Chapter 4

It seemed the day had chosen to never end, knowing that the Great Hall was the last place Draco wanted to be. His classes had been unbearable, each one longer than the last, and now he had only an hour of dinner to sit through before he could retreat to his dormitory, but, it was quickly turning into the longest hour of his life. Each minute felt like an eternity as he sat there at the Slytherin table, his leg bouncing impatiently on the ball of his foot, causing the rest of his body to shake slightly. His right hand twitched terribly as he tried to keep a firm grasp on the fork he was using to push around his uneaten food, twitching because the fork wasn't what Draco really wanted it to be wrapped around.

He hadn't been able to close his eyes once that day, after finding, the night before, that whenever he did, he was thrown into the memory of the night he had with "Green Eyes". All throughout his lessons of the day, he had forced himself to concentrate on things that would keep him from the folds of his imagination. He'd be damned if he didn't receive perfect marks on the potion he had concocted in Snape's class, he was sure he could confidently say he knew more about the druidess Cliodna than anyone in his year, having forced himself to take detailed notes on Binns' rambling. But, now that classes were over, things were different. The only thing he had to concentrate on was a plate of food, sitting in front of him, and it was already proving to be a very weak dam against the river of thoughts that plagued his mind. In the fourteen minutes that had past since he entered, his mind had slipped and allowed him a glimpse of an enticing image. He had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning, as the thought had sent a heat down to his nether region that fed the erection he was currently battling to keep sedated.

At the same time, behind all of the uncontrollable hormones, was the slightest bit of lingering anxiety, from the events of Saturday evening. It wasn't his fault the Gryffindor had decided to go strolling around the showers, while he had been in there. At first, the thought that Harry would recognize his body had crossed his mind, but he quickly put it to rest when he realized that it wasn't possible. The mask he wore as the Dragon did more than hide his face. Still, Draco had to admit, the encounter had given him quite a thrill.

He sighed heavily and looked down at his plate. Hmm, he thought, don't they ever serve anything other than roast beef? It seems like that's all we've been eating lately. The house elves are probably on strike. He snorted. God, this is pathetic! I've resorted to thinking about—

"Draco," a voice snapped at him. He brought his head up to find Pansy Parkinson—as well as Crabbe and Goyle—staring at him. "Your incessant bouncing is shaking the table and, incase you haven't noticed, we are trying to eat."

"Oh," Draco replied, "I…I'm sorry. I hadn't realized—"

"Look, why don't you just do us all a favor and go to the bathroom already."

"What," Draco asked anxiously.

"I mean if you have to pee…"

"Huh? Oh, you mean…right. You're exactly right. I'll just be…" Before he finished the sentence, he left the table and was on his way down the aisle in between the house tables. As he walked by the Gryffindor table, he spotted Harry, laughing and joking with the mudblood and the weasel. The way he was concentrating on what the weasel was saying made it quite obvious to Draco that Harry knew he was walking by and that he was trying very hard not to look at him. Draco smirked to himself as he walked through the doors out to the corridor.

Yes, he thought as he traipsed aimlessly down the empty hallway, this is exactly what I need. A brisk walk to clear my head. It wasn't five minutes before he realized how big a mistake he had made. He quickly found that the school corridors had even less to offer him as a distraction than the Great Hall. Each time he tried to think of something that wouldn't send him into a frenzy, he lost his train of thought and found himself right back to where he didn't want to be. The one thing he found himself more than able to keep his mind on, though, was each and every boys bathroom he passed. There seemed to have been many more than he remembered—but that could also have been because, in his…frustration, he failed to notice where he was going was actually treading the same corridors, over and over again. Every time he walked past one of the doors, he found himself thinking "What if…" but, before he even allowed himself to finish the thought, he told himself that what he was thinking of was beneath him and forced himself to walk away. Unfortunately, each time he gave himself a bogus reason, the need to satisfy himself only grew and, before long, he found himself unable to think of a reason good enough to stop himself. Finally, spotting another bathroom, he threw himself in, locked himself in a stall and leaned against the door.

His hands were at his robes immediately, fumbling over the fastenings out of desperation. God, why did his uniform have to be so complicated? When he finally got past those, he wasted no time in moving on to his pants. A small sound of triumph escaped him as he succeeded in getting the buttons and zipper undone. He reached into his silk boxers and pulled out his already erect member. Even the simple touch made him weak at the knees. His fingers immediately wrapped around it and he began to pump.

Suddenly, all of the thoughts he had forced himself to keep contained burst into his head and, at once, he was back in the Red Room. He saw Harry, felt his body underneath his. He pictured himself kissing him, and licking him all over…

Oh, yes, he thought, yes…oh, Harry…

He remembered what it felt like to run his hands over his skin, up and down his cock…

Oh, God…oh, Harry…yes…

His mind replayed the sounds of Harry moans. Before he could stop himself, he imagined his own name in to it, knowing that this was what he wanted most. This brought him over the edge. Draco reached over his head and grabbed the top of the stall door. He gripped the door so tightly, he could feel his knuckles turning white. His teeth came down on his lower lip so ferociously, as he came, he was sure he tasted blood. But, his attempt to bite back his cry had been in vain as it managed to escape past his lips.

When it was all over, the world around him seemed unnaturally quiet. He leaned against the stall door in something of a stupor, his arms hanging limp at his sides. His breaths were slow and deep. A thin layer of sweat stuck his shirt to his chest. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip and found that it was soon met with the bitter taste of his own blood. In the Red Room, he thought he had been careful, only allowing a limited amount of physical contact between himself and Harry, but it seemed that even a little was too much for him. Now, his mind was heavy with dead as he thought about his next meeting with the Gryffindor, in only four days. The Dragon had made a promise that he was obligated to keep, and all Draco could do now was hope that he would have more control over his feelings by then.

It wasn't long before Draco realized he'd been out of the Great Hall far too long to return without being questioned. He quickly tucked himself back into his pants and fixed his clothes. Then, he threw a very thorough vanishing charm onto the tiled floor and made sure that none of the fluid residue of his orgasm remained. When he got to the sinks he saw that his appearance was atrocious. His hair was unkempt, his face was flushed, and the cut on his lip was much bigger than he thought it had been. He could fix his hair with a wave of his wand, but that was about all he could do. He would have to wait for his flush to go away on its own. As for the cut on his lip…his confidences in his healing charms were ever waning and he would much rather risk being questioned than try to fix it on his own and make it worse. After doing all he could—which didn't seem like much to him—he was still left with a feeling of inadequacy so, he washed his hands as well.

Alright, he thought as he sped down the corridor, I need an excuse for being gone so long. I'll say I was sidetracked…but by what?

How about the overwhelming urge to—

No, he quickly countered, I can't be joking around. This is serious. I know. I'll say I was pulled into—

But before he could finish his thought, his shin connected with something soft and heavy, pitching him, face first, to the stone floor. He landed sprawled on his stomach.

"Oh, my dear boy," a squeaky old voice said from behind him, "I'm so sorry about that!" Draco felt a pair of small hands grab his shoulders and attempt to lift him from his spot on the floor. He raised his head and saw the wrinkled face of his charms teacher floating above him.

"What?" he said, confusedly.

"Oh, my," Flitwick said, "you tripped over me while I was tying my shoe." He chuckled lightly. "I wish I could say it's the first time this has happened to me."

Draco groaned and, as soon as he got his wits about him, lifted himself off the floor. "Professor Flitwick," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't see you."

"It's alright, dear boy," Flitwick answered. "I don't blame you. I seem to disappear when I bend down too low." He chuckled again. "It's actually quite fortunate that I ran into you—or rather, you ran into me. I came out here looking for you."

"For me?" Draco asked.

Flitwick nodded. "Yes, I wanted to discuss your performance in my class lately." Draco clenched his teeth. Not another one, he thought, exasperatedly. The charms teacher cleared his throat. "It seems you are having trouble concentrating, in class—"

Tell me something I don't know.

"—so I have taken the liberty of finding you a…er…private study partner."

Draco did a double take. "You did what?" He couldn't believe it. All of his other teachers had been on his back about his schoolwork but, all they ever did was lecture him. None of them went so far as to get him a tutor. "Professor, you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious, Mr. Malfoy. I know the idea seems horrible—especially to one as proud as yourself—but I can assure you, it's not the end of the world. I'm sure if you give it a chance, you'll learn to like it." Draco stood and stared at Flitwick incredulously. "Now, I spoke to Mr. Potter earlier and—"

"Potter?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. I would have asked Miss Granger to do it but, she wants to go into the Ministry of Magic after Hogwarts and, well, she already has enough on her plate. Next to her, Mr. Potter seemed like the best candidate. Anyway, I spoke to him earlier and we decided that this Thursday at six o'clock would be the best time for your first sessions. I will leave my classroom unlocked for the two of you. The two of you can determine the rest then, but you should meet at least once a week."

"But Professor, you don't understand. I can't—"

"I know," Flitwick interrupted. "I am very aware of the rivalry between your houses but, I am hoping the two of you will use this opportunity to put all that behind you and be an example to the school. When you look at it closely, the only thing that makes you two so-called enemies is all of this House rivalry riffraff. I'm sure if you take that away, you two will get along fine."

"But—"

"I will have no more objections, Mr. Malfoy. My word is final. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a box of Pepper Imps waiting for me in my office that I am most anxious to get my hands on."

Flitwick turned, without another word and started down the corridor. Draco watched his charms teacher until he disappeared around the bend. It was then that he chose to release a groan of frustration.

Brilliant, he thought angrily as he made his way to the Great Hall, in the other direction, bloody brilliant. You're a right bloody genius, Professor Flitwick. Now, not only do I have to see Potter in class and try not to think about shagging him, but I have to see him once a week for tutoring as well. All bloody thanks to you!

As he entered the Great Hall, he turned his head and shot a malevolent look to the Gryffindor table but, found it being met by an emerald glare of the same intensity. He was momentarily thrown off by this, not being able to fathom the reason behind it. Then, it occurred to him that at school, he was Draco Malfoy; the one Harry held nothing but contempt for.

He looked away and continued to the Slytherin table. When he got there, he retook the seat he had left earlier. "Where there hell have you been," Pansy demanded as he sat down, "Dinner's nearly over."

"I met up with Flitwick on the way back from the bathroom," Draco answered, without looking at her, "and we…had a talk."

"What happened to your lip?" Crabbe asked.

Draco looked up at him. "I fell."

"On what—"

"I fell, Crabbe. That's all you need to know. Got it?" He looked around at the faces of the people sitting around him. "Does anyone else have anything to say to me?" His gaze fell upon Blaise, who he found to be eyeing him suspiciously. "Blaise?"

Blaise jumped and immediately looked down at his own plate. "N-no, Draco," he said, quietly, "there's nothing."

Feech's Note: I was afraid this would happen. With the release of the sixth book, some things have changed but, after some serious thought, I've decided not to let that affect my fics. (Well this one, at least.) I'm going to finish this one and "Falling" (no, I haven't forgotten about it) as if the sixth book didn't exist. So, having said that, on to the reviews! Peaches!