Chapter three

Along with a large group of students that had been in their seventh year under Voldemort's reign, Draco had returned to Hogwarts to do the year over again, with a newly reformed curriculum. This of course almost doubled the number of students that would be in their last year and passing their NEWTs. Over the summer, the dormitories had been rearranged to accommodate.

Of the returnees, many were by then over 18, and they had been informed at the opening banquets that they would be allowed more freedom and could opt out of attending certain classes that they could study on their own. They would still have to pass their exams in those subjects at the end of the year.

Draco had opted out of all the classes he could, safe for Transfiguration that had always been a weak spot for him; and Defence against the Dark Arts and Potions that could not be dropped out of.

He had started going to the library on day one, wanting to get as much studying done while most of his classmates would consider that they have time to enjoy some free time. He relished those quiet days at the library. It was the only moment he seemed to get some peace.

In the Slytherin Dormitory he made himself discreet. Long gone were the days of his reign. People he had aligned with previously tended to make themselves equally as discreet, reconstructing themselves as smaller. Students that he hadn't associated with in the past were less than keen to approach him now.

The fascination for him remained wherever he went though. From his fellow Slytherins, the other houses when he ate, everyone stared at him and whispered.

It was the only time he felt glad to be disassociated, so he wouldn't have to suffer through hopeless Hufflepuffs murmuring about his good looks.

All this, while greatly annoying, was barrable.

The Potter situation was not.

It had only been a few days since the train encounter, but from that moment on, Draco had been acutely aware of the Golden boy. He could sense him. He avoided him at all cost but it seemed his body geared him towards Potter without consciously seeking him out.

It was during one of those chance encounters in the hallway that Draco found out the most horrifying thing of all: Potter was dating the Weaselette.

He had been coming out of the library and had almost done a double take, because as soon as he had opened the door, he knew that Potter was getting closer. He had wanted to turn away but was frozen in place. Because he hadn't just sensed Potter.

He had also felt that his mate was being touched, a feeling that was new to him. It had started as a tickle around his arm, wrist and arm, growing slowly into repeated pinches, then small needles thrust into him, and lastly it had become a complete burn scorching his skin and digging into his marrow.

He had held his arm, gritting his teeth to try to keep from screaming out. Barely registering that his world had gone dark again, all except that clear tunnel that led his gaze straight to Potter.

Potter who had a giggling redhead hanging around his arm.

Potter who was holding hands with a Weasley.

Potter who was smiling at someone else.

It was the first time Draco saw that smile so clearly, every wrinkle it created in Potter's face, every shine on his teeth.

It hurt how beautiful it was.

When Potter had seen him, he had let go of his girlfriend and approached Draco with a raised eyebrow. He had tilted his head and looked towards Draco's arm, that was obviously fine but that he was holding like it was falling apart.

"Are you putting on a Greek play, Malfoy?" he had mocked, "Or are you just that weak you need an arm to hold the other up?"

Draco hadn't noticed he was still holding his arm, had forgotten he even had a body, had forgotten himself in the wake of Potter's presence.

"Malfoy?" The latter had called. "Have I grown a second head?"

"No, I-" Draco had started but the sound coming out of his throat was not of his doing. It was a melody that seemed to escape from him and reach straight for Potter's chest, who merely frowned with his mouth open, looking deep into Malfoy's eyes.

Those eyes… Emerald.

Snap out of it! A part of Draco's mind still alive had shouted and for a moment he could expand the tunnel around him, take in his surroundings and the fact that two Gryffindors he hated were staring at him like he was going to faint.

He hadn't been able to say anything, but he had been able to struggle through the pull with enough force to walk away without a second glance.

That was two days prior, less than a week into the start of term.

It's going to be a rough year…

With Snape's loss, Draco knew that potions would be absolutely detestable. Slughorn had been brought back and he and Draco had always had an antagonistic relationship. Add that to how absent the Slytherin was and how little attention he was able to give while sharing a room with a certain raven-haired idiot, he was certainly not enjoying himself.

They were brewing Euphoria Elixir, that much he knew. Slughorn had seen it as a good and positive start of the year. Draco had had to skint for three minutes at the board to be certain. He counted himself lucky that they had already been taught this potion in Sixth year, because he found himself incapable of making sense of the vague scribbles on his textbook.

The class was starting to erupt into laughs and commotion as the duos were adding the porcupine stings; while Draco was still stuck mincing mint, as it had taken a considerable amount of time to find it amongst the other herbs.

Slughorn glanced over his shoulder and tuted, "Malfoy, are you having trouble with this assignment?"

Draco sensed the condescension in his tone. He sighed and stopped his mincing for a moment. "No," he replied firmly, "But I am not feeling very well, Professor."

Better to admit to being unwell than incompetent he figured. Slughorn glanced at him with a frown.

Finally he nodded. "You do look a little under the weather," he admitted, "Let's get you some help."

Draco barely had time to protest when his professor called through the class, "Harry m'boy? Would you give Mr. Malfoy the benefit of your expertise? I think Miss Granger will manage."

Of course, he thought, it had to be him. The boner Slughorn had for Potter's so-called expertise had not diminished since Sixth year.

Draco felt more than heard Potter approaching. He wasn't sure if his own heart was increasing or if he was following his mate's rhythm. Potter sat down, heavily scraping his chair against the stone floor.

"So, what?" he asked, "Did you lose your brain with your guts?"

Draco groaned, feeling every syllable he uttered in every fiber of his being. He was the string of a harp and Potter the note.

"Not that it's any of your business, Potter," Malfoy spat, "But-" he cut himself as he turned around.

For fucks sake.

Potter was looking good. His glasses were slightly askew, his eyes were a darker shade than previous, he had clearly not shaved that morning leaving him with a pleasant manly stubble.

Draco realized for the first time how everything about this man just fit. If anything was different, he wouldn't look so perfect. Had his eyes been blue, or his hair pulled back, had he had sharper eyes or marked cheekbones, something wouldn't be right. As is, there wasn't anything he would change about Potter, and that realization took his breath away.

He turned his face away fast and mumbled, "Let's just make the damn potion."

Potter leaned closer to him and whispered, "What is up with you?" making his scent wash over Draco.

To the best of his ability, Draco tried to read his textbook but his gaze kept turning away. He grit his tooth and tried to calm his heartbeat. Losing this control over himself was more than frustrating.

"Contrary to you Pot-head," he finally started, "I haven't got the ministry half up my ass and I care about my grades."

"If you did you'd have gotten further than step one. But that's obviously not what I was talking about."

"If you want to make your meaning understood, it might help to speak c-l-e-a-r-l-y," Draco mocked, trying to control the constrictions that were starting in his chest. As he spoke he turned further and further away, closing his eyes so he wouldn't be attracted by Potter's light.

"You can barely look at me."

Draco felt how Potter crossed his arms and snarled, "It's not a question of abilities, you prat. I find the sight of you appalling and rather spare myself the discomfort."

Potter leaned closer still, his breath lingering on the nape of Draco's neck.

"Scared Malfoy?"

Draco shivered. "Don't be stupid."

And he turned round, holding his breath.

As soon as their eyes met, they both stopped.

Draco felt like he couldn't breathe. He had often looked at that face, had often had him close, when they fought and shoved each other. He had often wanted him close. But he had never needed him close.

Potter frowned at him. "You-" he started.

"Don't," Draco interrupted quickly.

Potter stopped himself but seemed to take a step closer to him.

Something in Draco snapped. A pain searing through his entire body.

And he bolted.

He ran loudly out of the classroom without a single consideration for the Professor calling him, the students staring at him. He didn't notice any of that.

He just knew he had to get out of there.

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