"Come here, Potter."
The cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy thundered across the dungeon. Harry trembled under his Invisibility Cloak, hardly daring to breathe; what if the incessant drumming of his heart, struggling to escape his chest, tipped off Malfoy his location?
Soft footsteps reverberated off the walls as Draco's voice continued to spring from cold stone wall to the next; his harsh tone seemed to seep all the cold out of the walls themselves. . .
"Potter, I don't want to play games with you. I saw you vanish under that absurd Cloak. I know you're in here, and I will find you."
Draco paused only feet from Harry's crouched position against the dungeon wall. He couldn't breath, fear was constricting his throat and his chest strangled into little knots, as Draco's cool, icy scented breath suddenly tickled his hair, and blew the slightest bit of fabric back, revealing a minuscule amount of his flesh.
This, of course, did not go by unnoticed by Draco. Instantly, the white-blond headed boy snatched a handful of the seemingly watery cloak and ripped it from Harry's face and body. There was a moment that they did not speak or reveal any emotions, and then in the next second, Draco was kneeling beside Harry, malice and triumph twisting his lips into a smile.
"Well, what now, Potter," he whispered, grinning. "I've found you."
"G-Go away, Malfoy," Harry tried to hiss, but his voice caught in his throat; as tight and dry as it felt, there could have been a snake wrapping its way around his neck.
"No, Potter, I don't think I will," Draco snarled, and his fist lashed across Harry's face. Warm, crimson liquid trickled from the side of Harry's mouth. This seemed to excite Draco.
"I've tried following you every night. And I knew you were up and about the castle. But how were you avoiding me? I didn't know."
Draco's fingers groped the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. He seemed intrigued by its slick, almost liquid-like feel.
"But this. . ." Draco held up the cloak. "I understand now, Potter. You've been using it to avoid me, haven't you?"
Draco's pale, narrowed eyes focused on Harry's trembling, bright green ones. Tears were welling in them; Malofy derived pleasure from this.
"You've been hiding from me ever since you heard what that rust headed Weasley kid told you, am I right?"
Harry convulsed again; Draco had drawn himself inches from Harry's face.
"You're scared," the blonde noted.
Harry shook his head hastily, but Draco laughed.
"Potter, you're shaking with fear. You know what I want from you, and honestly, I think you want it just as bad."
"No. You're wrong," Harry murmured hoarsely, but even as he said it, he knew it was a lie; all the same, even though he had been avoiding Malfoy during the day, and traveling around at night concealed under the Invisibility Cloak to use the bathroom, he knew he wanted Draco to find him. to caress his damaged skin, to play with his sleek, shining black hair, to massage his scar and remove his glasses-
"Potter, I'm talking to you!" Draco snapped, anger in his features again. But they instantly faded back to a smooth, amused tone, as he realized Harry was focusing on him again.
"W-What was that, Malfoy?" Harry stammered, all the more embarassed that he had missed what the blonde had said because he had been enticed in his handsome appearance.
Shimmering, white blonde hair. . .
"I said, Potter, that you're denying yourself. And I know it as well as that Weasley kid, or that Mudblood you depend on for good marks-"
"Don't talk about Hermoine that way," Harry muttered. It pained him to hear that velvet voice throw that degrading term at one of his best friends.
"Well, whatever, Potter. I'll say what I like. And on that note, Rob or Rod or Ron or whatever the hell his name is, seemed to have some very reliable resources, my dear Harry Potter. And I knew as soon as he overheard us Slytherins talking about it, he'd go running to you faster than if he were being chased by an army of Inferi.
"So, tell me this, Potter. . . Why do you hide from me, if it isn't because you are scared?"
Harry shook his head, tears welling from behind his glasses and down his cheeks. Draco stared at them as if Harry were bleeding instead of crying silently.
"I-I. . ."
"Well?"
"Y-You're always. . ."
"What?" and Draco frowned. "I'm always what?"
"You're always. . . with me."
An amused expression flitted across Malfoy's face, but he replied in a serious tone, "Are you suggesting that I stalk you, Potter?"
"No, no!" Harry gasped, but he couldn't be entirely sure. Whose footsteps had he heard outside the bathrooms each night? Why did they always linger outside, waiting, it seemed, before presenting themselves again as Harry returned to the Gryffindor's boy's dormitories?
"Well, Potter, reconsider. . ." and another grin played at Draco's lush, pale red lips. "I seem to have memorized your schedule of night time wanderings. . ."
"N-No! I meant that, you always seem to be. . . in my mind. . ."
Smirking, Draco leaned in even closer, so the wintery chill of his breath rushed over Harry's collarbone. He was centimeters from Harry's face.
"You don't think I left my memory in you for nothing, Potter? I made sure you'd remember my face. . ."
And then, Draco was draping the cloak over the both of them, so nobody in the hallway, Mr. Filch or his obnoxious cat, Mrs. Norris, or Peeves and his irritating habits could see as the pale blonde latched his lips onto Harry's trembling ones, and embraced the boy tightly to his chest, enjoying the shudders of delight and fright that engulfed the Boy Who Lived.
Draco surged his mouth against Harry's, and soon, was thrusting his tongue into the latter's mouth, prodding around the moist, delicious cavern, massaging everywhere his own tongue would reach, and finally taunting and massaging Harry's tongue, swirling it around and savoring the flavor or his blood from the sharp punch Draco and dealt earlier; for some reason, this made Harry all the more scumptious.
Finally, Draco pulled away, panting and grinning, at the stunned look on Harry's face; his glasses were fogged over completely, and he could have sworn he heard Harry give a little whimper.
"See, Potter, all my little investigations always pay off. . ."
"I-I guess so. . ."
"Oh, come off it, now, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes, still smiling. "You can't deny that you loved that. . ."
"Ah. . ."
"Perhaps, then, you'd enjoy doing it again?"
Blushing madly, Harry gave the slightest jerk of his head to indicate a nod. Draco could scarcely suppress his joy.
"But you see, Potter, I'll always be able to find you. . ."
And now, as Draco leaned forward for what Harry expected to be another kiss, he felt the blonde's hands tugging at the chest of his sleep clothes.
"No matter - "
Draco managed to tug off the shirt, ruffling Harry's untidy black hair even more.
"- what - "
His hands were down to Harry's sleep pants, and slowly, Draco's fingernails were prying underneath them. They slid off Harry's legs, and the cold gust of the dungeon room sent goosebumps up his skin. Malfoy rubbed his hands along his thighs, being careful to rub just as high as he could without making Harry stiffen and moan, before facing the Boy Who Lived squarely in the eyes.
"- you're wearing. . ."