Tomato Paste

Chapter 3

The-rose-has-wilted

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I will assume that you guys will have figured that out by now, and this disclaimer will stand for all following chapters.

Warnings: Slash is starting to get cooking now! Ruitine slash warnings apply! Your results may vary!

--------------------

here were many pretty, happy birds floating gleefully about the air outside Draco Malfoy's room. Draco Malfoy did not like birds. In fact, birds were thee bane of the boys entire existence. Yes, well, Draco could be shallow when he was tired. For you see, he is not a morning person, or "idiot," as he so dubbed them.

But, that was just one more thing on a long list of things that Draco did not like, so many of his grumblings went unnoticed, the constant whispering of a shell into your ear. Maybe he didn't like that. Draco did not like to be ignored, and yet, he was being ignore right now. Perhaps he was going to have to admit, let others rule a little plot of his heart as well... And maybe Hell would freeze over as well.

His stomach had been churning for the past week, and that could have had a slight effect on his temper. But, today was the day he would board the Hogwarts Express, he would be back. Draco Malfoy would be back. Because school was always the same. No one ever made any overhauling discoveries over the summer. Tomatoes always grow the same way, don't they? Aren't they going to do the same, again. They should. He would go back, and the same coolness of the dungeon would be the familiar face, coming to greet him again. And, all would be right with the world.

But it was like a Lily, the truth and the realization. Because, you know, Irises will open if you leave them in a jar of hot water, ready to face the sun. Soon, he would tire of fighting imaginary monsters, right? It was a surprise, wasn't it, how people could polarize so quickly. And Draco would have none of it. He was different. He always had been. It all lied in the last name. Once you see the legendary letters, you found a key to respect, and the cornucopia of good living. That was what he had been presented with at birth. Could that birthright be taken away, dashed and diced and divvied up amongst the rabid dogs waiting for such a sweet piece of dead flesh. No, he would not, simple as that. Because being a Malfoy made him special, an exception to the rule. And, if the rule stated that he would actually have.. ugh.. "feelings" for someone, who was to say a Malfoy veela had to follow such a trivial law.

But it was a natural law, wasn't it. His thoughts were interrupted at that moment. Mother dearest came in; it was time to leave. The boy sighed in exasperation. Finally. He had long ago packed his trunk, full of all of the things he would need. All the textbooks, the parchment, the quills, the ink, the rest. He had planned well, even did all the essays in the correct format. A boy known for getting what he wanted, when he wanted it was not famous for remarkable summer work.

"Snape and Dumbledore have been informed of your current.. predicament," his mother said curtly. He would have remarked upon the unfairness of the situation, had he not noticed his mother's obvious dislike of such a notion. Her face looked like she had been expecting a full cup of tea, and had only gotten the ground end of the leaves. Utter discord floated from the room, building the energy in the immense space. And, as soon as it had began, the mother veela snapped the case shut, and grounded them, once again, firmly to the planet's surface.

She grabbed the white gloves from off the shelf, because Malfoys look better than everyone else, even if the only ones to impress are the drunken bums at London Station. It was a family practice, a code they all followed. No more words were said about it. "Be prepared," his mother spoke sharply. "Your powers will be completely uncontrollable until you find your mate. Be careful, for at times, you will be irresistible to anyone."

Draco nodded in that way that indicated that he had absolutely as little interest in the matter as he could, yet his mother knew he was listening. Malfoys can look however they like, and you never know what they are thinking. A skill taught at birth.

"Attraction is powerful, Draco. You will be able to bring others to their knees. I trust you will remain sane in what you do, or some rather... undesirable things could happen. Make finding your mate top priority. Do not ignore it."

And that was all she had to say on the subject, before they apparated. If you liked succinct, then Narcissa, was the element of choice, the embodied spirit. Kindred and so on. But that was how she was raised, a victim of the times. Narcissa did not explain more than she had to. And that was enough. It's true, you expect what you are given. Truth is at the root of most old sayings. It's a matter of peeling off layers of lies to get to the nugget of pure intelligence. Many things have been said for the value of gold, but there is never enough said for knowledge. Or love. How can something be both over-rated and under-rated? The magical quality we assign to all our siren songs, all the things we don't understand. Everything's so easy when you don't admit to it. Or understand it.

But, as quickly as the thought had entered his head, it was jostled free. And, before he knew it, he had sped through the wall, Narcissa waving as he passed.

iamalineiamalineiamalineiamaline

Draco boarded the train, after leaving all his baggage at the front carriage. They could carry it for him, as far as he was concerned. Draco wasn't concerned with many things. He boarded the train, an air of confidence trailing at his feet. He made his way down the lo9ng corridor, to a seat that he knew would be untaken. Because it was his seat. And NO ONE took Draco Malfoy's seat. Ever.

There were doors in his way. He pushed them open, let the light shine through. Through the glass. He breathed a sigh. There was Pansy. Like a joyful puppy at its master's feet. A puppy that would have lost control of its bladder, had it waited any longer. Well, one thing was for sure. Pansy was most definitely not his mate. His mate wouldn't be so... gross to him. Then again...

Draco wished that Blaise would stop staring at him. It was unnerving. There eyes were large, absorbent, soaking up his image. This was not good. Hormones. Powers. Draco needed to find someone... who was it? He couldn't remember. He needed to remember the name. Everything could be so easy. So easy. Then he could stop receiving funny looks.

"I'm going out." He stated it as a fact, ringing in the other's ears. "The air here is too full of hormones." He spat the word "hormones" out with as much disgust as he could muster. Really, the whole notion was ridiculous. Others so ridden with the stuff that they couldn't think straight. Although... He had to admit, there was a certain enjoyment to be had by controlling a person's every thought. After all, it was always nice to have slaves. Slaves to do the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the...

And such was the mood poor Draco was in when a delightful scent nearly bowled him over.

ithinkiamalineithinkiamalineithinkiamaline

Draco had wandered far down one corridor of the train. Most everyone was seated in cars, the doors open, the eyes following him down the carpet. Draco was mumbling about something when something that smelled of cinnamon sugar and cream found its way up his nose. And he paused a moment, his knees weakening. That smelled very, very... good. Delectable, even. Something so mouth-watering-ly good he couldn't stand it. It was as if someone had put the most delicious pecan pie and ice cream under your nose, and you hadn't eaten all day. And you wanted that piece of pie like you've never wanted anything before. Now, you'll understand what he did next.

Draco stumbled down the passageway, his eyes no longer seeing. Cinnamon, sugar, cream, it was all he could think of, see, hear. And, it was getting stronger, bigger, larger, 'till it threatened to burst his heart, throw off the cogs of his head, make thoughts in his mind less of a river. Not even a trickle left that wasn't screaming at the scent behind his eyes, light as hydrogen. Hydrogen can burn. And when a little spark of recognition hits you, your whole ship can go up in flames.

For it was at this time that Draco reached the room, the door open. That golden scent filled his senses, his common sense departing. In the room was... The Golden Trio.

And there was the spark.

And Draco's heart was on fire, erupting. His eyes want up, he was out of breath. It was late morning. The sun was streaming through the window, bouncing of the Golden Boy's glasses. The side of his cheek alight, his mouth parted in a petal-like invitation. An open invitation to pluck those lips from the ripened branch, take them, claim them, make... And then Harry Potter moved.

The sun wasn't on his face, no longer kissing his cheek, his ros-petal lips forming words. Words. Have to concentrate. What's he saying?

"Malfoy?"

"Potter."

Ron was frowning. The day had been fine so far, he got to drive a car, spent the day with his best mate, met with Hermione, and, now the Ferret was here to ruin the day. Just like the conceited prick.

"Look Malfoy, if you've got nothing to say, then do as all a favor and leave."

Draco looked, and noticed Ron for what seemed like the first time that morning. He opened his mouth as if to retort, and yet... Nothing came out. He shut it again. This worried Hermoine. She didn't worry about a lot, either. But when she worried about something, she had a good reason. And Malfoy not retorting was most definitely a good reason. People do not overhaul their character in three months very often, and it was simply not in the boy's genes to allow an insult to slip by, un-retorted.

So that was why the current situation merited retrieve from he book, and a shift of attention to the three other bodies in the room. Draco did not look like himself. For one, he was out of breath. And Malfoys never show any sign of physical exertion what so ever. It was like a white rose with blue spots. It wasn't done. And he was staring extremely intently at Harry. Harry was being scrutinized? Examined? Hermoine didn't know. And that was something else that most definitely never happened.

tobealineornottobetobealineornottobetobealineornottobe

"Please leave."

Draco heard the words, but did not obey. He was here for a reason. And that reason was standing right in front of him.

"Now." Harry reached out, placing his hands on his chest. His mind whited out, even if only for a second. The hands were leaving holes in his flesh. Draco's arms ached, they wanted to hold the body, the waist, the... everything in front of him. But his mind had already regained control. His body singed in protest, but he pulled back, drew away, and molded his features into long-practiced disgust.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." He growled, body screaming. "Ever. Got that, Potter?" he spat. And with that, he spun on his heals, stalking of to go torment some first-years.

-------------------

Wohoo! Third chapter complete! Sorry for any delay, but Fanfiction wouldn't connect. And, sorry if this is a little bit rushed, but I did half of it a week ago, so my train of thought was a little broken. I may fix it later, but... I'm publishiung it now in its (possible) unfinished-ness!

Thank you reviewers!

I still like more reviews!