Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. they belong to the great J.K. Rowling. However, all ideas and situations not described in the book series are my own, so no stealing!
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS SLASH!!! MALE/MALE ROMANCE AND SEXUAL INNUENDO!!! (I'm not an NC-17 writer...yet.)
Antithesis: It Starts With One
Draco Malfoy was thinking about Harry Potter.
It was not as activity he regularly indulged in, terrified as he was that a wisp of emotion would flicker behind his usually apathic face and he would be discovered. He may have been a good actor, but he was also cautious in nature and did not think it wise to tempt fate in such a manner. Yet there, late at night in his thinking place; a small third-floor chamber featuring a window seat of grand proportions, his mind was released of it's normally strict reign and allowed to wander. Unfortunately, he thought with a sardonic grin, his imagination preferred to tread the same old pathways in such a way that he could almost see the footsteps that lead through the complex maze of his mind toward the carefully sorted and stored images of his arch nemesis.
The boy he thought of was beautiful; small for his age with untamable raven hair, full, expressive lips and captivating viridian eyes framed in heavy, dark lashes. Green eyes, like the emerald in his father's signet ring, or a lush carpet of grass on a warm summer's day, or the highlights reflected off a vast expanse of ocean...
Draco snorted in self-contempt. This little infatuation of his had him in way over his head, the surface long lost from view.
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Harry Potter, snug in his bed across Hogwarts castle, was thinking about Quidditch.
Only fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes until the big Gryffindor/Slytherin match. He hadn't been this nervous since his first game five years before. This game was different, though. This game had a lot riding on it, more so then the usual Quidditch and House cups. Morale among the student body had been lower than the dungeons since last year's Triwizard Tournament disaster and Cedric Diggory's untimely death. Harry felt that it was the least he could do to improve the Gryffindor mood by playing and awesome game in memory of Cedric. He blatantly ignored the nagging voice in his head that said it was only his way of selfishly ridding himself of the guilt he carried like a wooden cross on his shoulders. He had yet to cry, yet to mourn his lost friend.
He sighed in frustration and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, which felt gritty with weariness. 1:38 in the morning and he was still wide-awake. With another long sigh he shifted and rolled over, punching his pillow a couple of times to fluff it before settling back down. Tired of counting imaginary sheep, he resorted to running through his multiplication tables in the hopes of boring himself into unconsciousness. It was around five times twelve that he drifted into sleep, fourteen hours and forty-nine minutes until he faced off against his greatly disliked rival.
************************************************************************
At the same moment, now far below Harry snuggled in his bed in the bowels in the castle, Draco Malfoy finally slept and his dreams did not involve Quidditch.
A/N: I have plans for this to become a series, but in order for that too happen I need at least 3 reveiws from you good people. Show me your interest and I'll show you the goods.
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS SLASH!!! MALE/MALE ROMANCE AND SEXUAL INNUENDO!!! (I'm not an NC-17 writer...yet.)
Antithesis: It Starts With One
Draco Malfoy was thinking about Harry Potter.
It was not as activity he regularly indulged in, terrified as he was that a wisp of emotion would flicker behind his usually apathic face and he would be discovered. He may have been a good actor, but he was also cautious in nature and did not think it wise to tempt fate in such a manner. Yet there, late at night in his thinking place; a small third-floor chamber featuring a window seat of grand proportions, his mind was released of it's normally strict reign and allowed to wander. Unfortunately, he thought with a sardonic grin, his imagination preferred to tread the same old pathways in such a way that he could almost see the footsteps that lead through the complex maze of his mind toward the carefully sorted and stored images of his arch nemesis.
The boy he thought of was beautiful; small for his age with untamable raven hair, full, expressive lips and captivating viridian eyes framed in heavy, dark lashes. Green eyes, like the emerald in his father's signet ring, or a lush carpet of grass on a warm summer's day, or the highlights reflected off a vast expanse of ocean...
Draco snorted in self-contempt. This little infatuation of his had him in way over his head, the surface long lost from view.
************************************************************************
Harry Potter, snug in his bed across Hogwarts castle, was thinking about Quidditch.
Only fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes until the big Gryffindor/Slytherin match. He hadn't been this nervous since his first game five years before. This game was different, though. This game had a lot riding on it, more so then the usual Quidditch and House cups. Morale among the student body had been lower than the dungeons since last year's Triwizard Tournament disaster and Cedric Diggory's untimely death. Harry felt that it was the least he could do to improve the Gryffindor mood by playing and awesome game in memory of Cedric. He blatantly ignored the nagging voice in his head that said it was only his way of selfishly ridding himself of the guilt he carried like a wooden cross on his shoulders. He had yet to cry, yet to mourn his lost friend.
He sighed in frustration and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, which felt gritty with weariness. 1:38 in the morning and he was still wide-awake. With another long sigh he shifted and rolled over, punching his pillow a couple of times to fluff it before settling back down. Tired of counting imaginary sheep, he resorted to running through his multiplication tables in the hopes of boring himself into unconsciousness. It was around five times twelve that he drifted into sleep, fourteen hours and forty-nine minutes until he faced off against his greatly disliked rival.
************************************************************************
At the same moment, now far below Harry snuggled in his bed in the bowels in the castle, Draco Malfoy finally slept and his dreams did not involve Quidditch.
A/N: I have plans for this to become a series, but in order for that too happen I need at least 3 reveiws from you good people. Show me your interest and I'll show you the goods.