by Perr - Frustration is in the air, no?

Draco's POV

Sand melts into a watery concoction, then evaporates into an orange mist. Why can I not get this right? I frown and stare at my recordings. Everything is exactly what it's supposed to be, but every result has different observations, different effects. The previous one turned black, jumped up and ate a conical flask. I'm horrible tired of this. I shove all the glasses and bottles of sand and potions aside, and rest my head in the well of relief that is my arms on the table.

This must be a sign that I'm not supposed to kill anyone just yet. But I hate seeing them together. Why? Why do I have to worry like this?

The thinking makes a large lump grow in my throat. I am disgusted by all this lust, yet I cannot help myself. Maybe I should take a short break.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not a break. Breaks are supposed to refresh your mind. Let you have some quality time to rejuvenate. As I hear my name being called again, my brain fizzles out the rational part of itself.

"Oi! Malfoy!"

When I turn around, surprisingly, it's Mudblood who approaches. She doesn't look all that happy. "You're despicable!" she says, and then I realise that I'm in for a lot of shit.

"What?" is my reply to that. She's got some nerve to thrust a finger into my shoulder quite painfully, before saying, "Stop doing whatever you're doing to Harry!"

The words turn a few heads. "I'm not doing anything to him!" I whisper harshly, trying very hard to hint to her to keep it down. Obviously, she doesn't care.

"You dare try to attack him yesterday, and act like nothing's happened today? You scoundrel, slimeball---"

"Stop! Granger, shut your bloody mouth!" I resist a very strong urge to grab her by the collar. Girl or not, she has not a single right to do this to me. "What did he tell you?"

"Not much," she snaps, "but I know you caused that awful bruise on his head! He refused to tell me anything about whatever that's been happening."

Potter has a heart of gold after all.

"All he said was that you were bothering him with all sorts of nonsense and I want you to stop it!"

I let out a heavy sigh. "He told you so you could be sent here to chase me away, huh?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Right, nasty ferret boy never tells his secrets to anyone. Please, Malfoy, the way you act around everyone, I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't any real friends about yourself."

Ow. That bloody, fucking hurt.

"Miss Granger, I do not expect you to be saying such hurtful words to anyone!" a voice behind her sounds.

"Professor McGonagall, but, he deserves every word!" she defends. I run my hands through my hair. The Professor shakes her head.

"Five points, Miss Granger, for displaying such disrespectful behaviour as a prefect." She leaves as quickly as she came, leaving no room for any 'but's.

As for my own farewell, I stare at her, still feeling the sting of words. "You know nothing but your textbooks and notes, Granger. You know nothing about the things to do with my life, or Harry's life."

When I leave, I realise that I had called him by first name, and how much closer I am to fully expressing my feelings for him to everyone else.

By the time I feel that it's alright for me to go back to my experiment (which is actually during my dinner), another surge of irritation rip-roars through my body. Someone's cleared all my things, and my notes have been gathered in an untidy stack. I sit at the table and start over again, but this time, I bring a cauldron to the stool. Time for another fantastic session of mistakes.

Speaking of mistakes...

My sole, ultimate mistake pops his head out from behind the dungeon's open doors. "What do you want?" I manage with the coldest tone, while I drip bit by bit a dropper full of purple liquid into the thick, green gop in my cauldron.

"I'm visiting," he replies simply. "Unless you want me to leave."

No, stay, I think, but remain silent. Stay with me.

He comes around to my side, then peers into the pot of dark green. "I came to say sorry. About Hermione. She told me everything that's happened, and I honestly am sorry for how she behaved. She isn't one to mince her words."

"Look, you don't have to apologise for her. She can do it herself." I begin to stir the mixture. The metal rod hardly budges. "But you're not really down here for that, are you?" You're here to see me. At that moment, he blushes, so much that his cheeks are red as beet. "Potter, I've given up trying to kill you. I don't quite understand why, after everything we've been through, you still do things like these. Bicker with me, come to see me, just being able to be where I am. Are things really so coincidental?"

"Yes, they are." I am at a loss for words for a second.

"Why do you still hang about that girl?" I push again, both the rod and the subject. This thing I'm making is thick. "You can't have everything at once."

Suddenly, the air about us changes and it isn't as pleasant anymore. He clearly doesn't want to talk about she and I at the same time. "I'm not like that, Malfoy. I've got every right to be with a girl. Whoever I like."

He steps forward so he's beside me, then his hands extend and grip the rod too. We push together, but with much difficulty. At least it's moving, at least we're stirring, and I'm getting somewhere.

"What's this for?" he asks, eyeing the experiment.

"An assignment, a project. I was chosen to do it." I pause. "I'm sorry about the injury." I hope it knocked some homosexual sense into you! "Look, you don't have to help."

"You may not want the help, but you definitely need it."

This comment makes me quite mad. I let go of the rod and he stumbles forward a bit. "Potter, I really CAN'T stand you! First you come down to bother me, then you act like a saint, trying to make things better, and then you patronise me!" My voice may be a bit loud for this.

"I never bother about you and Pansy! Why do you have to keep bugging me about Alexis?"

"You know," I ignore, "Just because you're the boy who lived doesn't mean that you're better than me. It just makes you luckier than me." I gesture to the cauldron. "I mean, Potter, I think all that Gryffindor pride's gone right up to your head. It doesn't make me---"

"Stop talking."

I shut up immediately, but I'm under no Imperius Curse, that's for sure. This silence makes me realise. Oh my goodness, the both of us are alone in the dungeon, and he's right in front of me, and this is such an opportunity that's presenting itself...

I find myself moving closer to him, finding that the skin I've bruised isn't well-kissed enough, helplessly pushing my hands into his cloak, entering the back pockets then pulling him forward...

He's got such long lashes, I think. His fingers dance about my neck and move to touch my lower lip. I don't understand how he can be straight. I think my hands are working their own rhythm, and a long sigh leaves his own lips, those that looks so pleasing, taste so good. I lean in a little closer to see if I can have a second taste...

"Ay, Harry! I heard you were---"

Fuck! I feel like screaming, pulling my hands from his trousers in lightning speed and fixing them onto the rod in the cauldron. Potter's cloak billows a bit at my removal, and thankfully, he feels very disappointed, telling from his face. His arms are folded tightly, and he faces the door---

---as WEASLEY walks in.

Curse those bloody redheads. Curse. Them.

As Potter and I try to normal our breathing rates, Weasley throws the both of us a horrified, yet suspicious look. "---down here..." he trails, "...What are you doing down here anyway?"

"We had a talk," Potter answers.

Which is the truth, actually.

"I think we'd better leave," Weasel insists.

"I was just about to."

Yeah right, I think in my heart. It's also somewhat written on the intruder's face. There is a moment where all three of us stop to breathe, then the other two take their leave, leaving me with a rod that's so hard to push, why the fuck is it so hard, I can't believe I have to deal with a hard rod---

Hmm. I should stop thinking.

How am I supposed to rest when people are making so much commotion outside? I swear, I'm going to be an insomniac at this rate.

My room is empty, all except for myself. Crabbe and Goyle have joined in the ruckus outside, I suppose. I'm about to sleep when something hot burns in my pocket, and I remember, it's that blasted Mirror!

I whip it out and snap, "LET ME SLEEP. YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL ME, POTTER!"

"Is that all you care about?" he says. "Beauty sleep?"

"I do have to put in some sort of effort to look good."

"We need to talk."

"Aren't we doing that now?"

"Look, you needn't always try to tell me that I'm... gay. Because I'm not. Alexis and I---"

"Alexis and you, what? Do you think I'd give a fuck? Don't lie to yourself. The both of us know that we're meant to be in each other's hearts. And beds," I add carefully. If he wants to talk, I'll give him honesty.

"Stop doing this!" he says with a little bit of acidity. "Stop trying to make me believe I even like you, stop trying to always win an argument with some snarky comment!" He shakes his head. "It doesn't work that way. Besides, we're so incompatible."

"Opposites attract, Harry, that's what makes us such a hot couple." I may sound a bit haughty, but I've got to say it anyhow. "It's how I do things, make cheesy, witty remarks to leave you speechless. What, you think it doesn't hurt to see you with someone else? I may not care, but I certainly do have feelings," I finish. He keeps silent, which is a cue for more words. "I believe that you've got a heart of gold, Harry, but you're not showing it."

He blushes. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I mean, I don't lo---

Don't say that, the voice in my head interrupts. You'll never know.

I suddenly let out a very exasperated sigh.

Potter has a look on his face that I can't describe. He just looks very, very good. "Malfoy, it's really no use. I'm not like that. You know it."

"I don't know it! You know what I think? I think on the inside, you're so incredibly gay, that your crookedness twists your sexuality into so many loops it almost makes you straight! What do you call what happened in the corridor? The dungeon?" He shakes his head again. Stop pissing me off! "Stop pissing me off like this!"

I grab my wand, tap it on the surface of the mirror and say, "Nox." The image of him disappears. I figured out how to use the mirror a few days ago in the library, and I suppose this 'in relation to light' thing is quite useful. Especially for moments like these.

You really make me miserable, you know that?

I stare at the ceiling. Looks like if there's commotion or not, I still won't be getting any sleep tonight.