Draco had always had an addiction. He had never told anyone, but had kept it a secret, burying himself into the sweet seduction of obsession. His addiction? Draco Malfoy was addicted to fire. In muggle terms he would be called a pyro-maniac. To him, fire was a life-force, the reason for living. He was okay when it was out of sight, but the minute he saw the velvet poison he would be enraptured by it's beauty.
He had once told his father of this.........addiction. He had not taken it well. He had tried everything to get his son off the elusive drug, beating him, spells, programs, but nothing seemed to quench his thirst for the flames. That is.....until the first day of his seventh year at Hogwarts.
Draco had withdrawn from his friends, locked himelf alone inside himself for fear of passing on his 'disease'. He sat alone in the compartment of the Hogwarts express, playing with a small lighter that he had found in the pocket of Arthur Weasley's robes before he left. He flicked the lighter on and off giggling in delight at the small ball of fire. He was so preoccupied that he did not notice the compartment door sliding open, not the shuffle of people coming in and sitting down.
However, when he put out his hand to touch the flame, a hand shot out from seemingly nowhere, stopping him in his tracks.
"Are you okay Malfoy?" He looked up, preparing to sneer at the person who had stopped his hypnotic quest, but what he saw caused him to stop once again.
A pair of emerald green eyes looked down at him, a hint of concern lying deep within their depths.
"Draco?" The voice chided again and his gaze was drawn from the green gaze to the full figure. He gasped audibly at the site that he saw. Smooth tan skin, so different from his own pale flesh, black hair that seemed to have a life of it's own, lips that looked as soft as feathers; they all tied together to create the familiar face of Harry Potter.
This time a hand rested on his shoulder as the boy tried to guide a response from the silent blonde. Draco leaned into the touch and closed his eyes as waves of warmth swept through his body.
"Yes?" He asked quietly, his eyes now trained on Harry's lips.
"Are you alright? I don't think you should be playing with that thing. Will you give it to me?" His voice was soft, probably from orders from Granger.
Draco handed the lighter to him, but did not move from his touch.
"Draco? What's wrong?" Harry asked again, this time sitting next to him on the seat. Draco whimpered at the close proximity.
"Harry." He whispered, and for the first time in years the familiar ache was gone, replaced by another sort of need. The difference? This one could be sated.