Moonshine Hate

The day had been cold, and Harry's throat was stinging with the chill as he trekked back to the castle as the clouds darkened with the promise of night. Wrapping his arms more closely around himself, he hurried his pace, longing for the warmth of the Great Hall and the steamy Christmas dinner awaiting him. Rounding a bend in the snow drifts, he came across Malfoy, leaning against a slender tree trunk, his fists shoved deep in his pockets.

Harry stopped abruptly, his boots no longer crunching in the thick snow, and the wind whispering through the frozen trees.

"Potter."

Harry didn't answer, watching Malfoy's cheeks fluster with the cold, seeing his breath hovering before his lips in the coldness. Harry thought of fists flying and punches bruising, cracked knuckles and hard stone walls. He felt the night seep through darkened corridors, enveloping him in darkness, obscuring rational thought. He remembered Malfoy's eyes reflecting the winter stars, and his skin the brightness of the moon. He remembered being blinded, being bruised.

He took a deep breath that sucked the air from his lungs and took a step forward.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with anticipation, and his back slowly came off the tree. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and let them hang by his sides.

"So Potter, up for another round?"

That stupid drawling smirk.

"Go to hell Malfoy."

Harry took another step, toward the promise of satisfaction. He felt his chest quiver with excitement, and a curling in his stomach as he resisted the temptation to crack his knuckles menacingly. Malfoy looked as though Christmas had come early, all pointed sneers and fevered face, lifting his chin up and pinning Potter with a piercing stare.

It was all about strategy, intimidation.

Potter let his growing anger cover him, and felt heat in his cheeks as he took another step, and felt the cold on his back as he moved toward the light.

The sun was nearly down, casting the snow with unearthly colors, making the frozen tree limbs glimmer with the fading light. Malfoy's face was drawn in two, all bright and orange and glowing, and black as death, his eyes twinkling with malice as he approached.

"Insult my father again Potter, come on, I know you love to, and you know how much I appreciate that. Go on, tell me again how he's a bastard, an asshole, a miserable fucking prisoner, it would make my day."

Potter felt the warm anger build, the hot rage, the unbearably hot desire to punch, kick, kill Malfoy. To destroy him, stand over him, and spit in his face.

"I'll do my best." He ground out, his voice a low growl.

And as they flew toward each other, all flying knuckles and flailing kicks, and as they beat each others heads into the ground and groaned with the effort of breaking ribs, Harry thought in a distant part of his mind,

This is sick, I enjoy this violence, look forward to killing and being killed. So wrong, but it feels so good.

He punched Malfoy in the chest and was rolled over, their feet entangled. Malfoy, seeing his opportunity, straddled Harry and grabbed hold of his hair, slamming his head down into the frozen ground. Seeing stars, Harry hit blindly back, hearing a moan of pain. He bucked up, pushing upward into Malfoy's not quite crushing weight, trying to get on top.

"So Malfoy, are you Voldemort's lapdog yet? Taking over for your father?" Harry spat roughly in the pale blonde's face as he tried to shove a fistful of snow into Malfoy's mouth.

"Fuck you Potter, and your precious Dumbledore too. You're all bastards, and you're going to get what's coming to you. Just wait." Malfoy yelled out around the snow, gnashing his teeth and cracking Harry's glasses with a well placed punch.

Harry tore off his useless glasses and threw them somewhere behind him, too concentrated on wrapping his numb hands around Malfoy's pale throat and squeezing. Malfoy's skin was so hot and tight, and he watched Malfoy's eyes dilate, his mouth open in a silent scream. Bloody hands were tearing at his forearms, but it felt so good to hold on, clutching and wringing.

Malfoy's face was now as pale as the snow, and chilled as the moon as the sun finally sunk below the horizon, leaving them cold in the dark. And as he watched Malfoy's eyes darken in realized fear, and felt Malfoy writhe against him in panic, he felt his stomach twist painfully and sensed himself shifting. He loosened up for a moment, to raise his head and look around at the trees and the darkness he'd been blinded to all along, but Malfoy, still thrashing about, caught his leg on Harry's ankle and pulled, down the slope.

They rolled in the snow, unstoppable now, all flying snow, tangled limbs, and low sounds of pain, till they fetched up against a rock. They broke apart finally, and Harry lie spread eagled, sunken in the ground, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. The wetness was seeping into his clothes as he lay there, and he looked up at the moon, swimming before his eyes as he regained proper thought. Coughing once more, he raised himself on his elbows staring around, his mind not making much sense of the dark blurs around him. So it hadn't just been the collision, he'd broken and thrown away his glasses, and was left at the mercy of his blindness and Malfoy.

Malfoy. Harry whipped his head around side to side, scrambling up onto his feet, trying to discern from one blob of darkness to the next. He stumbled forward a few feet and collapsed onto Malfoy, a strangely pale spot against the blinding snow. Harry quickly kneeled down to Malfoy's face, able now to see details at such a close range. Malfoy's lips were a deep blue, and his eyes looked sunken in, staring. Harry inhaled sharply several times, realizing suddenly the danger. He crawled to Malfoy's head and carefully lifted it, feeling utterly helpless and stupid. He smacked Malfoy's back several times, hoping to provoke a reaction, but Malfoy remained still, silently glaring at the world.

Trying not to feel panicked, Harry quickly lowered his mouth to Malfoy's. His lips were freezing, but Harry pressed hard and blew. He raised his face a few inches to see the effect and fumbled to press his hands to Malfoy's chest to push hard, harder. Blow on numb lips, watch pale eyes, push, panic, pray.

Finally, an eternity of judgment later, Malfoy's eyes widened, his chest rose sharply to hit Harry's, and he breathed in deeply as his lips sparked against Harry's with the return of life. Harry panted, watching Malfoy trying to regain his breath, hearing the severe rasp. He laid his hands on Malfoy's chest, needing the boy to breathe, needing him to stop sounding so scratchy and frightened, as though he were still teetering, and not knowing how to help.

Dimly, Harry registered that he was talking to Malfoy, whispering over and over pointless words of comfort, encouragement, apology.

Just breathe Malfoy, god breathe and I'm sorry, I didn't mean, never meant it, never hurt you, didn't want to, just keep breathing, stay warm and keep moving because I've never meant it and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry.

He tried to stop, horrified, but found he had no control over motor skills. Harry watched as Malfoy slowly caught his breath, didn't arc his back in so painful an arch, watched as Malfoy lay in the snow, fighting for his life, and wanting to win.

Harry rested his forehead on Malfoy's chest, feeling the gradual lengthening of breaths, and tried to numb himself.

At length, Malfoy stated creepily calmly, "You tried to kill me."

Harry didn't raise his head, not knowing what to say. He wasn't sure if he was sorry. It had felt good, the control, the fragility of a person's life in his hands. He had reveled in it.

"You saved me."

Harry couldn't raise his head to that either. He was humiliated, not proud to have been a life-saving hero. He'd saved someone he'd failed to kill. That was a lose-lose situation, mega bad karma, a reservation for hell. He breathed deeply several times, twisted his head slightly to look away from Malfoy's accusing face, and played with the seam of Malfoy's cloak, spread on his lap. His pants were soaked through from the cold, and he was beginning to shake.

"You kissed me."

Harry breathed in sharply, a half-sob leaking from the ache in his chest. And he quickly raised his head to look at Malfoy's face. The pale blonde was staring up at the sky, moonshine in his eyes. Malfoy's gaze flickered to Harry's, watching Harry tremble violently in the cold, with an indiscernible glimmer in his eyes.

"I did not kiss you Malfoy." Harry choked out, feeling his body going numb from the snow. He took a couple of shaky breaths and held his chin up high, frustrated that the tears in his eyes kept him from seeing Malfoy clearly. He wrung his hands and kept his gaze on the corner of Malfoy's mouth, the wind whipping his hair across his forehead.

Malfoy didn't answer, an odd and out of character thing for him to do, and Harry felt confused as Malfoy's hands grasped the collar of his cloak and roughly pulled him down to his lips. Where had the hate gone? The pain? The violence? How could this be better than that?

It felt familiar, this hard pressure of numb chapped lips pressing together, but here was a heat. Harry didn't know from where, but it spread through his limbs like an electrical shock, breaking out in goosebumps on his arms and making him shiver with the warmth of it. And oh, that was a tongue, a white-hot velvet slice of heaven, and Harry tried to keep thinking, how has this happened? We had been perfectly good enemies. Of course Malfoy's gone and botched it all up. Typical of him.

But as Harry relaxed onto Malfoy's chest, gripped the fine blonde hair in his thawing hands, and pressed his lips harder to Malfoy's, he decided that this was better than a fist fight, a great deal better.

Their hips locked, and Harry was lost.