A/N Don't need a disclaimer, do I? Oh well, just this once, Harry Potter not mine
T_T and warning, will be Harry/Draco (two guys! Gasp!) ^^
Chapter One: Unreachable Light
The brilliantly red mist once again surrounded him, swirling around and around.
His head pounded –he was falling, in all directions at once, floating as nausea permeated
his system. And then Harry's face appeared, his blazing eyes piercing through the bloody
haze.
Draco Malfoy snapped his eyes open, immediately feeling the damp, seeping chill
of the dungeons hit him full force. Gods, Harry again.
Harry again. Even in his dreams, always Harry Potter. Ever since he was young, it was
hate Harry Potter. At Hogwarts, beat Harry Potter, watch, no, spy on, Harry Potter. And
now, he had gone and fallen –no, not love. It was not love, had not yet developed into
love, but it was a bond. Deeper than he could fathom, he felt it. A gentle yet definite
tugging, insistent, towards Harry.
Madame Malkins, before knowing who it was, he had felt something at the
moment locked eyes with Harry. Something like a block sliding into place, something –a
string unraveling, spinning out. And over time, this connection only grew.
Draco sat up, giving an involuntary shudder, and gazed at the small, silvered pool
of moonlight spilling out onto the floor. Watched, but could not have, could not touch or
be a part of that ethereal light. It was like watching Harry, the discarded mission to watch
becoming so much more. Harry, that beam, that pillar of light, extraordinary, beautiful,
unreachable and untouchable.
Yet, that wasn't exactly true, in a physical sense. Draco –no, not touching his
soul, or his person – but a superficial mockery of it. It wasn't much, but Draco would
take all he could, to feel Harry's skin, even if it was only to trip an ankle, to shove Harry
aside, to fight. It was the only way Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him, even if those
darkly accusing eyes stared in irritation. Draco would gain Harry's attention in the only
way Harry would let him, by taunting him. It was the only way Draco could get his
attention, to get an emotion –an emotion! –out of Harry, directed at him. And the price it
was, on the rare occasion when the hurt would flash across Harry's face, quickly replaced
by anger and that dreaded hate, Harry's hate that settled over Draco like an anvil,
weighting him down, smothering.
Draco wrenched his eyes from the entrancing light and his thoughts from Harry's
hatred, painful to consider. His dorm mates were still asleep –thankfully, they had finally
mastered the silencing spell to quiet their snores. He threw himself back down on his bed
and stared wide-eyed, emptily, absentmindedly at the top of his canopied bed, tired, yet
not wanting to sleep. Could not sleep? Perhaps he just did not want to bother trying.
With a small growl, he decided to go somewhere else. It was becoming a habit of
his, but the night was so undemanding, unlike everything else. It was silent, quiet, calm.
And Draco liked solitude, as well as the feeling of false freedom the night brought,
prowling the corridors in of stillness.