Title: Slow Burning

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: T/T+

Content: adult language, implied m/m

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, related characters, and/or places. I make no profit off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes. Part 2 of Addiction. Written approximately 3 years ago, before the publication of HBP.

All the muggle scientific journals say that girls mature more quickly than boys. Okay, that's obvious. Bathroom humor is funny to boys for a lot longer than it is to girls. But what about maturity when you're comparing boys to boys? I think it's safe to say that some of us--those with psychotically overbearing father figures--mature very quickly while others--those with no real father figures to speak of--mature more slowly. But what is maturity really?

Maturity is the day you wake up and realize three things: 1) the world is a shitty place sometimes, 2) no one is going to help you deal with said shitty world, and 3) you've got a cock and suddenly have a maddening urge to stick it anywhere it will fit.

It's been a week since I gave Potter a goodnight kiss, and now he's acting...weird. No one would notice it but me because its only around me that his behavior is different. Now, when Severus pairs us together in Potions, he groans loud enough for Granger and Weasley to hear, but then seems none too upset when he's sitting beside me. His voice is soft and sweet when he speaks to me. He does this cute little half-smile when I try to insult him, and while it's positively adorable, it also makes me want to punch his lights out.

And since when did I start going on about how adorable Harry Potter is?

I try to tell myself I'm just imagining things, but it's impossible to ignore the way his knee brushes against mine while we're working, and yeah, I kind of like it, but come on! Since when did a stupid peck on the roof of the Astronomy tower mean I want to go steady with him?

Do I want to go steady with him?

Bloody hell.

He needs to get over himself. I could have anybody I wanted, just like I told him, but I don't want anybody. I'm happy with just me, myself, and I, plus my cigarettes, my broom, and my wand. Severus would probably say my list of essentials reveals too much about my personality because they're long, thin, and slightly phallic in shape.

I told you he has a weird sense of humor. Mid-term is coming up. I think he's up to a pack and a half a day now.

No, Potter is a hassle I just don't need right now. Father is getting anxious about my birthday coming up. Eighteen, the age of passage into the world of the Death Eaters. I used to want to be one, but now...it's gotten too crazy. They do more hiding than anything else, and I don't want to hide. Being loud and proud about anything would be presumptuous in the Dark Lord's eyes, however, and I'd really rather avoid winding up like Potter's parents.

There he is again. Potter. He's fucking everywhere.

Right now, he's beside me, cutting up some damn disgusting slug-like things for yet another healing potion. I like the way he sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating.

No. I don't.

"Hurry up, Potter," I snap. "We don't have all bloody day."

He rolls his eyes, but quickly finishes and adds them to the purplish mixture already in the cauldron in front of us. It crackles a bit then turns a light shade of green. The same green as Potter's eyes, sort of soft around the edges with little flecks of--

What am I talking about??

"Good work, Mr. Malfoy," Severus says from behind us. "And you, Mr. Potter."

The last bit sounded forced. Potter's eyes practically bug out of his head, and he mutters a 'thank you' before Severus goes stalking away, robes fluttering behind him impressively.

I've really got to ask him how he does that.

"So, will I be seeing you on the roof tonight, as usual?" Potter asks as we start to clean up.

I look at him sideways. "Do you want to see me?"

He shrugs a little, trying to come off as nonchalant. "It's not so bad having company up there."

I consider that for a moment. Is that what he means, or is that just what he's saying? "All right, Potter. I'll see you tonight."

He half-smiles. "I'll be there."

Oh, God. Is this a date?

I keep wondering about our pseudo-date for the rest of the day. We've never both agreed to be there, we just were. Now, he's expecting me. My midnight smoke isn't just mine anymore. Then again, his midnight ride isn't just his anymore either. It's a fair trade.

Right?

He's already flying in huge, widening circles by the time I get there at quarter past midnight. I am purposely late to prove that pseudo-date or not, Draco Malfoy shows up when he wants. Nobody chooses that but him! Ooh, Potter is wearing a forest green sweater. Very nice.

Stop it!!

I take my time getting up to the roof, but he doesn't even wait until I'm settled to swoop in and sit down beside me. I find my cigarettes just where I left them and grumble in his general direction when I sit down. He smiles anyway and swings his legs over the edge. "How were your classes today?"

God...small talk. I shrug as I light up a stretch out on my back like usual. "Fine, I guess. You?"

He hitches one shoulder. "Divination's a pain, but it always is."

"Trelawney still predicting your death?" I ask with an exhale of smoke and an internal shudder of pleasure. That first drag is always the best. He nods, and I snort. "You think that would have gotten old by now. It's obvious you're not going to kick off so easily."

"I think she takes some sick pleasure in it," he answers.

I'd like to take some sick pleasure--

Stop. It. Now.

Silence falls between us. Potter looks at me, and I look at anything except Potter until he finally lets out a sigh. "Malfoy...what are we doing?"

What a loaded question. I decide to play it cool. "I'm smoking, and you're sitting."

He makes a frustrated sound. "You know what I mean. Sneaking out to meet each other--"

"We did not meet each other, " I interrupt. "I came out to smoke, and you just happened to be here."

"Draco...you know that's not true."

Who gave him permission to use my first name?

I flick the half-smoked cigarette away and turn to look at him. "Listen, Potter, just because I gave you a quick snog doesn't mean I'm in love with you or what to date you or anything!"

He now looks sufficiently surprised, and I'm rather surprised myself. There I go letting my mouth work before my brain. "Okay...I just wanted to be sure I wasn't getting the wrong idea."

Silence again. This time it's me who breaks it. "Go fly around, Potter. I like it better when you're flying, and I'm watching."

He doesn't say anything and mounts his broom then takes off. His feelings are hurt, and a part of me feels shitty for it, but the part is glad. Now, he knows where we stand.

Where do we stand?

I don't really fancy him all that much. Half the time, I want to punch him--and the other half of the time, I want to kiss him silly. He aggravates me, and he makes me bloody crazy. I hate his friends, especially when they're hugging all over him--

Oh, fuck.

Heaven help me. I think I've fallen for Harry Potter.

That's when he lands beside me, a horrible look of misery on his face. "I'm gonna turn in early. I'm really tired, so I'll--"

"Come here, Potter."

And that's when I lose control of myself. He gets in close to me, and I can smell him and feel the heat of his body against the chill of the night, and it makes my head spin. I'm the one pulling him into my arms, and I'm the one kissing those sweet, soft lips, and I'm the one holding onto him--but it doesn't feel like me. It's like I'm outside myself, watching this gorgeous scene take place.

But even though it's me doing all this, the important thing is that it's him kissing me back.