title: A Thin Line

rating: Uhh, PG-13 for slash and kinda seducing-ish stuff? I seriously don't get this new rating system.

pairing: Draco/Harry

summary: Harry notices the thin line between love and hate. slash

author's notes: I wanted to write Draco/Harry slash. Like, hot slash. –coughs- Right, I'm shutting up now.

Harry wasn't oblivious.

He could hear people talk about him and Draco all the time. It wasn't anything embarrassing, just talking about their constant arguing and fighting. Rarely had he heard his name come up without hearing Draco's shortly thereafter. In theory, this shouldn't have bothered him. It wasn't as though it wasn't true or anything; they really did fight all the time. A couple had gotten physical recently, which had earned him and that stuck-up Slytherin detention polishing trophies (which is where he happened to be heading to currently). Thing was, though, it had started bothering him. Quite a bit. Because, for some reason or another, he'd remembered something he'd read once.

'There's a thin line between love and hate.'

It was ridiculous to let such a silly thing that obvious held no merit bother him like that. There was no thin line between the two. It was very, very thick line. One was an extreme disliking, and the other was an extreme liking. Love was a strong emotion that could compel people to do nearly anything and hate was a strong emotion that… so, they were sort of close.

But that most certainly did not mean that the hate he felt for Draco was anything like love.

It didn't mean that at all.

"You're late, Potter. You should get points taken off for that."

Because Draco was just too much of a prat to feel any affection for.

Harry gave him a sneer. "You should get points taken off for being such an insufferable git."

Draco rolled his eyes and held out a rag for him. Harry eyed it suspiciously, thinking the other boy had somehow bewitched it to bite him if he touched it. The Slytherin groaned and thrust his hand forward, trying to make him take the stupid piece of tattered gray cloth. "Just take it. I want to be done and out of here as soon as possible. I don't enjoy spending time with you, you know."

"Oh, it's a mutual feeling," Harry responded with venom, snatching the rag away and trying very hard to ignore the fact that his and Draco's hands had brushed against each other in the process.

"Well, that's good to know. Now hop to it, Potter. We haven't got all night to dilly dally about."

Harry shot him a look for treating him like he was kid, then opened the trophy case and pulled out a small one (something about winning a school charms-off, dedicated to some girl from twenty years ago or so) and quietly began to polish it. Draco followed in suit, standing a little too close for Harry's comfort as he reached in and pulled out a trophy that was meant for beaters, as it happened to be a gold colored replica of the club he'd seen Fred and George use during Quidditch games. Draco moved away from him and sat down against the wall opposite of the trophy cabinet.

Harry ignored the way the other's rag and fingers moved slowly up and down the club. He really did ignore it. His eyes were most certainly not straying to his reflection in the glass to watch. And he most certainly did not become so flustered that he dropped the trophy he'd been working on when Draco rubbed the cloth over the tip of the club trophy.

This earned a snort from said boy.

"Very smooth, Potter."

And even those words seem to echo in his head with a sexual sort of meaning as he bent down to pick up the trophy and put it back in the cabinet.

But if there was one thing Harry most certainly did not do, it was definitely this. He did not happen to look at the Slytherin's reflection in the glass again, only to catch him seemingly staring at his ass. And Harry definitely did not blush.

He set to work on another trophy, sitting down next to the trophy cabinet. Surely Draco wouldn't stare at his bum or do other such things if he was watching him.

Draco just raised an eyebrow in response.

"What, got tired of watching me in the reflection?" he teased with a grin. Harry bristled a little but blushed anyway.

"I was doing no such thing, Malfoy."

"You were so."

"I was not. Why would I want to watch someone as intellectually repulsive as they are physically--"

"Are you saying I'm smart then?" Draco asked, grinning wickedly because he was just oh-so-aware he was drop dead sexy.

Though, Harry didn't think that. He definitely didn't.

"No, I'm saying you're quite an eye-sore, you conceited git," he snapped back, then regretted it as Draco set down the trophy and rag and stood up, walking slowly over to where Harry sat.

"Potter, do you really think it's wise to be insulting someone with the upper-hand?" he asked smoothly, folding his arms over his chest. Harry snorted.

"What upper-hand?"

"Oh, come off it. We both know I'm stronger than you are."

Harry stood up, wishing he could say he was taller but sadly, he wasn't. He was just a fraction of an inch away from being able to see eye to eye with him.

"Really? I wouldn't have known, seeing as you have your goons do the work for you."

"And that's definitely why I won the fight, Potter."

"You?" he laughed. "You did not win the fight."

"And what, you think you did?"

"Well, I think I had the 'upper-hand'," he replied, grinning.

"Ah, but that'd be wrong, because I just have the upper-hand in everything to do with you, Potter. I'm smarter, more attractive, stronger, taller--"

"Oh, and who's father is in Azkaban, Malfoy?"

Harry wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but Draco's hands were suddenly on the front of his shirt and his back was painfully against the wall. "Do not bring my father into this, Harry," Draco hissed, face too close for comfort. But Harry couldn't resist the remark just waiting to be said.

"What, should I drag in your mother instead? The one who looks like she has dung under her nose all the time?"

He was pushed against the wall harder, Draco pressing into him as he lifted him so his feet were off the ground, leaving Harry to squirm and grab Draco's arms. Leaving him to be entirely aware of how warm the skin he held to felt, or how perfectly strange it was that their bodies sort of… meshed together, or how Draco's face was barely an inch from his. "You're crossing a line here, Potter," he hissed dangerously.

And Harry was well aware he had.

He'd crossed the line between love and hate, which was indeed a thin line.

"Yeah, I know," he replied huskily, then pressed his mouth to Draco's. Hard.

Draco seemed quite startled by this, as he lost his grip on Harry's shirt and the Gryffindor's feet hit the ground with an awkward thump and stumble that set them both off balance, and Draco hit the ground first, Harry on top him.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going through his head. He just knew that having Draco that close gave him the urge to kiss him and now that he was, he found he rather liked it. Draco sort of tasted like icy mints and gingerbread. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he did and it was strangely attractive.

Apparently, Draco had found something strangely attractive about Harry too, because now the boy who lived had two strong arms around him and mouth moving warmly against his. Nearly out of breath by this point, though, Harry pulled his mouth back.

And Draco was not pleased with that idea. After Harry had taken one gasping breath he was pulled back in for another messy kiss that threatened to swallow him up.

And another.

And another.

And another.

After several lengthy kisses that left them both breathless, Harry was pushed off Draco and landed on his bum. He made a face at Draco, who just buttoned up the buttons that had somehow manage to come undone during the kissing and stated simply, "That didn't happen."

Harry scowled. "Yes, it did."

Draco seemed cool as ever. "No. Wrong. It didn't happen, because when you hate someone, you do not make out with them on a hallway floor."

Harry smiled seductively, which seemed to not only startle Draco but also cause him to blush, and quietly advanced on the slightly taller boy until he sitting his lap, straddling his hips. He grinned at him and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "There's a thin line between love and hate, Draco."