Spoon

Draco raced through the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him. Adrenaline coursed through every one of his veins and his breath was hardly coming at all. He could feel nothing. His entire body was numb and all he knew was running and pure energy coming from him.

It rolled down his cheek, staining a salty streak down his cheek, and dripped into his mouth. He could nearly taste the fear it elicited from him. A shudder found it's way though his entire body. And that's when he woke up.

***

"What the hell..." was the only thing he uttered. He felt his face. It was piercingly hot and he could feel the perspiration dripping from his pores. And he could still taste the tear in his mouth. Saltine mixed with something else. Copper. Touching a finger to his lip, he pulled it back and was covered in crimson blood.

In his struggle to get away from the shadow, he'd bitten himself. He wiped his face with his bare arm and palms.

Draco straightened himself in his bed so he could concentrate. And his mind focused onto the shadow. Emerald green, bright red, and raven black. The sure marks of one boy - the Boy Who Lived [to Torment Draco]. Harry Potter.

As Draco lay in bed, he realized he'd broken the Malfoy cardinal rule; he'd let someone get the better of him. Well, he'd also finally admitted to himself that he was a flaming pouf.

Sure, there had been plenty of gay Malfoys, but they usually resided in the state of Denial until they went crazy and/or killed themselves.

Draco wasn't planning to do either. In fact, he was going to nail the most shaggable boy in Hogwarts. Not that it would be hard. He possessed the trademark Malfoy wit, charm and good looks.

Even if his father was a heartless bastard, he was powerful, cunning and had sex appeal to spare. Reading his private things, Draco had learned of his father's frolics with not only James Potter (who later married Lily Evans), but Remus Lupin (Draco, for one, had always thought he was a bit of a prude), and Sirius Black, the most popular boy in school at the time.

There was no question that Draco could have anyone he wanted, even those 7^th year Ravenclaws that were oh-so-delicious looking.

Aside from all of this, he'd still let someone, and not just anyone, get the upper hand on him. The Boy-who-was-a-constant-nuisance-to-Voldermort had been occupying most of Draco's mind since the term had started. After an entire month of fighting himself, he'd even given up hope of controlling his thoughts of the raven-haired boy, who, at this very moment, was thinking similar thoughts.

***

It was 2am and Harry was lying awake in the protection of the four poster's curtains. He'd just woken from a dream that he vaguely remember being about chocolate, dancing the tango, and a huge sum of bagels. But amongst all this there was a person. He could hardly admit to himself who it was, though.

Even after tons of extra Quidditch practice, sleep and even a little yoga, Harry's mind still wasn't devoid of thoughts of Draco Malfoy. In fact, the most shaggable boy in Hogwarts was consuming a lot of space in Harry's head.

He'd continually tried to assure himself that he was just nervous about St. Ottoman's Day, but he always knew it wasn't true.

Harry twiddled his thumbs for a second before jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of jeans. He grabbed his Firebolt and headed out of the dormitory as quietly as possible.

***

After much deliberation, Draco had decided some exercise would do him good.

He slowly climbed out of bed, careful not to make any noise. He pulled on the first jeans and shirt he found. Funny, this shirt is two years old and it fits better than it used to. Indeed it did. It hugs his lean form perfectly. And it well with the jeans he had on.

Draco smiled at his reflection, grabbed his Nimbus 2000 and strutted out of the dorm.

***

Harry walked slowly across the lush Hogwarts lawns, trying to think as little as possible. But one thing kept coming back to mind. The Iaceo Venenum.

As it had turned out, he really couldn't do anything with the potion. The only option, it seemed was to walk up to Draco and shove it in his mouth. But since he had been so careful in procuring it from the classroom, he wasn't going to waste it. He'd save it in the vial around his neck.

He reached the pitch rather quickly and he mounted his broom before he met any further distractions. He performed a few dives and flew a lap. After a few minutes of this, he just sat on his broom and thought about everything for a few minutes. Draco, Voldemort, N.E.W.Ts, hunger (he hadn't eaten much dinner), Draco, how cold it was outside for an October night, how badly his arse hurt, Draco. It was no use. No matter what he thought of, it all came back to Malfoy.

Harry'd flown about four more laps around the pitch when he heard a noise coming from near one of the locker rooms. What sounded like a train wreck was merely a snapping stick, but it was enough to snap Harry from his flying - and his thinking (of himself and a certain Slytherin in some very compromising situations).

He sped towards where the sound had come from and found himself face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy, in the flesh.