Chapter 2
Draco ground his teeth, his neck twitching from the effort it took to refrain from looking over his shoulder every five minutes. Damn if that nosy Harry Potter wasn't following him again! Harry followed his every move these days and Draco growled low in his throat, betting that he could hardly wipe his own ass without Potter wanting to know when and why.
He clenched his fists in the pockets of his robe and cursed under his breath, walking as calmly as possible towards the edge of the lake.
Let Potter follow me, he thought bitterly, crouching to scoop up a handful of moist pebbles from the water's edge. I won't give him anything special to see and the bastard will give up and leave me alone.
"Git," he muttered, tossing a single pebble out into the fog, faintly hearing the wet splash as the stone sunk. Draco felt rather than heard Harry edging closer, sensed him hovering behind a nearby tree. Draco rolled his eyes and huffed irritably; six years of bitter rivalry and Harry thought to sneak up on him?
Those years, those personal battles on the Quidditch pitch and in the halls, had turned Draco into a finely tuned Harry Radar. He could feel the pressure of the air around him change when Harry was near (or even several yards away); he could recognize Harry's other-worldly damp earth/sweaty male scent, which was already drifting on the night air and making him oddly dizzy. Draco could even feel those large green eyes burning into the back of his head and wondered whether a moment more would cause his hair to smoke and singe. Harry often gave him the impression of fire; whether it was the dark smoldering "I just woke up" looks he got during breakfast in the Great Hall, or the near maniacal blazing glares that got shot at him during Quidditch. Harry was distinctly on fire about something and Draco shivered involuntarily, wondering wildly what it would take to douse that flame.
Be damned if I burn under his scrutiny forever. Draco feigned boredom as he dropped the rest of the now sticky pebbles and crunched over them onto the silence of pine needles, leaning his back against the Harry-free side of the tree.
"How long are you going to keep this up, Potter?" Draco's snarl sliced the warm air and his hand grasped his wand, waiting for Harry to make the next move.