Getting It:

"But 'why' do we hate him so much, Draco?"

It was a frequently uttered question and yet more frequently was the answer a resounding thwack to the back of Greg's head, yet he didn't stop asking. He couldn't help himself... he just didn't get it. Greg knew that as Malfoy's loyal sidekick it was his duty to hate Potter because Draco did. He just wished he knew why.

Potter seemed like a perfectly decent sort, nice to people, good at Quidditch and once he even let Greg take the last chocolate frog that time they both reached for it in Honeydukes. Greg was sure it couldn't be just him who saw Potter this way, yet Draco always found something in him to upset him.

'Look at that hair, what's WITH that hair? That hair is SO stupid! Did his mother mate with a muggle toilet brush or something? What is WITH that hair?'

Greg really rather thought Harry had nice hair, true it stuck up quite a bit and never seemed to be combed, but it shone, gleamed really, blue-black like a raven's wing and thick... it looked soft, too. Greg liked soft. So the hair couldn't really be it because Draco had nice hair, too, so surely he'd appreciate Harry's... Maybe it was something else?

'Oh, for the love of Raistlin, what is WITH his clothes? Was he obese before starting here? Did he steal them from a house-trained elephant? Maybe he borrows them from that oaf Hagrid, but come ON, a little style is surely mandatory in my presence... Can't he understand that the very sight of him offends my eyes? What is WITH those clothes?'

Greg had heard that Potter lived with muggles during the holidays, big, fat, nasty muggles who barely fed him and treated him worse than the Malfoy's treated house elves and forced him to wear the very ugly cast offs from his apparently elephantine cousin. All things considered Greg thought he pulled the look off rather well, teaming his over-belted jeans with big woolly jumpers that matched his eyes. He had a cute appeal that Greg couldn't fault.

Draco was now looking daggers at Potter as he leaned casually against the wall outside Potions waiting for class to begin. He was laughing and smiling and privately Greg felt a pang that this nice boy could never be his friend as long as his other friend hated him so much. Draco's lip had curled far beyond its usual sneer that morning, it was verging on a snarl and Greg could almost imagine Draco leaping across the corridor to plunge those perfect white teeth into Harry. Greg shuddered. For some reason he imagined that if he were to share that image with the blond, he might well do it.

"Dr...Draco?" Greg stammered, nervous as Malfoy inclined his head slightly towards him, never taking his eyes off the object of his loathing.

"Yes?" Malfoy hissed, disliking the disturbance of his daily ritual of wishing Harry Potter dead. Greg gulped.

"I... uh... I was just wondering why... again... why IS it you hate Potter so much? I mean, I know he's a Gryffindor, and he said no when you wanted to be friends an' all," Draco's head shot round at this, eyes spitting fury as Greg paled and spoke faster to make his point without injury, "But I don't get just why it is we hate him so much? I mean I know I hate him cos you do, but why do you hate him so much? There are people here with much worse hair and clothes 'n stuff and people who would really like to hurt you or see you hurt more," this was said with a resentful glance at Blaise Zabini, scheming pretender to Draco's crown as the Slytherin's silver prince, "So... well just why, Draco... I just don't get it?"

Draco sighed long sufferingly. "Look, Goyle, if it makes that teensy weensy brain of your's hurt less I'll explain it to you." He turned to face Greg and for a second that seemed to span hours he looked vulnerable and hurt, tired of doing something that no one understood. "I hate Potter because I just do, when I see him there's this burning in my stomach, this ringing in my ears, he's what I think about, when he's in the room he is ALL I'm aware of, the need to just watch everything he does... It makes my stomach clench just passing him in the corridor... I hate him, Greg, because it's all I can do. Now do you understand?"

Greg nodded blankly. "I, I understand that you hate him, boss... I... I just don't get why?"

The last of this politely curious reply was cut off as Draco resumed his position to better watch Potter, snorting as he watched the Gryffindor laugh at something the Weasley boy said. Harry's eyes flashed green across the corridor and Draco hissed slowly through his teeth watching the brunet.

"What is WITH those eyes?" he growled and Greg blinked.

"His eyes, boss?"

"They're so vivid," Draco murmured, his own silver iris' set firmly on the Gryffindor, before shaking his head slightly, voice picking up its usual disdain as he continued, "No... that is, I mean what is WITH those glasses? I've heard that Mudblood offer to fix them or even cure his sight a million times and he always choose to stick with those ugly pathetic things instead. What's WITH that?"

Greg sighed. "I think they remind him of his dad, boss. I heard him telling Granger before."

Draco's eyes shone, brimming with malicious intent, a wicked smile twisting his full lips. "Oh, so those dumb glasses mean something to him do they?" His upper lip distorted itself, his eyes glazing over with fixed intent and Greg gulped. "We'll see about that..." the ice blond breathed.

Pushing away from the wall, Draco stalked across the corridor, moving with ease, a sinuous grace that had no one questioning or expecting him as he suddenly drew close to Harry Potter, eyes blazing with viciousness. He put out grasping fingers, a wide outstretched palm, hoping, needing, wanting to grab those stupid spectacles off his face and grind them into dust before the whining father-loving orphan.

His fingers splayed, ready to tweak and twist and just as one marble digit scraped the cool metal of the frames, he found his hand plunged into darkness, lost in silken strands the same colour as the blackest night, the deepest recesses of his heart... or so he thought.

Harry Potter blinked twin emeralds at his supposed rival in confusion, bewildered by the shocked and trapped expression on the boy's face, his fingers slipping deep into Harry's dark locks. He'd felt something twitching at his glasses and turned his head only to feel those long fingers scraping across his scalp, deeply enmeshed in his hair.

Malfoy trembled visibly, eyes wide with a form of captivated madness that left Harry speechless.

"S...soft," Malfoy stuttered, voice trembling over the small word, fingers tightening in reaction, crushing the silk against his palm and drawing Harry's head down to his own before the brunet had time to even breathe.

Harry blinked as Draco's lips caught and stroked across his own, a sigh drawn from the lighter boy's mouth, but trapped against Harry's, the grey eyes closed as Harry's lashes flickered in surprise still, gazing awkwardly at the too near face pressed close.

A hush fell over the corridor, students and teachers alike stopping to gape at the unforeseen sight of Draco Malfoy clinging to one Harry Potter, a fist clenched in his hair, the other pulling at his shirtfront needfully, trying to achieve greater proximity as his mouth slid and stroked across the stunned, still lips of the shocked Gryffindor.

Harry's arms hung at his sides, book bag clutched in one hand, the other opened and wide, reflecting the morning light, frozen and shaken, halted in its path to straighten the target of Malfoy's assault.

Draco was lost. He could feel Harry's heart beating through his mouth, feel the slight puffs of his strangled gasps around the kiss and chancing to open his eyes, found himself speared by the stunned verdant eyes fixed on his own face.

Draco nipped softly at Harry's lower lip, his every action controlled by the sudden lurching tumult in his chest, whimpering softly, imploringly against the softened, but immobile silk of Harry's mouth.

Harry blinked, once, twice before tilting his head infinitesimally to the side, parting the seam of his lips to taste Draco, a flash of understanding in his eyes before they closed, an almost guttural groan bursting from him before his arms came up, dropping his book bag to crush Draco to him, tongue thrusting deep into the delighted moan of approval he received.

The boys twisted and turned in each others grasp, tension melting from them as they drank in each other's breath and taste, fingers tightening and stroking, bodies shifting, mouths claiming the other's over and over till they gasped, not separating, but swaying dizzily in the embrace.

The corridor looked on, faces slack with shock, silence reigning, only broken by the soft whimpers and pants from the kiss drunk pair until a quick noise echoed.

A giggle.

Then a chuckle.

Then a full-blooded belly roar of delight, laughter bouncing off the walls.

People turned to see Greg Goyle clutching at his sides, eyes wide with mirth and delight. He pointed, finger jabbing repeatedly in the air as he motioned at the impervious love-locked couple.

"I get it!" he crowed triumphantly, "I do... I get it!" He chuckled some more as people turned from him, caught between bafflement and morbid curiosity and Greg beamed, watching his boss whimpering and writhing happily in the Gryffindor's arms.

"I get it," he whispered.

Fin.