[A/N] Warnings: SLASH!!!!!! (If you don't like it, don't read it. It's really quite simple, actually.) WIP
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Summary: Draco was a Malfoy. And Malfoys didn't get crushes and certainly not on boys and most definitely not on their greatest enemy.
Notes: This is my first real fic. There are too many people who have influenced this story to name them all, but basically I've been reading slash for a year and all of the fics I've read will probably have some effect on my ideas. I haven't stolen an idea, or a line, or from anything, but as this story might be just an itty bit cliched, the plot bunnies have probably been used before. Sorry if I used any of yours. Please review ot for me. Please, please, please!
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Harry Potter slowly dragged his hand through his already messy hair and sighed. He picked up his quill and nibbled on the end of it, his eyes wide and dreaming. He stared out the window, clearly enjoying the softly falling snow much more than the lecture. His bushy haired friend elbowed him sharply, and he started scribbling down notes for McGonagall's class with barely concealed annoyance at having his attention drawn away from whatever wonderful thoughts he had been thinking behind those glorious, deep, beautiful, intense, perfect emerald eyes-
Stop it! Draco wrenched his gaze away from Potter. He stopped paying attention to the professor's lesson and instead began repeating his inner mantra which he had made up the first day he saw Harry after the summer vacation, "I hate him. I loathe him. I want to hex him into oblivion. Malfoys do not get crushes. There was no reason why I should be noticing my enemy's, not to mention another boy's, eyes." Much less think that there could be nothing more sinfully perfect than the way the boy's dark lashes brushed against his tan cheek when he blinked. Oh wait, the way Potter was nibbling his lower lip right now could definitely be counted as more sinfully perfect.
Potter glanced around the classroom, catching Draco staring at him. He gave a puzzled frown, and Draco gave him the finger, smirking. Potter rolled his eyes and turned back around, seeming to become absorbed in trying to focus on the lesson. Draco laughed to himself, "Licking your pretty red lips won't help you pay attentio-" Draco interrupted that thought with, "Stop looking at his bloody lips, dammit!" Draco tried to turn his attention back to McGonagall.
I'm not looking, definitely not looking, not looking at all, there is no way I'm noticing the way Potter runs his tongue over his lips, and I'm not noticing how hot he looks in that tight shirt, and I certainly haven't noticed how he grew exactly 3.7 inches over the summer and got that lovely tan, and I haven't noticed that he loo- and oh Jesus he's sucking on his quill!
Draco hurriedly pulled his robes tighter and flushed. He began breathing shallowly as he watched Potter innocently twirl the quill around his tongue. He clenched the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white when Potter slipped a little bit more of the quill into his mouth. Then he let out a sharp gasp as Potter leisurely stretched and Draco caught a glimpse of his hard stomach...
"Mr. Malfoy, are you quite alright?" McGonagall snapped, bringing him out of his reverie.
Draco tried to control his breathing as the entire class turned to stare at him, "Yes, perfectly fine, and yourself?" he drawled out in a fair imitation of his usual sneer. A few of the Slytherins sniggered at their Professor's very annoyed expression.
"Well, in that case Mr. Malfoy, try to control yourself and do not disrupt my class again or you'll be spending the next week in detention. Now, you couldn't possibly tell me the problems involved in transfiguring inanimate objects into animate ones, could you?" she asked him, and it was clear from her expression that she was just itching to deduct points from him.
"Why, of course I could Professor," he said in a syrupy voice, "The problem is that when you let incompetent and bumbling fools like Weasley try to do it, they usually just end up making the objects explode."
His house mates broke out into laughter as Weasley jumped up with a red face. The red-head was pulling out his wand as McGonagall stepped between the two boys,
"Sit down Mr. Weasley. 25 points from Slytherin for that Mr. Malfoy, and be glad it's not detention as well. Now everyone be quiet and settle down, we still have 30 more minutes of class," the irate woman snapped.
Draco leaned back in his chair, deftly ignoring the two goons on either side of him who were complimenting him on his amazing wit. He was very proud of himself; he had managed to infuriate the Weasel while being unable to truly focus since he was simultaneously trying to calm down certain parts of his body which simply were not cooperating. It wasn't even a good insult, rather stupid actually, and Draco cursed the boy who'd distracted him from coming up with insults good enough to use on the Weasel.
Draco's clenched his jaw in anger. What had Potter done to him that now he couldn't even go five minutes without thinking about him? It just wasn't fair; Draco was a Malfoy. And Malfoys didn't get crushes and certainly not on boys and most definitely not on their greatest enemy. Draco glared at the boy who was patting Weasley on the back and slowly soothing him. Draco felt a cold stirring in the pit of his stomach as he watched the two friends talk and smile at each other. But he without doubt did NOT have a crush on the black haired boy.
Stupid fucking Potter.
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Draco jerked out of bed with a start. He quickly pulled his hand out of his pants and broke into a cold sweat. "Oh God, that was wrong. It was not supposed to happen like that," he said to himself. A perfectly nice fantasy about Cho was NOT supposed to morph into a fantasy about catching Harry in the Prefects' Bathroom. No way.
"I must not be getting enough sleep, that's it. My mind is just playing tricks on me, it doesn't mean anything. I do not like Harry Potter. He is a boy. A boy. A scrawny, ugly boy with messy hair and stupid glasses. He is my worst enemy and I loathe him. My mind is just playing trips on me," Draco reasoned to himself and tried to conjure up the image of Cho again, but she stubbornly refused to stop being Harry. Draco growled, and went off to take a cold shower, since that was apparently the only way to banish the boy's face from his thoughts.
As Draco jumped into the frigid stream of water, he wondered if it was at all possible that he might have a crush Harry... No, he couldn't have a crush. It wasn't possible.
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Draco smashed his cup down on the table, startling Crabbe and Goyle. "Would they please stop it already? Honestly, it was just a Quidditch match, and against Hufflepuff too. No reason for them to be getting so touchy-feely. It's disgusting," he sneered to the others at his table. Everyone sitting there agreed with him, but then again, they always did. Blaise gave him a decidedly odd look, however, which Draco tried in vain to ignore.
Blaise looked over to the cheering circle of friends surrounding a boy with messy black hair and the Snitch clutched in his hand, and then back at Draco. Suddenly Blaise said maliciously, "Yes, it is disgusting the way Potter is involved in a huge grope-fest over there. And in public too. Shocking."
Draco looked at the Slytherin sharply. "What's that supposed to mean, Blaise?" he spat out, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks.
Blaise only laughed, "What does it mean to you? I was only just repeating what you said. But I do think it's unusual for them to be... embracing... like this in front of the whole school, usually they do that only in the privacy of their own dorms," Blaise replied innocently.
Draco snarled and stalked out of the Great Hall as Blaise laughed at his retreating form. He didn't get very far though; once outside of the noisy hall he slipped down to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest.
"I can't go on like this," he thought to himself, "I have a... crush... on the Boy Who Lived. A crush! I was the Slytherin god. I was in a different bed every night, and now I can't stop thinking about one person, who also happens to be male. Not only do I have a crush, I'm gay. I'm obsessed. I have a bloody crush. I can't deal with this. Blaise noticed, and Pansy probably will realize soon. And what if Father finds out? No, I can't even think about that. And Harry still hates me. He hates me!" A little sob escaped Draco's lips and he buried his head in his hands, shaking slightly. His chest felt like it was caving in and squeezing the air out of his lungs, and his stomach felt like it was eating itself, twisting his insides into odd shapes. He couldn't even feel his heart anymore; it was so numb from the torture of seeing the most beautiful boy in the world everyday and not being able to be with that boy, and knowing that that boy hated him with a passion unrivalled by any other hatred in the history of mankind. It was more than he could stand. Another shuddering sob wracked his body.
"Um, Malfoy?"
That voice; that was His voice! Draco's head shot up, his eyes trapped in Harry's gaze. Harry shifted awkwardly in the silence. Draco couldn't speak; his heart was beating too fast for him to even begin to think of something to say to Harry. Draco knew he must look pathetic, curled up like this with tearstains on his face. He felt so vulnerable, with the boy who had caused him all this anguish standing over him with what Draco thought might have been concern in his eyes.
Harry tried again, "Malfoy, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
Draco wanted to jump up and whisper, "Because of you!" and then firmly attach his lips to Harry's mouth while sliding his hands under said boy's shirt, but somehow, he didn't think that would be the smartest thing to do at this particular moment. He remembered that Harry hated him and had wished him dead numerous times, and the butterflies disappeared and were replaced by anger and hurt. He tried to put up his defenses against Harry, who, after all, was only going to use this as yet another opportunity to torture him.
"Why the fuck do you care?" he growled, and Harry looked rather shocked. "What are you doing here anyway, get away from me Scarface! Go find someone else to save; I don't need your help," he snapped as he tore his gaze away from Harry and stood up.
"What am I doing here? Malfoy, you're right outside the Great Hall for God's sake! I was only trying to help, jeez," he shot back and turned around hurriedly. He walked away so quickly he was almost running, and as Draco watched him turn the corner he saw Harry bring his hands up to cover his face.
"Probably hating himself for talking to me," Draco thought bitterly and gathered up his books as he walked to the dungeons.
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Draco was walking through the dark halls that night when he heard a noise from outside. He went through the doors listening for any telltale noise that would reveal who was outside at this hour of the night.
There! He heard it again, and strangely enough it sounded like a beater's bat hitting a bludger. He hurried to the Quidditch pitch, hoping to find something that might help him forget about Harry for at least a little while. When he reached the pitch however, he found that his plan of distracting himself had backfired, for there was the boy himself riding a broomstick.
Harry swung the bat again and growled; the bludger sailed off from the force of Harry's hit. Harry went down into a dive, his chest pressed up against the broomstick, which was clutched between his legs.
"Oh," Draco exhaled. Harry...straddling broom... tight pants...wow, tight leather Quidditch pants... Harry... holy shit... impossibly tight pants... straddling his broom... Draco's knees almost gave out as he watched Harry take out his anger on the Bludger. The wind ruffled his hair and Draco longed to be able to grab a handful of that messy hair and crush his mouth against Harry's.
Harry flew to the ground and dismounted, putting the ball back into its box. Draco pulled back into the stands so that he would remain unseen, and then silently followed Harry to the locker rooms.
"Wait, this is wrong. I shouldn't be spying on him. I'm going to go," Draco thought with a feeling of guilt as he hid behind the lockers. He turned to leave. But as he turned he caught a glimpse of Harry slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, fuck leaving," he whispered as he felt himself grow hard. Draco tip- toed back to his hiding place, where he had a lovely view of the raven haired boy delicately undoing the last button of his shirt. Draco's breathing stopped entirely as he took in the sight of his obsession pulling off his shirt.
Harry was slender, but long hours of practicing had been incredibly good to his body, leaving it sculpted and perfect, and Draco longed to taste every inch of it and mark as it his own. He looked at Harry's nipples, slightly darker than the rest of him, and imagined flicking his tongue out against them, and then pulling them into his mouth a sucking on them until he made the other boy moan. Draco imagined trailing his mouth down to Harry's belly-button, and thrusting his tongue into it as he raked Harry's back with his finger nails. He imagined Harry's gasp of pleasure and Harry arching up against his mouth.
Harry put his shirt into this locker, and pushed slightly sweaty hair out of his eyes. He reached down and opened the top of his pants. Draco let out a soft moan, he couldn't help it.
Harry's head flew up and he glanced around warily, "Hello? Is someone there?" he asked. When he didn't hear anything else for a moment, he shrugged and brought his hands back down to the top of his pants. Harry didn't push them off however; he stood there thinking for a minute or two. As he thought he played with the buttons on his pants, unknowingly causing a greatly suffering Draco much distress.
"Come on, Harry... Just take off those damn pants!" Draco thought, fisting his hands in frustration. Almost as though Harry could hear Draco, he chose that moment strip down to his boxers. Draco thought he would faint. The sight of Harry standing before him almost entirely naked was unbelievable. Draco's pants grew even tighter. "Heaven, this is heaven," he decided.
Harry stretched out his stiff muscles, throwing his head back. Draco bit down on his lip hard to prevent another moan from escaping. Harry grabbed a towel and walked over to the showers. He set his towel down next to his shower and turned to shower on. He stood to the side, waiting for the water to get hot. He seemed to remember that he couldn't take a shower in his boxers, which is exactly what Draco had been furiously trying to tell him telepathically.
Harry began to pull off his boxers ever so painfully slowly. Draco bit down on his lip again as a silky black curl became visible. Harry continued removing his boxers at the same intolerably unhurried pace. Finally, after Draco could have sworn he had died, Harry fully removed his boxers and threw them to the side. Draco bit through his lip. The taste of his blood startled Draco, and he almost yelped out loud, but he restrained himself by shoving his fist into his mouth. Draco began to rock slowly back and forth as fantasies of what he would like to do the unbelievably gorgeous creature in front of him played out in his mind.
Harry stepped into the shower and let the water wash over him; he tilted back his head and caught some of the steaming water in his mouth. He let the water rinse away his sweat and Draco could see the boy's muscles relaxing under it. Every moment it became harder for Draco to breathe. His pants shrunk again and became exquisitely painful, rather than simply tight. Harry leaned back against the wall, and brought his hand up to massage his temples.
"Fuck," he said simply in a pained voice. Draco couldn't agree with him more and was about to throw common sense out the window and do just that to the boy when Harry squeezed his eyes shut and a tear rolled down his cheek. Harry angrily wiped it away. He turned and slammed his fist into the wall with a harsh yell. He sunk to the ground of the shower.
"Ow," he whispered quietly as he stared at his bloody knuckles. He wiped away some of the blood. "Stupid fucking Malfoy," he said in the same pained voice as before and another tear fell.
Draco reeled back as though he had been hit. He stumbled blindly out of the locker room, barely keeping quiet. "Stupid fucking Malfoy," repeated endlessly in his head. "He really does hate me. He hates me, he hates me, he hates me," soon joined Harry's voice in his head as Draco's tears left scalding lines on his cheeks.
Draco staggered to his dorm and fell into bed, although how he found his bed he would never know, as all he could think about was how repugnant and vile he must seem to Harry. Harry, who was the hottest boy Draco had ever seen. Harry, whose smile could stop Draco's heart. Harry, the only person he ever thought about. Harry, who hated him. Draco cried himself to sleep.
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[A/N] Well, that was my first chapter. The next one should be posted in about a week. I'd love reviews. Absolutely love. I have no way of knowing what people think if they don't review. Flames are even appreciated (as long as the author of the flame says a reason for their intense hatred of my story), since then I can know what people don't like and adjust my fic accordingly.
3 Shana