His breath hitched and his heartbeat increased, as he watched the young man enter the library. Green eyes hidden behind thin, rectangle, black-framed glasses scanned the few students scattered around the tables before landing on his best friends. A small, fond smile flittered across the handsome face as he watched his best mates of six and a half years argue over a homework assignment. A surge of jealousy shot through the observers' chest as he watched the attractive, young wizard walk towards the table where his friends were studying. He would do anything for that smile to be directed at him, for him.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, sat down gracefully, drawing the attention of the bickering duo.
"Hello Harry," the bushy-haired bookworm, more commonly known as Hermione whispered, "maybe you can convince Ron to do his Charms assignment." She huffed, nodding her head towards the other occupant at the table. Tall, gangly, with red hair and an abundance of freckles, Ron Weasley rolled his eyes.
"I told you 'mione, there's no rush, it's not due for a week and I just finished an assignment! Can't I have a break? He asked exasperatedly. Harry, sensing the start of another huge tirade on procrastination and the importance of studying, which, no doubt would end up turning into a debate on the upcoming N.E.W.T's, then somehow turning into a lecture on House Elf rights, ending superbly with the need to visit Madame Pomphrey for a headache cure, cut in quickly.
"Why don't you give him the night off 'mione, and he'll promise to do the assignment tomorrow, hmm?" He gave the scowling teen his most charming smile, adding a slight pout for the effect.
"Fine," she gave in, "but tomorrow there will be no excuses Ron, or I'm owling your mother about your studying habits, or lack there of." Hermione threatened, receiving a gulp from Ron and an amused chuckle from Harry.
Stormy, silver-blue eyes watched the exchange longingly as a sigh escaped Draco Malfoys' lips. He watched as Harry removed his books and utensils from his bag. He watched as he set parchment up in front of him, and opened books. He watched as he skimmed through pages, cross-referencing what he'd read with other books. He watched as he unscrewed the cap of his inkbottle and carefully dipped his quill in, covering the tip in blue ink, ready to write. He watched silently, longingly and from a distance.
Draco knew he was in love with Harry. He knew that Harry was his obsession. Draco could tell you that Harry was right-handed. That he used his right hand to fix his glasses, but his left hand to run his fingers through his hair. He could tell you that Harry always removed his quill and inkbottle first from his bag and that he always swallowed the food in his mouth first, before loading up his fork again. He could tell you that Harry would worry his bottom lip when he was frustrated and clench his jaw when he was holding back from saying some thing nasty. Yes, Draco knew he was obsessed, but he didn't care. Another throaty chuckle brought him out of his musings as he rested his gaze back on Harry, who appeared to be trying to keep a straight face while Granger lectured him on some thing or another.
He longed to hold Harry. To run his fingers through his silky, black locks. To kiss those tempting, delicious lips. To bite, kiss, suck and lick his way across his strong jawbone, and down his desirable neck. Stopping to pay special attention to the hollow at the base of his neck, then continuing along across his collarbone. Running the pads of his fingers in a feather-light caress over the hard, nicely developed, Quidditch toned chest, down, across well-sculptured abs, before resting on his hips to bring him closer. Skin touching skin as they share another heated passionate kiss. Sliding his tongue out to run along Harrys' deliciously warm lips, begging for entrance, which is given immediately. Soft lips part for the eager invader to dart inside, meeting his partners' soft wet tongue in a loving dance. His hands slide to the small of Harrys' back and buttocks to pull him even closer and Harrys' hands run smoothly up his arms, ending up behind his head, playing and caressing the small hairs that grow there.
Draco closed his eyes and bit back a moan as another low chuckle and the sounds of snickering brought him back to his surroundings. He was painfully aware of his throbbing erection; his bodies clear approval of his fantasies.
He had to tell Harry. He couldn't keep it to himself any longer; he had to tell him tonight. With that thought in mind, he quickly packed away all his stuff and headed out of the library. There were about ten minutes to curfew he thought, as he ducked into the shadows of the corridor they were bound to come down, which means they should be coming along any minute now. He smoothed his robes and tried to control his erratic heartbeat and shaking hands that were tingling and sweaty. It'll be fine, he tried to convince himself, start by greeting them ALL nicely then asking to speak to Harry alone, if it was all right with them. Be polite and I'll be fine. His heart jumped into his throat as they rounded the corner and started towards him. Be polite. Greet them courteously. No name calling and you'll do fine, he inwardly prepared himself as he stepped out of the shadows, directly in front of the trio.
"Well, if it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Me, his bed-buddy Weasel and their pet mudblood." He sneered arrogantly.
Damn!!