WHUT. Yeah, I'm starting a 100 Themes Challenge... I know, I'm ambitious. :) Loads of HPDM to come! (100 Chapters to be exact!!)
CHALLENGE PAIRING: HPDM; Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy.
All will be rated M 'cause Draco and Harry swear. A lot. Hahaha.. And sexual scenes implied in some chapters. I'll give a warning beforehand.
"Speech" Thoughts. 'Object.'
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001Introductions
Too Tired.
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Draco Malfoy was sulking.
Yeah, he was actually. The blond man was sitting in his Slytherin dorm, looking up the dungeon ceiling, feeling faintly nostalgic. He, a Malfoy, was feeling nostalgic. The sentimental feeling didn't even mesh with his name. Though, regardless, he was thinking of how things would have been different if he hadn't been a pretentious bastard seven years ago, on that stupid Express train. Honestly, it would have been easy enough to hold his tongue about the weasel, spoken in a friendlier manner. Whatever. Draco rubbed his eyes, feeling a rush of fatigue grate his system. He was… shit, too tired to think of Potter. Too tired to think of the dark-haired man's bright eyes, his bemused laughter, his light glances towards his friends when they shared a joke. Too tired, damnit.
Though, he remembered the little Harry Potter, and he looked nothing like he did now. On that train, he had been short, a thin face with large, brilliant eyes and disheveled, unruly hair. Now he had grown, lean and muscled from Quidditch, rounded out a few corners, those emerald irises noticeably darker. He still had the askew glasses however, and the cursed hair but there were things that you couldn't change. Draco frowned slightly, his mind being encroached on again by the interminable amount of questions.
What would have happened if he had been more welcoming to Gryffindor Quidditch captain? He had probably reflected that exact moment as Potter snubbed his hand more than a hundred times in the past week… Why? He certainly regretted acting like a magniloquent idiot, but it wasn't like he actually felt a sense of guilt for the Weasel, whom Malfoy still resented them as being the lowest of all purebloods. It was stupid fucking Potter, the same man that invaded his thoughts and dreams, the same person who had viciously hexed him last week when Draco had accidentally bumped into him. Yeah, accidentally.
Huh, too tired indeed.
In the comfortable silk, Malfoy groaned, clutching the pillow over his face, thinking behind lidded eyes. Zabini and all the blokes were probably thinking he had gone bloody insane, cooping himself up in the dorm for the past few days. Even Pansy had remarked on it, but after a particularly fierce Fernunculus, she hadn't said anything further. Draco feared that his remorse against Potter was evolving into some kind of infatuation, and that, bluntly, scared the shit out of him. He didn't particularly want to find the seeker attractive, and he certainly didn't want him in bed with him right now.
Damnit, swore the pale man under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, fantastic. I'm having ridiculous thoughts about one boy-who-won't-die, and I can't seem to stop my brain from relating every single fucking detail to him.
Feeling hazy, the fair man let his muscles relax slightly. Quite honestly, Draco was content with just lying in bed all day, thinking about alternate versions of that train trip. Right now would be a nice time, as his brain was attempting to commit mental suicide with the conflicting thoughts going on. Yes, I want Potter, but I also want him dead, pinned underneath me, so I can snog—no, kill him. Right.
The familiar smoky scent of the train made its way into his mind, and the blond sighed in resignation. Once again...
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He heard the faint conversation going on in the compartment next to him, and Draco Malfoy stopped, giving a faint signal for Crabbe and Goyle to cease walking. The boys pausing, looking at each other with slight confusion but shrugged and halted. The blond child forced himself not to give a disgusted sigh, sliding open the double doors. He had heard about this section, that a certain Harry Potter was there, though he hadn't expected other filth to have followed.
He stopped himself from looking repulsed and put on an easy smile as he entered, looking around innocently.
"Is it true?" Draco chided, glancing at the dark-haired boy with clear interest, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?" He hoped to himself that the tone was much lighter, one of crystal curiosity rather than one of a haughty fascination. The boy rose a brow, glancing towards Crabbe and Goyle.
Shit.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he replied warmly, making the weasel glance at him suspiciously. Don't sneer, damnit, don't do it. He allowed himself a cool glare at the redhead before turning back to Harry, presenting himself with a smooth elegance. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
The ginger-haired boy coughed, and the blond turned to him with a brow raised. Don't say anything... Stopstopstop. The soon-to-be Slytherin paused, hesitating slightly, but ignored Ron and held out his hand, casually noting the redhead's pallor getting rosier and rosier.
Harry looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded nervously and got up and shook Malfoy's hand in response, much to the horror of the Weasley sitting.
"Um, yeah." Alright, he might be more than a little nervous.
"Harry Potter. Uh, nice to meet you, Malfo—"
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"What the hell," said a rather loud voice interrupting the line of thought, a thin smirk lining Zabini's face as he glanced down at Draco, one perfect brow raised in bemusement, "having a good dream were we, Draco?"
The blond opened an eye, frowning, giving the mocha-skinned man a withering look. He hadn't even heard the man come in, too busy drowning in his altered memories.
The paler man didn't reply but turned over, refusing Zabini view of his face, which now wore a pained expression.
What might have been...