Hope

Part Three: Can't stop wanting

Harry's POV

Your thoughts are in a whirl now. You pinch yourself after he leaves and wonder if it really happened. A sharp nip on your arm confirms that you are not dreaming, it really happened. You can still feel the remnants of his breath across your ear, and the words echo in your head.

Don't give up hope.

Against all reason, your heart flutters and you can feel the stirrings of what you think must be hope, because if he kissed you then what you dreamed of and desired may not be without hope after all. Gingerly, you rub the ball of your thumb across your lips, and a smile lifts the corners of your mouth. In truth you can't remember much of the kiss, it was very quick and took you by surprise. But you imagine that you can still feel the imprint of his lips on yours, and if there is one thing that you know, it's that you want it to happen again, and again.

That night in your dorm room your mind enacts a scene over and over. In it, there you are hands pressed against a wall, either side of Draco's head and you're leaning in to kiss him - thoroughly this time. His hands are lightly resting on your hips, but as you drag your tongue across his lips, his grip tightens. He pulls you close so that your bodies are touching chest to knee, and the flush that heats your body makes you shiver with desire.

Strangely enough, as much as you want him, and try to make your mind play out that scenario, it seems stuck at the languorous kissing. That's still enough to get your heart racing though, and your fingers grip the sheets so hard that your knuckles crack as you try so desperately to refrain from touching yourself.

Sometimes in your dreams you've woken aching and sweaty and breathless in your need, wanting nothing more than to close your hand around yourself and stroke until you come screaming his name and finally feel the need for release abate. But you don't. You don't ever touch yourself like that. Not while you are thinking of him anyway. It seems disrespectful somehow. There are times when you think you might explode from the intensity of those dreams though, and there are times when you wake too late, sticky and sweaty and smelling of semen. On those nights, you fall asleep again, faintly sick that you have such little control over your subconscious. This is one of those nights.

When you look at yourself in the mirror the next morning, you see a gleam in your eyes; one that you hadn't realised was missing until you had it back. There's a spring in your step and on your way to breakfast, you don't ignore your friends like you have been for the past weeks. In the Great Hall, while you are eating your sausages and eggs, your eyes scan the tables for the telltale blond head.

He's late however and it's not until you are almost finished that he enters the hall. You find your heart thumping and you're sure that you face becomes so flushed that everyone can see it and know exactly what you are feeling. Your nerves are all jittery and you wonder how the two of you will be now. You watch him, waiting for the instant that he catches your eye, and when he does, it is in that instant that you know he much he has actually raised your hopes again.

Because he all but dashes them with that look. There was nothing in that look, not even dislike. It was as if he was looking right through you like you did not exist. For an eternity you could search those eyes and not find a single emotion, you think. You're sure the shock must have registered on your face, because he frowns a little and looks away.

Troubled now, you almost get up and leave the Hall, confused and trembling a little from the build up, the anticipation of seeing Draco. The let down was harsh, and all your thoughts tumble around in the echo of your mind. You think that surely your brain has left, shut down, because things, concrete things like what day it is, and what it is you have been putting in your mouth, just aren't there any more. All you are left with is the conflicting emotions warring with the emptiness.

Why did he kiss me? Was it all a joke? Was it some part of a cruel plot? Will he kiss me again? You drop your fork onto your plate and have half a mind to go and confront him with those very questions. The thing that stops you is the loud laughter coming from the Slytherin table. When you look once more in that direction, you see that he is laughing with his friends and looking at you. Pain wells in your chest as you think that somehow he has got the better of you in this, as he does not in your physical fights. Of course it was a joke, what else could it be? And now you wonder if Malfoy knew all along how you felt and was using it against you. You know with a certainty, that he will tell everyone.

Unable to sit through the laughter and ridicule, you leave, trying fearlessly to hold your head high and not let the barbs sting. Once you reach the corridor, you slump against the wall, defeated by the stares and laughs and whispers that you are sure are directed at you. When you can push yourself away from the wall, you head to class, disorientated because you can still feel his lips on yours and your knuckles still throb from gripping the sheets so tightly as you tried so determinedly not to touch yourself.

And you can't stop wanting him.

Part Four: For Secrecy

Draco's POV

Standing at the Entrance to the Great Hall, you pause for a few minutes, just watching Harry. He was looking around the room, searching for someone. You know he's looking for you and whilst there is a certain amount of flattery in that, you curse him anyway, because he's so bloody obvious! You watch as his eyes dart around the room, those damned green eyes now hopeful. If you had a conscience you might have felt guilty about that kiss and putting that look in his eyes under false pretences, but you don't have a conscience and so you don't feel guilty.

You take a few seconds to reflect on the kiss. At the time you felt that it wasn't as terrible as what you thought it would be to kiss Harry. Not that you had ever thought of kissing him, but if you had, you would have been disgusted you're sure. But, it wasn't terrible, just different. At least it was something that you feel you can face, if your plan is to work and he is to save you.

While you are standing there, Zabini approaches you and tells you that he saw you kiss Potter last night and demands to know what you think you're doing kissing the fucking boy who lived. After the initial shock, you snort and tell him that you're fucking with the Gryffindor's brain, that you had found out he was gay, and thought you'd play along because this was one way that you knew you could beat him. String him along, make him fall for you and dump him like yesterday's rubbish. Which isn't all that far removed from your actual plan anyway, the difference being that you will wait to dump him until after he has saved you from the life that your father had mapped out for you following Voldemort.

Zabini laughs and tells you that you are the sneakiest son of a bitch Slytherin around, and you bask in the admiration for a second before telling him that he must not tell anyone the plan. Garbled reports could get back to your father, and you'd rather not have to explain kissing Harry Potter to him, despite your plan. Especially seeing as he might use it as a way to get you to kill Harry, you add silently. That's the last thing you want. No, this plan was just between Harry and yourself, and now Zabini, but he could be trusted not to say anything, just for the pleasure he would get seeing the Golden Boy crushed.

For secrecy then, you compose your face into a mask of indifference, because you have to stop those green eyes from giving everything away. You walk into the Hall and don't look at Harry directly, but around the room. When you catch his eye you just stare at him, through him, trying not to let any emotion show, although in the end you frown a little because you can see the effect that has on him.

As you sit down, you hear that Zabini has told the rest of Slytherin that he heard Potter was gay, and you join in the laughter, cursing that you didn't tell Zabini to keep that quiet as well. Now Harry will have to deal with that too. Not that you care, no, that's not in your make up, but it would have made things easier had it not been public knowledge. You want Harry concentrating on two things; yourself and getting rid of Voldemort, not having to defend himself to mindless, narrow minded, ignorant mudbloods.

You watch him and see how he looks to almost fold in on himself and you know he thinks that you are all talking about him and that kiss. He leaves and you give him a few minutes before nodding to Zabini and following him. He makes a pathetic figure stumbling off towards class and sighing, you run after him, surprising yourself that you're running. You catch his shoulder and spin him around to face you.

His eyes pierce through you and despite yourself you cringe. The anguish and hurt you see in them doesn't surprise you. It was not going to be easy explaining all this to him, but you try anyway. He's too important to you. Blushing, oddly enough, you tell him that Zabini saw the kiss, and you've dealt with it, but he had already told people that Harry was gay. He's furious but you can see the need still burning in his eyes. He wants to believe you, wants to believe that it wasn't your fault. You can feel that he wants to touch you.

So, you tell him that whatever happens between you, it must stay a secret, because if your father ever found out he would kill you. Harry tells you forcefully that he would never let that happen, and you smile gently at him, because you know he will be your hero after all. You wonder whether or not you need to kiss him again, but you don't get to make the decision because he kisses you. This time you get to know what it feels like for Harry to be kissing you, and before you can stop yourself, you're kissing him back. It really isn't terrible at all.

His lips are chapped, but the flicker of his tongue across your lips carries the faint taste of his breakfast, and all you can do is open your mouth and let him in. Until your common sense kicks in that is and you pull back a little breathlessly. To cover, you tell him that his lips are chapped, and he looks at you in surprise and replies that lip gloss is for girls. Imperiously, you snort and tell him that chapstick isn't and if he wants any more kisses then he should get some. You can't have him damaging your perfect lips after all.

Footsteps further down the corridor alert you to the fact that you are in a public place and so you step further apart. He smiles at you with those damned green hopeful eyes, tells you that in the interests of secrecy you had better remember to fling insults at him, and then walks off, no longer stumbling, but confident and sure of himself. You give yourself a small smile and tell yourself that the plan is working, and lightly rub your thumb across your lips still astonished at yourself for kissing him back - and not hating it.