Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Harry Potter or any of his friends, lovers and enemies. That pleasure belongs to JKR
A/N: This is my first ever fanfic of any sort so pretty please don't flame me
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Watcher
He was being watched, he could sense it.
Harry looked up, yet again, and looked around. As with all the other times, he was completely alone, the library deserted, the only sound his shortening breath as he fought to control his sense of unease.
It was midnight, the library had closed over four hours ago, and he had snuck in with his Invisibility Cloak before scouring the shelves to find the ancient tome he needed to complete his fiendishly difficult potions essay. He could still hear Hermione's disapproving voice in his head, reminding him that it was due in the next day, and that he had had the entire week to work on it. As if he'd needed reminding.
Deeply unsettled, Harry tried to turn his attention back to the book, but the feeling of being watched refused to leave him. He hurried to finish his essay, telling himself over and over that there was nobody there. Scribbling a few last sentences, Harry grabbed his book and, silently went to return it to its shelf.
He froze.
Holding his breath, his entire body strained to catch the noise that had caught his attention. It had been a mere ghost of a sound, like a sudden indrawn breath. After pausing for what felt like an hour, Harry quickly slid the book back onto its shelf and hurried to gather his things.
From deep within the shadows, Draco had watched him, the object of his obsession. The moonlight shimmered on the raven hair making the boy look almost angelic, while the darkness muted the piercing green of his eyes. He had looked up a few times, each time making Draco's heart jump into his mouth, certain that he was about to be discovered, and when he stood suddenly to leave, passing Draco's hiding place, Draco couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips.
He had stood for a while, allowing Draco's eyes to again examine the features he knew so well, to admire his slim, quidditch toned body and the way with which he carried himself, before hurrying to replace his book, gather his possessions, and throw the silvery Cloak over himself, vanishing from view.
Draco waited until he heard the soft sound of the library door click shut, before letting out a sigh.
HPDM
"Oi, wake up!"
Harry felt his pillow being yanked out from beneath his head, and a dull thump as it hit him on the stomach. He groaned, trying to hold on to the dregs of sleep.
"Go away," he mumbled, pulling the warm blanket over his dark hair. He had been dreaming, he knew that. He could remember a flash of silver, and a voice whispering his name. He groaned again as the warmth was ripped away from him, exposing him to the cold, light of morning.
"Come on mate, breakfast. Unless you want to face Snape on a empty stomach?" Ron's voice seemed unnecessarily loud to Harry, his brain still clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. One word did register, however.
Snape.
Harry had already been late for potions once that week, and had been threatened with detention if it happened again. He shuddered to think what horrible task Snape might get him to perform.
With great reluctance, Harry shoved on his robes, grabbed his bag, and half-ran to the Great Hall for breakfast.
As usual, Hermione was there, a book propped against the milk jug. She looked up as Harry sat across the table but, much to his surprise, didn't comment. Feeling grateful for that, he grabbed a couple of slices of toast.
Harry let his mind wander as Ron sat down heavily beside him, bemoaning Professor Snape and his essay. He was thinking about his dream. The flash of silver, like liquid mercury, seemed vaguely familiar to him, yet he couldn't think where he'd seen it before. He felt like his mind was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was.
He was brought back to earth by the sound of his name.
"Harry? Are you alright? We thought we'd lost you mate."
Harry struggled to focus on what Ron was saying. "Huh?what?"
"Are you alright? You'd kind of spaced out. I thought you'd fallen asleep or something..."
"Yeah I'm fine, just...sleepy that's all."
Hermione looked straight at him with an odd, calculating look. She looked like she was suppressing a smirk. He frowned, annoyed. "What?" He asked.
She didn't reply, just shook her head, and continued to watch him, the ghost of the smirk lingering on her face.
Refusing to look at her, Harry tried to concentrate on Ron's monologue, with little success. Luckily the other boy didn't notice and kept talking, leaving Harry's mind free to puzzle over this latest mystery.
He was still deep in thought as he left the Great Hall five minutes later. His train of thought was interrupted yet again, however, when he walked into something solid.
"Watch where you're going Potter!"
Harry looked up, his hand already straying towards his wand. Staring back at him, a look of utter contempt in his silvery grey eyes, was Draco Malfoy.
Harry froze, the memory of his dream slamming into his mind like a train. As he watched, in shock from the realisation that was beginning to form in his mind, Draco turned away, the look on his face a mirror of Hermione's own barely concealed smirk.
Suddenly the bell rang, making Harry jump out of his skin, breaking thorough is reverie. Cursing, he headed for the dungeons, walking quickly. He pushed the impossible, insistent thought to the back of his mind, forcing himself to calm down. He would need his wits about him in Snape's class.
Draco woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, his entire body shivering and covered in sweat.
The dream was back, as clear as the first time he had had it, each image, each feeling clearer, more vivid than reality.
He swore softly running his hand through his hair.
It was always like this, whenever he caught a glimpse of Harry when the other boy thought he wasn't being watched. When he was alone in the library or laughing with his friends, when he let his guard down, when he was vulnerable. He could see the true Harry.
And he wanted that.
He could tell it was early, but he couldn't stand the thought of staying in bed. Making a quick decision, he threw the covers back, exposing himself to the biting air and, after a quick shower, he dressed almost unconsciously, trusting that his sense of style was so deeply ingrained into his being that he could, quite literally, dress himself in his sleep.
Barely sparing a glance at the mirror, Draco stole softly out of the dorm and through the common room, taking the shortest route to the owlery.
As he had guessed, it was extremely early. Leaning against the frame of an unglazed window, Draco took in the view of the grounds in the pre-dawn light.
An icy breeze grazed his face, bringing his mind back to the issue which had brought him here.
"Harry."
Just whispering the name sent a thrill through him.
His secret wish, his guilty pleasure, his heart's, no, his soul's desire.
He had watched him again, in an almost masochistic desire to see him. He laughed,softly and without mirth at the thought. His sweet self-torture.
And he had dreamed.
It was always the same. He'd catch a glimpse of the raven haired boy, sitting alone in the library, chewing his lip over a difficult tome, or coming off the quidditch pitch, his hair wild and wind-blown, or laughing in a corner of the courtyard with his friends, his face lit up like a beacon, and he'd be filled with a burning desire, a need, to be closer to him, to bask in the glow of his presence.
And at night he dreamed the same dream, of soft lips surrendering to his own, of strong hands exploring his body, of the taste of salt and strawberries on his tongue, of running pale fingers through soft, black hair and hearing his name gasped softly in his ear.
He shivered, bringing him back to the present, and sighed. The sun had nearly risen, and the owlery's occupants were beginning to return. Turning away, he made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
He tried to pay attention, to act his usual calm, collected self, sitting between Crabbe and Goyle, with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott opposite him, watching him carefully and trying to make conversation, but his heart wasn't in it, and they soon left him to his thoughts.
He was trying to make a decision, weighing his options. He could continue watching Harry from a distance, or he could stop, cut himself off completely, refuse to see the boy behind the mask. The former option would slowly drive him insane, while his entire being shied away from the thought of the latter.
You could just tell him, a little voice in his head cut in. He firmly pushed that thought away. He could never tell Harry, never make himself vulnerable that way, never show himself to be that weak.
His head buzzing with uncertainty, he began to leave the Great Hall.
He had reached the open doors, and was about to set foot into the Entrance Hall,when someone walked into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. He turned indignantly, and found himself looking at an all too familiar face
His response was automatic.
"Watch where you're going Potter!"
His face was a perfect mask of contempt as the other boy raised his emerald eyes to his, not betraying his own surprise at the look that he found there. Instead of the usual hostile glare, Harry's eyes were wide with shock and confusion.
Draco turned away, feeling the beginnings of a smirk form on his lips.
Harry had let the mask slip.
For him.
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A/N: Yay, chapter one done! Please review