Eyes as Green as a Fresh-Pickled Toad

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Disclaimer: A short Draco/Harry fic set from Draco's perspective. Just something that's been screaming at me to write for the past two days, while I wait for the fickle muse to help me write the next chapter in Draco Malfoy and the Strickland Case. I own nothing from the world of Harry Potter. Enjoy!

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The boy was small for his age, dressed in baggy clothes, with a shock of spikey black hair and the greenest eyes Draco had ever seen.

There were as green as the grass on the Manor's immaculate lawns after a soft summer rain, or as green as the rings his mother wore, an heirloom from the House of Black. When he walked into the shop, a waft of cool, English-summer air blew in with him, mixed with the scent of chestnuts from somewhere down the street, and the sounds of thousands of voices arguing and laughing and gossiping as they went about their business in Diagon Alley.

Standing on a stool in Madame Malkin's shop, pins stuck in him all over the place while his measurements were taken, Draco Malfoy attempted a smile at the newcomer. This boy looked to be the same age as himself, although smaller than Draco, and with an expression that suggested he was overwhelmed by everything.

As the boy with the green eyes was installed on the stool next to him, Draco Malfoy introduced himself and held out his hand, shaking up the over-long sleeves as he did so.

The boy faced him, those green eyes ablaze, and grasped his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy. I'm Harry Potter."

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With a gasp, Draco Malfoy woke up in the Third-Year Boys dorm. Above him hung a rich, green canopy, and all around him were the snores of his fellow Slytherin year mates.

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Wanna cabbage," Crabbe mumbled from his left.

Draco gave his minion's sleeping form a stern look to tell him what he could do with his bloody cabbage, and then flopped back onto the bed, staring disconsolately up at the canopy.

Why, oh why, did Potter have to haunt his nights as well as his days?

Really it was distinctly unfair. "Why is life out to get me?" Draco wondered aloud.

"Nice fishy," Crabbe opined.

Draco snorted.

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Draco was convinced that Ginevra Weasley knew that he had been the one to send Harry Potter that Valentine in second year. Oh sure, everyone assumed it was her, and she had gladly taken all the blame – or the credit – and Draco had mocked her along with all the rest.

But there was a way that she stared at him as Valentine's approached that year, which was distinctly unsettling.

"Weaslette," she mocked, shoving past her roughly.

She bestowed him with a cool look, as though saying, I know what you are, Malfoy.

"Sure you don't have any more red-headed monstrosities you call siblings coming to Hogwarts any time soon? You're parents finally learned to stop procreating?" he snarled, to cover up his confusion. The thing of it was, though, that he didn't even know what he was.

Not that he would tell his father that.

The Weasley girl's eyes flashed fire and she took a step forward. Crabbe and Goyle made to flank him, but Draco waved them back; he wasn't afraid of a girl, and a Weasley one at that. She continued until she was right up in his face, all lean like a good Quidditch player should be, and a reckless light in her eyes.

"Sure you don't have any more love poetry to write to Harry, Malfoy?" she whispered, triumphantly. "His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad," she quoted, taking malicious pleasure in Draco's widening eyes.

Draco could feel himself pale and cursed every Malfoy ancestor back to the Founders. And every Weasley too. But by the time he had come up with anything to say in return, Ginevra Weasley and walked off, Pansy was looking at him as though he weren't acting like himself, and Draco felt extremely nauseous.

All in all, it wasn't a good time to be the Malfoy heir, so Draco did the only thing to do in a situation such as this; he hid for the rest of the day.

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The first time Draco woke up dreaming of kissing Harry Potter, was the night after Potter had grabbed him outside of the Potions classroom and slammed him up against the stone wall. Draco hadn't even been sure what he'd been saying, he'd just been attempting to get a rise out of the other boy. The summer before, Potter had shot up, and now he was almost Draco's height.

Although, at fifteen, neither boy had a height they could boast of. Weasley towered over both of them.

But there was Harry Potter, bright green eyes burning into Draco's own as he grabbed his arch-nemesis and shoved him back into the stone wall.

"You got something else to add, Malfoy?" he'd demanded, warm breath ghosting over Draco's lips.

Potter was all but pressed against Draco, using his own body as leverage to keep Draco in place.

And it was torture.

Pure delicious torture.

Wiry, seeker's build touched every inch of his body, warmth pooling through layers of clothes and school robes, felt even through the frigid air of the Hogwart's dungeons. Harry's lips were thick and full, panting with his exertion and rage, and so close. So achingly close.

Draco wouldn't have been able to answer Harry even if he could have thought of something to say.

This was becoming a running trend in regards to Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy didn't like it one bit. But if he could just get Potter to move a little closer…..

Draco shifted just the tiniest bit, and felt a jolt like electricity shoot through his entire body. He bit his lip to keep from groaning –

"Mr. Potter, unhand Mr. Malfoy right this instant!"

And then Snape was there, Potter was releasing him, and Draco slumped back against the wall, trying his hardest to school his face back into the Malfoy mask, and feeling as though every nerve ending was one fire.

Potter hadn't noticed a thing.

Draco looked up, hearing Snape issuing a detention to Potter, and met the eyes of Granger, book clutched to her chest, and bushy hair even more untamable than usual. Weasley was staring daggers at the Potions Professor and the rest of Draco's classmates had vanished through the door to Snape's torture chamber known as his classroom.

But Granger was standing there, staring at Draco with a disturbingly knowing light in her dark eyes, and the hint of a surprised smile on her lips.

"Mudblood," Draco told her, sure that he was speaking low enough that Snape couldn't hear, but apparently not.

The gaze he fixed on Draco startled his godson in its rage, and the detention that he issued was the first – and last – one he ever gave to the fair-haired Malfoy scion.

Draco never used that word in Snape's hearing ever again, although he did tell his mother about what had happened. She had looked extremely thoughtful and told him not to tell his father.

It was the first time that Draco realized that Narcissa Black Malfoy might not be in complete accord with her husband, and the first time that Draco felt the effects of the War to come.

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After the War, Draco Malfoy bought a Lamborghini. It was yellow, like a giant bumblebee. Draco named it Bumbledore and took great delight in racing it around and around the M25, wreaking havoc with the Muggle police, and running old people in slow-moving sedans off the road.

Eventually the Aurors were called in and, lo and behold, Potter was among them.

Draco had enchanted Bumbledore to be nigh unbeatable, and it had taken Potter at least half an hour to run Draco to ground. As he had hauled Draco out of the car, bearing him down to the asphalt the Muggle way, Draco had laughed.

"This is the only thing that feels familiar about this world anymore," Draco had told him, still laughing.

Surprisingly they had taken him to Saint Mungo's, and it was only afterwards that Draco learned he'd had a blood alcohol content high enough to given him alcohol poisoning and do serious damage to his liver.

Potter had turned Bumbledore into an actual bumblebee and told Draco he wasn't getting it back. Even after Draco told him that it was named Bumbledore and liked to eat sweets instead of gasoline.

Draco had shrugged, bought a McClaren that he painted green, and named it Snapey.

Snapey was even faster, and definitely meaner, than Bumbledore. This time Potter didn't even bother bringing backup. He came alone and stood in the middle of the highway as though daring Draco to run him over. Snapey made a valiant attempt to finally kill The Chose One, the Haunter of Draco's Daydreams, but Draco prevailed at the last second, and swerved off the road, tumbling end over end until the car was a jumble of smoking metal around him, and Potter was pulling him frantically out of the wreckage.

"God, Malfoy!" he snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Draco cough up a bit of blood but didn't let this phase him. Ah well, still alive then. He shoved Potter off of him. "What the hell's wrong with you, Potter?" he demanded in turn. He attempted to crawl away from what remained of Snapey and could almost hear Potter's confusion. It made him furious.

"Accio!" he snarled, and his wand flew to his hand. He hauled himself up to his feet, not caring that his expensive robes were ruined, he smelled like smoke and gasoline, and Auror Harry Potter was staring at him with his arms folded. The bastard's eyes were still so fucking green.

Draco growled angrily and prodded Potter forcefully in the chest. "Yes! What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?"

When the other man did nothing except bestow Draco with a tolerant look and step back a bit, Draco all but howled in rage and tackled the other man. In between blows he yelled, "You stand here all fucking out together, with your fucking girlfriend and your fucking flat in Islington, and a fucking engagement announced in the Daily fucking Prophet, and you ask me what is wrong?!"

They were drawing a crowd, and Draco could see Ministry personnel arriving to deal with it. Potter wrapped Draco's flailing arms up, twisted until Draco was securely beneath him, and then Apparated them both to Draco's own London flat; an admittedly much grander affair than the papers made out Harry's to be, but also – most likely – messier. Clothing, old food, bottles of gin and vodka and wine, and substances best not named to the authorities, were scattered haphazardly about, and a stale smell hung about the place.

Potter wrinkled his nose.

Draco snorted, and shoved the other man off of him, before stalking off down the hallway to his bedroom. "You've seen me home like a well-behaved young man," he snarled, "now fuck off, Potter."

But Potter didn't go anywhere.

He followed Draco back to his bedroom, grey light filtering in from an English evening, and stared at him in the mirror, green eyes even more confused, as Draco attempted to push the long, pale strands of his hair into some semblance of order.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" he asked, at last, and then immediately held up a hand. "I don't mean right now, I mean in general. What's with the drinking and the cars and the….." he waved a hand at everything around him; Draco's tv and surround-sound system and the shelves of muggle books that covered the walls.

Draco snorted again, "Eloquent as always, Potter," he muttered. "You always did lack observational skills." Aggrievedly he pushed his hair back again, only for it to whisper back down around his eyes.

He raised a hand, but then Potter moved. "Don't," he muttered, reaching out obviously before he'd thought, and softly moving the piece out of Draco's eyes and behind his ear.

Draco froze, forgetting to breathe, head spinning and not only from inebriation and the remnants of his accident. With a frown Potter tipped Draco's chin up, ignoring his grimace, to scan his face. Two quick wand waves later and Draco's superficial scrapes and the ache in his left knee were gone.

But Potter still hadn't released Draco's face. Instead he stared at him intently, with something like curiosity in his face. With what almost seemed like subconscious thought, Potter ran a thumb over Draco's cheek.

Draco tried to take a shallow breath. He could feel his heart pounding, and wondered why Potter hadn't commented on it yet. He attempted to speak, and found that he had to wet his lips first. He watched Potter's green eyes follow the movement and darken with something that Draco couldn't name. "You gonna kiss me now, Potter?" he taunted, voice barely above a whisper.

As Harry Potter's emerald eyes sparked with fire at the challenge, Draco thought, Oh, fuck it.

He hauled the other man hard against him, and pressed his lips to Harry's.

At first he thought he had made a terrible mistake, because Harry froze like a startled deer. Draco pushed him back until Harry's back hit the corner of the dresser, pressing his body flush against the other man's, and ran his tongue across his lips. With a gasp, Harry parted his mouth. His hands were moving spasmodically against Draco's shoulders.

Draco pressed his half-hard erection against Harry's, delighting in the groan that resulted, and then Harry Potter was kissing him back, rough hands twisting, tangling into Draco's hair, wiry, toned body wrapping around his as they both fell back to the bed, legs and arms entangling, fighting each other every step of the way, as each fought for dominance.

Afterwards Draco lay pliant in Harry's arms, not even minding as Harry ran his fingers around and around Draco's dark mark.

"This changes nothing," he told Draco.

But after he had fallen asleep, lids closing over those wonderful eyes, Draco thought defiantly, this changes everything.

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Harry Potter married Ginevra Weasley 6 years to the days since the Dark Lord was defeated. Draco was invited to the wedding.

He didn't go.

He bought another car, a Porsche he named Serious.

Seriously.

Harry Potter and Ginvera Weasley-Potter had three children, and Draco almost smiled when the younger boy was christened Albus Severus.

Draco married a woman his mother had found for him. Astoria Greengrass possessed a Ravenclaw-intellect and an aloof manner to match. She gave him a son, and then divorced him to found a successful business in Wizard Cruises.

Draco Malfoy became head of International Children's Charities, and founded a Potions scholarship to the Scholomance in the name of Severus Snape.

And he waited.

Mostly he waited.

Ginny Weasley gave him cool looks whenever she ran into him. Every once in a while Hermione Granger would ask him out to lunch, and they would talk about work, and she would unsubtly attempt to prod him into making a move.

But Wizards live a long time, and Draco Malfoy had learned patience from his mother, and the art of loving long from his godfather, and he just smiled at her, and offered her another donation for House Elves from the vast Malfoy and Black fortunes.

Besides, Harry Potter had always been a particularly unobservant man.

Even if he did have eyes like a fresh-pickled toad.

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Too short, I know. But I'm exhausted and my family already thinks I'm insane. If there's any interest, I might attempt to lengthen it. Let me know.