Seekers Play Rough

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

Why does it feel like night today?
Something in here's not right today...
Why am I so uptight today?
Paranoia's all I got left
I don't know what stressed me first
Or how the pressure was fed but
I know just what it feels like
To have a voice in the back of my head
It's like a face that I hold inside
A face that awakes when I close my eyes
A face watches every time I lie
A face that laughs every time I fall
And watches everything

Chapter 6:

Throes

He heard the door slam against the stone wall and knew who had entered the room without looking up. For a moment he concentrated on the quill he had been spinning fretfully in his hands, marveling at how he knew whenever Potter was nearby, how he could narrow in on Potter's voice.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Potter said darkly, before Snape could even gather the breath for one of his typical tangents. There was something new about that voice, it had a new timbre, a new quality to it that made Draco Malfoy's heart thud painfully, made his head swim and his hands shake. He sounded so dark. So brooding, so dangerous, like there was something lurking just under his skin, just on the tip of his tongue that he held back only by force of will. It made Malfoy flush. As Harry walked by him, the world faded away, until only the sound was the echoing footfalls of The Boy. Draco caught himself looking up at Potter. He had tried to keep his head down, his eyes averted, but this newness to Potter, this depth and darkness in his voice intrigued him. When he saw The Boy, it was all Draco could do to keep his mouth from falling open. Praying that his impassive mask stayed solid, Malfoy stared wide-eyed at the Harry Potter that was making his slow, silent way towards his empty seat. Snape had long ago begun his verbal tearing apart of Potter, but for once, neither Potter nor Malfoy noticed. Draco couldn't take his eyes from him. His was walking--no, gliding--silently in his dark Hogwarts robes. His smooth cheeks were flushed slightly, and his hair fell in thick, wild masses, laying on his cheeks and over his eyes in the most appealing fashion. Draco felt his hands ball into fists as he continued to follow Potter's progress, enraptured. The boy was beautiful, plain and simple. Every little toss of his head, every step he took make Draco's heart tighten, made his blood heat. He wanted to tackle Potter then and there, witnesses be damned. Slowly, painstakingly, as if he was entirely aware of every eye on him, Harry settled into his seat. He still hadn't looked at Malfoy. Not once. Draco felt the resolve he had built up this morning drain away like water through a sieve. He wanted Potter. Fuck it all, he wanted Potter!

Suddenly, Harry turned and cast a glance at Malfoy over his shoulder. Malfoy caught his breath abruptly, almost choked, and busied himself with having a violent coughing fit. That look. It burned with something, Malfoy couldn't put his finger on it, but it burned. Those piercing green eyes were boring right through him. He blinked, looked up again, and felt his stomach tie itself into knots. Impossibly, as he met Draco's eyes, Harry smiled. He looked pleased at what he was seeing. Draco made a strangled noise that sounded very much like "nurk," and felt his cheeks flush. Again. Frantically, even though his pride hated him for it, Draco dropped his eyes, concentrated once more on the quill in his hands. He could still feel Harry's eyes on him, could still feel the smile.

Fuck, Potter, what are you doing?!

His heart was beating painfully, so loud and rapid he was certain the Philosophers on either side of him could hear it. He chanced a glance at them. Crabbe was engrossed in carefully filling his inkwell, and Goyle was reaching across the narrow corridor between the rows of tables to steal the homework assignment from Parvati Patil. Relieved, for once grateful for their ignorance, Draco took a deep, steadying breath, willing his pulse to slow, his hands to stop trembling, his cheeks to return to their normal pallor.

Malfoy, was all his mind hissed.

Right. Take it like a Malfoy. Only one more day left.

And yet, as he screwed up his courage and raised his eyes again, he was assailed by the tantalizing sight of Harry stretching luxuriously, like a drowsy cat, lithe and strong, arms stretched over his head and back arched. Draco eyed the form feverishly, feeling his pulse quicken again. It was all he could to stop himself from grabbing one of the out stretched arms and swinging Potter around to do things that would make him scream for mercy. He tried to breathe, and failed.

Oh, by Merlin's balls..

If his pride would have allowed it, Draco would have sat face- down on his desk for the rest of class. As it was, he forced himself to watch Snape sweep around the class like a large and malevolent bat, still lecturing on the amorelation elixir. The more Snape spoke, the more sullen Draco felt.

No need to go winging on about it to me Professor, he snarled inwardly, feeling the migraine he had come to expect over the past few days intensify. I could write an entire book about this bitch. Draco sat rigid on the bench, concentrating on Snape's flourishing gestures. In the front row, Potter was sucking pensively on his lower lip, apparently lost in the lecture. Draco, realizing his eyes had wandered again, resolutely returned his gaze to the face of his Professor, suppressing the urge to curse. However, try as he might, Draco couldn't discern a single word Snape was saying. He was quite certain the only thing he could hear was the sound of Potter breathing, on the other side of the room. Potter was toying unconsciously with a strand of hair, twining it around his finger as his green eyes followed Snape in his pacing. Draco gulped, getting a vague impression that he was losing a battle of some sort, somehow.

Potter was sucking on the tip of his finger.

The quill in Draco's hands broke with a loud snap.

A few of the students nearby turned to look at him curiously, but luckily, not many people seemed to have noticed. Draco dropped the two pieces of his expensive Eagle owl quill onto the desktop, flustered and furious.

Pull yourself together, you prat. He balled his sweaty hands into fists and stared resolutely at the table in front of him.

Only one more day.

Only one more day.

Only one more god-damned motherfucking day.

Breathe.

~*~

Harry allowed himself a smile of pure satisfaction when the he heard the dry snap of a quill breaking. It was working. He could feel angst coming in palpable waves from Draco's seat. And he loved it. He was relishing every minute of it. Innocently, he ducked his head, brushed the hair out of his eyes and licked his lips, pausing to scratch a note on his parchment. God, this is fun. He heard Draco mutter something distractedly in response to a question from one of his Philosophers. Harry stretched again, quite unnecessarily, hearing his back pop as he closed his eyes with another serene smile. There was a pained grunt from the back of the class and a heavy thud. Resisting the urge to turn around, Harry smiled again. Snape, thrown off momentarily by the loud noise, cast a worried look at the back of the class, but continued on with his lecture. His eyes fell on Harry.

"Name some symptoms you've found in your research, Potter," he snapped, apparently unsettled by the pleased expression on Harry's face.

Leaning back in his seat, Harry thought for a moment before responding. "Well," he said slowly, playing with his lower lip pensively.

"Today would be nice, Potter," Snape barked waspishly.

Harry smiled. "Emotional instability." He then turned and looked pointedly at Draco, who was siting rigid and stock-still in his seat. Draco glared at him, startling Harry briefly with the vehemence in his gaze, the cold, hard look in his eyes.

"Indeed," Snape drawled, arching an eyebrow. Harry simply looked back at him blandly until Snape turned and began questioning other students. Harry settled back in his seat, toying with his own quill, wondering why Malfoy looked so suddenly murderous. He wanted to feel content that he had done his job, that he had succeeded in making Malfoy miserable, but suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. It was an empty triumph. He felt guilty. He felt uncomfortable.

God damn. He felt his anger mount, even as he knew it was irrational. You have to take the fun out of everything, don't you, Malfoy?

As Snape continued his lecture, Harry considered looking back at Malfoy again. He could feel the boy's gaze on him, knew he was being keenly observed from a dark seat in the back, but he had suddenly lost the will to do anything about it. He felt...

Deflated.

After a few moments, however, Harry chanced a glance at Draco. The Slytherin was staring at a spot on the floor, eyes unfocused, left foot tapping wildly. Harry sighed. I think I broke his brain.

Abruptly, as he watched, Draco surged to his feet with a powerful burst of angry energy, throwing his cauldron to the ground and scattering his papers in a flurry of dry rustles. Surprised, all the students turned to look at him. Draco, however, wasn't looking at anyone, his eyes were still fixed on the floor.

"Malfoy!" Snape bellowed, more shocked than angry. "What is the meaning of this?"

Without a word, without even registering that the head of his House had said anything, Draco turned on his heel and stalked out of the class, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dumbfounded, Harry stared silently at the shut door, as students clamored around him, and as Snape snarled, attempting to return order. One thought prevailed in his mind.

I did that to him.

~*~

Ron was beaming. "Absolutely priceless!" he said loudly, brandishing his fork for emphasis. All around him, Gryffindor students enjoying their lunch agreed loudly.

"Does he do that often?" Raelin asked quietly, eyes wide as he sat beside Hermione.

Dean scoffed. "Often? Hah! Potions is Malfoy's favorite class and Snape is his favorite teacher--"

"--Because he's a sneak, just like Malfoy--" Ginny interjected spitefully.

"--I imagine so!" Dean grinned heartily.

"I wonder what would make him do something like that?" Brianna asked as she reached for her glass of pumpkin juice.

"Just to storm out like that, in the middle of his favorite subject." Hermione looked perplexed. "Highly irregular."

"What difference does it make?" Harry was feeling entirely sullen again. "Why does everything keep coming back to Malfoy? So he left in the middle of class! So what?"

They turned to blink at him.

"Jeez, Harry, we were just wondering, is all," Dean muttered into the sudden silence.

Harry suppressed the urge to choke the life out of anything he could easily wrap his hands around. He couldn't believe it was only lunchtime. This was, without a doubt, the longest day he had ever lived through. He snarled resentfully as he became aware of the worried expressions fixed on him.

"Look, I'm sorry," he growled. "I'm just a little... tense. Trials and all, you know." Slowly, the other Gryffindors relaxed.

"Well, we should know better, Harry," Ginny said, looking apologetically at him, "than to mention him so much, when you're going to be pitted against him this summer."

Right, an excuse.

"Yeah. Ever since that match, I've been... well, thinking about the Trials and the other seekers a lot."

"The other seekers"?

Hah!

More like "I've been obsessing compulsively about Malfoy since last match."

Since Hermione was looking at him with her piercing gaze, Harry took a token bite of chicken.

"Harry," she said suddenly, leaning close so that only he could hear her, "you haven't eaten anything of substance for days. You're constantly in a foul mood, brooding alone and snapping at other people. Your eyes are only for Malfoy whenever he's in the same room as you." Harry's heart stopped. There's no way she could know.

Is there?

"You can't let him get under your skin like this. It's not worth it. He's not worth it."

Harry simply ducked his head and took another bite. Everything tasted like sawdust, lately.

"Harry, please." She sounded more urgent now. He stared at the pattern of light a candle was making on the tabletop. "Answer me."

"You're right, Hermione," he heard himself say. Turning, he looked at Malfoy's empty seat at the Slytherin table. No one had seen hide nor hair of him since Potions. Harry sighed heavily and turned back to her, again with the prevailing sense that he was empty, deflated. He felt his shoulders slouch in fatigue as he met her eyes, registered her relieved expression. I dunno how long I can keep this up. "You're right. He's not worth it."

~*~

The rest of the day passed in complete haze for Harry. He remembered speaking, but didn't remember a word said. He remembered doing things, but didn't remember anything he had done. He remembered feeling things, yet couldn't remember a single emotion, let alone what had triggered it. He felt empty, numb and tired. Gone was the anger, gone was the resentment. He just felt like curling up under a rock somewhere secluded. He could remember nothing of his last classes. All he knew was that he hadn't seen Malfoy since early morning. No one had. Dazedly, he went through his normal routine like an automaton, not really reacting to anything, not really registering anything, getting the distinct impression that he wasn't really there. Apparently, his agreement with Hermione during lunch had reassured both she and Ron, as Harry couldn't remember them casting worried eyes at him once for the rest of the day. Then again, he though with a bemused smile, I might have just not noticed. Considering my current state, I wouldn't be surprised.

Suddenly, it was suppertime. Again. Harry sat, as always, wedged in between Ron and Hermione, staring down at his plate. How hungry to they expect me to be? Hermione was watching him keenly. He cast her a feeble smile. She just glanced at his plate and back up at his face again, steely expression in her brown eyes. Though he stomach roiled and clenched, he forced himself to eat a few more bites of his meal, training his eyes determinedly on his plate. All around him, Gryffindor student were chatting cheerfully about tests, homework, classes, life. Harry felt a pang of intense, burning jealousy. Why did this type of thing always happen to him?

Why can't I have a normal life like them? Why can't my biggest worry be the Herbology test next week?

Suddenly, he remembered something Malfoy had said. Was it only a few days ago? No, no, decades, at least. Another lifetime.

"Curious, I thought you'd enjoy the attention..."

Does he honestly believe I enjoy this life, the way I am?

He has no idea.

Harry shot a resentful glance around the table at the laughing, talking Gryffindors.

Nobody has any idea.

"Harry!" Cullen was calling cheerfully, disrupting Harry's dark thoughts. "Have you had your practice yet today?"
Harry stared at him blankly.

Cullen blinked at him. "You know? Your practice for the Trials?" He raised his eyebrows, almost losing them in his blonde curls. "Hello?"

Clearing his throat, Harry forced his frozen mind to work, to formulate a passably coherent response. "Oh," he said simply. "No."

Brianna threw her head back and eyed the dusky sky through the bewitched ceiling above them. "You better hop to, then, Harry." She looked back down and smiled at him. "Can't have Gryffindor's pride and joy getting all out of shape now, can we?"

I'm already all out of shape.

"Right," he sighed.

They all looked at him expectantly as he continued to sit heavily in his seat, making no move to leave.

"Um, Harry?" Ginny said quietly. "It's getting dark."

Harry suppressed a wave of irritation.

They're just concerned about you, about Quidditch, he reminded himself firmly.

"Well," he said, trying and failing to sound jovial. He cleared his throat. "I best get out there, then." As he pushed himself to his feet among the smiling faces of his fellow Gryffindors, Harry made an internal decision.

He had no intention of going to the pitch.

He waved absently to them and slipped from the noise and light of the Great Hall into the flickering semi-darkness of the deserted hall. Shoving his fists deep into his pockets, Harry let his feet take him where the willed. Again and again, his mind went over what had happened that day, last night. Like a mouse trapped in a rain barrel, his mind ran in frantic little circles, playing over scenes he knew by heart. The way the candlelight had played on Draco's face, that night in the library. The haunted look in his eyes. The sullen, broken look he wore the next morning. Those eyes. Always, those eyes. The look in his eyes today in Potions. The pure, undiluted hate that Harry felt he should be relieved to see again. Instead, he felt scared by it. Disturbed that he had indeed caused so much pain. All for a bit of fun.

A sudden realization made his steps falter.

He felt guilty.

He felt bad that he had exploited Draco's weakness so readily. It wasn't as if Draco could do anything about it. He was under the control of the elixir, and the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized Draco had been handling the situation admirably. He had confessed to Harry, he had warned him, bared himself to Harry, and Harry had made him hurt for it. Harry had made him regret it. Never in his life had Harry ever wanted to make someone regret confiding in him. And yet, here was Draco, hating him with such vehemence that it startled Harry.

You little shit. How can you be startled? Look what you did to him! He's struggling just as much as you are--if not more--and you're making it worse!

None of this is Draco's fault.

Harry shuddered suddenly, realizing he had somehow made his way outside, in the gray Autumn dusk.

If anything, this is your fault.

You've just made everything worse, and you know it.

Harry hunched his shoulders as cold wind whistled around him, biting through his thin robes with cold teeth, attacking his physical body just as fiercely as his mind was attacking itself. His miserable feet made their way through the grass, until he suddenly realized they had unconsciously carried him to a tiny refuge. A small, warm place he was particularly fond of visiting whenever he was troubled.

Hagrid was sitting on his front step, smoking a small pipe as Fang sat quietly beside him. The huge dog was the first to notice Harry, throwing himself off the stone step to slobber enthusiastically all over Harry's robes in welcome. Harry couldn't help but smile as he gave the familiar black head a pat.

"Well, hullo 'Arry!" Hagrid smiled through a wiry mass of black hair.

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said softly. Without another word, he settled himself at the Groundkeeper's feet, staring out into the gathering night, feeling comforted just by being near his old friend. Hagrid too, sat in silence, looking down at the slight figure of The Boy Who Lived. Harry assumed that Hagrid knew there was something the matter, but as always, would wait for Harry to bring it up.

"So," a huge hand set the pipe down on the stone step. "How're classes?"

Harry sighed, knowing that the idle chit-chat would eventually lead to him spilling everything, just as it always did. "Alright, I suppose." His eyes traveled over to the Quidditch pitch. With a shock, he realized there was someone standing there. A dark silhouette among the lengthening shadow, it sent a shiver through Harry that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

"'Ere, Harry, you're wearing naught but yer robes! Come inside, then. I'll make a cuppa tea."

"No, thanks, Hagrid," Harry said softly. "I like it out here."

Without another word, the huge dark form beside him heaved itself to its feet. Fang let out a groan and lay down in the grass beside Harry as Hagrid passed through the absurdly small door into his equally tiny hut. For a moment, Harry felt panicked. Was the only person he felt he could visit without really having to talk to leaving? He thought Hagrid would always be there for him, yet he was getting up and leaving!

Suddenly, disrupting his irrational thoughts, a heavy warmth dropped about Harry.

"There now," Hagrid said, sounding satisfied. "Can't have yeh freezing, now can we?"

Harry smiled to himself and pulled the huge heavy coat closer around him. It smelled like leather and onions and felt like it weighed a ton, but it was warm, and more importantly, it was reassuring. The bulk, the warmth, the smell, it was all so very Hagrid.

"Thanks Hagrid," Harry said with his first genuine smile for some time. Hagrid nodded and began busily filling the pipe with some unidentifiable brown leaves. Harry sat in silence for a few moments longer, relishing the fact that he didn't have to say anything to Hagrid. He could just sit here for the rest of the night, if he pleased, and Hagrid wouldn't ask a thing. He'd simply be there.

"Who's that out on the pitch, Hagrid?" he asked suddenly. The dark form hadn't moved.

Hagrid raised his dark eyes. "Not sure," he said dismissively. He popped the pipe into his mouth.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed.

"Could be, 'Arry, could be." Hagrid tapped his chin pensively with the tip of his pipe. He paused and eyed Harry keenly with glittering black eyes. "'E been causing you grief, of late?"

Always.

"Not more than usual," he heard himself sigh.

There was a lapse of silence between them.

"There's just something about Malfoy," Harry said finally.

Hagrid nodded, sucking on his pipe.

"He's so..."--beautiful--"...proud."

"Yeh might as well say the sea is full of water."

Surprised, Harry turned and looked at Hagrid.

"What?"

Hagrid turned and smiled slightly at Harry. "If there's no water in the sea, it's not the sea. If there's no pride in Malfoy--" Hagrid paused to take a pull on his pipe"--then he's not Malfoy."

Harry turned his eyes back to the dark form still standing motionless on the pitch.

"I did something really bad to Malfoy," Harry heard himself confess, just as he knew he would, eventually. "And I feel awful about it."

Hagrid simply sat in silence, waiting for Harry to elaborate.

"He--he's got some stuff going on right now. And he told me. And I took advantage of it. I used it against him." Harry felt wretched.

"I see," Hagrid said gravely. There was another stretch of silence.

"I want to apologize," Harry said suddenly.

Hagrid tapped out his pipe. Harry turned to him.

"Do you think I should?"

Hagrid leaned his tremendous bulk against the side of his hut. "It doesn't matter what I think, 'Arry. Do yeh think yeh oughter 'pologize?"

"Well obviously, I should!" Harry gestured helplessly under the huge brown coat. "I just--dunno if I can."

"The very fact that yeh know yeh should is half the battle, 'Arry. It proves just how grown up yeh are."

Harry sighed.

"Now, I won't lecture yeh, or suchlike. It's up to you 'Arry. You know yeh should. But will yeh?"

Harry looked out at the pitch again. The dark figure was gone.

"I kind of have to, don't I?" he asked softly.

"Yeh don't have to do anything."

"You know what I mean Hagrid! I--I couldn't sleep if I didn't."

"Well then, I think that's all the answer yeh need."

They fell into silence again. The last light of the sunset was fading over the tops of the mountains.

This is your chance to be the bigger man, Harry. Just go and apologize. Quickly, before he could change his mind or back out, Harry surged to his feet, letting the heavy weight of the coat slip to the grass.

"Right. That's it. I'm going to do it, Hagrid."

Hagrid simply smiled.

~*~

Harry and me we live in a dream

With a friend like him I don't need enemies

I don't know where morning is

It might not come today

That's the trouble when Harry's around

He forces me to play

I should have refused to meet this midnight cheat

He likes to prey on my mind with his own special treat

I don't know when morning comes,

It might not come today.

Harry likes to play all night

I'll do what Harry says

Don't bring Harry

I don't need him around.

~*~

Draco was seething. He couldn't even remember how he had passed the afternoon, it was clouded by the rage he had been sunken in since Potions class. His head ached, not only from his seemingly perpetual headache, but from having his teeth gritted for almost five hours straight. His muscles, still smarting from his fall in Quidditch--yesterday? God, no. Years ago. A different Draco, different Harry, different time, different place--were killing him, burning sullenly and continually like a banked fire. All day his mind kept wrestling the temptations of strangling and straddling Potter alternately. Though separate, both fantasies appealed to him equally.

For the past hour, while the sky darkened around him and the air chilled, Draco had been standing in the middle of the pitch. He wasn't really certain what had brought him there, or why he stood stock still for so long before launching himself into the air. It could have been the fact that, since early in the semester, all important events seemed to have centered around this pitch. When he had thrown Potter off his broom. When he had passed out after drinking the elixir and broken his wrist. When he had lost to Potter in the match yesterday. They all involved the pitch. They all involved him failing somehow. They all involved Potter. It seemed that, ever since the beginning of this year, he and Potter had been running in aimless little circles around each other, repeating the same tired lines over and over again.

Draco gripped his broom tightly and turned his face to the rushing wind, letting it wash over him as the last of the light faded over the mountains. There was an angry fire burning in the pit of his stomach, along his veins, in his muscles. He wanted to shed blood, he wanted to hurt something, he wanted to do damage. He snarled and throttled his broom vainly.

Fuck you, Potter.

Draco glanced down and saw, as if he had been summoned by a thought, the very object of all his hate, his pain, and his rage. Potter stood in the middle of the pitch, looking around, practically lost in shadow.

Draco didn't even think. He dropped out of the air, face twisted in a grimace of hatred. He landed heavily in front of Potter, crouching like a beast primed to attack. He felt his bloodthirsty anguish rising as he saw Potter jump, surprised by his sudden arrival. Harry started to speak, then simply stared at him, eyes widening. Draco bared his pointed teeth in a snarl and balled his hands into fists as he took a heavy step towards Potter. Still surprised by his rival's slightly deranged expression, Harry took a stumbling step backwards. His fear only served to make Draco hate him more.

"What the fuck," he snarled heavily through his clenched teeth, "do you want."

Potter's mouth worked, but he said nothing.

Fire was burning vengefully along Draco's veins, his fingernails were digging into his palms, his heart was pounding. He wanted to hurt Potter. Wanted to kill him. His vision was clouded by a red haze. He took another menacing step towards The Boy. The darkness of the Forbidden Forest loomed over Harry's shoulder.

"Draco--I--" Potter faltered again and unconsciously raised his hands to ward off blows they both knew were coming. His eyes hadn't left Draco's face.

"Since when," Draco balled his hands into tight fists, shoulders hunched.

"--do you--"

Something was building up in him. Something dangerous, rising to a breaking point,

"--call me--"

Power surged through his arm.

"--by my first name--"

Before he knew what was happening, his arm lashed out.

"--you bastard!"

With a cry of surprise and pain, Harry stumbled backwards again, holding his face. Exulting, Draco felt strength pour into his muscles. Adrenaline coursed through him, mixing dangerously with his hate, his lust, his anger. He swung again and Harry doubled over, holding his stomach where Draco's fist had connected with the firm muscles. Draco felt his face twist in a fierce grin.

"Fuck you, Potter!" he hissed as he landed another crashing blow on Potter's chin. Dazed, Harry took another stumbling step backwards. "You think you can just jerk me around like this?" Draco knew he sounded hysterical. He didn't care. "I'll kill you."

Harry gasped for breath, wincing. For a moment, a beam of dying sunlight fell across his face, illuminating his features. Pain. Fear. Shock. Draco hesitated. For a moment, he felt completely unsure of what to do next. He wanted to massacre this cringing creature before him. Another part of him wanted to suddenly be beside him, holding him tight, quieting his tears. And part of him just wanted to cry.

Before the light faded, he met Harry's eyes, those bright emeralds, now glistening with terror-filled tears. He was scared of Draco. He didn't love him! All that had occurred in Potions class was nothing but the teasing of a cruel joker. A mockery made of Draco's feelings. Though he had never admitted it to himself, there had been a tiny hope growing in him. Unconsciously, he had cherished the thought of Harry loving him back, he had nurtured the tiny spot of hope. Now, it was gone, ripped out and torn up by careless hands, and Draco felt it die with just as much pain as he would have felt if he had actually believed in the hope, actually acknowledged it, taken time to consider the possibilities. Now it was too late. And it was all Potters fault.

How could you let yourself even imagine that. Fool. Fool and blind. He doesn't love you. He was trying to hurt you!

With this thought Draco felt anger surge through him, like some dark thing possessing him, and he swung at Harry again, just as the light slipped from those shocked green eyes, fading away with the last of the sunset. As Draco's fist connected with Harry's cheekbone, just under the eye, a gasp escaped The Boy's lips and he reeled back from the force of the blow. Draco didn't hear it. He was breathing loudly, heavily, rubbing his fist that was screaming in pain from the force with which it had collided with Harry's face. Panting, he looked down at Harry, who was now sprawled limply in the cold grass at his feet. Suddenly, Draco's delirium faded away, and the world returned, sharp, crisp and cold. The Boy at his feet had changed from a monster to a pathetic child. He looked like a broken doll. Though he was no longer furious, Draco felt deceived, exposed and used. Looking down at Potter, who was bleeding from the lip and cheek and had a large purple bruise forming under one eye, Draco realized that he was feeling regretful. Not that he had hurt Potter, no. He felt relieved, almost satiated after letting loose all the emotion he had been feeling this week into his fists. He regretted the fact that Harry didn't love him.

"You're a bastard, you know," he murmured softly. Feeling as if someone had turned a page, as if the drama was finally over, Draco turned to go. It was all over.

However, something felt wrong. In the gathering darkness, Draco turned to cast a look at The Boy over his shoulder. He didn't appear to be breathing.

"Oh, shit," Draco muttered, turning swiftly and silently to kneel in the cold grass beside the still form. "Fuck, Potter, don't do this."

Draco looked down at the pale face, colored only by the vivid bruise on his cheek. The chest wasn't rising. The parted lips weren't issuing breath. Draco grimaced.

"Damn you, Potter." He put a palm on the immobile chest, steadying his shaking body as he reached to check the pulse. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Slow and sluggish, but definitely present.

Draco sighed heavily. " I thought I'd killed you." His eyes dropped to his hand on the chest. "You'd have deserved it," he muttered darkly.

Strangely enough, talking to Harry's unconscious form was oddly comforting, and he felt relieved to have Harry hear this, even if he was knocked out. "Do you know how much fucking pain you put me through?" he asked fiercely, not bothering to conceal his emotion now. The mask didn't mater. Harry wouldn't see. "You toyed with me!" He realized he was shaking Potter, gripping the front of his shirt and jarring him cruelly. The Boy did not wake. "You toyed with me and had no idea how much it hurt," he said quietly, letting Potter go, letting him drop limply into the grass. He didn't feel like hurting him again, the way he did before. He wanted to turn the tables, show him how it felt to be toyed with.

Considering, Draco looked down at Potter, the planes of the painfully familiar face either glowing with moonlight or harboring shadow. Such a stark portrait, the ebony with porcelain. It made Potter look sharp, like a painting, almost like he was nothing but ethereal blue moonlight and shadow. Nothing warm, nothing living. Draco had to check the pulse again just to make sure he truly was alive, that he was truly there. The pulse was stronger now, more normal, surging against the skin, pushing against his finger. Draco leaned in, now lying across Potter's chest. He watched the artery jump out of the porcelain neck. He gazed at it, fascinated. This was what kept the boy he loved, and hated, alive. On little flick--Draco scraped the tip of his finger rapidly over the pressure point--and his life would ebb away. Enraptured, he leaned in closer, his breath stirring the hair at the base of Harry's skull, where it curled around his neck. The heart was still pounding defiantly away, refusing to be quelled or silenced. Draco filled his ears with the sound of that heartbeat, as he watched the blood pulse under the sloping jawline. The impulse came to him to kiss it. He obeyed. He lay across Harry's chest and tenderly kissed the smooth skin that burned fiercely under his lips. He could have stayed there for hours if Harry hadn't woken up.

~*~

Everything came back to him at once, rushing in on him and flooding his system. Senses--sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. As his eyes flew open, Harry took in the night sky, his breath crystalizing on the air and--Draco? Draco was lying across him, resting on his chest. Harry could feel the warmth flowing out of his body, could feel Draco's soft lips against his neck. All he could taste was the metallic tinge of his own blood. He felt his eyes widen, and gasped for breath. Memories--Draco had attacked him! What was happening?

Harry was sorely confused. He gasped for another breath, and the warm body on top of his tensed.

"Malfoy?" he rasped, mind whirring with thousands thoughts, none of them coherent. Slowly, the warm face that had been nestled against his neck pulled away, and Harry quickly closed his eyes, thinking for one brief, fevered moment that Draco would hit him again. When nothing happened, he cautiously opened his eyes again. Draco's face was bare inches from his own, and his silver eyes were boring into Harry's. Glittering in the darkness, those pools of liquid mercury were searching Harry, looking for something Harry wasn't sure he had. He couldn't breathe. Draco's chest was still warm against his, he was barely moving. His hair, fine and soft as spider's silk, was brushing his cheeks, falling into his eyes. Harry's eyes unfocused, then focused again, bringing everything into sharper focus, clearer detail. Draco Malfoy was lying on top of him. Draco Malfoy had just knocked him out. Draco Malfoy had just kissed his neck.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered. His voice sounded weak, trembling as he struggled to think, struggled to react.

Draco considered him for a moment, as the night flooded in around them, filling everything with darkness and silence. "I'm not sure," he breathed softly. Even though he was barely inches from Harry's face, Harry could scarcely hear him over the roaring in his ears. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. Suddenly, swift and silent as a snake striking, Draco ducked closer to Harry, his sharp eyes never leaving Harry's face. He gulped in surprise, but didn't pull away, strangely pleased that Draco was as close as he was. Harry marveled at it, how, if he wanted, he could touch Draco's face, he could kiss him. He had never been this close to Draco, not when his mind wasn't clouded by rage. Harry suddenly became acutely aware of the cold air passing between them, of the empty space that still lingered between their faces. He wanted--needed--to close that remaining distance between them, it was driving him crazy. It shouldn't be there. He seemed, however, to be stuck, frozen in place, pinned down by Malfoy's piercing eyes. He couldn't blink. He couldn't look away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

Slowly, Draco raised a single cold hand and placed it ever-so-lightly on Harry's cheek. Harry heard his breath catch. This was dangerous. He knew it.

And he loved it.

Hesitantly, Harry tilted his head slightly into the touch. The cold hands had never felt so warm.

"Draco," he began softly. He had to get it out, he had to apologize, before things got deeper. "I came to..." He was finding it increasingly difficult to put words together, he was losing himself in those eyes. "To apolo--" Draco placed a finger, a single cold finger, on Harry's lips.

"Shut up, Potter."

He couldn't control himself and before he knew it, Harry had surged forward, his lips colliding with Draco's. There was a brief moment of awkwardness while they both froze just long enough for Harry to think feverishly that he had finally closed that annoying gap between them. Then Draco pressed his mouth firmly against Harry's, and a delighted shiver slid cold fingers up his spine, and he was lost. Completely and utterly lost. Lost in Draco, in the spicy cold smell of him, the sensation of running his tongue tentatively over the demanding lips bearing down on his own. Draco pushed his mouth closer, pulling harder against Harry's, tilting his head back into the crisp, sharp grass. Draco was claiming Harry's mouth as his own, sliding his tongue over Harry's, dominating him, making Harry's head swim in the most intoxicating way. Never had he ever kissed anyone like this--never had he been kissed like this. Nothing had ever felt like this. It was dangerous, it was thrilling. It was perfect. It was precisely what was right, and it was the only thing that was right. Blood was pounding in Harry's ears, the cold air was losing itself in the heat of his flushed cheeks.

Draco was kissing him hungrily, pushing his way firmly into Harry's mouth, making Harry delirious, making tiny points of light dance behind his closed eyelids. He submitted willingly, opening his mouth against Draco's, delighting in the goosebumps that sprung up all over his body. This was immediately the most important event in Harry's life, nothing else mattered. The world could have stopped spinning, time could have reversed, and yet, somehow, they would pale in comparison to the sensation of Draco Malfor kissing him in the grass.

Without warning, Draco tensed against him, and Harry knew some small voice of doubt was assailing Draco's thoughts. Just as it had begun to assail Harry's own.

And just what the fuck do you think you're doing!

Draco pulled away, ripping his warm lips away from Harry's as Harry gasped painfully. No. He was suddenly terrified. Terrified of what he might do or say, now that the commanding mouth had left his. His lips were aching from the urgency of Draco's kiss, his heart was thudding and he was gasping for breath. He stared up at the stars blossoming one by one over Draco's shoulder. He didn't even want to see the expression on his face. He was stunned by what had happened, horrified. But he still wished it would happen again. And again.

He could hear Draco's ragged breathing somewhere above him, he could still feel the tense, warm body against his. Finally, he turned and forced himself to look up at Draco. His expression made Harry's heart plummet, made a lump form in his throat. Draco looked horrified. Shocked. Harry heard one, single, pained, sob tear it's way out of his throat.

So. It was...

... wrong.

Draco pushed himself further away. More cold air rushed in to fill the warm places he had occupied. Harry continued to stare at him, Draco continued to stare right back.

Abruptly, Harry couldn't stand the sight of Draco's face, the sight of his terrified eyes and tense jaw. He couldn't stand the thought of Draco feeling as panicked as he suddenly did. He couldn't take it, he couldn't stand those eyes. Watching him. He wanted this dream-turned-nightmare to stop, he wanted it all to go away.

"Just go," he heard himself sob through clenched teeth. I know you want to. Just run. Leave. "This never happened."

Draco sat up, eyes wide and staring. Harry couldn't meet his gaze.

And suddenly, without another sound, Draco Malfoy was gone.