Warnings: Slash, slight language.
A/N: This might not make any sense. It's...different from what i usually write and, truth be told, it changed directions about halfway through. I was thinking about Draco and Harry and how obsessed they are with one another, and somehow Voldemort popped in and...well, here you are. ^^
He knows it's wrong. Sometimes, as he lies awake, he wonders if that isn't the exact reason it's so tempting. Everybody wants something they can't have. In his case, it just happens to be somebody. He thinks it's funny as he listens to Hermione berate them yet again.
It's so very funny that this would be the thing to change him: this one thing he wants to be selfish on. He never thought he would become a philosopher, and this thought causes his lips to curve. Just thinking, he says when Hermione asks, a bit huffily, why he's smiling. Just…thinking. Her face turns pensive, and he's amused yet again.
Sometimes he sees him watching back. His face holds the same blank expression as his own but that's the exact reason he can tell what he's thinking. They both study one another, for surely there is some reason for this unreasonable attraction; this forbidden obsession. When they lock eyes the same expressions flitter through before they harden and both turn away. It's no use tormenting themselves with something that can never happen.
He writes a list of why he can't have him. As he looks over it, he realizes the one reason that should be there isn't. For some reason he's a jerk to my friends is more important than he's a bloody death eater. He tosses the list into the fire and does his best not to think about it again.
At breakfast he wraps his arm around Ginny, who stutters and blushes. He thinks about how cute it is everyone thinks she's in love, when even naïve he can see it's just a crush. He smiles at her anyway, blushing for an entirely different reason than everyone probably thinks, and only looks at him once. He isn't looking back, though he can't blame him. He doesn't look either when he's flirting with her.
It's funny how he feels like he has a claim on him, and they haven't even held a civilized conversation.
It's the same with Voldemort. This thought comes to him suddenly and he's thankful he's in the shower so nobody can see how his knees almost buckle. Not exactly the same of course, but close. They too share a bond that neither really wants but both cannot resist. Their emotions are so entwined, their beings so alike, they can never escape. He sleeps peacefully for the first time since his death.
He doesn't understand how nobody sees it. He feels like it's so obvious, and yet they all remain oblivious. As though it's normal he can barely take his eyes off of the other. As if there's nothing strange with the fact he only instigates fights when he's getting too close to another.
They lay tangled together as students shout behind them and for just a moment his mouth is beside his ear. You feel it too. It isn't a question but he responds anyway. Yes. It's a hiss and he feels a shudder rack the others body just before they are pulled apart viciously. The air is less tense as they serve detention later that night, and the one after that as well.
When asked about Ron and Hermione he can give quite a few facts; when asked about Draco, he could write a book. He idly wonders how this happened, and finds himself more concerned when he realizes he doesn't care.
During the battle, he pays closer attention to the flash of white hair than he does to the red and brown on either side of him. When they near one another, it's a mutual decision to ignore the other. He doesn't question the reason for hitting Ron so the curse misses, just as he casually looks the other way when he does the same. At some point he is by himself, twirling as he is attacked from all sides.
He sees nothing but white and black; hears nothing but his heart pumping and wind. He can't express how thankful he is when Draco appears at his back, mask thrown to the ground and battles against the ones he was just helping. He can't say anything, but he knows it is understood. He never thought it'd be the two of them at the end. He never thought it was what he preferred.
They come to arrest him, but are met with a very irate person guarding him, wand drawn and staring them down the way he had stared at Voldemort not hours before. He wouldn't move, he blocked all spells, and he laughed in their faces at the reasons. When the Minister arrived and was told, he placed him under house arrest until further notice. He allowed them to take him away, staring at him until there was nothing to see. While he was locked away, he told their story.
Nobody accepted it of course. They listed reason after reason and searches him for every spell and potion known to man. They were still far from acceptance. Even his friends couldn't understand, even when he left them and chose the boy. They left, started over in an entirely new place and waited, because all was not yet perfect.
Draco sighed, laying his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced away from his book and smiled, pecking the top of his head. "It's been a while," he muttered. "Are you sure it worked?" Draco looked up long enough to scowl. "Of course it did." Harry folded the corner of his page and sat the book on the railing of the porch, rubbing his eyes. "Then why isn't he here?" There was an amused laugh behind him. "So impatient."
With a laugh they both jumped up, Harry leaping over the rail and Draco rushing down the stairs. They gripped him tightly, relieved beyond words. "We were worried." Harry muttered, and Tom laughed. "You never did trust potions." Harry stuck out his tongue as Draco tugged on his hand, insisting he was the one to show him the house.
Harry watched them go, and wondered what they would say if they could see him now. It was ridiculous, he thought; so wrong that he would fall in love with them. Though he was never normal, and bonds like these could never be broken, even if he had wanted to.