Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Originally a one-shot, I decided to expand upon it. Neither chapter is very long; each about 600 to 700 words in length.

Behind the Bookcase
Routines are Designed to be Broken

(Harry's POV)

I'm sitting in Potions class, trying to concentrate on my textbook. But my efforts are futile. Not to mention only half accord. How can I focus when Draco's sitting just two seats away?

My lack of sleep does not help much, either. I had spent a restless night, tossing and turning, trying to find any links to account for what happened last evening in the library. What could it have possibly meant? He had never expressed any behaviour prior that would suggest anything whatsoever. It doesn't make any sense at all. But I am determined to unravel Draco's mystery.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Snape's sharp voice breaks my daze. "Show me how much of your work you have completed so far."

I try to shield my blank parchment, but teachers have their way of knowing. Professor Snape sneers malevolently, and is quick to grant me a detention to ensure the work is done.

You know what that means. Draco's schedule does not permit time for detentions, and neither does mine. Like I need another reason to hate Snape.

I remain in class after the bell to finish my assignment. It takes much longer than I anticipate, with Snape glowering over my shoulder, watching every letter I record like a hawk. He gleefully informs me of my mistakes as I make them, not offering any assistance when I dare to I ask it.

It's almost eight o'clock before he finally allows me to leave. By now, Draco's surely back at his common room. I curse Professor Snape silently in my head.

I go to the library anyway, almost in a run but trying to seem inconspicuous. I take my usual stance behind the bookcase and peer out at the same table he always does his homework. Draco's books are open, his things littered across the surface, but there's no Draco.

"It took you long enough, Potter."

I whirl around. Standing to my immediate right, is Draco Malfoy.

"You rely too heavily on consistency," he informs me when I jump in surprise. "Do you really expect me to always be in the same place? I'm more complex than that."

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.

"I was wondering whether you'd come at all today," Draco continues. "I thought I might have given away too much yesterday, but I guess I was wrong."

My brow furrows in confusion.

"I guess it's okay to want more. I mean, who wouldn't?"

That same brow breaks a sweat.

"Don't like talking much, huh Potter? That's okay, we don't need to talk."

And in the same way two magnets snap into place, our mouths come together. Draco starts slowly, allowing me to dictate our pace. When he senses my utter content, he suddenly turns dominant. The abrupt force sends us both to the ground.

He lifts his head up, causing our lips to part. I'm fuming now. It's paralleling the day before. There is a limit to how much of his incessant teasing I can take.

That anger turns swiftly into lust when Draco's hands fumble with my belt buckle, and makes quick work with his own. His breathing is heavy, but his touch is light. It isn't until this moment, with my pants around my ankles and Draco's body pressed against my own like two skins, that I was finally free.

To some, a dependable routine gives people a sense of constancy, one where they can control their movements to every varying degree. But many routines, I'd learn, are designed to be broken.

The End

Author's Note: Pointless, yes I know, but I just felt like writing it. Tell me what you think!