Chapter 2

Draco buried himself under the covers.

Green eyes, dark with arousal…

He had not slept at all well. His hair was undoubtedly almost standing up on end from the amount of times he had tossed and turned during the night, and he was uncomfortably sweaty.

A pair of wind-chapped lips open in a gasp, a whimper escaping them…

Of course, that wasn't the only reason he was uncomfortable. He groaned and turned onto his side, gripping the pillowcase tightly in his fist and trying desperately to ignore the images that would not leave – him – alone.

He tried to do what Snape told him to do, to focus on his hatred for Potter, but when he did all that happened was that he began to imagine Potter angry, which in turn led to him imagining Potter red-faced, which in turn led to him imagining Potter flushed and sated after a long session of what Snape had delicately termed 'copulation'.

He rolled over again and sighed heavily. Last night when he'd finally returned from Snape's office, he'd had a huge fight with Blaise. Not a shouting-hexing-punching fight like he always had with Potter – please, they were Slytherins – but it had been intense. Zabini refused to admit that forcing Draco to drink a potion that could kill him might have been a bad idea, and Draco refused to admit that Blaise wasn't the only one who took jokes too far sometimes (that time he'd completely removed Nott's arm was an accident, for Merlin's sake!).

That being said, Draco had had a wonderful time informing Zabini that Snape had walked into the Entrance Hall to find him fiercely pushing another student (for obvious reasons, Draco didn't say who) into the wall and snogging the living daylights out of them, and now knew the full story (although Draco also emitted the part where he'd refused to tell Snape who'd started the whole thing in the first place), right down to the brand name of the potion.

And now Zabini was going to be turning people against him for at least a week and Draco didn't know how many more knocks his reputation could take before he was officially a social outcast and he just wanted Potter so much.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd gone over it, how the cloying taste of liquid rose petals had threatened to overwhelm him and there was nothing he could've done about it. How when the very moment he'd caught sight of Potter an explosion of something so powerful it was skirting the edge of pain had set itself off in the pit of his stomach. How then it had spread, extending upwards to wrap around his chest and tingling at the ends of his fingers.

How he'd all of a sudden become aware – so incredibly aware – of everything that was Harry James Potter.

He could still feel it now, running through his veins, lurking just beneath the surface of his skin. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; like fire and ice in a constant battle right within every fibre of his being.

It was worse when Potter was around. As soon as Draco caught sight of him, the potion would ignite inside him, urging him closer, promising rewards if he could just touch.

Even when he wasn't even looking at him it was bad; just by being in the same room as him, the feeling of uncontrollable desire was enough to send him mad. Or at least send him to the headmaster's office if any of the teachers happened to cursorily use Legilimency on him and see just what he wanted to do to their hero.

And perhaps the worst thing was that he still could not stand the thought of liking Potter in any way. Just thinking about the arrogant speccy git in any positive way at all made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want to think Potter attractive. He wanted to be able to hate Potter as much as he'd always done, he wanted to despise the sight of him rather than get turned on.

He wanted Potter bent over a desk and moaning Draco's name, goddamn it.

He once again bemoaned his shitty luck. Over a thousand people in that school, and who'd he get? Mr I'm Too Good For You Smug Hero Bastard Potter.

Draco lay there staring up at the canopy of his bed for a good fifteen minutes, directing his mind to mundane thoughts and trying desperately to get Potter out of his head. It wasn't at all easy; as soon as Draco thought he had a handle on everything, his treacherous mind would throw another memory at him – a simple thing like chasing Potter on a broom was suddenly one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced and he was hard all over again.

After the fifth time getting things under control, only to have them spiralling outwards again, Draco gave up. He sighed in resignation and decided that what he really needed was a long, cold shower.

***

Breakfast was a disaster. Pansy had stormed up to him and demanded to know what was going on between him and Blaise in a shrill voice that caught the attention of every student in a twenty-foot radius. Of course, Draco had refused to tell her, so, after a few shrieked insults, she took to ignoring him as well. Consequently, Draco drank his morning coffee in silence at the very end of the Slytherin table with only Crabbe and Goyle for company. Suffice to say, they were not the best of conversationalists.

But social ostracism he could handle. He often found the mundane chit-chat of mealtimes tedious, anyway, especially in the mornings. No, there was only one event that morning that really ruined Draco's mood: Potter walking into the hall.

Draco's entire body tensed up and his fingers clenched around his cup of coffee so hard he suspected it might soon break, so great was the effort it took not to leap up and attack Potter right there and then in front of the entire school. There was no way he could stop himself staring, though, so in a way it was a decidedly good thing that the rest of the seventh year Slytherins were now paying him no attention; were he sitting in his usual place surrounded by his chattering friends, someone would have immediately noticed his strange behaviour. Crabbe and Goyle on the other hand, hardly sharp-eyed at the best of times, lost all skills of observation as soon as there was food close by.

And then Potter had the audacity to look right at him and blush. Blush! Perhaps he realised just how near Draco was to shooting across the hall and assaulting him, because to his credit, he quickly averted his gaze and took care to sit with his back to the Slytherin table. Or maybe Potter just thought himself too good to look at Draco's face.

Not that it mattered. Potter's back was just as good as his front, if not better – at least this way Draco didn't have to look at his infuriating self-satisfied expression.

And so Draco spent the entirety of breakfast idly contemplating the back of Potter's head, his coffee growing cold, forgotten. By the time the hall began emptying as students and teachers alike left for their first class of the day, Draco could have described in great detail the way Potter's hair curled attractively at the nape of his neck, how it stuck almost straight up at the crown, and how Draco imagined it would look after several hours of intense shagging.

He stumbled through his first two lessons in a daze; his mind was thoroughly occupied alternating between thinking how much he hated Potter and how much he wanted Potter, and had no room for inconsequential nonsense such as the correct way to hold a wand to produce the maximum effectiveness in a Repelling Charm.

It was during morning break that he was snapped out of his reverie. Potter, Weasley and Granger were heading outside to the courtyard, Weasley and Granger bickering as usual; Potter trailing behind.

Draco's control had been tested too much in the last twenty-four hours and he honestly couldn't help himself. Casting a whispered Silencing Charm on Potter and trusting that his own footsteps would be inaudible thanks to the rising volume of the Weasel/Mudblood debate, he followed the trio until caught sight of one of Filch's disused broom cupboards ahead in the corridor. Smirking to himself, Draco sneaked up right behind Potter, grabbed him by the neck of his robes and, ignoring Potter's panicked grasping hands, dragged him through the – really creaky, hopefully Granger and Weasley didn't hear that – door.

Potter, the clumsy fool, tripped over a bucket in the dark of the cupboard, but that was okay. His arms flung out to catch himself, letting go of Draco and giving Draco a perfect opportunity to press himself along the warm length of Potter's body. Draco was pretty sure he let out a low moan at this point, but he didn't care at all; as long as he could stay here, his arms wrapped around Potter's middle and his front plastered to Potter's back, he was happy.

Potter seemed to have gone stiff with shock (Potter… stiff… ohh), so Draco, taking advantage of the absence of Potter's flailing limbs, attached his mouth to Potter's neck. Potter even tasted good, damn him. And his smell, oh Merlin. Draco buried his nose in Potter's hair (right in the curl at the back that he'd spent breakfast examining, sweet Merlin it was just as good as he'd imagined) and inhaled deeply. Mmmmm.

However, Potter's recently increased presence in his life must already have had a detrimental effect on his brain, because in all his musings over where Potter's arms were when he was hitting Draco, Draco had forgotten to worry about something more important now that Potter's arms were still: Potter's wand.

The wand that was now pointed quite steadily at Draco over Potter's shoulder.

But the thing was, Draco couldn't stop. Potter was just so damn delicious. It was literally impossible for Draco to stop sucking and nibbling on Potter's delectable neck. Impossible to prise himself apart from the glorious places that his skin touched Potter's. Impossible, that was, until Potter hexed him.

Draco let out a cry and flew backwards, his cheek on fire with pain and his body on fire with need. Bloody – fucking - Potter.

"What was that for?" he yelped, clutching his cheek.

"What was that for?!" Potter repeated incredulously, turning to face him. "You attacked me and dragged me into a broom cupboard, that's what that was for!"

Draco thought this was unfair. "It's not my fault!" he said. "I think you'll find we've had this discussion before, Potter. If you weren't such a busybody—"

Potter seemed unimpressed. "Look, whatever," he said shortly. "Just stay away from me, okay, Malfoy?" And with that, Potter wrenched open the door, causing Draco to squint against the sudden flood of bright light. When he'd finally gathered his wits about him and righted himself, Potter was gone.

***

Tuesday.

Draco leaned heavily against the wall, his heart pounding. After careful observation (Draco refused to say 'stalking') over the course of the day, he'd noticed that Potter always used the same route from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor common room: a passage hidden behind a tapestry on the second floor. On closer inspection, Draco had found that the tapestry actually concealed a narrow staircase which bypassed the third floor entirely and emerged near the vicinity of the library on the fourth floor.

Buzzing with this new knowledge, Draco had left lunch early. He hadn't been hungry, despite the large slices of chocolate gateau that lay temptingly in the middle of the table, and besides, he was getting very impatient for an opportunity to see Potter again. And seeing as Potter was probably very much on his guard after yesterday's spectacle, he didn't really have much hope of ambushing him in the corridors…

A plan had formulated in Draco's mind as he'd absently toyed with his chicken pie, his eyes on the Gryffindor table (and one Gryffindor in particular). Granger had dragged Weasley off somewhere – probably to create bushy-haired ginger kids with outrageous teeth, now there was something the world did not need to see – leaving Potter to finish his lunch in the company of Longbottom.

But, Draco had dredged up from the depths of his memory, Longbottom always went down to the greenhouses straight after lunch, which meant that Potter would be heading back to his common room on his own…

After figuring this out, Draco had immediately left the hall to the curious glances of some of his housemates. Screw them. If they wanted to ask him something, they'd have to start talking to him again, wouldn't they?

After what felt like hours of waiting – but in reality was probably more like five minutes – Draco heard a single pair of footsteps approaching. He held his breath, careful not to make any noise, and braced himself.

Potter, from what Draco could remember, always pulled back the right edge of the tapestry before stepping into the passage and letting it fall backwards. That's what Draco was counting on, hidden as he was in the shadows to the left of the passageway. If he could get Potter as soon as he'd let go of the material, he'd be able to cast a quick Silencing Charm and then nobody in the corridor outside would be able to see or hear Potter's inevitable struggles and come rushing to help their hero.

That's what he hoped, anyway.

The footsteps came to a halt and a beam of light from the corridor lit up the narrow staircase for a moment and Potter – Draco could tell it was him even without looking – stepped inside. The tapestry fell back into place and Draco made his move.

"Silencio!" he whispered under his breath, pointing his wand at the portal, and the dull murmur of the students walking in corridor disappeared completely. Potter's hand flew to his wand and he paused, eyes fixed on the point where Draco was hiding in the darkness.

"What—?" he began, but Draco was on him before he could finish.

It was a brilliant feeling, his skin being next to Potter's again, and he allowed himself to become lost in the pleasure of it, the feel of a warm body – Potter's warm body – so close to his own. He revelled in it, embracing the under-the-skin fizzle of the potion, allowing it to consume him, to take over, to make Potter the centre of his universe.

And Potter, as usual, went and ruined it.

Something small and sharp poked him hard in the ribs, and it took a shamefully long time for Draco to realise that it was Potter's wand.

"No, don't," he whimpered, pressing closer despite the point of the wand, too much under the potion's influence to feel embarrassment. "Potter, please, I need… I…"

There was a flash of light and Draco was thrown backwards, pain exploding in his chest. His back hit the wall and he slid down it, stunned from the blow and the sudden loss of contact with Potter.

Potter looked shocked. Draco suspected he was disgusted at Draco's blatant neediness (which was now starting to catch up with him; his face was slowly burning up. Thank Merlin it was dark).

He stood there for several long moments, just staring at Draco with his mouth open. Now the pain was starting to fade a little, Draco became once again entranced with Potter, the way his lips were parted, oh Merlin, and the two of them locked eyes. Draco was just about to get up and reach out to Potter, when Potter broke the connection, mumbled something that could have been "Sorry," and fled up the stairs, leaving Draco alone on the floor.

***

Wednesday.

It was just after dinner, more than thirty hours since he'd last touched Potter, and Draco was already starting to crack. Potter had been very careful since their encounter yesterday; he'd stuck firmly to the main corridors where there were always people swarming around and gazing at him in sickening awe, and he always had his wand ready to hex Draco if he got too close – a fact that Draco had learned that morning when he tried to grab Potter on his way to Charms.

So, Draco mused, he couldn't approach Potter himself. But knowing Potter, he wouldn't be able to resist talking to someone else. Especially if they needed help.

Quickly sketching out the details of a plan in his mind, Draco scanned the corridors for a likely subject.

A small boy whose hat was so big it covered his eyes and robes that trailed on the ground after him? No, too obvious.

A girl with long black hair sucking on a blood-flavoured lollipop and humming to herself? No, too weird.

The boy with mousy hair and spectacles who was clutching his bag to his shoulder and fishing in his pocket for something while darting watchful glances around himself? Perfect.

Draco walked up to him. "Hey," he said quietly. The boy jumped and span around to face him. Not leaving himself open. Draco approved.

"Do… do I know you?"

"No, and you're not going to," Draco replied. "How would you like earning five Galleons?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Depends what I have to do," he said. Non-committal yet not insulting. Very good. If this boy wasn't a Slytherin, Draco would be surprised.

"Not much. Come here." He dragged the boy to one side of the corridor and briefly outlined his plan, giving no unnecessary details. When he found out that Harry Potter was involved, the boy (who Draco now estimated to be around fourth year, despite his small stature) asked for two more Galleons. Just because he liked him (and maybe because he was getting desperate), Draco agreed.

"He should be along really soon. Just direct him towards the Charms corridor, it'll be empty at this time of night. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded. "Easy. When are you going to pay me?"

Draco smiled and resisted the urge to pat the boy on the head. He got out a drawstring bag where he kept his change and counted out seven Galleons. "Here. They're charmed so that you won't be able to use them if you don't keep your word." A lie, of course, but the boy wasn't to know that. Such a charm was possible, theoretically, even if it was beyond Draco's level of skill (and patience).

"Still prepared to do it?" Draco asked.

The boy took the money and shoved it deep in his bag. "'Course."

"Excellent," Draco said. "I'll be watching from the Charms classroom. Don't mess this up."

Draco walked briskly away, leaving the boy alone in the corridor. Once in the Charms classroom, he closed the door almost all the way, leaving a crack through which he could watch the boy's performance.

All too soon, Potter and his gaggle of supporters came blundering down the corridor. Draco tensed as soon as Potter came into sight, but after three days of observation (not stalking, definitely not stalking), he was getting used to controlling the powerful urge to claim that the potion forced upon him.

He held his breath as his probably-Slytherin apprentice also appeared, walking towards the Gryffindors, but with his head down as if trying to stay unnoticed by the scary seventh-years. Draco was impressed by the boy's acting skills; with body-language like that, he looked young and vulnerable. Perfect.

But, hang on, the boy just kept walking. He was going to pass Potter's gang any moment. Wait – yes, he'd just walked straight past them! The little—!

The boy's bag suddenly burst spectacularly, pieces of parchment flying all over the corridor and ink bottles smashing on the floor. "Oh no!" the boy wailed. Potter, now fifteen feet away from the mess, looked back.

"Oh, you little genius," Draco whispered. For in waiting until the group had walked by, the boy – definitely Slytherin – had ensured that most of the Gryffindors carried on walking, too stuck up their own arses to be aware of the unfortunate bag-explosion (although, Draco noted, the Galleons that he'd given the boy were not on the floor with the rest of the bag's contents).

Potter, though. Stupid, idiotic, noble Potter had left the group and, waving away Weasley, had gone to help the pitiful child. Draco pressed his ear to the door to hear the exchange.

"D'you need any help?" Potter asked kindly. There was a pause in which Draco presumed his new favourite student was doing a magnificent job of acting in awe of Famous Harry Potter.

"Um, thank you," he squeaked.

Silence, save for the shuffling of parchment. Then, "Uh, have you seen my Remembrall? It should be here somewhere…"

Another pause.

"Maybe it's rolled down the corridor. I'll check for you, wait here."

Dear sweet Merlin, but Draco owed that kid a lot more than seven Galleons. He'd even known that Potter was too thoughtless and Muggle-brained to even think of a Summoning Charm. And now Potter's footsteps were drawing closer… closer…

Draco wrenched open the classroom door and grabbed Potter, attaching himself to Potter's mouth faster than a Snidget could escape a Kneazle. And, ohh, it was good, it was so good. Never mind that Potter was hitting him hard on the shoulder to get him to let go, and never mind that Potter kept turning his head away so Draco had a mouthful of hair more often than not – it was Potter's hair, and that made everything wonderful.

After perhaps one more minute of brilliance, Potter managed to get free and Draco found himself with a wand pointed at his forehead, but couldn't bring himself to care. Although the potion's desires had nowhere near been satisfied, something deep inside Draco was purring like a contented cat, and somehow that made being near Potter all that more bearable.

Potter didn't move, his wand inches from Draco's temple. They stared at each other, both refusing to back down (even though Potter definitely had the upper hand; Draco's wand was still in his robe pocket), until Potter finally stowed his wand away and, without a word, stalked back to the main corridor.

***

Thursday.

Draco was running out of ideas. Potter had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth; he seemed to only appear again during Potions (which was a torture session in a whole league of its own) and presumably his other classes, since Draco hadn't heard of any mass-panic that surely would arise if Harry Potter dared to not show up to a lesson.

Draco didn't even bother to wonder how he was doing it. The castle itself would probably bend the laws of magic should Harry Potter desire it, and there was nothing Draco, or anyone else, could do about it.

He'd briefly considered going after Potter sometime during Potions – he could create a diversion easily enough, and if he managed to drag Potter out of the door while the rest of the class was in uproar, nobody would even notice their pet celebrity vanishing for five minutes – and if the subject was taught by any other teacher, he would have probably attempted it. However, Snape was far too observant to let two students go missing for even a second, even if he knew nothing about the damn lust potion, so that was out.

Instead during Potions, he'd had to distract himself from the gnawing ache of Potter-longing by tormenting Potter's friends. He'd levitated powered Belladonna into Granger's potion when she was poring over her textbook so, when tested, her blood-replenishing potion would bring the drinker out in pulsating yellow boils; he'd managed to charm all of Longbottom's hair away bit by bit without him noticing (he'd probably still be bald now if Finnegan hadn't yelled in surprise when he'd caught sight of Longbottom and fallen backwards into Patil's cauldron, smattering them both with her failed attempt at decent potion-making) and he had succeeded in making Weasley and Granger (who were working at the same table) have a spectacular argument over who had used up all the Salamander tails (which Draco had emptied into Lavender Brown's potion five minutes before).

But even such a healthy session of Gryffindor-baiting couldn't keep his mind off Potter.

The rest of Slytherin still wasn't talking to him, but he wasn't especially worried about that. All-house exclusion happened surprisingly frequently; whenever two Slytherins had an argument and one of them had something to offer. In almost all cases the unlucky housemate was reinstated within a week. Draco could have probably already made his way back to the top of the year if he wasn't so distracted with Potter.

Draco sighed and allowed his head to thump against the sixth-floor window he was currently leaning against. He really didn't know what to do. There was nothing he could do, not if Potter was so determined to avoid him. And Snape had said that without regular contact Draco could go literally insane. If Draco was honest, he didn't feel too far away from that point.

Draco paused in his musings. Perhaps he was a lot closer to madness than he thought; he could hear footsteps. He looked around. He was in an unused classroom in the part of the school that nobody ever went in. Why on earth would anybody be here?

But, sure enough, the footsteps drew to a halt outside of the classroom and the door slowly creaked open.

A head poked around the door, closely followed by a body. Such a good body. Draco's breath left him with a whoosh, only to be inhaled again sharply when the newcomer walked right across the room and came to a halt directly before him. His expression was sombre and his wand was firmly in his hand, but there he was, standing right in front of Draco.

"I want to make a deal with you," Potter said.