Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley would have possibly died in the second book. But apparently she's alive and thriving and has a bunch of children which are also Harry's…*sob*…so I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters or anything associated with it.

Chapter 2: Emerging Feelings and Beating Desires into Submission…

"Harry, you know, Malfoy hasn't done anything too suspicious. Hell, I don't think there is even anything suspicious to do anymore except sneak out of school to party."

Harry watched amusedly as Hermione came close to ripping her delightfully caramel hair up.

"Language, Ms. Granger." He said, semi-seriously.

"Harry James Potter, don't try to change the subject."

Harry couldn't help but smile at her pose—one hand on hops and the other hand waggling threateningly in his general direction.

"Yes, Mother." He replied solemnly, trying to look sufficiently innocent.

She smiled too but didn't give up questioning, "Harry, tell meeee…"

Harry couldn't believe it, Hermione Granger was whining.

"I know he hasn't done anything too suspicious. And I'm not overtly analyzing on why he keeps on glancing at me every few seconds when I am in the same room as him or why keeps on alternating between trying to avoid me or trying to bump into me."

"You're not?" Did she believe him?

"I am a bit interested and intrigued by his weird behavior but I don't think he's planning the rise of the next Dark Lord."

"So why…"

"I happen to like this chair very much. I's really comfortable."

She smiled, relieved.

"Is it really that comfortable?"

"You don't believe me? Then come, sit on it." He grudgingly got off the chair as she settled her self on the big fluffy armchair.

"It really is comfy." She said as she closed her eyes and sighed contently.

"RON!" Harry screamed.

"What? What?" The red haired boy tumbled into the common room."

"Tell your blasted girlfriend to get off my chair!" Harry was putting and shouting at the same time. The worst was to come yet.

Ron sighed. There was going to be a bloody murder. And Harry wasn't the one going to die. And he was quite in love with his girlfriend. Somehow, he would have to get her off that chair.

"Potter, stop following me."

"Am I following you? I mean, we could be going the same way." Harry knew Draco hated it when he was logical…and that's why Harry tried to act rational around him. Not that it worked much; the emotions they provoke in each other just get in the way.

"Fine. You walk ahead."

Harry shot the other boy—no, young man—a smile as he passed him. They weren't boys any longer.

After a few minutes of walking, Harry peered back at the path he had taken and barely held back a smile as he spied a shadow slanting behind from a bush. He snorted, who was following who now?

He turned around suddenly, to see a flurry of robes trying in vain to hide. He smirked and the other glared back.

Maybe they hadn't grown up that much. But these little power plays were needed, Harry thought. It was part of their charming relationship.

"I don't understand at all." Harry groaned, clutching his hair. He looked down at the text and began reading the paragraph again.

Beside him his study partner sighed, "Potter, your brain is the size of a peanut."

Harry grinned—it seemed that he couldn't stop grinning whenever Malfoy was around, it was a strange disease. "Look at that, I'm rubbing off on you."

The aristocratic snobby face crumpled as Malfoy snorted, "Rub off? I would never let you rub off on me."

Harry snickered.

"Head out of the cauldron." Malfoy snapped, "And with you as a partner, I'm going to fail this project." He was close to pouting, Harry could tell. And Draco knew that Potter knew so he turned away from those knowing green eyes.

A few minutes later, Harry threw his quill across the table, making Malfoy raise his browss at the childish behavior.

"Fine, I'll explain." Malfoy grumbled, "Pay careful attention."

Harry turned to face Malfoy—who was quickly becoming Draco in his mind—and smiled, "Yes, Professor."

"mmm—ahh—Professor Malfoy." The lips under him moaned and chanted, "more—nggh—more!"

"Yes, yes." Draco replied, his voice strained and husky, "Har—"

Draco woke up, soaked with sweat. He looked down at his erection which stood proud, as if mocking him. He glared at it, alas it didn't deflate. Potter? Potter? Come on, he was not so desperate that he was lusting after Potter!

'It's Harry.' His mind whispered to him, 'and he is out first choice, our only choice. To have him would be..'

"A miracle." Draco said out loud. As his voice echoed in the dungeon room he was instantly glad that as a eighth year student, he had his own room, and a private bathroom too.

He considered a cold shower, beating his desire to submission. But his mind conjured up a image of smoky green eyes, taut golden skin that stretched into infinity and panting lips that formed a smile—a smile that never failed to infuriate him, the same one which made him want to beat the golden boy up and at the same time hold him close, hiding him from the world—which brought forth a desire so strong that he thought for a moment that he could lie with just the desire, just the dreams. But then, he acutely felt the chilly dampness of the dungeons and the empty place on his huge bed and his slytherin mind promptly started to plan how to properly seduce his Potter.

Rant: Well…I'm speech less..it's like someone silenced me…

p.s. Review!

p.p.s. That is a threat. If you don't review….I will never give Draco any satisfaction. *smirks*

Harry: But I'm the one suffering here! This is so not fair.