Hey guys! This is my first Drarry fic so I'd really love to know all your thoughts! I just finished re-reading the series and have what may be an unhealthy obsession with this ship-but come on, how could you not? Hope you enjoy, and please review! :)
"Hermione," Harry whispered, "What did Snape just say?"
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, silently conveying her disapproval, but still slid her notes across the table to where Harry was.
"Thanks" he said, still staring, preoccupied, at the back of Malfoy's head.
"You know, he's just got to be up to something" Harry murmured to Hermione.
"I promise you, Harry, he's not. Now pay attention!" She whisper-screamed back.
Just as she did, Snape stopped right next to their table.
"Talking in class again, Potter?" He sneered. Then he looked into Harry's cauldron, which was bubbling a ghastly looking shade of dark green.
"And I see this talking is interrupting your very clearly misguided knowledge of potions. Can anyone tell me what color you're supposed to get when you mix flobberworm mucus and shrivelfig?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air.
"No one? Well okay. Five points from Gryffindor for not understanding the incredibly simple art of mixing, Potter."
Harry groaned under his breath. Snape smirked upon hearing Harry's discontent, then continued.
"And a detention for talking in class. Also, seeing as how no one else knows-" Snape paused and glanced around, his gaze lingering for a second on the other Gryffindors in the room. "-the color you should all be seeing is deep violet." He peered into Malfoy's cauldron a few rows up.
"Ah, perfect Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin."
Harry sighed, spending the rest of the class seething over Malfoy's reward and completely forgetting to continue to stir. By the end of Potions, the contents in his cauldron was a silvery gray color, and upon bringing it up to Snape's desk, he was fleetingly reminded of Draco's eyes. The thought made him even angrier, and Harry walked out of Potions making a beeline for the Common Room, having lost his appetite for lunch.
Harry went through the day in a restless fashion, dreading detention that night. His mind kept sifting through everything Snape might make him do: wash cauldrons without magic, arrange the books in his office in alphabetical order for hours on end, perhaps go through a list of reasons why Snape thought James Potter was the worst human alive, etc. Only at dinner, when Harry finally caved and wandered into the Great Hall, was his trance broken. Malfoy came up to the Gryffindor table special to inform Harry that Snape had recruited him, as Slytherin prefect, to look after Harry's detention.
"What do you mean, 'look after'?" Harry practically growled, rage bubbling in his veins.
"Oh, you know," said Malfoy with faux indifference, staring admirably at his own fingernails. "Just make sure you're doing what you're supposed to and whatnot."
"And what is it exactly I'll be doing?" Harry questioned, fists clenched under the table.
"I guess we'll find that out tonight, won't we?" Malfoy winked and walked away, leaving Harry to stew in his own thoughts.
Hermione glanced down at her watch, then jerked up from her seat next to the fire.
"Harry! It's nearly 7:30!" Harry looked up, and was unsurprised to see Hermione reading a book across from him while Ron lied down at the foot of her chair, engaged in an intense game of Wizard chess against himself.
"How about a game, Ron?" Harry said, trying to ignore Hermione's reminder of the time.
"Sure, mate." Ron replied, to which Hermione let out a cough-like noise. Ron glanced up at her.
"Uhhh-I mean-" Ron stammered.
"He means," Hermione interjected, "that he can't play a game with you because you have to go to Snape's detention."
Ron gave Harry a shrug that Harry guessed meant, sorry mate, she's sort of right you know...plus I kind of have to agree with her. Harry sighed, knowing the situation was hopeless.
"Alright then, I'll see you two later," he said, getting up and leaving them alone in the Common Room.
As he made his way down to the dungeon, Harry was intercepted by Draco.
"Ah, hello there, Potter." Draco drawled. "Excited for detention?"
"Whatever, Malfoy." Harry shoved past him, arriving in Snape's office just a second before Draco did.
"Harry Potter," Snape greeted him with an unsmiling face. "I trust you know the nature of today's detention?"
"Well, not exactly," Harry said, eyeing Malfoy in the corner with distaste. Malfoy smirked back.
Snape sneered, clearly enjoying Harry's lack of knowledge. "Today you are sorting the good leaping toadstools from the bad ones to make use of in Potions class. I hope you're not stupid enough to mess that up, as well. Malfoy, make sure he stays the complete three hours. I'll be back then. He's yours now."
With that, Snape whipped his robes behind him-Harry hated his flourish-and stalked off down the Potions corridor. Once he was out of site, Malfoy stood up.
"Better start to work, Potter." He jeered. "You heard what he said. You're mine now."
At his words, distaste rose in Harry's throat like bile. And a mixture of something else too, something Harry had trouble recognizing.
"Watch your mouth, Malfoy." Harry bit back, ignoring the foreign emotion.
"You might want to get started with that corner," Malfoy said, gesturing to a pile of leaping toadstools on a desk. "I'll watch, make sure you don't pull anything funny."
Harry reluctantly got started on the pile, his mind haunted by the thought of Malfoy's gaze hovering closely over him as he worked. That strange emotion was threatening to reappear, and Harry tried to tamper it down. He couldn't understand why his pulse was quickening so dramatically.
Malfoy came up behind him, looking over Harry's shoulder to check on his progress.
"Not bad, Potter. Looks like you're at least a quarter way through." Glancing at the clock, Harry fought back the urge to scream. He had been working for far too long to only have gotten that much done, and Malfoy knew it. His mind was fumbling and he couldn't concentrate, wishing only for Malfoy's gaze to just focus on something else. The heat of Malfoy's body near him only muddled his thinking further, and he dropped a toadstool.
Malfoy laughed, a scathing kind of laugh. "I knew you were clumsy Potter, but jeez, how bloody useless can you get?"
"Bugger off Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, whipping around. His nose was a couple inches away from Malfoy's.
"What did you just say to me?" Malfoy asked, stepping somehow even closer.
"I said, Bugger off!" Harry nearly shouted, overwhelmed by all the sheer Malfoy in his immediate proximity. He felt dizzy, and had to stop himself from nearly tipping over.
Malfoy grabbed Harry's wrists and pinned them up against the nearest wall, next to the table of leaping toadstools. The foreign emotion swelled up in Harry, threatening to boil over.
"Say that again," Malfoy whispered, his breath lingering on Harry's lips, his hands on his wrists above both their heads. "I dare you."
"Bugger. Off." Harry rasped back, matching Malfoy's low volume. He stared straight into Malfoy's eyes, trying to mask the fact that he was short of breath.
Malfoy released Harry's wrists and for a split second nothing happened. And then Draco's hands were everywhere, tangled in the curls of Harry's unruly black hair, feeling the front of Harry's stomach, following the curve of Harry's back, as his lips crashed into Harry's. And before Harry could question what was happening, his own hands were grasping the back of Draco's head, ruffling his sleek blond hair as Harry let his emotions flow through him. A deep seated desire he didn't know he had coursed through his body and Harry gave into it, letting his mouth fulfill his hunger by pressing up against Draco's, feeling himself melt into wherever Draco's hands landed. Soon his hands sidled beneath Draco's robes and he felt the smooth skin of Draco's bare chest, his arms, his abs and he felt as if he could never get enough, as if the obsession he kept buried for so long would never be realized completely. But this thought was discarded as Draco's hands traveled along Harry's body, his movements becoming slower, more deliberate, with each passing second.
"Harry," Draco breathed into Harry's ear, their bodies still pressed up against each other.
"Draco," Harry responded fervently, still overtaken by his sudden rush of raw desire.
"Is this okay?" Draco asked, and suddenly he felt vulnerable in Harry's arms. How long had they insulted each other, tormented each other, mocked one another? How long had they masked their passion as loathing, obsessing over each other, stalking each other, craving to know the most intimate details and hidden attributes?
"Yes," Harry responded, tracing his fingertips along the arc of Draco's neck. He wanted to stay here, pressed against Draco, alone in each other's arms, for the remainder of time.
"It's more than okay."