It's dark. Seven-ish. Everyone's off, feeding in the Great Hall. Not me. Not him. He wanders the corridors, lurking, searching. He knows I'm following him. Why wouldn't he? I've been following him since the first day of term. I've been thinking about it since my first breath.

His steps are deliberate, his path not quite as certain. He leads me down the third floor to the stairs, two at a time up to the fourth. I'm not even pretending he's not my destination. I keep only a four or five meter distance between us. If he stopped too abruptly, I'd probably crash straight into him.

We climb staircase after staircase, that one final destiny leading us forward to fall forever. The Room of Requirements. I even pace with him. The door shows and he slips in, holding the door for me.

He turns around to finally face me, but I keep moving forward until I have him pinned between my body and the wall. I can feel every bit of him, bones, sinew, muscle, everything. He doesn't kiss me. He'll never kiss me first. Than this abomination would be his fault. This way its mine.

All mine.

I strip him, edging back only slightly from his warmth to remove his clothing with purposeful slips of my fingers. He doesn't fight me, just stares. He's always giving me that look. That one that says I'm his everything and I'm nothing to him. It's why I follow him. His robes drift to the floor, closely followed by his tie and pressed, white, collared shirt.

He's skinny. Pearly white. The most beautifully broken man I've ever touched. His eyes, deepest shade of green, follow my hands down the smooth skin of his abdomen, watch me undo his belt. His ebony hair falls forward, covering the mark that has become the bane of my existence. Lightening.

I unbutton his slacks, drag the zipper down. Pausing, I lift his chin, bringing his gaze back up to me. The green is almost gone, his pupils dilated past their capacity. Uncertainty drifts across his face, like it always does, as if we haven't done this so many times before. His trousers drop to the ground, followed by his briefs.

He smiles. That sick, twisted, turning in him, churning in him, that keeps me following him, but, more importantly, keeps him leading me.

I lean into him, trespassing in the most intimate of ways. I inhale his scent; sense his need for me to rush. But not with him. I could never rush with him. I press my lips into his neck, into his heartbeat, into his world. He takes a shuddering breath, letting his hands glide up my forearms. It's my go. Our mouths connect, our tongues attach, our bodies intertwine. Its filled with need, with greed, with all those dark things people like to believe don't exist. We thrive on them. We always have.

He rids me of my clothing a lot hastier than I was with his, pressing himself more tightly to me with every fresh inch of newly revealed skin. His taste fills my head with heavy, smoky thoughts that I barely comprehend. I fill my hands with every inch of skin within reach.

And then, I'm naked with him. Feeling the curve of his spine under my fingertips, feeling his hands rap around the last part of me he should ever be caught touching. I curl a hand into his hair and pull his mouth as tight against mine as possible. He kisses me back like this was his idea. Like he initiated this. He's always been like this. No one else knows him like I do.

This is our ritual. He is my destiny.

XXX

"Wake-y, wake-y." Chirps a female voice above me.

I groan at it. "Who let you in? This is the boy's dormitory."

"Blaise." Pansy answers with a smile in my blinking eyes.

"Fuck him." I mutter, glaring at her and rolling over.

"I did." She tells me cheerfully.

I turn my head back long enough to give her a perturbed look. "Go away, Pansy."

"I am. Blaise sent me to wake you up. It's after eight. If you don't hurry, you'll miss breakfast. Or be late for Herbology. You're choosing."

I hear the door click shut and sigh. Morning comes too fast. I roll back over and watch the rain drip down the windowpanes. No point in working on my appearance when my hair is going to be messed up by the rain anyway. I struggle out of bed, shedding my pajamas right then and there to let the cold air wake me a little more. The dormitory is empty anyway. And even if it wasn't, who cares? I'm a Malfoy. Who the fuck would say anything?

I dress quickly. As much as I despise Herbology, I'm a good student. It's not worth skipping. Okay, that's not why I'm dressing quickly. I rush for his smile.

It's been almost two months since I boarded the scarlet steam engine back to Hogwarts, back to this life. Two months of classes, Quidditch practice, professors, homework, Slytherin, and him. I have to admit, it's nice to get back to the normal flow of school when my summers have turned to hell since the return of the Dark Lord. Father is such a bastard. It's one thing for him to ruin his life. It's another entirely when he's dragging me down with him. If I want to be a dark wizard, why the hell would I want to work for someone else? I don't want to be Voldemort's bitch.

Not that I really have a choice now.

Sorry, Dumbledore.

I grab my books and jog to the Great Hall. It's nearly empty, it being so close to class time. But he's still there. Sitting with the Weasel and Mudblood. As usual. As long as the Weasel's little sister isn't there. She eye-fucks the shit out of him. It would be only so easy to just avada cadavra.

It irks me, so sue me.

And then he does it. He glances up, connecting his life to mine, and he grins. A small, secretive something that he only gives me. I don't know what he's trying to say, but I don't really care. Its what I hurried here for.

I grab some toast and tip a fried egg between the slices, spinning on my heels and heading back out the door. I stride through the hallway, downing my breakfast as quickly as possible. The rain, drops the size of eyeballs, falls from the sky in sheets, daring me to pass through. I walk as though it can't touch me.

Over the harsh clumps of dirt and grass combining into a muddy complexion, rocky edges, down to the huddle of my soaked classmates gathered in front of Greenhouse 3. Professor Sprout holds the door wide and we all file in, hands running over messed up hairstyles and fixing throttled robes.

This particular Herbology lesson is less practical and more lecture. We all break out parchment, quills, and ink; blotting down phrases here and there. She pulls out the star of today's focus, big purple fronds and angry, bubbled petals. The bell sounds up at the school after an hour of sitting on a metal stool and watching Longbottom answer every question Sprout throws out there. It's annoying. But I guess everyone needs their moments and his only happen in this class.

The rain hasn't subsided by the time we exit the greenhouse and muddle our way back up to the school. I look terrible, I'm sure. My hair is plastered to my forehead and sticking up in odd directions. My robes are drooping and heavy with damp. And it's all just fucking fantastic since I get to see him next.

Professor Slughorn has got to be the worst Potions Master in the history of Hogwarts. Everything about him bothers me. Probably most of all, his lack of interest in me and his focus in him. I'm good at holding back, though. With a childhood like mine, how could I not be?

He sets us up making a potion to combat the majority of viruses. Then he sweeps about, going on and on about the great witches and wizards he taught and met and so on. He drifts over to him towards the end of the class and bumbles about how perfect his potion is. He snaps his small Advanced Potions textbook shut, keeping a protective hand over the cover. There's something suspicious about his attachment to that book.
Blaise catches up with me after the bell chimes throughout the castle, leading me towards lunch.

"Haven't seen you much today." He starts. "Or last night."

"I guess not." I give.

"I would say you were working on your mission, but you were given strict instructions not to be missing during important times like meals." He smiles in a sickly way. "So what were you doing?"

"Lower your voice." I snap at him, halting us both. "I tell you not to mention this in the Common Room of our own house and you think its okay to mention in a corridor surrounded?"

Uncertainty taints his tightened, dark features, but it passes quickly. "You need to speak with someone about it, Draco. It wears on you. We all see it. If wherever your going is for some sort of stress relief, you need to find a new pastime." He begins walking again, but I don't follow.

"And by the way, you should feel honored to be given such a mission at all after what your father did."

I watch him carry on down to the Great Hall. I have only a moment's reprieve before Pansy pops up next to me.

"What was that?" She questions. "You look like death."

I shake the expression off my face. "Nothing. Blaise is jealous of my calling."

She nods like she knows exactly what I'm saying. She doesn't, though. She couldn't. "He's just trying to be your friend. We all are. You hold people at such a distance."

I glance at her as she takes my arm and moves us towards the Great Hall. "Friends" they like to be called. But in this time, with everything that's going on, no one is my friend. They all just want some of the glory from my mission to climb in ranks. They'll stab me in the back if I fail, though. It doesn't matter all that much. If I fail I'm dead anyway.

"If nothing else, you should speak with Snape." Pansy continues as we cross the threshold to the Great Hall. "He's put his life on you."

"I know what he's done!" I say a little louder than I meant to. Her eyes sink back with hurt and I pat her hand to counteract. "I'm a little on edge, I admit. Nothing I can't handle. I don't want to talk about anything. I don't need to talk about anything. I need you guys to just be my mates and stop bringing up things in public places that need to remain secret."

She nods. "Okay, Draco. If that's what you want."

"It is."

I sit with Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent Bulstrode at lunch. I keep Bulstrode close because she is the scariest girl I've ever met. Its best to hold what you fear close. If it scares you, it likely scares others. Blaise accompanies me back up the stairs after lunch.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, last classroom on the second floor. Snape's waiting for us, looking as if he hasn't slept in many days. Probably hasn't, stressing over me too much. It isn't my fault he made an Unbreakable Vow. He can thank my mother and Auntie Bella for that. If someone were to ask me, I'd say he's not feeling this whole "Voldemort's Will" thing anymore. That's fine. I can finish alone. How hard can it be?

A twinge goes through my body when he walks in with Weasel and Granger in tow. Both pulling towards him and pushing away. That's how I've always felt about him. He doesn't so much as glance my way. I watch him take his seat and Snape swoop over to hiss at him.

Defense classes have improved tenfold since Snape took over. Due to the fact he actually knows Dark Arts, probably. Anyway, I've enjoyed this year's lessons a multitude more than previous years.

"Sometimes the best defense is to run." Snape begins at the head of the class. "Not often, you cowards, but occasionally."

Snape pairs us off to practice the camouflage spell we were lectured on last week. Blend into any environment, useful. Blaise is my partner. He mumbles the words and his lower half disappears to mesh with the stone wall behind him, his upper half remaining normal.

"Bloody hell." He mutters under his breath. He glances up at me. "Potter watches you a lot lately."

I don't even bother to look over my shoulder. I can feel when his eyes are on me. I hold my eyes to Blaise. "So?"

"He's suspicious."

"So?" I repeat.

"That doesn't bother you?"

I do look behind me now. Our eyes meet and my gut drops a few centimeters. He must be having a similar feeling course through him because he doesn't even shift his weight when Weasley turns the table next to them to water instead of making himself blend in with it. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes I get the feeling he gets lost in me just as much as I do him.

Blaise places his hand on my shoulder and I just barely cover up my urge to jump.

"What was that?" Blaise chuckles in my ear.

I break my stare on him momentarily to eyeball Weasel. "I don't care as long as my shoes don't get wet. They're worth more than his entire house and everything in it."

He finally glances away from me, his astonishment at the scene that greets his eyes rings clear on his face. He bends down to help Weasley dry up the last of the water, his gaze wandering back up to my face. He grins and I smirk back.

I think we just had a moment.

The rest of Defense is rather uneventful. The bell chimes and I pack up, Blaise doing the same next to me. As we leave the classroom, he pushes past me, slipping a note into my hand, closely followed by a fuming Weasley. I pocket the note and pretend that nothing happened, keeping a blank face when Blaise gives me a sideways look.

"Do you have Quidditch practice tonight, Draco?"

I gave a short shake of my head. "Not today. Amazingly enough."

"How about we have a party? A little stress relief that involves your friends?"

There's that word again. Friends. "Maybe."

"Maybe? You have other plans?" He questions.

"Maybe."

He frowns for a second before breaking into a smirk. "Plans with a girl?"

"Maybe." I say again, just because I'm not entirely sure how to respond.

"Okay, well, if you want the party just let me know before eight, that's the best time to make a run down to the kitchen." He says.

I give him a condescending look. "I know that, Blaise."

"I know you do." He covers quickly. "Just reminding you in case." Pansy has clearly gotten to him.

I scramble through my bag and halt in my stroll down the corridor.

Blaise stops in front of me, asking, "Something wrong?"

"Damn." I mutter. "I left my History book in the classroom."

"You want me to wait for you?" He offers, glancing at his watch.

"No, go on ahead. I'll meet you there." He nods and heads off. "Save me a seat!" I call after him. He acknowledges with a wave of his hand.

I pause in the Defense classroom doorway, peering in to make sure Snape had returned to his office. With the coast clear, I whip the note back out of my pocket. It has four words on it. Library. Invisibility section. Now.

I check my watch, mutter a curse, and haul ass up the stairs a couple of times to the Library. Madame Pince gives me a pointed look, like she knows I should be in class at that very moment, but remains silent as I try to walk at a normal pace back to the invisibility section. I turn down the aisle and… he's not there. I spin in circles, feeling extremely silly, but find nothing. Not a trace. It was a trick. He tricked me. I head over to the window, dropping my bag on the floor, looking out as if he might be waiting for me on the roof. Nothing.

Anger is winding its way around my insides when arms curl around my waist and teeth clench down on my ear. I fight a smile and a shiver, trying to turn back around, but he holds me still. His mouth drops to my neck, kissing a path from my ear to the collar of my shirt. He drags that aside and bites down softly there. My eyes squeeze shut and I press my lips together. One hand parts my robes, unbuttoning the bottom buttons of my shirt and slipping inside. His fingers rub slow circles into my belly and then my chest. His other hand goes to work on my trouser, unbuttoning, sliding down my zipper. His fingers wrap around me and I arch back into him. His teeth and tongue continue their work on my shoulder while he jacks me off as quickly as he can.

I can't breathe, I can't think. My hands grip the windowsill, my knuckles turning white. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could catch us. But I can't stop him. I can't say no to him.

I lean hard into the window, he leans with me, his mouth continuing its assault, his hands working my body in ways no one else has ever been able to. He leaves my shoulder as the pressure builds low in my body, his hand leaving my shirt to run through my hair, pulling my face to the side to capture my lips. He kisses me hard and desperate. It's my everything and it means nothing to me. It sets me over the edge. It takes everything I have not to shake as my orgasm rocks through me.

He finally turns me around, shoving my back into the wall and kissing me ever harder, his tongue gliding along mine. I can feel him re-buttoning my shirt, re-zipping my pants. A wave of his wand to clean up stickier things. He finishes straightening my robes, his hands lifting to my face. He strokes my cheeks, finally breaking the kiss with a shove on my chin from his thumb.

He speaks to me, for the first time ever after doing something like this.

"Thank you."

I watch him walk away, feeling dazed. I catch my brain up, check my clothes, grab my bag, and head out of the library at a run, even against the angry shouts of Madame Pince. Down a few flights of stairs, slipping into History of Magic. Luckily, Professor Binns wouldn't notice if a tornado hit, he didn't notice my absence.

"What took you so long?" Pansy hisses in my ear as I take a seat between her and Blaise.

I shrug. "Had to find my book."

Blaise grins at me, fixing my tie. "Book, right."

I whip out my quill, ink and parchment. "So party tonight? I'm in."

"Excellent."

I settle into a daydreaming state as Professor Binns' voice drones on. What did he mean by thank you? Thank you for what? I didn't get him off. And since when do we do anything during the day? In the library, no less. Since when does he kiss me first? I'm not supposed to feel this flustered after a meeting of ours. I'm not supposed to feel anything.

Damn it, Potter. I could kill you right now.

I will get you back for that.