"I hate you," Draco snarled at the boy standing casually in front of him. "What the hell is your goddamn problem, Potter? Trying to kill me out there?"
Harry Potter yawned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand while idly rubbing his other thumb over the head of his broomstick. The motion was erotic, tempting, as it had been intended to be, and Draco hated himself for being so affected.
"No harm, no foul, Malfoy. And as anyone watching the game could see, you dove hard at me. All I did was move out of the way. The fact that I was near the ground only testifies to your stupidity. You crashed, and it was your fault, not mine. I might have been more apologetic about the whole thing if a) you had been hurt, which you weren't so I don't know why you're whining, and b) because I caught the Snitch despite your rather maverick tactics. So I have to admit that I'm too pleased with myself to be that unhappy that you dirtied your perfect robes because a stupid mistake that you made. And we both know that you don't hate me, Malfoy, though you certainly try to pretend that you do. And everyone believes you but me. But that's because I know better."
Draco snarled again and took a fistful of Harry's red and gold Quidditch robes and pulled the boy closer to him till they were nose to nose, a pair of hateful gray eyes glaring into a pair of almost obscenely calm green ones, staring thoughtfully back. "I do hate you, Potter. You would do well to remember that." He didn't carry off his rage quite as well as he thought he could, because his voice was ragged with the edge of need that he hated, hated but couldn't control, not around the boy he couldn't stand but wanted, wanted until he burned and couldn't breathe. He shoved Harry away, into a wall, but the other boy just casually picked himself up from the floor, dusted off his robes, and pushed his glasses up again. He turned to walk out, calm as he had been throughout the whole thing, but when he paused and turned around there was an edge of… something, something dark and dangerous and wild and tempting in his eyes.
"You don't hate me," he said, his voice as
calm as it ever was but now carrying the same edge of shadow, thick enough to
cut, that swam in his emerald eyes. "How much you don't hate me was very clear
the moment I got close to you. Close enough that I could feel that you were
very happy to see me." He cast a significant glance at Draco's crotch, then
whirled with a billow of robes and made an exit that would have made a certain
Potions teacher proud, if only he had been there to see it.
Draco stared at the doorway through
which his nemesis had left, then slowly collapsed to the floor in a puddle of
green and silver robes. His broomstick,
released from his white-knuckled grip, clattered to the floor next to him. A single crystal tear, as cold and pale and
bloodless as his heart, slid down
one alabaster cheek and hung, shining, from the fingertip he used to wipe it away,
before falling unnoticed into he grime of the floor.
Draco watched with fury in his eyes as
Harry Potter wandered into the hall the next morning, yawning. He had slept
well, obviously, or he wouldn't be so
late to get to breakfast. He must have slept in. He had the audacity to walk into
the hall that morning, sleep still clouding his eyes, when Draco hadn't
been able to sleep at all. And then he didn't even look at the Slytherin boy,
as if yesterday had never happened, or as if he just didn't care. He sat down
and started to eat, making his usual stupid, inane jokes with the Weasel and
the Mudblood, and Draco was glaring at him the whole time. That prompted the
simpering twit Pansy Parkinson to ask in an arch voice, which grated on his ears
to a point beyond pain, what that bad, bad Potter had done to her Drakey.
He snarled at her- uncivilized, snarling, and he hated that Potter had reduced him
to this, but the asshole didn't even notice how much rage the heir of the
Malfoy family was wasting on Perfect Potter because he didn't even look towards
the Slytherin table, not even once! And his indifference was driving Draco
utterly up the wall, because he hated Potter so much, not to mention wanted to
him until he was about to pass out from total and utter lack of blood to the
brain, and Potter didn't even seem to care! And that, above everything else
that irritated him about Perfect Potter of the good and noble Gryffindor house.
What Draco wanted, he got. He didn't ask; he took.
Well, it was about time that he took.
He was a Malfoy, and he could have what he wanted. And what he wanted was Harry
Potter.
He was waiting in an empty classroom
when he heard the footsteps creeping down the hall, well after anyone should
have been in bed. He used a spell that he had set up an hour ago to see who was
coming down the hall, and lo and behold, there was no one there! Yet the
footsteps grew progressively nearer, and Draco knew, beyond a shadow of a
doubt, that it was Potter and his invisibility cloak. So when the footsteps drew
even with the doorway, he darted out one slender arm, strong for all its
appearance of weakness, and dragged the other boy into the room, slamming and
locking the door behind them with a whispered spell.
He watched with a kind of masochistic
pleasure as Harry emerged from the cloak, looking deliciously rumpled and sexy.
The fact that the Gryffindor was
glaring at him with animalistic hatred bothered him not at all- at least Potter
was noticing him. Better yet, he was returning Draco's own hate- that would
make it that much more fun when he took what he wanted despite Potter's protest.
He reached out, intending to pin Potter against the wall, but before he had a chance the other boy grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around, pinning him with his body against the hard surface and a hard, muscled forearm across his throat. He bucked against the weight of the taller boy, but it served no purpose other than to excite his body almost unbearably. He moaned, the sound dragged out of his throat against his will, and forced himself to remain still and not thrust his hips against the boy pressing him into the wall.
Harry- he couldn't think of him as Potter, not with the intensely sexual position he was in- lowered his head to accommodate the difference in heights and glared directly into his gray eyes. "You want my attention, Malfoy? Next time just ask."
And directly on the heels of that furious whisper, Harry Potter tilted his head and kissed the hell out of Draco Malfoy.
This wasn't a sweet, romantic kiss. This had nothing to do with romance, and everything to do with fury. Harry's lips slanted over those of his enemy's with all the power and fury of a small tornado, his tongue plunging between his teeth to sweep the interior of his mouth. Then he pulled back abruptly, and his cloudy green eyes met Draco's stormy ones.
"I hate you," Draco growled, and pulled Harry's mouth back to his.
"I hate you," he said, as Harry's mouth moved over his neck, his ear, lips and tongue and teeth all working together to torture him to the point that he was losing his mind.
"I hate you," he said, as Harry pulled his robes open then sucked and kissed his way down his chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple as his long, aristocratic fingers played with the other.
"I hate you," he said, even as Harry went still lower, to take his straining cock into his mouth, and give him the best blowjob in his life.
And, "I hate you," he said, even as he came hard, his body bucking as Harry sucked hard, milking him dry, sucking out the very marrow of his bones till he slumped, bonelessly, against the wall.
Harry pulled back, wiping off his chin with the sleeve of his robe and stepped away from the blonde boy. "You say you hate me, but you've done nothing to prove it. Without actions, everything else is just words without meaning."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Draco Malfoy to stare blankly into space, feeling absolutely nothing.
"I hate you."