A/N: Hello, all! For those of you who were expecting the next chapter from my other story, don't worry; that's coming soon. Sorry about the wait. Either I couldn't find the time, or nothing "inspired" me. Actually, I got the idea for this story while trying to find some inspiration for "Running To Stand Still." I was looking for a song to title the eighth chapter and I came across Breaking Benjamin's CDs ("Saturate," and "We Are Not Alone"), and the next thing I knew I had a story planned out in my head. I couldn't very well continue my other story if there was a completely different one zipping about in my brain, could I? No, I couldn't. Don't kill me, please. Oh yeah, and if you've never heard any of Breaking Benjamin's songs before, you should totally go and buy their CDs... or just look up their lyrics; sets the mood.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the quotes (duh, since they're quotes), not the characters. I'm simply taking J.K. Rowling's characters and stuff and shifting them around to suit my somewhat messed up imagination. Which is, I guess, why they call this a fanfic. Huh, go figure.

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Chapter One

"Sooner or later, you're gonna hate it

Go ahead and throw our life away"

"Sooner Or Later," Breaking Benjamin

Draco had to wait for him again. He almost always had to wait since Potter couldn't seem to get anywhere on time. Not that Draco was desperate; he was never anxious to see Potter. He was just efficient, not desperate. Draco didn't need Potter; he didn't need anybody, and nobody needed him. Except for, maybe, Potter. No, Potter seemed to feel relatively the same way, but he probably had it worse because he had to pretend to care. But Potter didn't have to pretend when he was with Draco, which was why he kept coming back.

Not that that would last long. Draco was used to things drifting away; he had had to learn to accept bitter endings early on in his life. Anything that he found he enjoyed even the slightest bit was taken away from him in some way or another, so he rejected anything that made him happy and taught himself to love to hate anything that displeased him. However, he had enjoyed hating Potter, and now they were fucking each other whenever they could find the time. And when they didn't have the time, they just blew off whatever the hell it was they were supposed to be doing and engaged in some sort of sexual activity that took their minds off of things for awhile. So maybe he had never hated Potter as much as he thought he did. Yeah, right. But still... Potter was the first person in Draco's entire life that had ever made him feel like that was okay. Draco could hate Potter as much as he possibly could, and at the end of the day,the guy would still come back to him and take even more.

And a Malfoy never passed up an opportunity to express hate. Which meant Potter really had to be able to accept... no, like... what was done to him in order to keep crawling back. Not that Potter didn't give as good as he got. Potter could make Draco feel like the lowest scum of the earth before leaving him there on the floor. And Draco wouldgo back to Potter as well because when he felt like scum, he felt alive, real, normal... almost.

But Draco was coming close to admitting the one thing that, ultimately, always brought him pain: he, heaven forbid, enjoyed something. Which meant it would have to end soon. And it would, since the end of their last year at Hogwarts was coming fast. That is, if Potter didn't back out first. Draco wouldn't put it past him, since Potter was supposed to be good; he was supposed to have morals. He probably did, as hard as that was to believe sometimes, since he had been Sorted into Gryffindor. Potter's bloody morality would kick in sometime and bring their... well, whatever it was that they had... to a grinding halt. Then Potter would blame Draco for dragging him into it all because a Gryffindor could never willingly participate in a sexual relationship that didn't involve love or at least some form of admiration. Of course it had to be the Slytherin's fault: the Slytherin made the Gryffindor hate himself, and the Slytherin obviously made the Gryffindor throw nearly an entire year of life out the window. And then finally the Gryffindor would drive the Slytherin deep into the ground and walk away, not bothering to look back since a Slytherin wasn't worth the effort.

But what else could Draco expect from the guy? Potter always made himself look like the hero, the victim. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Golden Boy. Of course, Draco knew very well that there was absolutely no "boyishness" about Potter. Their first night together still made him cringe. Potter had some major issues. He'd drive into Draco, muttering under his breath about how he'd never be able to live up to their expectations, how he wanted a normal life... he was a member of a very large club. Draco knew exactly what disappointment was like; he saw it in his father's eyes every time they bothered to look in his direction.

But out of everything that Potter had coming to him, he did not deserve disappointment; Voldemort had attacked him when he was a defenseless little baby and had miraculously disappeared, and for that the entire wizarding world had decided that Potter would grow up to be great and destroy all of the evil monsters. Draco could understand Potter's inferiority complex; Potter wasn't trying to live up to his big brother's shadow, he was trying to live up to the shadow cast by the image that the wizarding world had made him out to be.

So Draco would be there for Potter. Draco would make himforget, at least temporarily, about everything that waited for him outside of their secret. Potter wouldn't think about the future when Draco was there. Just like Potter wouldn't let Draco think about the future. They were in it together... until one of them broke down and decided to run away.

Potter would be the first one to lose it. He had to be since a Malfoy couldn't back out of a deal first, even though Draco had seen his father do just that plenty of times. Potter would run away from Draco, from what they had, and he'd take everything with him. He'd throw everything away, convincing himself that he didn't care; Potter was the victim, even though he'd done some equally evil things. Draco couldn't blame him, though; Potter was still, underneath it all, innocent. No matter how intense things could get between them sometimes, deep down, Potter still believed that life was going to mean something someday. To Potter, Draco was some kind of parasite that was sucking the ability to feel, to care, right out of him.

And Draco was, to a certain extent anyway. When he watched Potter laughing and joking with his friends, he'd feel something burning inside him, threatening to make him explode. When he'd had the chance to make Potter feel just as lowly and unimportant as he did, he had taken it without a moment's hesitation. The only problem was that he had done his job so well that Potter couldn't give anything back other than what he was getting, and now they were both being dragged into some sort of cold, dark, never-ending vortex.

Draco had gone to see a psychiatrist at the insistence of Narcissa, and the idiot who called himself a doctor had said he was in love. If what he was feeling was love, then he hated it. When he'd pushed the idea away and called the moron an assortment of biting adjectives, the shrink had said that his mother had signed him up for the sessions because she was concerned for him. After the session was finished, Draco had left the office stuck on the word "mother." It sounded foreign to him. At least when it concerned his own. His family had never been what one could consider normal or traditional. At least, that's what Draco had concluded when he'd watched his fellow students with their families. His father had always been aloof, only noticing his son was there when he had to teach him about some spell, a family law, or something along those lines. His mother had always been the manipulative, deceptive bitch that everybody said she was when they were, at least so they thought, out of earshot. But they didn't have to bother to hide their opinions from Narcissa since she knew what she was as well. So she practically drowned herself in alcohol and made her son's life a living hell in order to lie to herself.

If there was one thing that Draco did not love to hate, it was a lie. Lies were the only thing that he couldn't handle. When Narcissa pretended to be a blissful wife and mother, Draco wanted to yell and scream at her until she finally broke down and admitted that she was just as miserable and hateful as he was. When his father pretended to care about him for a few hours so he could teach him some sort of lesson that he deemed valuable, Draco wanted to beat the man until all he had left was the empty core of his existence. Whenever he had to cast some sort of illusion spell at Hogwarts, Draco put it off and complained about it as long as he could before finally just getting it over with. In his opinion, illusions were lies, lies were empty shells, empty shells represented a lack of truth, and Draco had never had truth to begin with so if he saw something where truth might have once been, he felt the fire start up inside him again. And the one shell that Draco hated most, the one shell that made the burning inside him shoot up like a conflagration and threaten to consume him, was Potter's pretending to be a good, wholesome, brave boy. Potter had everybody fooled. Except Draco; he knew that deep inside, Potter could be just as malicious and nasty as he could. But Potter would never find the courage to show the world who he really was.

So Draco would continue to keep the truth away from Potter for as long as he could. Maybe that was why Potter's lie burned him up the most; it was the only lie that Draco wanted to protect, to keep, to believe, because Potter would be gone when he couldn't hide from the truth anymore. And then Draco's escape would be gone. And then he'd have to face his own lie: he liked what he had with Potter.

The closet door creaked open and Potter entered the room quietly. "Sorry," he said, his tone indicating that he really didn't care if he'd made Draco wait or not. Both of them waited for Potter's eyes to adjust to the lack of light. After a minute or so passed, Potter moved closer to him. "Malfoy?" he asked, a single eyebrow raised.

Draco stepped forward so that he was inches away from Potter. When Potter's other brow shot up somewhere into his hair, Draco reached out and unfastened Potter's belt and pants, letting them fall down around his ankles. "So, I guess this means I'm first this time?" Potter asked sardonically. Draco grunted and pushed Potter against the wall. Potter took the hint and shut up.

Draco dropped to his knees and took Potter's cock into his mouth; it was all just business, a deal, so why did they have to go through anything else? Draco paused briefly when he noticed Potter wasn't reacting at all: his eyes were closed tiredly and his breathing was even. Draco reached up and grabbed Potter's hips, tugging them toward his mouth. Potter broke out of his thoughts and buried his fingers into Draco's hair, massaging his head while his eyes remained closed. Draco relaxed and began to work at Potter's cock with a bit more leisure than before. Potter's breath hitched in his throat and he thrust forward slightly. It took him longer to get into "it" every night, and soon he most likely wouldn't be able to feel it at all. Draco didn't want to think about it, so he focused exclusively on making Potter forget that he was the Golden Boy, that he had a forced destiny. Potter moaned softly and shuddered.

A few seconds passed before Draco realized Potter had said something. "What?" he asked, pulling away slightly.

Potter pushed the other boy's head back toward his cock. "I said, 'harder.' Suck harder."

Draco resumed the task at hand, giving Potter what he wanted. He could sense that Potter needed to have what he wanted; something was wrong in "paradise." Potter would make up for everything later.

Potter grunted and began to thrust into Draco's mouth, tightening his grip onthe blonde's hair. "Mm... Malfoy, hurt me."

Draco immediately dug his nails into Potter's hips and shoved him roughly against the wall, not breaking their steady rhythm. Potter's breath caught in his throat. Draco moved back so he could look up, his mouth remaining at work. Potter's eyes were still closed.Draco hated it when Potter's eyes were closed. He scraped his teeth lightly against the flesh in his mouth, and Potter's eyes shot open dazedly, his lips parted in surprise. It was a good kind of surprise though; if Potter didn't like something, he ran away from it. Then again, sometimes Draco ran away from what he liked, too.

It wouldn't be much longer before Potter came. Draco always knew what Potter wanted, just like Potter always knew what Draco wanted. They wanted the same thing: to forget.

Potter gave one final strangled cry, and Draco swallowed the sweet saltiness that was, essentially, Potter. Then he rose to his feet and pulled down his own pants, waiting for Potter to recover. Potter's breathing gradually returned to normal and he reached down and pulled his pants up, fastened them. Looked at Draco. Moved over to him and dropped to his knees without bothering to fasten his belt. Set to work giving Draco a return blow job.

Draco leaned back against the wall and inhaled deeply. Potter's mouth always felt warm; it was Potter's skin that betrayed his emotions. Some nights he would be warm, open. Well, as open as he had ever been with Draco. But other nights, when something was bothering him, Draco could give Potter the best sex of his life and his skin would still be pale and cold. It always scared Draco when he couldn't make Potter warm again; it seemed like Potter was dying. And he probably was. Maybe Draco was scared because when Potter was cold, the truth was closer to the surface.

Draco placed his hands on either side of Harry's head, feeling for the warmth he needed. His fingertips came in contact with Potter's flushed skin and he had to hold back a sigh of relief. But the relief was slowly replaced with annoyance. Why did Potter convince himself that life actually meant something? How could he believe that the people who worshipped him really cared about him and didn't just want him to die for them?

Potter must have sensed Draco's agitation because he slowed his progress. Draco could practically feel the guy thinking. But Potter would never actually ask what was wrong. He'd wonder about it, maybe, but he'd ask. Neither of them ever asked each other questions about anything outside of what was needed in order to forget; it just wasn't part of the deal. Draco, afraid that Potter would forget the deal, began to rub his fingers gently over Potter's temples in reassurance. Potter quickened his pace again, and Draco tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He'd come faster if he allowed his mind to wander off somewhere and let his body do the "thinking."

And, sure enough, a couple of minutes later his body jerked convulsively and he came into Potter's mouth. He collapsed onto the floor and his mind careened back into his body.

"You did it again," Potter stated softly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his index finger.

"Did what?" Draco asked, rising to his feet so he could pull up his pants.

"Went off somewhere."

"I didn't go anywhere. I was right here."

"Physically, yeah. Sometimes you just... leave. You know? It's kind of like astral projection or something like that." Potter turned to study the bunches of dusty potions bottles that were on the shelves and ran a hand through his hair.

"What, is that a problem?" Draco asked. If it was, he wouldn't stop anyway.

And Potter knew that. "...No. I guess I'm just sort of jealous, that's all." He blew some of the dust off of the bottles, began picking at the hem of his sleeve.

"Why?"

"It'd be nice to get out of the world sometimes without actually going anywhere." Potter glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye, then turned away to survey a bunch of crates and cardboard boxes stacked up against the back wall of the room.

"What makes you think I leave this world?" Draco asked. For some reason, he was genuinely interested. Maybe it was because Potter actually wanted something that he couldn't really have. And if he could, it wouldn't be the same; Draco had had it first.

"There's no way you could still be in this world and look that careless," Potter said quietly, brushing some dust off of one of the boxes. "It's like... it's like you're not restless anymore but you're also not what one would consider peaceful. I don't know... catatonic, perhaps?" Potter finally looked into Draco's eyes. "Thanks for tonight. Again." He nodded once for emphasis, hands in pockets, then left the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Draco remained in the darkness, his eyes widened with shock. Never in the entire time they'd kept the deal had either of them thanked each other. What did it mean? Potter's morality couldn't be breaking through now, could it? Why not? He was a bloody Gryffindor and Gryffindors were, without a doubt, the most annoying out of all of the houses. Put together. But Potter couldn't start feeling guilty now; their deal would have to end.

Draco kicked at an old metal tool that had fallen onto the floor, making it ricochet against the wall and clang a few times when it hit the floor again. Potter has a breakdown and the whole thing ends. Then it's going to be the old routine all over again; fight with each other, complain about the fighting, complain about each other, take out their anger on their fellow students, pretend to feel guilty, shag anyone who's willing, and avoid talk of anything to do with a relationship afterward. One of the reasons Draco had approached Potter in the first place was because they'd hated each other so much that there could have been no possibility of a relationship. But did Potter actually want one now? Because if he did... that was even worse than just up and running away. Wasn't it?

But there in the dark, surrounded by old, broken, outdated supplies and dusty shelves and boxes, Draco found that maybe, just maybe, if they could break through their hate and their pain, he and Potter could actually make it work; be how he'd always thought lovers should be.

And if there was one thing that Draco hated more than lies, it was truth.

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A/N: So, what did you think? Next chapter's going to be based more on Harry's perspective. Oh, I'm going to refer to Harry as "Potter," in most of Draco's chapters, and Harry will think of Draco as "Malfoy," since that's what they'd normally do anyway. If the story's confusing sometimes, sorry. Anyway, let me know what you think, or pretend you didn't see the review thingy at the bottom and read something else (or do anything you want other than reviewing my story).