This takes place during HPB, around the time Harry is following Malfoy. It goes AU, if you want to call it that, around chapter 23 or thereabouts. There's slash in this story. Just warning you.
x x x x
There. He was doing it again. It seemed as though every time Draco looked around the Great Hall towards the Gryffindor table, however lazily or mindlessly, Potter was looking at him. Looking right at him, right in the eye.
He looked away every time he met Draco's eyes. Draco had grown so bored of this game that he was hoping maybe Potter would throw in a wink, or a smile, or a sarcastic thumbs-up. I've got my eye on you, Malfoy! You're never alone! I'm following you everywhere!
Potter would pace for what seemed like hours outside the spot where Draco was working. With the Silent Alert charm placed around the entrance to the room, he was of course given fair warning whenever Potter approached. He knew the fool would never find a way inside, but it still churned his insides just a little bit in uneasiness. He always harboured the vague fear that when he returned to the room through the Cabinet, Potter would be standing there, wand at the ready. He couldn't truly enjoy the peace of solitude in that room with the knowledge that he was standing vigilant, muttering to himself.
Draco tried shifting his gaze downward, at his breakfast. He wasn't hungry. His porridge had nearly solidified, and Goyle had scooped most of the marmalade off of his toast with a pudgy forefinger. His eyes rested for a moment on the Daily Prophet's Confounding Crossword, half-completed in loopy handwriting. He shook his head: hard to believe people spent time on these rubbish things when real work was to be done.
He couldn't help it: he looked up again. And there was Potter! Hunched over a bit, trying to make himself look small and unassuming. In frustration, Malfoy grabbed his schoolbag and got to his feet, but he realized classes were about to start and many other students were rising as well; the soiled plates were beginning to vanish. He had to get out to the greenhouses for Herbology, but he was determined to at least get some answers out of Potter, even if he couldn't scare him into leaving him alone.
He pushed his way through a crowd of Ravenclaws and grabbed Potter by the shoulder just as he was about to round the staircase.
"Potter, I think it would be in your best interest to stop stalking me," Draco said, the last part through clenched teeth.
"Why? Ready to admit you're up to something?" The boy was nonchalant as ever, his hair so irritatingly untidy, his schoolbag slung casually over one shoulder. But his eyes were just as piercing as they were from across the Great Hall: boring into Draco, saying, YOU CAN'T ESCAPE.
"Nothing I do concerns you, Potter. Never has before; why should it interest you now?" He could see that Potter was trying to maintain a stony expression.
"You're trying to hide something," he replied, with just a hint of smugness.
"You've been pathetically misled," Draco warned. "You don't know just how much trouble you'll be in if you keep this up."
"No one can protect you here, Malfoy, not even Daddy," Potter said, a bit more of that smugness showing now. "Now excuse me – I've got class." With that, Potter was off up the stairs, sparing not even a second glance in Draco's direction.
Draco rolled his eyes. He could feel his heart beating a little faster now. He enjoyed these confrontations with Potter, especially one-on-one: he hated baiting Potter through the filter of Weasley's brainless banter and the condescending whine of the Mudblood Granger.
He shot one last look up the staircase, though Potter had long dashed away. He walked down the corridor and outside: it was misting, and the ground squished unpleasantly under Draco's boots. The next day was a big one: the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match, which would provide him with important undisturbed working hours. The Polyjuice potion was brewed and ready specifically for this date; his oafish lookouts had gotten used to changing into girls by this point. In a way he was a bit sorry he'd be missing a chance that Potter would humiliate himself, but he could not ignore his father's constant owls, stressing the importance of completing this task. There was a date set, now. The Cabinet. He knew there was a way. He just had to find it...
x x x x
On the day of the match, Draco met Potter on his way up to the Room with Crabbe and Goyle: huffy and demanding with his broom thrown over one shoulder. Where was he going, Potter wanted to know. Why was he inside when the rest of the school was enjoying the match? Well, wasn't it obvious – enjoying the company of these two lovely ladies! Draco laughed mirthlessly after the fact. Truly, Crabbe and Goyle in disguise were much nicer sights than normal.
Too bad he'd missed it: Potter getting knocked out by a Bludger, sent by one of his own teammates! The laughs he would have had, the merciless taunting. The opportunity to do a few golden impressions was lost. In the Slytherin Common Room a few nights later, he listened calmly to Pansy's retelling of the match. That girl fancied herself one of his closest confidants, but she wasn't to get a word of what was really happening. She was a pretty thing, but just as self-centered as Draco, and Merlin knew he couldn't tolerate that in anyone but himself. He joked about being responsible for poisoning Weasley: how ironic that he really had been. Pansy was never to know.
"Yes, and you know how much of a neanderthal that Weasley boy is, you can hardly stand to watch him embarrass his team like that, over and over! Lucky he's in the hospital wing, saved him from listening to our song!" Pansy was yammering on; only Blaise seemed to be listening. Draco was spinning a quill across the tops of his fingers. His thoughts again wandered to Potter.
"You're boring me, I'm taking a walk," Draco said to Pansy, and rose disinterestedly from the leather armchair. With a wave of his hand the wall blocking the entrance to the common room dissolved; he climbed the steps to the ground floor: a flat echo, reflecting off the chilly stone. Like Potter, Draco had his own means of detecting who was out and about; his path was clear. And if all went well...
He took his time making his way up to the seventh floor. He made sure not to let his eyes wander too much. And just as he'd reached the corridor, and begun thinking that maybe Potter wasn't on his tail right then, he suddenly found himself mere feet away from the boy in a flourish of cloak.
"Aha!" Potter said. "Try and explain this one!"
"Just out for a nighttime stroll, Potter, and you?"
"You know what I'm doing here. I'm going to prove that you are plotting something! Why else would you be here, of all places?"
"Here?" Draco said innocently. "This corridor? I need to go through here, how else will I get to the Owlery?"
"You're not going to the Owlery, Malfoy," Potter said, and Draco was beginning to sense a little impatience. His own blood roiled in his veins. Suddenly he wanted to fight Potter: not with wands, but with bare fists. With skin. He was so angry with his father, for giving him this horrible burden, when every other Slytherin boy was enjoying his youth and frivolity. Even Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Whose History Grows Darker Every Year, chuckled with his pals over his morning pumpkin juice, carefree. He was lucky to have no parents, no one to exercise restrictions, no one whose honour he existed to preserve. He was lucky to have Dumbledore and Slughorn fawning over him, his innate "goodness" somehow excusing his awkward, bumbling foolishness. Goodness, what was it? Bravery? What did any of that mean, what worth did it have, if it was going to get him killed? If Potter was truly smart he'd be putting more of his energy into staying alive.
"Get out of my way," Draco said, still maintaining composure.
"I will not," Potter replied, marching right up to Draco and standing in his path, feet apart. Draco reached for his wand; he saw Potter do the same and then he lunged forward, putting his weight on Potter's chest, slamming him into the corridor wall.
"I can hurt you, Potter," he said. His heart was racing now. He felt invigorated, powerful. Without thinking he took a swing at Potter, hit him in the jaw. Potter cried out, spitting blood, then went for Draco, but missed him; Draco ducked and came round Potter's other side, pinning him in a clinch hold. He struggled, but their strength was quite evenly matched; with the renewed adrenaline flowing through him, Draco had no problem holding Potter against the wall.
"Malfoy –!" Potter stuttered.
"Nobody to help you now, Potter," Draco said deviously. "No Mudblood with her clever spells to rescue you tonight!"
It was only then that he realized, being so physically near to Potter all of a sudden, so near he could smell the boy, that he, Draco, had a massive erection.
This fact startled him, and he released Potter at once, and hurried to close the front of his robes, breathing hard through his nose.
"Let that – let that serve as a lesson for you," Draco said, stumbling backwards down the corridor. Potter said nothing, a distinct look of confused suspicion on his face, fresh blood still leaking from the corner of his mouth. "You'd best stop following me, then," he continued. He took his wand from his pocket and jabbed it feebly in Potter's direction, before turning the corner and walking as quickly as possible back to the dungeons.