Chapter Three
Desire

Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes
tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted.
Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything.

- From SANDMAN: "Season of Mists"

"Shh..."

"Oh don't you shush me, this was your idea in the fir—,"

"SHH!"

Harry turned to glare at Draco, and the other boy clamped his mouth shut before crossing his hands over his chest.

They were trying to sneak out of the castle, on their way to Hagrid's pumpkin patch, by using the side door that led to the greenhouses. They planned on rescuing Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, from being given a Dementor's Kiss and Harry insisted that they could only do that if they free Buckbeak, one of Hagrid's hippogriffs.

Harry was able to coerce Draco into helping him, much to the other boy's annoyance.

"Honestly, Harry," Draco began again, this time in furious whispers. "Do you really think I'd help you after that thing nearly tore my arm off? Why don't you just ask for help from Granger and your Weas—,"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed back. "This is partly your fault, you big crybaby."

"It isn't my fault the school nurse saw fit to inform my father about my accident!" Draco retorted. "Besides I didn't know he'd have that horrible thing executed."

"Just shut up, will you?" Harry suddenly halted. "There! Did you hear that?"

And sure enough there was a muffled noise coming from the side of the greenhouse closest to them. Curiosity piqued, the two boys slowly crept closer to the unmistakable sounds of furious whispering. They quietly entered one of the greenhouses to get a better view of whoever was out there from the window. They saw the shadows of two male students, seventh years from what little Harry could determine. And as the two moved slowly towards the greenhouse, the light of the moon illuminated their faces.

"Isn't that your housemate?" Harry whispered curiously. "And Roger Davies?"

"That's Montague!" Draco gasped. "And what the hell is he doing with that Ravenclaw Chaser?"

"Draco, what are they...?" Harry asked tentatively. Because at that moment, the two seventh years had launched themselves at each other, seemingly devouring each other's faces.

Draco gave a strangled gasp as he choked out a curse. "Merlin's balls! I didn't know Montague swings that way."

Harry watched as Draco stared round-eyed and Harry followed suit, watching the scene unfold before them. Montague and Davies had apparently met for a midnight rendezvous. Harry's skin began to prickle at the uninhibited display of touching—no, groping—happening in front of him. He couldn't imagine being that close to another person, much less touch another person in a very intimate manner, just like the way the two seventh years were doing right now. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd seen something like that either. He'd seen it on the telly, of course. But this? This was different. It was the first time he'd seen it in person and it made him want to turn away from the despicable act.

Except he couldn't.

Harry was morbidly fascinated as he watched the roaming limbs and mouths of the two. Their bodies were pressed so close that a parchment wouldn't even fit between them. And the hands, the hands! There were two pairs of hands that couldn't seem to stop touching every inch of the other's body—the torso, the arms, neck, hair and they were even cupping the other's arse! It's something that made his hairs stand on end. He spared a glance at Draco to see if his friend was feeling the same revulsion he was feeling. But when he turned, he was shocked to see the expression on his friend's face.

Draco's face was one of intense fascination, as if he couldn't get enough. His eyes were wide and shining, his pupils were dilated, and his breath was uneven and shallow. Harry knew his friend enough to know that Draco was finding the show very very interesting. Stimulating. Perhaps even appealing.

In short, it was the exact opposite of Harry's reaction.

But before Harry could comment, the two seventh years had started removing their clothes and that was it for him. He closed his eyes, turned away and covered his ears with his hands before crouching under the windows.

He didn't understand how his friend could find something like that interesting, much less appealing. He thought about all the other times he'd seen Draco touch people. He was always shoving Ron whenever he got the chance. He would always kiss Pansy's hand while affecting a gentlemanly manner, and she would always laugh at his antics and would curtsy like a proper lady in return. And sometimes Draco would circle Crabbe and Goyle's necks, one on each arm as he whispered devious plans on how to make Hufflepuffs cry.

Now that he thought about it, Draco was really a very tactile person. Not that he was openly affectionate, but maybe it was his way of showing he cared about his friends, Harry thought. He felt oddly jealous because he never seemed to get the same kind of treatment from his friend. Sure Draco knew how Harry feels when someone gets into his personal space, but he couldn't help but feel left out as well because Draco had never nudged him in the ribs when he was making a crack at someone, or that he had never gotten a reassuring pat on the back whenever he felt down.

A stray thought wishing that Draco would touch him like that someday left him feeling both hopeful and revolted at the same time.

After a few minutes, he felt Draco nudging his sneaker with the toe of his expensive boot.

"It's over," Draco said impassively. "You can get up now."

And indeed the two boys were now straightening their clothes and casting Scourgify on each other. Harry didn't even want to imagine what they did to warrant casting that many cleaning spells on their robes. But as they parted, they did something that nearly turned Harry's world upside down.

The older Slytherin gently cupped the Ravenclaw's cheek and placed a light parting kiss on his lips.

Harry had never seen anything like it. The light touch, the fleeting kiss, and the smile that graced both their faces when their eyes met. It was a different kind of physical contact that had Harry's stomach aflutter and his chest aching with longing for something he'd never experienced before: a loving touch.

It was that simple act of tenderness that had Harry thinking that maybe, just maybe, touching another person intimately wasn't so bad after all.

-:-

Desire is a master manipulator. It will charm you and seduce you. It promises to learn all your weaknesses and uncover all your secrets. And then it will turn something you despise the most into something you want to covet. Desire will take you when you least expect it to.