Disclaimer: I don't own the wonderful world of Harry Potter or anything in it.
Warning: Slash/ adult themes.
A raven-haired, bespectacled boy was walking down the seventh floor corridor, the weight of the world on his shoulders.
'Him or me' he thought, 'him or me.' He let his feet carry him, hoping to clear his head, however wherever he went, he could not run away from these thoughts. He knew that the main thing on his mind should be getting that memory of Slughorn, but he was discouraged with his lack of progress. In any case, it just did not seem that this one memory was a strong enough weapon against Voldemort. In the end he will still have to face him. 'Neither can live while the other survives', the words echoed in his head. What chance did he have, even with all the knowledge of teenage Voldemort?
If only he could clear his head… if only he could escape these thoughts…if only he could think about something, anything else, for just a moment…
Suddenly he was interrupted by a movement on his right side. He turned to face it. There was a door in front of him, that he was sure was not there before. Somehow he ended up in front of the room of requirement, and it had opened for him – did he think of something that he needed? He must have done, but now could not remember his train of thought. He steadied himself; he might as well go in – perhaps in the room of requirement lay some sort of answer? He stepped in.
As he was closing the door, he vaguely registered great piles of a variety of items on top of each other, and then all of his attention focused on something a lot more interesting. Draco Malfoy, a probable death eater and the enemy of Gryffindor, was splayed on the floor surrounded by cushions, trousers around his ankles, masturbating in earnest. As the door slammed shut behind Harry, Malfoy looked up, straight into Harry's eyes. His hand movement was not as quick to adapt to the changes in front of him and he thrust his fisted hand up and down while their eyes were connected. Then everything went still. Harry felt a jolt run through him, but he was too stunned to react; his mouth formed a perfect 'o'. Even Malfoy's permanent sneer was absent from his face. As if realising that, he fixed it back on and sneered at Harry, his voice throaty, although attempting at this usual drones when he said,
'Potter. How come I'm not surprised? Well, are you just going to stand there? Or come and help?'
Harry managed to pull his eyes away from what was still in Malfoy's hand. The words took a moment to sink in. What? He still couldn't quite comprehend. Malfoy said…I should come and help? Suddenly he realised what this meant and blood rushed to his cheeks. Surely he should leave right now. But how come a part of him did not want to? Uncomfortably he realised he had an erection…and suddenly thoughts and images flashed in his mind – him being obsessed with Malfoy, bringing his name in so many conversations with Ron and Hermione he could not count, following his dot on the Marauder's map… Was it possible that he was in love with Draco Malfoy?
Slowly, unsurely, and definitely without meaning to, he took a step towards the boy in front of him, who, noticing this, started touching himself again, slowly now, his eyes focused on Harry. Then everything happened really fast. Harry's desire took control and he sprinted across the last few feet towards Malfoy, fell on top of him, crushing him with his weight and was pressing his lips against the blond's. He felt around and touched Draco, who moaned close to his ear, making Harry want to hear the sound again and again.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, a fleeting thought registered – his head was finally clear, his heart finally light in the absence of impending gloom and the inevitable murder looming in the future. After they came, one after the other and hurriedly departed from the room, Harry questioned if this was what it felt like to be ordinary, where the greatest worry was how you look at someone who was your enemy after sharing something so private with them, a life where death and loss seemed a distant possibility rather than an imminent probability. Was this what it felt like to be normal?
Author's note:Many thanks to the people who reviewed and followed already! I would be grateful if you could let me know what you think.