The Noble Emotions

Chapter One

Draco was the sort of person who found it quite easy to lie to himself. It was a skill he'd been nearly forced to acquire throughout his childhood. The distance between him and his father had been the most difficult thing Draco had had to deal with in his youth, and as time passed he learned to accept Lucius Malfoy's disapproving sneers as a sort of fatherly pride. He also learned to hold fast to the principles his father instilled in him, for the rare instances when Lucius took his son aside to teach him something were precious to the boy. As Draco reflected on the words of his father, a single lesson leapt into his mind, the memory feeling painful and nostalgic.

Lucius and Draco sat opposite one another in a carriage, being drawn towards the sprawling estate of the wealthy Malfoy family. "The only emotions worth displaying, or even feeling," Lucius had informed Draco, "are distaste and scorn." How this had become a subject of discussion as not remembered by the older Draco, but then again if he didn't recall how the conversation had begun, then it must not have been an important factor.

He did, however, remember feeling surprised at his father's proclamation. "What about hatred?" young Draco had asked. Bitterly, Draco recalled the sense of pride he felt that such an important and busy man as Lucius had taken the time to discuss these obviously imperitive matters with his son.

Lucius, Draco recalled, had given his son the familiar sneer and replied, "Not hatred. Hate is too close to love, and the immense obsession of thought required to produce the emotion is undesirable. One could come to rely on the one they hate as they would the one they love. And, as I have repeatedly told you, a Malfoy relies on no one but himself." This was, indeed, true, at least the last of it. Every lesson Lucius had ever taught his son came back to the independence and self-assuredness required to bear the Malfoy name with pride. All conversation for the duration of the carriage ride ceased, though in retrospect Draco wished he had had the heart and courage to continue it. There was so much beyond the few words they had exchanged, so many questions left unanswered by the proclamations of his father. And, though Draco did not know it at the time, it was the last of the fatherly advice Lucius had to offer. Any attempt at affection thereafter was deemed unnecessary. How this had been justified by the older Malfoy was unknown to his son, but the why of it was neither here nor there. It was enough, a very sad enough, that the smooth tones of Lucius' voice were never again directed at Draco for more than a few minutes at a time.

How ironic it was, Draco mused, that the last rule his father had ever given him would be the first one he would break. The doing of this was simple, utterly simple, as easy as shrugging into a fur-lined winter cloak. Without wasting too much time and effort, comfortably and efficiently, Draco had allowed himself to hate Harry Potter.

From the moment Potter had refused his handshake with his snide and disrespectfully polite remark, Draco had absorbed a great deal of his energy into hating Potter. It seemed to Draco that Potter got to do everything his little heart desired, merely because of his famous name. Their first year at Hogwarts was a prime example of that. Potter marching around the grounds with his broom and his friends, snooping into the affairs of others and nearly getting himself killed. It hadn't seemed fair to young Draco that any one person should have so much luck. And then, in their second year, Potter refused to let the mudbloods die and have done with it. He wasn't in danger as a half-blood, but just because of his filthy mudblood friend Granger he kept at his sleuthing ways, and was rewarded for it yet again. Their third year was a dismal affair for Draco, if only because that bloody hippogriff had "gotten away," and their fourth year could be summed up in two words; "Triwizard Cup." That was too bitter to be remembered, even in passing. The first truly decent year Draco had at Hogwarts was their fifth, what with Dolores Umbridge exerting her influence over staff and students, allowing most of the Slytherins but especially Draco the run of the castle. But, of course, Potter had found a way to thwart that, too, and the summer after fifth year was the most awful Draco had ever endured. It was the summer his father was taken to Azkaban for suspected (and proven) Death Eater involvement, and it was the summer Draco was forced to take on the role his father had played in Voldemort's circle. The summer he received the Mark.

Merely seconds after the ritual had been performed, Draco regretted it. He felt the weight of it always, a constant reminder of the fealty he'd sworn. That summer, he'd also been given an assignment. Oh, how his mother had wept when she found out. She went off to "be alone," and after the reclusiveness she'd adopted all summer, Narcissa's behavior concerned her son. When she returned several days later, she did, indeed, seem calmer. Draco didn't have the heart to ask where she'd been or what she'd done to achieve her level of peace, and Narcissa didn't offer the information. Mere weeks later, she sent her son back to Hogwarts, where the assignment was expected to be completed within the term. She didn't seem overly upset to see him go, and Draco soon discovered why. Bellatrix Lestrange, his all-too-interesting maternal aunt, would be moving in with her beloved sister. This news didn't trouble Draco much. While Bellatrix was far from desirable company, he would rather have someone for his mother to pass the time with than for her to be in that large, cold house by herself.

Term began, on a comforting note to the over-worked Draco. He had found Harry Potter snooping in his cabin on the train, lying on the floor in his Invisibility Cloak and listening in on the conversation of Draco and his fellow Slytherins. He had ignored it at the time, but as he left the train, he performed a Full-Body Bind Curse on the Gryffindor and removed the Cloak, revealing the innate Potter lying on his back and quite unable to do anything about it. After a sincere warning about what would happen next time Draco found Potter where he didn't belong, Draco replaced the Cloak and stepped purposefully on Potter's face, feeling an odd satisfaction when he heard the crunch of broken bone and cartilage. For a least a few moments, it felt good to be back.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Perhaps it was the elation causing Potter physical harm had given him, or perhaps it was the result of too much pudding at the feast, but the first night back Draco had a rather disturbing dream that he found difficult to forget. In it, Draco was forcibly taking Potter for his own sexual gratification, while Potter repeatedly begged him to stop. The most concerning component of the dream was that Draco was enjoying the atrocious acts he was committing, and was, in fact, turned on ever more by Potter's pleads to end it. The second most disturbing fact of this frightening nightscape was that Draco wasn't homosexual. Any number of sixth- and seventh-year Slytherin girls could attest to that. There was comfort, at least, in that once Draco realized what he was dreaming about he promptly woke up.

Lust was something he entertained, and frequently. Draco neither held himself in contempt nor applauded his sexual prowess, as none of his father's lessons had concerned the union of two willing bodies. Once Draco had been awake for a few minutes, he also found a reason to justify the images that had recently assailed his sleep, the justification being in the form of humiliation. What better way to humiliate your enemy than by raping him? Using another convenient skill of his childhood, Draco omitted the fact that his dreamself had enjoyed the act of raping Potter.

While Draco didn't sleep again that night, he didn't feel any more fatigued on the first day of classes than he'd been since his father's arrest. The one noticeable difference in his behavior, however, was a complete avoidance of Potter. Quite honestly, Draco couldn't look him in the ey without having flashes of created memory. If anyone else noticed this, they thankfully did not comment. Then again, the Slytherins, and most of the other students, as well, had learned by now not to question Draco's moods. There was a positive side, he decided, to being feared beyond having any semblance of a true friend.

By the time evening rolled around, the previous night's imagined escapades had nearly been driven from his mind, if only by the sheer amout of coursework his professors had placed in his lap. He had expected, or rather, hoped, that they would forgo the inevitable material for one night in the spirit of the start of term, but not even in his most trivial classes did Draco catch a break. Consequently, it was quite late when he finally laid down to rest, drawing the bed curtains around him. Sleep fell on him nearly instantly, but its beautiful, restorative effects did not last long. Once again, his slumber was interrupted by Potter, and more disconcertingly by Potter allowing (yes, allowing this time) Draco to perform any number of lewd acts on his person. The dream continued on past Draco's recognition of its subject matter, and he even found himself wishing it wouldn't end. With a wrench of sleeping thought, he pulled himself awake, sitting upright in his bed. His breathing was uneven, and his heartbeat raced. Two nights in a row. Draco had dreamed about Potter for two nights in a row. He resolved to get a dreamless sleep potion from Snape (who would ask the fewest questions) sometime within the week.

Despite the second appearance of Potter in his dreams, Draco felt the call of sleep in his over-worked body and fatigued mind. He laid down, drawing the covers to his chin, and closed his eyes. Potter did not visit him again that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Days passed, and the struggle to keep up with his work and still find time to accomplish the assignment he'd been given by the Dark Lord took its toll on Draco. His once polished appearance grew haggard and careworn, and he gave up all his lustful behaviors, simply because the exertion it took to reach any kind of fulfillment was needed elsewhere. Every ounce of energy was needed merely to keep him going.

And nights passed, as well, fitfully and without providing much rest to Draco. He either dreamed of what would happen if he failed the assignment, or he dreamed of Potter. For whatever reason, Potter was becoming a more active participant in the antics of Draco's mind, and with each passing dream he began to turn the tides on Draco's dreamself. On one night, nearly a month after all restful sleep had ceased, the tables were turned completely. Instead of Draco taking Potter on an increasingly consensual journey to ecstasy, Potter was taking Draco, and the ride was sweeter than anything Draco had ever experienced with any woman. It had been weeks since Draco had bothered to wake himself from these nightly visitations, but in this instance he found that he had no choice. He couldn't bear the sweet torment, nor could he stomach the thought of whom was providing him with this sensation. With a mighty pull at his subconscious, Draco dragged himself awake and emerged from a sleep haze of Potter and pleasure. As his brain slowly relinquished control to the world of the waking, Draco found himself in a condition that made him quite thankful to have drawn the curtains before lying down. To think that Potter, pathetic, Dumbledore's pet Potter, had caused him to lose control of himself in a dream as well as in his own bed was beyond his comprehension. Draco sighed. There would be no more futile attempts at sleep tonight. With an ever-deeper sigh, he heaved his weary body from his bed and set out to find his Invisibility Cloak. The silvery-grey Cloak turned up in one of his dresser drawers, and he cast it about his shoulders. Potter wasn't the only one to own one of these precious commoditites, he thought with a sneer.

It wasn't until he was outside the Gryffindor common room that he realized where he was going, or even that he was moving at all. His thoughts had been a swirling mass of anger and lust, which Draco realized to be a potent combination. Now that he was here, however, he had no idea how to proceed. It was well past curfew, and he had no idea what the Gryffindor password was, not that he could use it if he did. With a sarcastic sort of chuckle, he imagined the scene if he just happened to wander into their common room. "Hello, all," he imagined himself saying, "I'm looking for Potter. I just had this dream where he was fucked me, you see, and I wanted to visit him." No. Absolutely not.

As he stood, deep in thought, a figure, presumably an out-of-bed student, came towards him. Distracted as he was, Draco assumed that the student, who was moving at a rather impressive speed, would move to avoid him. Draco had, however, completely forgotten about the Invisibility Cloak he was wearing. The student slammed into him without slowing his considerable pace at all.

"What the-" the student exclaimed, in a tone of complete bewilderment, and his voice was one Draco knew all too well. He'd heard it over and over again, every night for the past month.

In the collision of bodies, both Harry and Draco had been thrown to the floor, and Draco's Cloak had been partially removed, revealing bits of his body and his face to a very surprised Potter. "Watch where you're going, Potter," Draco sneered, not quite realizing yet that Harry couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to.

Harry eyed Draco suspiciously and stood up. "I'm not the one standing in front of someone else's common room wearing an Invisibility Cloak, am I?" He dusted himself off. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Not that it concerns you," Draco coldly replied, doing his best to think of a plausible excuse off the top of his head, "but I'm here on prefect's business."

Harry looked at Draco intently for a few beats, seemingly attempting to gage the Slytherin's honestly. "Prefect's business?" he mused. "Well, then, I suppose I'll leave you to it."

The verbal exchange between Draco and Harry had awoken the Fat Lady at last, and she sleepily breathed, "Password?"

"Not right now," Harry muttered to the portrait.

The Fat Lady fully opened her eyes and saw that not all present were Gryffindor. "Oh. Well, hurry it up. I can't be expected to wait all night."

Draco, already irritable about the way this conversation was going, snapped, "Yes, you can. But I won't keep you any longer. I'm finished here." He donned the Cloak, and turned to leave. A sudden, vivid flash of his latest dream appeared to his mind's eye, and a rather unexpected pang of guilt followed it. "Potter, how's your nose?" he asked, trying to be as cold and uncaring in his concern as possible.

Harry stiffened, and looked at where he assumed Draco to be quite quizzically. "Fine," he replied with an air of finality. "Good night, Malfoy."

The walk back to the Slytherin common room was a long one for Draco, and his mind wandered far and wide, though he did not allow it to dwell on any of Potter's nightly appearances. He didn't quite know what he expected to come of his visit to the Gryffindors, but what had happened certainly wasn't it.