4.

Draco was irritated. Nothing out of the usual there, really. His friends irritated him. His parents irritated him. The mindless sheep at Hogwarts irritated him. And then, of course, there was Potter. Potter had always taken an inordinate amount of delight in irritating him. But this year he'd taken it to a completely unacceptable level. Stalking Draco when he thought Draco wasn't paying attention. Staring at him when he thought nobody was looking. Infiltrating Draco's dreams with his soft lips and strong hands… Yes. Completely unacceptable. Draco was already at the breaking point with his nerves. He needed a release. Smashing Potter's nose had been extremely cathartic. Smashing Potter into a wall while smashing their lips together and grinding his hips slowly at first, and then harder and faster until he came and Potter screamed his name sounded even more cathartic. He felt someone slide in next to him at the table and huffed in irritation when Pansy's hand reached out to touch his shoulder. Yes indeed, Draco was irritated.

Draco had been back in the sham of a school for a month with no progress on his "project". He'd located the blasted cabinet and assigned Crabbe and Goyle to keep watch outside of the room, but that wasn't enough. He just wanted all of this to be done. He was sick of keeping up the pretense that everything was fine, particularly around Pansy. Pansy who was currently asking him in her kitten voice that made him want to vomit if there was anything she could do to help him feel better. His jaw clenched when he felt her hand on his thigh. He turned and looked at her coldly, removed her hand from his person, and reminded her yet again that she had nothing he was interested in. Her face turned a bit red and she scooted to the next seat. Nothing was fine, and unless he somehow managed to complete his task, nothing would ever be fine again.

Just as Draco finished with this pleasant thought, Potter walked into the Great Hall. His detestable minions were already seated at the Gryffindor table, as breakfast was nearly over. Potter's face looked oddly flushed. His unkempt hair was even more untamed than usual, and his robes were rumpled. His annoyingly bright green eyes were even more bright than Draco remembered. If Draco didn't know better, he'd say Potter had just been fucked within an inch of his life. Draco narrowed his eyes and watched as Potter's flush deepened the closer Potter came to the Gryffindor table - Draco could see the confession playing out in Potter's body language. Potter was nervous and seemed to be avoiding Granger's searching look. Draco seethed. Nobody was allowed to touch Potter. Not even the Dark Lord. Potter was his to torment, to glare at, to kiss, to fuck. Draco grasped the bench beneath him to prevent himself from storming over to the Gryffindor table and threatening the imbecilic lot of them. Although, he'd probably need to threaten the rest of the school too. Potter's fan club was especially persistent this year, not that Potter would have noticed. He obviously needed his gorgeous eyes checked.

Blaise jabbed him in the ribs and nodded in the direction of the Gryffindors, interrupting Draco's impromptu daydreaming. Draco glared at Blaise, but looked nonetheless. Weasley was holding Potter in his lap. Holding HIS Potter in his lap. Everyone stared; the whole hall went silent. Draco's glare turned deadly. Wasn't it enough that Weasley had stolen Potter's friendship away from him? Now he was going to steal this too? Oh no. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Draco had hated Weasley from the first moment he met him, but he'd never wished him dead. But now? Now Draco not only wished the weasel dead, but he was going to do it himself. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Potter watching him. Potter seemed to grasp Ron's death sentence, as Potter's eyes had widened to an almost comical degree. Potter looked as if he shuddered a bit, and then his head fell onto the Gryffindor table, all while being held on the soon-to-be-dead Weasley's lap. Draco could hear Blaise laughing beside him. He turned to glare at Blaise who merely smirked and winked. Draco clenched his fists to avoid bashing the annoying boy's head in. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's were above physical violence. Unless the violence involved Weasley. Draco closed his eyes briefly and attempted to center himself. He opened his eyes, grabbed his bag, stood gracefully from the table, and strode out of the hall as if he didn't have a care in the world, while inwardly he seethed and began to plan a certain redhead's death. He felt alive for the first time in months. He'd kill the weasel, seduce Potter, and worry about the Dark Lord's threats later. Draco would likely be dead by the end of the year anyway, so he might as well make the rest of his time count. Draco smirked and stalked down to the dungeons. He needed time to think and plan. This year was starting to look much better. *Evil laugh*