Chapter 7 Urges

Draco was running and running down a desolate, still corridor. He wasn't sure where he was or why he was running. He heard nothing, no sound except the pounding of his own feet and the quickening rhythm that beat in his chest. He couldn't make out much of his surroundings, the shapes seemingly changing and swirling, mired in murky darkness. Just when he thought his lungs would collapse and his knees would give, he felt a jolt as he was pulled suddenly into the arms of … He blinked, that couldn't be right. Because if it was, he was now being carefully held by Harry Potter, who was softly stroking his cheek and whispering words Draco couldn't quite make out. He was going to ask him to repeat what he said; say it louder, he couldn't hear; but suddenly he felt Harry's mouth on his, drawing him into a wet, hot, passionate kiss. Draco suppressed a moan, his already exhausted legs buckling to a new pressure. He wanted to protest, didn't he? Why then did he feel his own mouth moving roughly against the sensuous lips beneath, sliding his own tongue to meet Harry's. Draco moaned again, this time deeper as he was taken further into Harry's strong embrace. Harry's hard, unyielding hands clasped him firmly at the small of his back.

"Harry," Draco whimpered in lust and bewilderment. But in the next second Harry vanished again and Draco felt himself falling, falling down and down into an endless black abyss. As he fell, he caught the tinkering of a man's laughter. Though it sounded familiar, he couldn't quite place it. The sound of it rang out eerily as he continued to be swallowed by the all consuming blackness.

Draco jolted straight up, wide eyed, as the dream whirred though his now fully-conscious mind. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. His heart throbbed again his chest.

What the actual fuck was that. Draco looked down to confirm what he dreaded. Yup, he had a raging hard-on right now. His cock tugged uncomfortably at the deep green silk of his monogrammed pajamas. Draco let out a soft whine and looked over at the clock. 5:37a.m. He yawned, and debated going back to sleep, but begrudgingly got up deciding he wasn't ready to see Potter yet after that weird dream.

Draco had started to suspect he was gay sometime around the end of last year, after things had begun to heat up with him and Pansy. Somehow the more interested she became in taking things to the next level, the more turned off he was. Draco just couldn't get himself into it. It just felt weird and annoying and stupid every time they fooled around. At first he figured it was just Pansy, that they just weren't compatible after all. But over the summer Draco had been thinking about girls in general. He tried to recall if there had ever really been any girl that caught his eye. The more he reflected on it, the more he realized his relationships with girls had always involved the plotting of so-called friends. Never had he himself taken the initiative to approach a girl he had chosen. Even so, did that mean he was gay?

These musing were re-awakened now as he dressed, contemplating last nights dream. This certainly seemed to tip the scales in terms of his sexuality. He had never had an erotic dream about a man before; in fact he seldom had wet dreams at all, as he was usually plagued by nightmares. That part of the dream had been usual; the terror, the running. But the second bit had been so vivid, so alive, so full of passion. He could still taste the crush of Harry's lips against his. As if it had been listening he felt his member twitch again in his pants. Not this again, he told himself sternly. He was aghast at himself. How could he, Draco Malfoy, be standing here right now, getting lost in fantasies about his worst enemy Harry Potter. They were rivals, competitors; not – Draco stopped himself from even thinking that last word. Just before he left he shot a glance over to where Harry's sleeping form was beginning to stir. He left soundlessly before Harry could wake.

Already a week had passed since classes began. Draco was still getting hexed at least once a day, despite his efforts to protect himself and his classwork. Draco never approached Potter regarding helping him in Potions. It was true that it wasn't a difficult subject for him to grasp, but had they actually had a tutoring session he might have asked to practice some defense spells for all the hexes. But it wasn't like now since the war is over they could be all chummy and buddy buddy all the time, so they continued on in silence and mutual indifference.

Truly he considered it the best he could hope for; even though Potter had been civil to him, Hermoine and Ron both made sure to send him scathing looks every chance they got. He knew his place, he knew where he wasn't wanted.

It was the typical hexings throughout the day again. Draco was able to avoid all but one, coming at the end of his final period from an unknown 5th year. The little twerp managed to land a painful welting curse on Draco's arm. He rubbed his sore skin, cursing under his breath that he couldn't see Madam Pomfrey to heal it. Oh no, he'd made that mistake once. Fortunately it was one of the Malfoy family's private doctors that saw Draco's cuts, and Draco had been able to use his clout to convince him it would be a very bad idea to tell anyone about what he saw. No, this time he would have to tough it out, the welts landing so close to that place on his arm where he loved to mare his wan flesh.

He was alone again, in another one of his little havens. This time it was an abandoned classroom near the North Towers. Wincing, he pulled up his sleeve to survey the damage. Three welts, about 2 inches long and half an inch wide a piece, boiled an angry red against the stark white of his upper arm. He preformed a minor soothing charm and found some cleaning and bandaging supplies from his bag. Draco had never really be able to master many of the healing charms, and as a result he was forced to resort to muggle methods for wound cleaning.

His eyes moved down passed the stinging welts now to the neatly carved lines in his forearm. It had been nearly a week since he had cut last, partly from being paranoid Harry would somehow find out, and partly from fear that Albatross would show up again. Either way, today had proven to be to much for Draco, just too taxing for him to deny himself comfort any longer.

With a wicked grin he retrieved his favorite little knife. His head had been screaming all day, so many anxieties, fear, torments, yearnings. He savored the way that all the confusion, all the repressed, unexpressable pain he kept inside would disappear with a whoosh the moment he drew his dagger. His frantic heart stilled in the moment, the world slipped away and all that remained was cold silver and Draco's too-cool, too-frail skin. He was enveloped in every second, every breath that brought him closer to his peace. With automatic motions he got to work carving the exquisitely straight lines, relishing each stroke of the knife.

Once again it was over too quickly, but at least he was temporarily warmed by the solace it brought. It was the only way he could justify himself, the only way he could wake up every day and go to class with heroes and saints like Potter and his friends. Even that goon Neville had grown up to be a hero, and what had Draco become? A coward, a liar, a loser. A pathetic drain on everyone's existence. Some days he wished Harry hadn't stuck up for him at the trial, that they had just thrown him in Azkaban and let the dementors have their way with him. But there was not much he could do about it now, besides, when it really came down to it, he knew he was too much of a coward to face Azkaban.

Draco hadn't gotten two steps out of the north tower when one again he found himself face to face with Professor Albatross. Something nagged at him from the back of his mind, but his shock kept it from breaking through. How was he here. AGAIN. But this time Draco just shrugged it off.

"Oh, hello Professor." He nodded casually, hoping Albatross didn't catch the slight hoarseness that colored his voice.

"Ah, Draco, just the person I was looking for," the professor said meeting Draco's nod with devious eyes. "I was wondering if you might have a minute to talk."

Something about his voice, his expression, made Draco nervous. He could swear the teachers eyes were glowing again. He wanted to make up an excuse, to run out of there, but the way he was rooted to the ground was like someone had hit him with a stupefy. "Of course," he nodded numbly and followed the professor to his office.