2
Draco's Deepest DesiresDraco traipsed down through the near-deserted, Slytherin common room thinking fruitlessly, towards the far stairwell. Potter was just full of surprises…
"Hi Draco." Said a cool male voice, whose body was lounging confidently on a glossy black leather sofa, which was facing the diminishing fire. "How did potions with Potter go then?" the voice spat remorsefully.
"As lame as to be expected Zabini." Draco said to his best friend. Draco was quite pleased with his performance of indifference.
"Take a pew" said Blaise smoothly, offering Draco a cushioned spot next to him on the opulent seat. Draco wanted to retire secretly, but he must keep up appearances. Draco had the best of everything. The same was true with his friends. Many were shallow, but he preferred to have a bevy of fans to fall back on, should he encounter Potter. This had unfortunately failed him the day previous. The finer things in life were Draco's style, so he had taken to being seen with noble Blaise, more often, and kept Crabbe and Goyle sweet enough to stay loyal. At least then they would be at his beck and call to come to his aid should a more burly boy challenge him to a wandless duel. Even Millicent Bulstrode, a robust Slytherin girl in his year could pack more of a punch compared to him. Though she wouldn't be able to out-fox him in a duel. Draco also had an on/off girlfriend-simpering Pansy Parkinson, who was obsessively clingy and grated heavily on Draco's nerves. The relationship was just for show, which was fine as far as Draco was concerned. He wasn't romantically interested in Pansy...he wasn't romantically interested in any of the pathetic, silly little girls Hogwarts housed. They disgusted him, whispering in corners, pointing at him with coquettish smirks on their faces. In his opinion no one was worthy of his attention and Draco doubted whether anyone would ever have that honour.
Blaise was a fine accessory though. Crabbe and Goyle just weren't aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but Blaise was. He was an extremely handsome boy, lean, but with well defined muscles that often pressed appealingly through his school shirt. His crowning glory, however, was his beautiful shoulder length curtain of chestnut hair which cascaded in waves over his muscular shoulders.
Blaise was a wealthy boy by heritage, just like Draco. His skin was very slightly olive, which was accentuated by his rich, dark hair. During the summer, Blaise had chosen to grown a suave beard and moustache, which suited him well. It was very well groomed and neatly trimmed. The effect of it made Blaise look distinguished and striking. Draco was slightly intimidated by Blaise's appeal, but he admired it too, he felt no competition, as Blaise had said in no uncertain terms that he considered he and Draco equal in all things. Blaise looked at Draco, with his fiery liquid eyes which were velvet in texture but keen and sharp. He arched one elegant brow as if to question him.
" You seem distant." Blaise observed coolly.
Draco snapped out of his musing, he must have seemed very odd to his friend, as he was first gazing pensively into space and then had been allowing his eyes to roam over Blaise freely, without thinking. If Blaise had noticed, he hadn't mentioned it. Tact and discretion, another quality Draco valued in an acquaintance.
"A lot on my mind, that's all…" Draco explained matter-of-factly, coming to his senses.
"I see." Said Blaise, his masculine voice rich, deep and smooth, like the vocal equivalent of coffee, should it ever exist. Blaise wasn't going to press the matter further, but Draco seemed to need a release, and Blaise was after all, curious...
"You are late back Draco, it must be nearly two." Blaise observed slyly. "I haven't seen you since lunch...So, where were you?"
Draco remembered that he hadn't told Blaise about the detention. He realised that weary as he was, he really ought to give Blaise the low-down on what had happened the previous day. He turned to his elegant friend and slumped heavily into the sumptuous leather next to him.
"I got into a fight with that wretched Potter. Got detention" said Draco with exaggerated bitterness. " The boy's a sanctimonious little boot-licker."
Blaise laughed indulgently, his voice resonant and deep in its tone. "Why am I not surprised Draco?...And I couldn't agree more, Potter's always been Dumbledore's little lap-dog. Don't let that little pleb entice you with his bait-he wants you to bite." Blaise rose smoothly from his place next to Draco, laying the unfinished work on parchment that was on his lap absently down on the woven hearth-rug. He walked purposefully round the back of the chair, his eyes not leaving Draco's.
Draco felt a little uncomfortable, as though Blaises' black Italian eyes bore straight into his soul. The contact broke as Blaise came round behind him, Draco still following the movement with his peripheral vision but forcing himself not to turn. Inevitably he could no longer see Blaise but he could still sense him, his warm presence leaning in casually from behind. Draco tensed instinctively as Blaise's warm supple hands descended heavily upon his taut shoulders, braced nervously for contact. Even so Draco still started at the sudden warmth and pressure of Blaise's firm grasp.
"Draco, you're so tense." Draco shivered as Blaise's warm breath carressesed the sensitive skin behind his ear. When had he gotten so close? He closed his eyes and leaned into Blaise's touch as the boys hands began to move on his shoulders, kneading his tense muscles. "Relax." Blaise whispered against his throat and perhaps Draco had imagined it but had that been Blaise tongue then, tracing his jaw. Blaise's dexterous hands crept smoothly from Draco's shoulders, tracing the collar of his crisp open white shirt. Draco's skin prickled excitedly as Blaise's fingers further carressed his smooth chest, his flesh blushed as Blaise cheekily circled a pink nipple, pinching and plucking it playfully. Draco felt a swelling in his trousers, and though thoroughly in sweet ecstasy, wanting more, this arousal brought him to his senses. His eyes snapped open and his hand shot up to meet Blaise's. Whereupon it clamped the other boys hand, clearly a signal to stop.
"Wait...no." Draco breathed, pulling away. Blaise seemed disappointed but reluctantly withdrew his hands from Draco's shirt.
"I don't understand you...hot one moment, cold the next. What do you want Draco?"Blaise demanded quietly, eyes fixed with narrowed assessment upon the other boy.
"I don't know...yet." Draco murmered with an exasperated gesture, pressing one hand to his head and gesticulating with the other. He looked up at his friend through pale lashes, his cold grey eyes weary with self restraint. "Patience Blaise...please."
"You're an enigma." Blaise sighed with grudging admiration, respectfully keeping his distance. "I know you want me." He stated matter-of-factly, voice quiet but sharp with conviction. "I just wonder why you deny yourself like this...I'm hardly an unwilling participant." Blaise's strained smile turned up at one corner, vaguely self mocking. His dark eyes held a clear invitation however. "I'll be waiting when you change your mind...just don't take too long about it, even I have limits."
Blaise confidently walked back around the couch and slumped into the cushion next to Draco and leaned down to retrieve his parchment and quill. He consulted his lap. The parchment was embellished heavily with beautiful manuscript and illuminated letters. The heading read 'Influential warlocks of the 15th and 16th centuries, and the cultural climate of the wizarding world during their era' and the footnote was branded 'Blaise Zabini, History of magic assessment, module 6-Professor Binns'. Blaise always took pride in his work, as he did himself Draco thought. It was nice to have a friend with style and panache; Draco and Blaise were on the same wavelength. Potter and Weasley suit each other well too, Draco thought snobbishly.Draco picked up the peacock feather quill, which was resting on Blaises' lap and twirled it round in his fingers, admiring it.
He lay the beautiful feather down again on Blaises' parchment and eased himself up decidedly. "Goodnight Blaise." He said to his friend.
Blaise looked up, and smiled dryly. " See you tomorrow Draco, if I don't die finishing this essay."
Feeling unsettled he began climbing the stairs until he reached to a grand polished oak door. Draco Wasn't sure what was going on in his head, or his heart. He had known for several years that Blaise was overtly gay and now Blaise was confusing him. If he were honest with himself, yes, he was curious...very curious... but to resign himself as homosexual just yet could be potentially limiting, not to mention a waste, given the way girls react to him. Besides, the more pressing issue was how his father would react if his son and heir was to not continue the Malfoy legacy.
Luckily for Draco, his father, Lucius Malfoy's influential wealth and former station as school governor at Hogwarts had afforded Draco a private, luxurious en-suite room of his own, which he was allowed to keep, even after his father's imprisonment. He was reminded of this gratefully, given the grimy physical state of him, after having spent an hour in Filch's abode and the mental instability that followed most encounters with Potter. The room was more than substantial in size, accommodating a beautiful mahogany desk, inset with the Malfoy crest in pewter, a number of well concealed secret draws, disguised as inkwell and quill compartments. The room also boasted a canopied, four-poster double bed, situated by the mantle piece glowing softly with melting embers. The bed was a cocoon for a king; draped heavily with emerald green Chinese brocade drapes and sumptuous velvet bedspreads. The untreated stone walls of the room looked majestic, proudly displaying the Slytherin crest amongst rich tapestries and embroideries – Malfoy family heirlooms. The most precious artefact of Draco's was hidden in a secret drawer in his mahogany desk. A shard of Erised.
When The Mirror of Erised had been destroyed at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, Draco couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a shard of it lying un-noticed in the dungeons. Everyone was so pre-occupied with precious little Potter and how he had saved the world from impending doom again, after Voldemort's third defeat suffered at Harry's infantile hands. Draco had been able to slip into the dungeons discreetly and salvage a piece for himself. His father had told him the legend of the mirror… but to own a relic such as this!
Draco loved his shard of Erised.
Some days, he would see himself triumphant, strong…just as he is, Slytherin quidditch captain, prefect, perfect…
Draco hated his shard of Erised.
Occasionally, (but often enough to loathe) he would gaze into the shard, and see terrible weakness.
Its effect was never neutral. It always sited in him passion, of one extreme or the other.
He reached for the ornate silver candelabra that occupied the bracket above his trunk and removed the creamy, frothy-edged candle from it's cleft. Into the small recess, he placed his fingers, searching. In a moment his fingers emerged, encompassing a tiny gold key. Walking purposefully over to the other side of his room, Draco knelt on the floor facing his desk and reaching under it, nimbly curled his wrist to turn the key in a hidden lock deftly removing the shard from the desk's veiled depths. He plucked it out from under the antique wood surface. It was covered carefully in a scrap of green velvet, torn from his sumptuous bedspread. Unsheathing the shard revealed it's lavish, glistening beauty. It was deadly sharp at each of its three points, like a dagger of ice. The fascia of the glass glistened promisingly, its only rival being the beautiful pearly mineral opal. For Draco, this was a daily routine. Each day, a new surprise awaited him on the other side of the iridescent glass façade.
When he was small, he imagined himself, beside his doting father, whose adoring eyes would shine with approval. As he grew, he continued to desire the approval, more than anything. He wanted to make his majestic father proud. Draco's admiration of his father became fanatical, when he completed his first year at Hogwarts, and obtained the treasured shard of Erised, he looked into it daily, obsessed with the favourable way that Lucius' reflection looked at his own mirrored parallel. Lucius, however, did not display such approval in practice, often chiding Draco, making him feel small and insignificant. Unworthy… This could be due to any number of reasons; a defeat at a quidditch match, especially a Gryffindor defeat…or perhaps anything less than a perfect grade in potions or his enrichment dark arts studies. These enrichment studies had been a final request from Lucius upon his imprisonment, a task which the recently appointed dark arts teacher, Professor Morrigan, was all to happy to be burdened with. Lucius intended for Professor Morrigan, a close friend of his wife Narcissa, to ensure that Draco would be tutored ardently in employing the dark arts, to aid The Dark Lord when time came to do so. Soon, Draco would be prepared to take up his father's mantle.
As Draco progressed through school, he started to witness desires in the mirror, which seemed surreal to him. Despite the fact that they were his own desires… By year four, he saw his reflection shaking hands with Harry Potter, and Harry's face was a picture of respect. Weakness Draco thought. He relied too much on other's approval, first his father's approval, then Professor Snape and his Slytherin peers and finally Potter… His new obsession. This was much more complicated than attempting to gain Lucius' respect. This was like trying to get blood out of a stone.
Greedily, Draco looked into the curiously shaped piece of glass, and his face became awash with revolted revelation.
In the depths of the silvery image, Draco was shameful to bear witness to what the mirror beheld. Beneath the glass, Harry Potter's misty likeness was gloriously naked beside his own bare reflection, kissing him firmly on the neck. Imagine Draco's astonishment when he had first seen this image three months previous, shortly after his 18th birthday on June the 5th. Each night he peered into the glass to witness this fantasy. His lust for Harry, he concluded, was virtually insatiable.
As he admired the vision, he saw the reflection of Harry's green gaze meet his own eyes alluringly. It was looking out through the glass, as though the animated image was conscious and knew what Draco was doing. He felt an unpleasant jerk in his stomach, coupled with a tingling sensation snaking down his Slytherin spine. Harry was looking at him? Though still clothed, Draco felt exposed, his cool exterior melting away with the fire of the emerald seduction. Harry's reflection stripped Draco with his eyes, so erotic.
Astonished, Draco carefully propped the sacred mirror shard up against an ink pot, and backed away, eyes still fixated. Draco undressed carefully beside his bed, still affected by Harry's gaze. This was the first time that this had happened he noted nervously. Never before had Harry's reflection looked directly at him. The gentle fire highlighted each new area of Draco's beautiful gossamer skin, licking it up at each removal of a garment. Naked now, and feeling vulnerable despite his solitude, he folded his clothes delicately over the high backed polished chair facing the desk, for a house-elf to collect and attend to.
He turned and perched distractedly on the side of his bed, still absorbed with the sexy representation of Harry kissing his mouth, neck, chest…
Draco ran his hand through his silky pale hair, unflinchingly observant of the mirror. He let his graceful hand travel down his smooth body, his long fingers skimming the warm, supple flesh. His throbbing erection had been crying for attention from the moment his eyes had beheld the amorous vision, yet until now, its pulsing reminders were in vain… But now, it could wait no longer. Anticipation mounting, his fingers lightly circled around the blushing tip, the preliminary seed lubricating his actions, heightening the pleasure.
In his view, he watched Harry's un-tangible counterpart meet his eyes again from beneath the glass, quickening his kisses with a passionate urgency, now closing the gap between the two ethereal bodies. Draco let out a small whimper as his free hand encircled the shaft of his manhood and in rhythm with the imitation Harry's kisses and roaming hands. His shame had departed, for now. He knew it would return when the display of milky fluid adorned his fingers in sinewy tendrils again, like yesterday, and the day before...
His gasps, he was sure, could wake the rest of the Slytherin wing of the castle, despite the substantial stone interiors. Foolish paranoia. Draco sank back into the luxurious bed further and he worked his hard-on quickly and proficiently, still staring wide eyed at the stimulating, exquisite, phantasm.
Pseudo Harry was looking at him again, straight from the glass, admiring him, whilst manhandling the Draco reflection passionately. His trademark glasses were askew on his face, supported only by the tip of his straight nose.
Draco's mirrored counterpart fought back valiantly now, biting Harry's nipples and griping his hair tightly to gain better control. Harry's glasses fell off into the ether, as the two apparitions struggled for supreme sexual power. Now, only one sheet of glass came between their mutual visual scrutiny.
Draco's grip prevailed, with Harry's tousled hair mangled amongst long fingers. Draco's reflection found that Harry could be directed by force, he drove his hands down, driving Harry's head down with it, towards his solid prick. The real-flesh Draco's eyes widened in amazement, and as he witnessed Harry's soft little mouth envelope his reflection's pulsing cock. He felt so turned on and let out a loud, pleasant laugh, clear as a bell, because even in the mirror, he had found a way to dominate the other boy. As he watched the scene intently from his bed, his hands worked harder, to keep up with the fiery passion evident in the shard of mirror. Counterfeit Harry started to wind his small tongue around the head of simulated Draco's erection at which point the Draco on the bed could endure no more sweet torture and climaxed intensely, having an elaborate, unpredictable tremor amongst his brocade canopies. At that moment his face was beautiful, like an angel, but the full picture showed him a pale angel, fallen from grace, clutching himself still, showered in his liquid pearl. His expression was heartbreaking, as the shame and self-disgust set in, his lip quivering excitedly. Draco curled up into a ball, on his bed, and watched his reflection's surprise when Harry melted away before him, replaced by his father, supreme and expectant. He uncurled reluctantly, and stretched, dripping on the fire-warmed flagstone floor. Then he tottered, exhausted over to his desk, picking up the shard of Erised tenderly and wrapped it in the previously discarded, soft velvet wrap. Replacing it carefully in the drawer, Draco locked it away and still clutching the miniature gold key, clambered back into bed, drawing the heavy drapes around him. Shutting the world out.
Draco had slept un-easily that night, his head, a defenceless fortress under attack, a shadow of its former strength. It was thoughts of Harry that lay siege to his mind, trapping it, stripping it of its power.
It was Saturday, a day when most students would be free to choose what they wanted to spend their time doing, but not Draco… he must be up and dressed, for he had another appointment with Professor Morrigan, who under his father's orders was providing guidance and supervision in, as his father put it 'the right direction'…
Draco wearily scraped back the weighty canopies, and stepped out into the pool of light that the beautiful, arched, latticed window provided. Yesterday's clothes were gone from the back of his chair, in their place his neatly folded, fresh attire for the day. Draco was never one to slack on personal grooming, and thinking longingly of his golden bathroom, he decided that professor Morrigan was better to keep waiting than have him arrive un-washed. He strode naked into the adjoining room and splashed himself liberally, promising himself a more thorough wash later. Oh, bloody Hell, I hope I don't see Potter today. Draco thoughtshuddering, as he gargled a mouthwash potion, from his gilt, bathroom potions-cabinet. Draco didn't think that he could hold Harry's stare today without either; screaming and running, or gasping and climaxing on the spot, in tribute to the previous night. After all, how on earth could he look Potter in the face now after seeing Harry's eyes meet his so intimately through the mirror? Reaching into the cabinet again, Draco withdrew a small sapphire coloured bottle. It was a gift from his mother from her last visit to the cosmopolitan wizard settlement in Paris, where she liked to purchase stylish items for the family. All of Draco's school sweatshirts and trousers were proudly derived from there. An ornate French script inside the collars embroidered the legend 'Magique et Magnifique'. His shirts were flawless with a crisp white finish and sharp lapels. Everyone else just got their robes at either Madame Malkin's in Hogsmead, or from Warwick's an owl-order business ran by an ex-Hogwarts Slytherin student, who graduated in Charlie Weasley's year; Miss Naomi.
Draco was fond of the smell contained in the little bottle though. A sexy, stylish, masculine fragrance; very suited to its wearer. He moistened his wrists and throat with the liquid, and replaced it carefully in the cabinet. I must ask mother to acquire some more. Draco concluded, as the suave aroma reached his nostrils.
Feeling a bit cleaner, Draco lifted his pressed black trousers and satin boxer shorts off the chair and slid them over the milky pale skin of his legs, which was covered in downy, ashen hair. He opened his trunk and lying on the top of his things, was a thin, black, snakeskin belt. It had an ornate serpentine silver buckle. Draco looped this through the waist of his debonair, black tailored trousers, fastening it at the front with the silver serpent. Term had just started at Hogwarts, barely two weeks ago, so the castle was in the throes of a British autumn, deceivingly golden, often crisp and chilly outside, especially in gusty weather. Today the grounds were Gryffindor hues, the trees crimson and gold. The silvery snow and the evergreen foliage of darker months made winter the season of Slytherin. That was yet to come, this year. In accordance with the weather, the house elf that attended to Draco's room had laid out a charcoal, cable-knit, turtle neck jumper. Draco pulled it over his bare shoulders, it was one of his most favourite things to wear, stylish and suave-it suited him just fine.
Draco checked himself in the mirror in his bathroom and flicked his silky blond hair out of his eyes with one smart toss of his head. He resembled a male counterpart of the pretty witch in the 'Luxurious Locks' Potion advertising campaign, which he had seen staring out from the back of his mother's copy of Witch Weekly. Satisfied that he looked flawless as usual, even though time denied him his indulgent bath in the morning, he strode confidently out of his room in the tower. He was lucky, as his room was the only one with a view of the outside this deep into the castle, as it was adjoined to the slytherin dungeons by a long sweeping stair, therefore allowing it to be above ground level. This gave Draco a substantial panoramic view of the grounds, from his window.
Draco descended the stairs quickly, he didn't want to be late for Professor Morrigan's extra curricular activities... He resolved to skip breakfast that morning, it was likely that Potter would be in the great hall, regaling his friends with the tale of his lucky escape from Filch's detention and possibly telling them in even further bewilderment of Draco's wish for a truce.
As he stalked the length of the common room, he was accosted by his so called girlfriend Pansy, who shrieked immaturely at the sight of him and ran over to him circling excitedly like a vulture over a particularly juicy carcass.
"Hello..." she said attempting a sexy purr, but getting a result more like a cat trying to rid it's throat of an extremely large fur ball.
Draco stopped reluctantly. Pansy, who was considerably shorter than Draco, grabbed the crook of his arm feverously and went on tip-toes to simper in what she thought an attractive manner;
" Been a busy boy then Draco? I haven't had the pleasure of your company recently..." She put an un-necessary amount of emphasis on the word pleasure, which Draco found highly irritating. He knew she was fishing for some flirty jokes or some forced innuendo. It simply wasn't his style.
His thought must have betrayed him, because his formerly serene face now bore the look of a person who is biting their tongue, or refraining from slapping someone that they would dearly love to injure. For a moment Pansy looked confused, and then, seeing his murderous expression relaxed her grip on his arm (which he was sure there had to be bruises on now). She slumped over-dramatically and pouted at him, trying his patience.
"Draco...what's-" she started to question.
" I'm late for a lesson." he interjected coldly.
"-But it's Saturday." she argued lamely-but to no avail, for Draco had already seen his statement as cue to leave the conversation.
Pansy watched her elusive boyfriend disappear out of the heavy oak door on the other side of the common room. She let out a look of despair at being brushed of, having not been privy to his developments in his dark arts studies. She noticed angrily that she was being watched by a few of the other Slytherin girls, who were greedily keen to see if she should fall out of Draco's favour.
Draco, after his annoying encounter with Pansy was now in a storming temper. He shouldn't let her annoy him so, but he couldn't help it...and dumping her just seemed inconvenient... She was just so clingy-it repulsed him. Sure, she was ok-looking but he wasn't interested, he liked classic good-looks but that was strictly when in conjunction with a substantially intelligent mind of which Pansy was seriously lacking.
He still felt irritable as he came through the bustling castle lobby , resolving to think of something less irksome than that silly girl he turned his thoughts to the morning's tasks ahead and of his teacher.
Professor Morrigan will undoubtedly reprimand him for being late but what did it matter in the great scheme of things? Her chidings were never without fondness, as she was one of his mother's dearest old friends, she had practically watched him grow up, although Draco's growth in recent years had evidently struck her as a pleasant surprise because The Dark Lord had stationed her abroad, to recruit foreign pure bloods to his cause. (she had particular success with many of the ex-Durmstrang students, who were well-renowned for their dabbling in the dark arts).
Today, Draco was to meet the Professor in the owlry, from where they were to progress discreetly to the forbidden forest to take practice of the three un-forgivable curses to greater platueu. Draco's pulse quickened slightly with the thrill of knowing he was going to kill something today...