, color and movement as his vision sharpened on Draco. Astounded, soft grey eyes were crinkling in delight, and his pale face showed the slightest hint of rose under the moonlight's caress.

The brunette carded his fingers through his hair and swallowed nervously. Wringing his hands anxiously in his lap, he felt the subsiding warm glow of the kiss spread to his very fingertips.

"I know you don't trust me, Harry. All I'm asking for is one chance," Draco pleaded, tucking a finger under Harry's chin and lifting the other boy's bashful gaze.

Harry basked in Draco's warm admiration, getting lost in the blond's relentlessly deep grey orbs, and the brunette could almost see the smattering of stars dancing playfully in Draco's eyes. Pulling the Gryffindor closer to him, Draco bent down, pressing a precious necklace of kisses around the base of Harry's throat.

"What… what does this mean?" Harry whispered disbelievingly, feebly resting his head on the slender curve of Draco's neck, wrapping his arms around the blond. His defenses were completely annihilated and Harry's wand, which he had held so threateningly a mere few minutes before, was already forgotten and thrown haphazardly to the ground.

Draco grinned dotingly, peppering Harry's neck with kisses before replying huskily.

"It means, Harry, that I'm all yours."

A/N: This should be a three-chaptered fic, updated weekly. If you're interested to see how I turn this Romance/Horror story around to a happy ending, stick around.

/secret grin