Author: Etherea.

Rating: T – PG-13 (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. I'm knutless. Er.. is that even a word?

Author Note: At last, a brand new chapter… But first, to keep on with the tradition:

Forgive me, lords, if I'm annoying;

My eagerness can't help but showing.

At last, not least, a brand new chapter:

One that survived the ire o' the Webmaster!

So if you read and read, and indeed you like…

Don't flinch and leave your comments behind!

He he! ºGrinsº

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Ethereal Desire

Chapter Three

How Thick Can You Get?

Will the circus act ever end? the Potions Master thought as he tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose, the only sign of his galloping irritation. A couple of hours had passed since the interrogations had started, and apart from the sporadic 'objections' coming from the sulky professor whenever the overexcited prosecutor took his self-imposed role of righteous avenger too far, he hadn't participated in the examinations at all; which was quite shocking knowing Severus Snape's lack of patience for self-absorbed morons and his overprotective sentiments towards his godson.

Severus truly loved and cared for Draco, which was something most people would find rather unbelievable, being so caught up in the obscure, insensible persona he had always portrayed to the world. In fact, the Potions Master liked to indulge in the idea of being the only true father figure Draco had ever had in his life. Lucius had been the one to impregnate the blonde's mother, granted, and the despicable lapdog had been the one to shape the first and most impressionable years of the Slytherin's existence; but Severus knew he had been the one who had had major input in the final sculpting of the fine young man sitting by his side, and the final results could only make him proud. Draco had beaten the odds the Wizarding World had stacked against him since the day he was born, which was very Slytherinish of him, in the Potions Master's opinion.

Whatever conclusion anybody could draw from his actions –or lack thereof, to be more accurate-, would probably revolve around him not giving a damn about his young charge's future, taking into consideration the apparent triumph of Mr. Luton. Those couldn't be further from the truth though, and the answer was quite simple: if there was something a double agent needed to know to survive in such a dangerous line of work, it was when to move and take matters into one's hands, and when to step back and let things fall into place by themselves. And in this case the best approach was, to everyone's tangible bewilderment, the latter.

Still, Severus had noticed the glint of betrayal flashing in his godson's eyes when he refused to cross-examine that poor excuse of a witch Pansy Parkinson and he couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse; but it was all part of his carefully conceived strategy. Severus needed those accusations, those truths to come forward and smack Draco in the face. It was the only way to penetrate Draco's barricade, his artfully crafted façade. He needed his godson to break, no matter how cruel and ruthless that sounded, because breaking through Draco's pride was what would save his life.

Yes. Draco's life wasn't in Severus' hands; it was in his own. The only way out of this mess would be for him to step on his pride, and confess his –ironically enough- good deeds, which was exactly what Severus was trying to achieve by putting him against the wall like this. He knew his godson very well, and he knew Draco would eventually make a mistake, so obstinate on continuing the farce he had lived in all his life, on perpetuating the Malfoy-Are-All-Devious-Gits myth as the blond was. Draco was still an arrogant, sometimes even a very irritating young man, but he wasn't his father. They might be incredibly alike physically, but –thank the powers that be- Draco was his own person. He'd understand and do what is best for him… eventually. The blond had said he was tired of playing games. Well, the Potions Master thought, he may be tired of playing games… but that doesn't mean he still isn't playing. Hopefully, he'd be the winner by the end of the day.

That is, of course, if Severus' hypotheses were correct.

The dark-haired wizard chanced a glance at his godson, who was looking intently at the house-elf sitting in the witness box with a pensive expression on his face, as if machinating one particularly cunning, devious plan.

"Do you think Dobby would forget the broom issue if we arrange a date with Dixie for him? Such bitterness is surely related to sexual deprivation. I highly doubt he's getting any in the kitchens of Hogwarts…" Draco trailed off, sighing dramatically and taking Severus completely by surprise. "Poor, disgraced creature. Have you seen that hideous elf, Winky? No wonder he's so wound-up," the younger Slytherin said with the air of someone who had just had a divine revelation. To the Potions Master's chagrin, all he could do was to blink repeatedly, aghast. In many ways, Draco was still a child; it was just like him to come up with something that superfluous at a time like this. Then again, the Potions Master knew that was the only defence the blond had: shameless condescension. He merely shook his head at him, as if resigned, but inwardly he relieved that Draco wasn't giving him the ice treatment for what the blond no doubt considered treason.

"Do you think Dixie would agree to that?" Severus asked, raising a mocking eyebrow. "I thought you said she was rather taken with me…"

"Shush! I'm trying to pay attention to this business. Don't put such images into my greatly imaginative mind or I will have to vomit all over the place, and I don't want to have that particular picture circulating in the evening paper. You're my councillor. You're supposed to work to take care of my public image for me," Draco said in an off-hand manner, but Severus understood the veiled message. He stared at the blond for some time, weighing his gestures and posture. Draco was sitting casually but gracefully in his chair, his hands held regally over the desk, his platinum hair impeccably framing his beautiful features, and he had that half-interested look on his face he knew the blond usually reserved for important yet extremely boring events he had to submit himself to. It struck him once more to realise that if Draco was scared, he wasn't letting his apprehension show in the least.

Always the Slytherin.

The witnesses' examinations concluded, and it was time for the 'expert witness' to testify, who –predictably– was Harry Potter, the Auror in charge of the 'enquiries'. Severus wondered what the so-called hero's impression of Draco was now. Even when the Potions Master had had to put up with the obnoxious Gryffindor during the war, he had gotten to know him a little bit more –not out of free will, that was for certain-. He still saw the green-eyed youth as a needy, whiny boy with insecurity issues; but he knew Harry Potter wouldn't lie to get rid of his former childhood enemy. That sense of righteousness was – most probably- the only thing the young man had inherited from his mother; that and those haunting emerald eyes.

"Finally, his royal highness lowers himself and agrees to grace us with his presence," Severus Snape drawled when he noticed the night-haired wizard walking towards the box between crazed fans and blinding flashes after repeatedly ignoring the Wizengamot warlock's calls. How typical of the boy. Severus turned to assess the situation with his godson, but remained quiet when he noticed Draco's gaze following Potter's back towards the box; his mercury eyes gleaming with ancient hatred.

Oh well, this rivalry seems to be another thing that hasn't changed one bit, the Potions Master thought wearily as he resumed the pinching of his nose. Let's hope they don't end up killing each other in front of everybody… not that that wouldn't be much better entertainment.

Of course, he didn't know what was going through his godson's mind.

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The blond Slytherin was itching to press his fingers to his temples, if just to mitigate the annoying pounding which was threatening to drive him mad, but he had to remain 'cool' and 'collected'; there would be no signs of weakness from Draco Malfoy today. The interrogations were not the only cause for his current state. He could place the perfidious traitor beside him, who was supposed to be his godfather, on the top of the list. Right on top of the revolting journalists, the hideous audience, and the frigid bitch sitting at the presidium that simply can't save her pitiful glares for herself, the blond thought. In that moment, Draco coursed the fact that Severus was such a brilliant Potions Master. He wouldn't be able to slip some untraceable poison in his tea; the bastard would probably recognise the brew had been adulterated the second he smelled it.

There are other effective methods, Draco thought, like stabbing him in his sleep…

He turned to his godfather and told him some inconsequential comment about Dobby the House Elf's love life. As if he truly gave a damn.

Yes, let the treacherous bastard think everything is alright and I'm not carefully planning his untimely demise. The surprise factor is highly important when conceiving revenge, Draco sneered to himself.

He knew what his godfather was trying to do, and that was the main reason why he was so upset. Draco didn't care about the fact that Severus wasn't cross-examining the witnesses. Yes, he had been a little… shocked about it after Pansy's examination, but he was smart enough to see that there was, in fact, little the older wizard could do about it. All the tales were true, to be honest. And trying to persuade the audience against it would be quite futile... not after Luton's clever strategy. Draco had to give some credit to the disgusting prosecutor. What he was doing, bringing in old childhood rivals, upset former-employees, obsessed ex-lovers… it was quite Slytherinish of him, actually. But it wasn't Luton and his stupid witnesses or Severus' performance that was bothering him; not in the least. What was pushing all his buttons was the fact that his godfather was willingly putting him in a place where the only way out would be for him to confess his collaboration with the Order of the Phoenix and that was, Merlin's teeth, what was sending him over the edge.

"The prosecution wishes to call our expert witness, Auror Harry Potter, head of the Investigation Squad involved in Mr. Malfoy's case."

Oh, right… The stupid, attention-seeking, moronic, scar-headed, infuriating…

Draco's face was set in a deep scowl. Precious, perfect Harry Potter, the bane of his existence, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-Completely-Miserable, was now walking as if he owned the whole bloody world towards the witness box. Of course, the man had to put on airs before he allowed himself to take part of such mundane events; he had to make sure every single person in the bloody tribunal had their eyes set on him before he made his grand appearance, didn't he? Draco knew Harry Potter was just savouring this moment, engraving the most insignificant detail in his mind for the later retelling to his children: "The day I finally kicked Draco Malfoy's arse." Bastard.

It had been three years since Draco had last seen the idiotic hero, but he could still feel the all-too-familiar hatred for him. It was an acquired habit of sorts Draco just couldn't get rid off, even when he knew that it would make his life easier. Call him a masochist, call him pathetic, but it just caused Draco's nostrils to flare and his eyes to narrow with loathing that Harry Potter had actually gotten everything the sod wanted in his life, whilst Draco, who had had all the odds for a wonderful, fulfilling life, was now sitting in a courtroom, waiting for the final decision that would rip his life apart. Oh, yes! Draco had heard the news, alright. Harry Potter, the golden boy of the Wizarding World, the boy who had fulfilled the prophecy, who had the fame of a king and the respect of the Magical Community, who had a flourishing career as an Auror, who was engaged to 'sweetheart' Ginevra Weasley… the same megalomaniac sod Draco couldn't help but wish was cut into tiny pieces and fed to a raving pack of werewolves.

Harry Potter had been the cause of all his troubles. If it hadn't been for him and his stupid entourage, Draco wouldn't be attending this hearing in the first place… well, maybe his father had also had quite a bit of accountability in the matter, but that was highly irrelevant at the moment. If it wasn't for Harry Potter and his stupid Order, Severus wouldn't have had to become a double agent, which would have translated to Draco not having to help his godfather. If it wasn't for his stupid position as an informant during the war, he wouldn't have had irate Death Eaters after him; therefore he wouldn't have had to leave his mother when she needed him the most, when she was…

His mother had died alone, and Draco just couldn't forgive Harry Potter for that. It was his entire fault. The loss of his family, of his possessions, of his life… It was all Harry Potter's fault.

The raven-haired Auror reached the witness box. Draco's eyes had followed his every move since he had noticed him walking towards the bench, stopping here and there to shake some hands. He had observed each and every one of the hero's gestures, noticing the guarded pose, the stiffness of his back, the tightly-closed fists. Yeah, right. Act like you're not enjoying the attention, Draco thought; his voice seething inside his head. There. The proclaimed Hero was turning, reaching his seat at the box. The time to face his life-long archenemy had come, and Draco's heart quickened in some sort of wicked excitement. He wanted to face Harry Potter, to let him know that he was not scared, that no matter the conclusion of that day, Harry Potter would never, ever see Draco Lucius Malfoy down. Draco's narrowed eyes stared as Potter fumbled with his hands for a second before looking up, almost cautiously, revealing hesitant eyes of jade framed by rebellious locks of jet-black hair…

Mercury eyes locked with pools of forest green that were hidden behind hideous spectacles, and all of the sudden, the world began to spin out of control. The blond couldn't look away; he couldn't blink, he couldn't speak. He was suddenly tied to the raven-haired man in front of him by invisible chains. Something snapped inside his head and a rush of images and sounds whirled in a seemingly endless parade before his mind's eye; echoes of places, people, and voices drilling holes through his psyche.

Flash…

An obscured corridor. Stone walls. An arm placed around his waist. Cheeks tinged with crimson fervour. A smile.

"Come here… I missed you so much!"

An eternal kiss. A long intake of breath. Quickened heartbeats. Mouths caressing each other with unleashed devotion. Hands running over familiar paths of warm flesh. A moan. Surrender…

Flash…

A nightly sky. A thousand stars falling over. A naked body weighing tenderly on him. A whisper.

"I love you."

A cool breeze caressing his skin. Soft moans invading the air. The smell of roses in bloom. Abandon...

Flash…

The sweetest of kisses. A suppressed sob. A tear running down his cheek. Hands entwined in his, demanding.

"Look at me! Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. We'll make it. Please, don't you ever doubt that!"

Polished jade shining in the dark. A quiet embrace. A lingering kiss. Another kiss. And another. And another...

Flash…

Bright light. Red light. Fear. A scream.

"What are you doing! Draco! No!"

Pain. Chaos. Darkness. Emptiness…

Nothingness.

In an instant, the strange images that had stampeded into his consciousness dissipated like a handful of dust in the wind. Draco gasped into reality, feeling as if he had woken up from a nightmare, even when he knew he hadn't fallen asleep at all. His eyes were wide open, and confusion was piercing its way through him, leaving icy-cold numbness in its wake. His heart was throbbing inside his ribcage, bewildered. His throat had turned into a sandbank, and it seemed like the air around him didn't carry the required levels of oxygen to be able to breathe. There was a terrible sense of wrongness filling every cell of his being. He knew something was completely amiss, and it felt like a red light bulb flashing incessantly through the deep fog of trepidation imbibing his brain, but for the life of him, he couldn't grasp what it was. He felt he had to know, he had to understand. But, understand what?

"Draco, are you alright?" Severus' voice cut right through his catatonic state. He turned to look at his godfather's face -feeling like it took him years to do so- his pupils widening and narrowing in search of focus. He finally blinked a few times and noticed that he was still sitting at the dock in the courtroom; people gossiping and murmuring around him. The onyx gaze he had in front of him wasn't the jade abyss he had been submerged in a couple of seconds ago, or had it been minutes? Hours? Centuries? He didn't know. At the witness box, Ralph Luton had already started his questioning, and Draco looked up at the scene then turned to his godfather, feeling extremely sick all of the sudden.

"I… I need to get out… I need some fresh air," he said, his voice breaking. Severus noticed the dots of perspiration on his brow and the greenish tinge of his face. He understood that whatever happened to his godson, it had something to do with the Auror at the witness box; the incredulous, almost scared expression on the obnoxious Gryffindor's face was proof of that. Unexpectedly, the craziest of thoughts flashed through his mind...

It couldn't be… It can't be possible… can it?

The Potions Master looked from the contorted, almost pained face of his godson to the man at the witness box visibly fighting to move his eyes from the Slytherin whilst answering the prosecutor's questions, then back again. His blank mask revealed nothing. He just stood up from his chair -interrupting Luton's elaborated reasoning with the action and eliciting sounds of confusion and excitement from the audience- and locked his fierce gaze with that of Harry Potter before turning to the Wizengamot's Chief Wizard.

"Your honour, may I ask for a brief break in the procedures? My charge is not feeling well at the moment." The old wizard at the presidium -who was in need of a break himself- glanced at the plainly indisposed countenance of the defendant, and ignoring the indignant looks and retorts coming from the prosecutor and the explosion of appalled expletives from the audience, hit the gavel once on the table.

"Petition granted. This court will adjourn for fifteen minutes." With that, the old wizard stood from the chair and turned to leave, followed by the other two wizards and the snotty witch. Draco didn't wait for his godfather. He jumped from the chair –almost knocking it down in the process- and escaped as gracefully as his current state would allow him out of the courtroom through the main doors, flashes of cameras and questioning faces all around, leaving a very irate prosecutor, a very confused Auror, and a very meditative Potions Master behind him.

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Draco didn't know how he had found the public lavatories on the third floor. He had followed some distant memory of past visits, moving by inertia as his eyes searched frantically all around him, shunning journalists and other inconsequential people assailing him with questions and scathing comments. He had run towards the men's restroom after he had spotted it down a small corridor -a right turn from the main hallway- and banged the door open once he had reached it.

He rushed towards the first cubicle, getting there just in time before the nausea took over completely and he found himself collapsing in front of the porcelain toilet, retching like a maniac and shivering like a dry leaf in the wind. He didn't even have time to look at his surroundings. His head felt as if a mountain troll was pounding relentlessly on it as his whole body shook with shivers and… sobs. He was crying. Awfully.

Gods! He felt so… sad, and angry, and… just plain miserable! He didn't know; he couldn't think of a reason why, but there was an awful pain crushing his chest, tearing him in two; making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone think clearly. He looked at his hands; they were shaking awfully and… Oh Gods! His face! Long, bitter tears were rolling down his cheeks and over his quivering lips, unleashed, and his eyes stung with the ones he was desperately trying to hold back. He could feel wave after wave of pain, deception, despair, and… heartache. His heart was breaking; that was what this felt like: as if his heart was being shattered into tiny pieces, each one of them scratching his mind and soul like little splinters of cold pain and deception.

Sweet Athena, what's happening to me?

He remained there, sprawled on the ground, for what appeared to be a very long time; breathing in gasps and clutching the toilet as if it were a lifeline; praying to some deity for mercy, for any of them to take him out of this misery. The nausea had subsided somewhat and he didn't feel like throwing his guts out anymore, but his whole body still ached as if he had been rolled over repeatedly by the Knight Bus, and the awful pain in his chest had somehow turned into a dull, deep, aching emptiness. Exhaling deeply, he let himself relax and find his normal breathing pattern again; his eyes closed as he concentrated in the soft beating of his heart.

"Malfoy… are you alright?" a hesitant yet concerned voice said from somewhere behind him, and Draco's eyes snapped open the instant he recognized it. A surge of overwhelming sorrow and pain washed over him again, but he pushed it back to wherever it had come from, held his face up with as much confidence as he could giving the humiliating circumstances, and narrowed his stormy-grey eyes at the infuriating raven-haired man standing in front of him with a worried expression on his face.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he spat venomously, noticing with some trepidation the hurt flashing across the Golden Boy's eyes, gone as fast as it had come. The emerald eyes suddenly narrowed with something akin to contempt, and Draco somehow felt incredibly better with the change.

"I was sent to find you, Malfoy. If you don't remember, you're in the middle of an official hearing; you just can't disappear when it's not even concluded. I've been ordered to escort you back to the courtroom…" he looked Draco up and down, and the blond couldn't help but feel very uncomfortable, "but I think you better clean yourself up before you step foot out of this bathroom. There are journalists outside," the raven-haired Auror said sternly, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes shining with an emotion Draco couldn't quite decipher... yet.

"And why do you care, exactly?" the blond snapped, feeling victorious at the discomfiture flashing across the brunette's face. He sneered contemptuously. "Don't you worry, Potter. I won't run away, if that's what you think I'm planning to do."

"I wouldn't put that past you, Malfoy," Harry replied evenly.

Draco just glared at him as he stood up with some difficulty -trying with all his might to hide the shivers caused by Harry's eyes on him-, waved his wand over himself and the small mess he had created, and walked straight-backed towards the sink counter. He turned the taps on and splashed water on his face, completely aware of the emerald eyes watching his every move, and feeling some strange churning in the pit of his stomach, as if he had eaten a pixie which happened to be alive. Having the hero in so close proximity seemed to be triggering all the alien emotions that had coursed through him moments ago, and it was then, when he looked up to the mirror and found the somewhat embarrassed, yet distinctly glazed emerald eyes of Harry Potter, that something inside his brain snapped and all the pieces fell into place.

Suddenly, things made awful sense...

He narrowed his eyes in cold loathing just before turning swiftly in Potter's direction, pushing him hard against the bathroom wall; one hand clutching his robe collard just as the other held his wand against the brunette's throat; faces merely inches apart.

"Tell me what you did or I'll hex you all the way back to Hades!" Draco hissed menacingly; his eyes cold, hard, ominous.

Harry, who had been taken completely by surprise by the Slytherin's actions, looked up confusedly at him; his jade eyes round like saucers in his disbelief. Draco's immediacy was making his body react in ways he never thought possible; which was very mortifying, to say the least. He didn't understand what was happening to him. He wasn't supposed to feel attracted to a man, let alone Draco bloody Malfoy, damn it! His unexpected weakness was very real to him, and if there was one thing Harry Potter hated the most in the whole world, it was it: weakness. Somehow, common sense seemed to make itself shown –albeit feebly- on his mind and his anger flared, fuelled by his colliding, confusing emotions.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy? Have you lost your mind?" he snapped with as much venom as he could muster. Draco looked even murderous at this. The blond suddenly shifted his weight on the brunette as he turned to tighten his hold on Harry's collar, and Harry's newfound resolution and indignation left him as an endless electrical impulse ran up and down his spine. It was then that he finally noticed. It was then that he truly caught up with what was actually happening: Draco's face and body were very -Gods, and he meant very- close to him. He could feel the blonde's warm breath tickling his lips and nose. He could smell the Slytherin's unique scent; a subtle mix of sandalwood and tangerine invading his nostrils. He could feel the enticing heat radiating from him in waves. All of the sudden, he couldn't think. He couldn't help but long for more. It was irresistible; it was intoxicating! To top it all, Draco just kept looking at him with those unfathomable grey eyes shining with a mix of anger and… confusion? Fear? Harry didn't know what exactly. All he knew was that he had to do something, anything! Was it to push him away and punch him? Was it to reach for his wand and hex him? Was it to lean in and kiss him?

Gods! I'm the one who's lost his mind!

"Don't you dare take me for a fool, Potter!" Draco hissed as he pushed Harry even harder against the wall, oblivious to the other man's turmoil. Harry didn't even wince. The brunette merely kept staring at him, waiting. Expecting.

Defying him? Draco couldn't take it any more.

"Finish it. NOW!" the blond roared, nostrils flaring. He wanted to hurt the man currently pressed against him so hard it actually hurt him. The myriad of sensations running through him were making him light-headed, and his whole being was demanding for him to do something: Punch him, hex him, kill him… just touch him! The horrible pain in his chest was intensifying with every breath he shared with the Gryffindor, with every heartbeat resounding in his ears. It was excruciating; it was unbearable! And worst, he hated the fact that Harry Potter wasn't doing anything to defend himself. Did he believe Draco incapable of doing something against him, of hurting him? Did he think that Draco wasn't a match for him? Did he truly believe that Draco Malfoy was stupid?

He knew the offending Gryffindor had hexed him somehow back in that courtroom. To Hell with whatever it was he was feeling. To Hell with the consequences if he hexed the Golden Boy to oblivion for playing with him. In that very moment, it hit him with the force of a tidal wave; all of the irrational anger, all of the inexplicable pain; all of the unwelcome sorrow rushed through him with blinding certainty: Harry Potter had hurt him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let the Gryffindor get away with it. Nothing else mattered.

Draco's features were set in a resolute, nearly predatory smirk. Harry looked at the blond with emerald eyes shining with complete bewilderment, and Draco knew he had realised what Draco was thinking. The blond pressed the wand firmly against Harry's chest, narrowed his eyes of fused silver with wicked hatred, and leaned against the Gryffindor…

"Draco, stop!"

Banging the door open, in came a flustered, irate-looking Severus Snape.

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TBC…