Cancer Stick

            I had always sworn to myself that I would never date anyone who smoked.  Actually, I never really knew of anyone who pursued the habit until Seamus started sneaking out of the dormitories with a squarish bulge in the pocket of his pants, only to return later smelling of burnt… something.  After I had identified the source of this mysterious smoky scent, I began to notice who else carried the badge of a carcinogen addict, and was severely disappointed to learn that Cho was involved in their ranks.  I had seen her standing with a group of her Ravenclaw friends one day, flicking the slim white cigarette's ashes to the ground.  Cradling her right elbow in her left palm, her wrist was flicked back towards her shoulder, where a smoldering cigarette was nestled between her index and middle fingers.  She held it clumsily in her hand, and when she brought it to her lips to inhale, she tried in vain to hide the small cough that invariably rose with each breath.  No, it was definitely not an arousing sight.  Then again, the sight of Cho (smoking or not) had become decidedly less sensual for me over the past few months.  I assumed that I was just getting over her, the unattainable dream girl.  How was I supposed to know that my next obsession would be the male counterpart?

            He was just standing there one day, in all his amazingly smug blondish glory, with his pale eyebrows furrowed in concentration while he added precisely five inches of a unicorn hair to his cauldron.  Just standing there, completely oblivious to how striking he looked when his hair fell just so that there was a little bit of fringe barely brushing into his eyes.  I must be gay, I thought, but I don't care.  If being gay means I can have some of that, then I'm all for it.  Sign me up. 

            Of course, there was the slight problem of his personality being made up entirely of vile, but that could be overlooked for now.  Really, everything except his hair could be overlooked, including that fact that his father probably wanted me dead, the fact that he probably wanted me dead, and the fact that I would be dead if Snape made me drink this potion that I was haphazardly concocting.  That hair should not be allowed.  I can't tell if it's more of silver or gold—every time he shifts, it changes.  I realize that, being sixteen years old, I can be aroused by looking at a road map… but this is beyond mere arousal.  Looking at Draco, I felt like I was experiencing a reawakening of the senses.  Or, I thought, I would like to experience this reawakening of the senses while making wild, passionate, kinky, titillating… stop.  Potion, Harry.  Concentrate on your potion.