Spoon

Harry had an overwhelming urge to lunge forward and kiss Draco then and there, but he settled for mounting his broom and flying back to the pitch without a word.

"Potter, you're leaving without a kiss good-bye?" Draco had hardly whispered, but Harry had heard it loud and clear, the smooth voice ringing in his ears.

Harry said nothing, concentrating as hard as he could on very unattractive thoughts; McGonagall in a swimsuit, Dudley naked, Neville. And when none of these worked - the big guns. Snape in drag.

That did it. He continued to fly until he heard another utterance magnified by what seemed about a thousand times.

"Harry, I don't cope well with the silent treatment."

Harry could have sworn Malfoy had purred. He screwed his eyes shut, letting instinct fly him around the pitch. Drag. Snape in drag. Snape at a bar in drag. As he was about to imagine Snape taking off; the drag, Malfoy sped up straight in front of him. A light thud resounded as their brooms tapped.

"Look, Malfoy, I came here to stop thinking. There's no need for you to force me into it again. Harry flew off the pitch and marched back to Gryffindor tower.

***

When Draco had reached the pitch, there was already someone racing through the bitter air. Draco's stomach did a flip.

What if it's Harry?

What about it, then?

Well, it's Harry!

The Boy-Who-Never-Ceased-to-Have-Impeccable-Timing had flown down nearly immediately after Draco stepped on a twig. Talk about Seeker reflexes. They don't only apply to sight. Draco noticed a change flick across Harry's face. He even appeared to sway a bit. Without a word, Harry mounted his broom and took off.

After some deliberation, Draco called, "Potter, you're leaving without a good-bye kiss?" Although quiet, Draco was positive Harry had heard him. The small choke and start from the other was fairly indicative. However, Harry said not another word to indicate he had even heard.

Draco hated when he couldn't get a rise out of Harry. He lived for the fights in the halls, the quick glares, and the insults - for the emotion burning in Harry's eyes when he struck a sensitive spot. It excited him. It was even vaguely erotic. He'd often imagined a fight turned something more. Bickering and fighting often led to much kinkier things in Draco's imagination; Biting and bondage being amongst them. Plus, without any word of Voldermort, it was the only action either of them got. Sexual or otherwise, Draco thought bitterly.

"Harry, I don't cope well with the silent treatment." Draco figured the blatant and enunciated use of his archrival's name might do something. No luck there.

He was sick of standing around. He'd never gotten what he wanted by having a staring contest with his father. He was going to give Harry a knut for his thoughts. He flew up quickly, with a whoosh of robes billowing behind him. He even gave Harry a knock on the broom when he arrived. But idle chitchat wasn't Harry's purpose for being out of bed so early, apparently.

"Look, Malfoy, I came here to stop thinking. There's no need for you to force me into it again."

"Start what over?" was on the top of Draco's tongue when Harry sped off the pitch and back to the castle.

Draco had a hunch about Harry's words that he sincerely; hoped were what he'd actually meant.

***

After his trip back to the dormitories, Harry lay in bed, and all he could do was retrace his trip to the pitch. He hadn't wanted to blow Draco off like that, but he knew that if he hadn't, there would have been consequences. Risqué and carnal consequences, but there would also be repercussions. And he couldn't risk his life turning upside down just to accommodate his desire for the Slytherin. And he even looked a bit...pained...when he flew up to me. Well, no more than usual as of late, I guess. That was a disturbing revelation.

Since Harry had known him, Malfoy had been in control of everything; People, money, and especially his own emotions. But lately it seemed they were showing on his face more clearly. Nothing compared to Ron (or himself), admittedly, but the emotions were there. It was usually just a flicker, like a fire being lit and then put out, but it was present, nonetheless.

As it had turned out, Harry really couldn't do anything with the potion; not now at least. The only option, it seemed was to walk up to Draco and shove it down his throat. 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 for now. It could always come in handy a little later.

Clutching the vial in his hand, Harry fell into a restless sleep.

***

He was standing in a dark corner, alone. Elsewhere in the house, there were tons of people getting high, dancing, and getting hammered. Instead, he stood in the corner with his cup and swayed drunkenly to the music. It pounded in his ears. He thought they might explode. It was something muggle. He'd heard the Dursleys talking about this guy once. A 'Devil worshipper' they had called him, but now, Harry was enjoying the music coursing through his blood like drugs. The bass beat was addictive to fault.

'Once I ran to you, now I run from you,' swished around in his head. He couldn't help having a feeling of annoyance as he couldn't remember why this song meant something to him. 'Sometimes I feel like I've got to run away. Got to get away.' What the hell is it!? He was startled when he heard his own voice above the music, and even more so when he felt a cold finger tape his shoulder.

He didn't have to question who it was. Only one person's touch could be so cold when it was scaldingly hot in the room.

A clammy palm found its way partly down his chest. Malfoy nibbled on his earlobe, eliciting a moan from Harry. Harry hated Malfoy for the way he excited him. Even his presence was intoxicating. He could become more drunk on Malfoy's scent alone than on 10 butterbeers.

Harry reached an arm behind him and cupped Malfoy's arse. He pulled him closer and leaned back. Turning his head slightly, he kissed and bit his way down Malfoy's neck, sometimes leaving marks he wouldn't remember having given.

Malfoy turned Harry around and pulled him onto a large armchair. He proceeded to grind his hips in a rhytmic motion. Often, either he or Harry would groan or grumble in pleasure, but no words were exchanged. Harry moaned throatily, but his dirty deeds in the chair were hardly remembered.

***

He always woke up before he came. Well, he never came in his dreams. In reality, that was a different story. He would always wake up in a sticky bed with only a few recollections of the dreams. They were coming nearly every night now. Sometimes in a different setting, but always pleasurable in a perverse way.

But that was all it ever was. It was shameless dreams at night and feigned hatred in the daylight hours Sometimes, though, Harry wasn't sure if he was faking the hatred any more. Malfoy had never given him any reason reason not to hate him, but...that was only his dreams. In reality, Malfoy had given him tons of reasons to hate him, but Harry never did. He surely disliked; Malfoy for all the things he'd said and done over the years, but he could never hate him. Especially not now.

Not since Harry was falling for him. Falling hard and falling fast.

And tomorrow was St. Ottoman's day.