Disclaimer: Characters belong to the extraordinary J. K. Rowling.
"What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?"
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter stood at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, wearing identical ferocious glares directed at each other.
"None of your business," Draco spat.
"None of yours either," Harry retorted.
They stood poised in tense opposition for nearly a minute, scowling silently.
Finally, Draco spoke. "It's after curfew, you know," he pointed out accusingly, as though he were not obviously guilty of the same violation.
Harry rolled his eyes and did not dignify this with a response. Instead, he said, "I just wanted a bit of flying, and you turn up to bother me. Can't I go anywhere without you there, being a nuisance?"
"Yes, Potter, you've figured it out," Draco drawled sarcastically. "The entire purpose of my existence is to annoy the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Seems like it," Harry muttered.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Why don't you leave so I can fly in peace?"
"Why should I leave?" Harry protested indignantly. "I was here first."
"Potter, we got here at the same time," Draco countered
"I was here a moment before," Harry insisted.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop being so petty. Didn't your parents teach you better manners? Oh, hang on, they can't, can they – they're dead."
Harry's eyes widened in startled fury, and he lunged, toppling Draco to the ground and gripping him hard enough to cut off circulation.
"You dirty little bastard – you – you – I'll fucking kill –" Harry sputtered, enraged past coherence.
Draco struggled against him, attempting to shove the manic boy off himself, and finding it impossible. Harry was a seething, snarling figure above him, the promise of violence flashing wildly from his vivid emerald eyes.
Draco was suddenly so very, very tired of it all. Tired of fighting Potter, tired of hating him. He abruptly went limp, releasing his grip on Potter's arms and laying back on the grass, his eyes drifting shut. Harry paused in confusion, looking down at his suddenly passive nemesis.
"What – what's wrong with you?", he snapped.
"Nothing," Draco murmured, his words slurred with weariness.
"Do you surrender?", Harry jeered. A moment of silence, then Draco, eyes still closed, said softly, "Yes". A startlingly intense wave of relief swept over him.
Harry blinked. "Yes?" he repeated disbelievingly, his grip on Draco slackening in shock.
"Yes," Draco affirmed, finally looking up at Harry, who was at a loss for how to respond. It didn't feel nearly as good, as triumphant, as he would've imagined. Not that he ever actually thought Draco Malfoy would admit defeat to him – to anyone, for that matter – but when he'd idly, wistfully, envisioned it – it was glorious. And this wasn't. Not at all. It was simply baffling, and unnerving, and – the sight of the slumped, broken-looking creature below him made him feel oddly, absurdly guilty. He slid awkwardly, dazedly across Malfoy, trying to get off of him – and that was when he realized. Sheer, crippling horror pounded through his veins as he registered the sensation.
"No", his mind screamed blankly, uncomprehendingly. This couldn't be happening. His body couldn't be doing this. It simply couldn't. This was some sort of bizarre, perverse nightmare from which he had to wake up immediately – he simply had to – but he wasn't – and the solid body of the boy below him, and the intensifying sensations coursing through that part of Harry were very, very real.
As Harry hovered on top of Draco, frozen with panic and bewildered disgust, Draco's eyes widened as he felt it pressing into him. Harry reacted then, bolting up and stumbling away from Draco in a numb, sickened daze.
"No!" he shouted in blind fury. "No! I don't – ". He broke off and started to run away, his reeling mind attempting to rationalize it, to explain it away – the friction of their movements – automatic physiological phenomenon – but he'd been involved in similar scuffles before, and it had never caused – and it was Malfoy – he was the ultimate anti-aphrodisiac. What, then, had just happened? What was happening? Harry stumbled away as fast he could, unmindful of direction, and hindered by his still-very-much-alert anatomy. So absorbed was he with his own terrified, hysterical thoughts, he didn't realize at first that Malfoy was following after him, rapidly gaining on him, and calling his name.
"Potter! Hey, Potter, wait!"
Harry hadn't known it was possible for him to become even more panicked. But when he registered the voice calling after him, he jolted in alarm, tripped over his own feet, and lay sprawling on the ground, staring up at the approaching blond boy with helpless, humiliated dread.
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Draco lay on the grass, newly relieved of the other boy's weight, and staring after the retreating figure in stunned bewilderment. What had just happened? Potter had been – he had been – while he was on top of him! What the hell? Draco drew in a deep breath of the chilly night air and slowly sat up, attempting to absorb the impossible turn of events. And then he realized. Gazing down in horror, he blanched as the unwelcome sensation made itself known.
"No!" he shouted frantically, as Potter had done just moments earlier. "No!"
Potter and him? What was this? Had somebody cast some sort of sick spell over them? Draco glanced wildly around. There was no one visible. And who would do such a thing – why would anyone ever…Draco shook his head numbly. Of course he knew that things like this – he glared down at the offending body part – could happen randomly, for no apparent reason - but for it to happen to one of them at that moment was unlikely enough – and both of them? Something vital was happening here, something that Draco was failing to grasp – his mind flashed back over their history. They had always been obsessed with each other. It was rather unhealthy, actually, he realized – yes, each loathed everything the other stood for, but this was not unique to them – the entire population of Hogwarts was suffering from conundrums of values, of loyalty, of betrayal – why such intense and fixated hostility between the two of them in particular? There must be something…more…
He bolted up and began to run after Potter, trying to ignore the difficulty posed by his…condition. He began calling after the boy, and as he was gaining on his nemesis the Gryffindor tripped and sprawled on the grass. He didn't get up. He just lay helplessly in front of Draco, terror flashing from his eyes.
Slowly, Draco held out his hand to the boy whom he'd ridiculed and harassed, and who had reciprocated this abuse with malevolent enthusiasm. Harry stared up in renewed bewilderment. Finally he levered himself up by his elbows, not taking Draco's hand, and as he rose to face Draco the blonde's eyes drifted down and saw that Potter's condition persisted. Then Draco moved forward, and before Harry had time to object, the other boy's mouth was against his, moving harshly, frantically, his hands gripping Harry by the shoulders. Harry stilled as though Petrified, and then his arms jerked up suddenly to push Malfoy roughly away.
"What – that – wha-" Harry's bewildered rage was beyond words. He stared at Malfoy for nearly two full minutes, the other boy meeting his gaze defiantly, and then his shoulders slumped in resignation. His eyes still blazed with savage fury, now tinged with a new awareness of the undertones of the animosity between them.
He moved towards Malfoy again, and they were kissing with fierce, terrified abandon. Hands clutched and wandered, tongues probed into mouths. The traitorous parts of their bodies ground against each other, and they fell down in a writhing, clawing, grasping tangle.
The very concepts of hatred, of enemies, of good or evil, had become superfluous. Nothing mattered – nothing else even existed – except the two boys tumbling about on the edge of the Quidditch field in the black of the night, losing themselves in each other's bodies – or perhaps they were finding themselves?
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