.:Esoteric:.
A/N: Typed and proofread while listening to 'Room of Requirement' from the Order of the Phoenix film. : ) A very bouncy, curious number. And again, A LOT of editing went into this chapter, considering I wrote it years ago. When I went back and read everything I wrote on paper, the story progressed way to quickly, so I'm trying to fill it out and plumpen it in all the right places. ;)
Disclaimer: Don't own. I do have a rather fabulous limited ed. Deathly Hollows book release poster. : )
.:Chapter Two: Predacious:.
Three days passed, and Harry's dreams continued. One particular morning, he had punched a hole right through the dorm wall in frustration, which woke Ron and Neville. After a quick 'Repairo,' the two returned to their bed mumbling.
Saturday arrived, bringing with it the monthly trip to Hogsmeade, and Harry found himself trudging through the snow-packed ground with his two best friends.
Something collided heavily with his shoulder, sending him staggering, "Hey-!" He whirled, and looked dead into a pair of eyes as blue as the shadows across the snow, "Malfoy..!"
"Potter." The Slytherin sneered, brushing his shoulder clean.
Glaring, Harry shook snow from his cloak hem, "Watch where you're going."
"You were in the way."
The blonde signaled the two hefty bodies of contrary statures lurking behind, and swept down the narrow road.
Once they reached the perimeter of the village, Harry urged Ron and Hermione into The Three Broomsticks, insisting he would meet them later after wandering a bit. Smiling to himself, the Boy-Who-Lived continued down the now-trampled sludge. He had to give them some time alone. They had been acting strangely around one another since third year, and Harry knew they fancied each other. However, the thought of suddenly finding himself cut off left him slightly glum.
He brushed the thought away.
He melted into the crowd, passing children peering into Honeyduke's, teens and his fellow classmates pointing and shoving into Zonko's, and adults popping in and out of the Hogshead down a small, dim alley. He followed the footpath out the back of the village, meandering where his warmly-clad feet took him. Passing the last building, Dervish & Banges, he took to the evergreen-covered trail.
He kept to it, just walking, enjoying the beauty of the white-crested forest, the soft contrast of the blue-white on green.
It was after several minutes, though, that Harry realized his were not the only footfalls crunching softly down this lonely path. He slowed, taking a few more cautious steps, and heard them echoed just a few yards behind. His hand inched towards his pocket, and then he swiftly whirled, wand drawn and pointed.
"You don't trust me?" Malfoy leered.
"Why should I?"
The Gryffindor's glare sliced into the Slytherin teen. A sigh of impatience, and the blonde's lips turned up at one corner, "calm down. You jump to conclusions too quickly."
Harry placed his free hand on his hip, brows furrowed angrily "You've never given me a reason not to."
Before he knew it, Harry found himself looking up in panic at the Slytherin, the rough bark of an ancient pine digging into his back, even though his many layers, as his hands were pinned above him. Malfoy leaned in against Harry's futile thrashing, mere centimeters from the brunette's pink-dusted face, "You should trust your instincts."
Harry could only fall limply fall flush to the tree, stare defiantly, and vaguely note that the boy smelled of peppermint.
It was obvious Malfoy saw his resignation. They were, as it seemed, hidden from view, and the boy was at his mercy. He smiled in triumph, nuzzling into the boy's neck, "I gather you understand the situation."
Harry merely stared, anger and confusion suddenly adorning his wind-rouged cheeks, "Why are you doing this…?"
Malfoy retreated, wide-eyed, "What?"
The brunette cast his gaze to the side, "The book… That time in the hall… This," He took a slow breath, "What do you want from me…?"
Malfoy paused, then cast his eyes down upon the snow. A hardened smirk carved into his features. Harry chanced a look from underneath his dark fringe, and glimpsed some undefinable emotion on the blonde's porcelain face.
"I really thought you'd have figured it out."
Was that… bitterness?
The Gryffindor peered at him, trying to mask his curiosity, "Figured out what, exactly…?"
Malfoy shook his head slightly, but to Harry or himself, the brunette was not sure. Harry sighed defeatedly, nodding up at his hands "Look, are you going to let go?"
He looked like he was going to. But, after a moment, looking like a cat with a toy, Malfoy grinned wickedly, "Not quite yet, Potter."
Harry did not like that predatory gleam in the blonde's eyes. He was feeling extremely uneasy again, searching for possible escapes back to Hogsmeade. His eye roamed back to the Slytherin, and his skin prickled, "Malfoy, I-"
The blonde cut the boy off, grinding his hips heavily into Harry's. Harry released a small gasp, startled by the sudden friction. Malfoy moved in, pressing his chilled lips into the curve of the Gryffindor's neck. The brunette could feel him smiling against his skin as he twisted his head away, struggling to make his suddenly jelly-like legs work. He was frozen in place.
Trapped.
His wand lay nestled in the white fluff at his feet, unreachable. Glimpses of his dreams leapt unbidden to the front of his mind. His cheeks grew warm in spite of the whirling flurries. Malfoy's free hand traveled downward, exploring new territory. An 'Accio' died in Harry's throat, strangely, along with the impulse to bolt.
The sudden fever in his body, the feel of the blonde's gloved hands roving over him, became not so unwelcome.
Harry's soft pants filled the silent air between them, confused, and angry at being caught off guard, at being vulnerable.
Malfoy's restricting hand loosened, but Harry did not try to run. The weakened limbs fell loosely around the Slytherin's neck, then constricted as Malfoy discovered a much more pressing problem.
"Aah-!"
Harry felt that trademark smirk form against his collarbone. When did his shirt become unbuttoned?
His fingers moved upwards, entangling themselves in the blonde strands, 'How am I enjoying this…?'
He groaned slightly, then bit his lip, cutting himself off. No, he couldn't let Malfoy win.
He-
"Harry!"
"Harry, where are you?"
Said boy cursed, and felt Malfoy release him instantly.
The distant shouts of Ron and Hermione sliced through his fog. "Damn," he hastily pulled his cloak back into place, fixing his top button. He threw a dagger-laced glare at the blonde next to him, who was running his hand through his hair, looking exasperated.
Harry took a step, stumbled, then took off in the direction he came. What the bloody hell is this all about?
The snow-capped evergreens blurred past him, too distracted to notice. His face stung, the wind biting his skin angrily, and he clutched his maroon-and-gold scarf closer. His eyes burned, but he wasn't quite sure if it was just the wind's doing.
The path re-opened after a while, and he burst from the treeline, panting. He clutched his knees, doubled over, lungs searing. He stared, frustrated, down at the crushed white slush of the recently trodden ground. Maybe sprinting about in these temperatures wasn't so good for you…
"There you are!"
Crunching reached the Gryffindor's ears, and a shadow fell over him. He looked up, straightening himself.
"'Mione, here he is!"
Harry saw the bushy-haired girl break free from the crowd behind Ron. Relief flooded her pink face, "Oh, thank God, Harry, we have tons to-" From the look that crossed her face at that moment, he could only assume Malfoy had finally emerged behind him.
He could almost feel the Slytherin's leering smirk, "Granger, Weasel."
Ron slipped closer to Hermione, who tried to look as dignified as possible beneath her wind-fluffed curls, "Bugger off, Malfoy!"
"Protective of you girlfriend, as always," the blonde muttered. Harry hadn't dared yet to turn.
His friends' faces flushed.
Harry heard Malfoy move, and the blonde strolled past him, pausing between him and the others. He pulled his gloves tighter over his hands, indifferently, "Well, as much fun as this hasn't been, I really must be going." He waved mockingly at them, sneering derisively, then vanished down the road.
The three remained silent for a moment, each resonating respective waves of dislike. Finally, Hermione relaxed her shoulders, sighing, "Let's go."
Harry picked at his dinner, rolling over roasted potato bits, having lost his appetite long ago.
"Harry, what's wrong? You look pale."
"Hm?," said boy looked up, eyebrows raised, "Oh… I'm fine," he lied weakly.
She eyed him, perceptively, "Is it about Malfoy? What did he do?"
'Cornered me, molested me, and probably would've raped me if I hadn't bolted for it,' Harry thought, but opted for, "Nothing. He was just being a prat."
For a moment, he thought he fooled her, but it was still obvious she didn't think it was the whole truth. Well, it was part true.
He was being a very 'touchy-feely' prat.
Whatever her thoughts, she stopped pestering him, and turned to 'Ronald' to nag him about table manners. Harry's eyes roamed, falling on Malfoy, of course. The boy was hidden amongst the other Slytherins, and Harry wondered for a moment how so many enormous egos could fit at one table.
As if on cue (damn him!), Harry found those steely, cold eyes directed straight at him. Startled, his breath seized in his throat, and he ripped his gaze away. The stray thread on his sleeve suddenly became very interesting.
Minutes dragged by, and the brunette could still feel those eyes assaulting the side of his head.
His eyebrow twitched in annoyance.
Slamming his palms flat against the polished but worn wood, he sprung upright. An upturned goblet clattered indignantly, painting the tabletop dusty orange. Ignoring the cries of those surrounding, he snatched up his weathered canvas bag, and stormed away, "I've had enough!"
Those chilling, unreadable eyes followed him until the Hall doors safely separated them.
After the last few hours, Harry thought his glare would have burned a hole through the ceiling already.
A chorus of snores surrounded him, his dorm mates having fallen asleep long ago. It had to be at least half-past-one in the morning…
Nevertheless, he found himself irritatingly awake. Whether it was the product of frustration, or the subconscious feeling that his sleep would not exactly mean rest, he couldn't decide. Both the imaginary and annoyingly tangible Malfoy had caused the Gryffindor to question his mental stability. Conspiring to steal a vial of Dreamless Sleep from the Infirmary didn't seem so rash anymore…
His face grew hot as he considered the alternative. His hands traveled up to cover his eyes as he released a pained sigh.
Not until those damned dreams had begun had Harry considered himself anything but straight as Hermione was brilliant. Not only was he now questioning that, but now he thought he might be completely mad. Of all the sentient beings on Earth, it was Malfoy, King Prat of all prats, git to end all gits. His subconscious was playing a wicked joke.
What would have happened had Ron and Hermione not been nearby? Just how far would Malfoy have gone? There was no knowing. It had pretty much been established that blonde preferred the male persuasion. Harry scoffed to himself. That much had been evident. Who would've thought?
'It would explain quite a bit, actually…'
Harry's hands flopped down by his sides. Even if Malfoy was gay, it still didn't explain his sudden new hobbies of molestation and eye-raping. It was like the Slytherin's desire to prove his dominance had taken a rather nasty turn. They were supposed to hate each other.
Harry intended to leave it at that.
What if Malfoy was just trying to screw with him? 'Dammit, not like that!,' he winced, an obscene picture popping into his mind.
It was highly possible the blonde was simply inventing new ways to torture him. It was a rather substantial risk on the Slytherin's part, though. How did the boy know Harry wouldn't go telling everyone? Then again, who exactly would admit they had been felt up by their schoolyard rival?
His brain hurt.
He wasn't exactly proud that he'd been unable to fend Malfoy off. He was even less proud he'd submitted as much as he had. It's not like he'd liked it!
…had he?
No, no, no, absolutely NOT! Never in any conceivable amount of years would he ever consider anything of the sort with another boy, let alone Malfoy.
And that was that.
He promptly flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face into the welcoming down-pillow, praying for a peaceful sleep.
A/N: About mid-chapter, I had to re-route my original plot. Some things were progressing too quickly, and my rising action was almost non-existent. So, I stretched it out a bit, pruned and fluffed, and I think it turned out pretty decent…
Tell me what you think so far! If you have any suggestions as far as plot, I'll consider factoring them in. I have my main plot down, I just think it needs more sub-plots. ; )
Review please!