Chapter 4: Caught dreaming
If one were to watch the blonde boy's private room (or frequently used Room of Requirement) through a secret hole or panting in the wall, they would see said boy's head bobbing around the room, stuffing his valuables (Harry's discarded tissues, etc.—need I say more?) into a leather bag covered with stick-on M's and snakes. It was a pretty cute bag too, Draco thought so. He had been using it for over half of his life.
After Harry had left the Potions classroom in that state of madness and confusion, the blonde knew that he wouldn't go to the Hospital Wing; he would go to the Room of Requirement. That's what happens when one watches their obsession after a certain amount of time. That person knows where and when that person goes places. Draco certainly didn't want Harry to see his "special" nook "dedicated" to him. It was too humiliating and private, and Harry would surely be disgusted and sickened.
Giving each and every student a very dirty "do-not tell-or-I'll-chop-balls-off" glare, he packed up his things in his bag and exited the classroom as quietly as a mouse, even though he resembled more of a rat, what with his pointy face and nose. He thought they were pretty…Snape didn't even seem to notice that his star student had decided to skip the rest of the lesson; he was too busy correcting "very" important papers.
The pureblood ran a fair amount of flights of stairs before actually reaching his room, and he was wheezing and puffing worse than ever before: almost as if he had asthma. Even with Quidditch, which seemed to complement his object of obsession very nicely, he had never been in fantastic shape. His parents had called him "sickly" and "weak", making the blonde very uncomfortable and unreasonably mad. He didn't like thinking about his parents; they had given him everything, from his fantastic hair gel to his perfect robes, but he was probably the unhappiest student residing at Hogwarts.
Being ignored by one's own parents is the worst treatment ever. Peers in his House constantly looked up to him and praised him, thinking that he lived like a king or a princess. They didn't know that they were idolizing a bloke whose parents didn't even love him, and if they had, they didn't give a rat's ass. He was spoiled, in the materialistic way, but he never felt as though he was wanted. Feeling like a piece of shit, he liked to focus on other things, for example, Harry, who at least noticed him.
He practically drooled when he thought of him, and that had got him in major trouble in the midst of some of his classes. One time, in Transfiguration, when the class was supposed to turn a turtle into a plate, Draco hadn't been paying any attention; most of it was focused on Mr. Potter's fine ass. Good thing he hadn't been drooling that time, or McGonagall would've either died from shock or laughter. Either way, he would've been to blame and gotten in deep doggie doo-doo.
Instead of having a plate where the turtle was before, Draco had turned it into a vibrator; his thoughts had switched before transfiguring the object. After seeing this, most of the class burst into helpless shrieks of laughter, earning a very reproachful glare from the stern teacher. However, when she saw the dildo that Draco had produced, she shrieked loudly, laughed timidly, coughed nervously and then sent him, who was beet red, out of the classroom with double the homework assigned. That was when his father had started his suspicions that he liked to swing on the other tree—if you get the gist.
Now he was inside his private room, back pressed against the door and sweat pouring out of his temples and chest profusely, sighing in relief that nobody had ventured across the room in question.
Not even one minute after the blonde had been in the room he distinctly heard hurried footsteps heading in his direction, making his heart pump even faster: he still hadn't caught his breath.
In a flash, almost like a ferret on hyper-pills, he skidded across the room and slid underneath the bed, almost decapitating himself with the headboard in the process. You naughty headboard…
The footsteps had reached the room. The worst part; Draco could recognize Harry's runners—the ones with the tiny initials H.P. marked in red marker on his left sneaker protruding from his black school robes.
The blonde's breath hitched and he almost swallowed a fair amount of lint. Fortunately, he realized that the offending bits of material stuck together were approaching his mouth at an accelerated pace, and he waved it impatiently away with pale hands.
After a couple of minutes, he could feel that his bed's mattress was too close for comfort to his flat stomach and chest. He could now hear a distinct rustling of paper…Damn. Shitake mushrooms. Harry was reading his diary! The blonde was possibly the most embarrassed and happy student in the castle. He was embarrassed because of the way he obsessed about his obsession and happy because Harry would finally know that someone actually liked him for him and not for his fame and dashing good looks. Okay, maybe for the dashing good looks.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Draco heard the black-haired boy leave the room, but not before stumbling first on the many items littering the floor. The blonde set quickly to work: it wouldn't be that hard because he had his wand with him.
Later that night, on the other side of the castle, Harry Potter woke up from his nap drenched in cold sweat and supporting a very large…well, he was very happy.
Cursing and trying to will "it" away, he sighed in mortification and disgust. Think about Hagrid and Dobby getting it on...
He was, not by choice it seemed, dreaming about Draco Malfoy. The only tiny problem in this particular dream was that Malfoy wasn't cursing, threatening or insulting him. He was actually doing the opposite. He wasn't as cruel and annoying in the dream either, and he didn't look half-bad. Actually, he looked bloody fabulous! Fantasizing about someone as perfect and attractive as that going all the way to 2nd base with you is…shall we say, pretty arousing?
Harry was beyond the point of being disgusted with himself. The problem wasn't that he was getting all hot and bothered because of a guy; the problem was that the guy was Malfoy. He banged his head repeatedly on his headboard, making him very dizzy and even more disgusted with himself.
He was still in the closet because he didn't want to bother his friends with his new discovery; they would surely not bother to be his friend after he confessed. So, instead of inflicting his sexual preference on his friends' shoulders, he ogled the fetching boys in his year, 7th, and the year below. He would be found staring at Seamus Finnegan's rear during Herbology and Professor Sprout would reprimand him for not listening to her teachings. It was very amusing for Hermione, who had found out about Harry's preference when she came across his latest edition of "Broomsticks…not used in Quidditch" under his four-poster when she was looking for one of the books she had lent Harry. The latter, of course, was oblivious.
Harry sighed. After all that staring and leering, someone worth having actually shared his preference, and it wasn't a pervert; it was the hottest, sexiest guy in the whole school. All the girls wanted him, even after he had distinctly told them that he was strictly a guy-lover. These girls were very persistent…persistent enough that Malfoy had to beat a girl off his pant's buckle after one hectic day of fan-girls pestering him and shaking their asses in his disgusted and sneering face.
Harry had to admit to himself that he was immensely attracted to the blonde boy. He was almost so attracted to him that he considered sneaking into the Slytherin common room just to watch Draco sleep (and then wake him up and make love to him, of course).
The only problem with his attraction –he had been in denial for a year. He didn't know how to actually tell his friends that he was gay, let alone that he had the immense hotts for their worst enemy, the one that had treated them like crap and insulted them every chance he got. It didn't help that he got a warm feeling in his stomach every time Draco looked at him, making his knees go weak.
Glancing at the clock, Harry cursed once again. It was around 3 o'clock in the morning. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't awoken anyone with his probable moaning and flailing. The dark-haired boy sighed in satisfaction when he saw that the room was free of movement and rustling.
What he missed was his best friend, Ronald Weasley, watching him quietly from the gap in his hangings and shaking his head in confusion and dismay, eyes widening when he heard "Oh yes, Draco…".
A/N: Please review! I'm sorry for the wait...I was touring Europe and the UKfor a month!