Indifference

* * *

He is beautiful.

Harry thinks of words to describe Draco bathing in the silvery moonlight but, oddly, the only word that springs into his head is beautiful.

He savors the sight before him--how Draco's hair gleams like spun gold and how his eyes seem luminous grey--because he knows how rare it is to find the blond Slytherin in an unguarded moment. Indeed, his face is bereft of its usual malicious sneer and his eyes are warm from unhidden emotions.

And he is close--so close, and yet so far away that it takes all of Harry's restraint not to run down to the lake and seize Draco into his arms and kiss him and love him and take him and bury himself so deep inside him...

Merlin, but he missed Draco.

It is at times like this that Harry wants to groan aloud in sheer frustration. Seeing Draco--so close--sitting serenely at the lake's edge looking utterly angelic can lead saints to lascivious thoughts. . . so bloody beautiful it takes Harry's breath away. But Harry continues to look; he can't help but look.

Like the previous nights since his argument with Draco, Harry isn't able to sleep. Tonight is like one of those tepid nights in autumn--he feels suffocated by the room, heat and memories of the times he and Draco have spent there threatening to overwhelm his mind and senses. He tosses and turns in his bed, but sleep eludes him. In the end, he chooses to go for a nocturne walk on the castle grounds.

And then he sees Draco.

He remembers their fight clearly; how Ron and Hermione tried to intervene but couldn't, how they screamed harshly at each other, how Harry blamed Draco for being a heartless bastard like his father, how Draco sneered and taunted Harry about his dead parents, how Harry hit him hard...

...How Draco's grey eyes darkened with hatred and hurt and pain, all flashing by in a split second only to be replaced by a shuttered look...

"I hate you, Potter."

It was said in a cold voice filled with finality.

The next day, Harry saw Draco snogging Terry Boot near the Slytherin dungeons.

Harry cried that first night. The next morning, he came down to the Great Hall with a resolve.

Indifference.

He's going to regard Draco with indifference.

Since then, he has turned a blind eye to everything Draco does, telling himself not to care over and over again. Until now.

Now, he continues to look at him, not caring if it hurts. Now sees a figure in a heavy cloak walk towards Draco from the castle. He sees the person remove the cloak, and he sees Terry Boot. He reaches down to touch Draco's shoulder, and Draco turns to smirk at him. A tryst, then.

Indifference, Harry reminds himself again.

He turns and walks back to the castle.

He tries not to run.

* * *

After waking up from a cheerful "Good morning, lads!" from Seamus Finnigan, a whine from Neville, a laugh from Dean, a disgruntled snort from Ron and a shower, Harry goes down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He avoids looking at the Slytherin table, as he has done for a week, and sits down between Ron and Hermione.

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione greets him, concern etching on her face.

"G'morning," he murmurs as he puts some bacon and omelet on his plate, and starts to eat.

"Blimey, Harry, you had a miserable night or what?" Ron says, ever the epitome of tact. A swift kick on his shin makes him yelp. "Ow! Hermione!"

"Ron!" She darts a quick glance at Harry, who ignores them, and whispers "Not now!" She looks meaningfully at the Slytherin table. There, Draco Malfoy is regaling his housemates with a story that makes them snigger. He has his arm around Blaise Zabini, who is smiling seductively at him.

Ron narrows his eyes. "Disgusting," he spits, and it earns him another swift kick.

Harry keeps eating his breakfast, stubbornly ignoring them. Ron sighs. "I'm sorry, mate," he says, albeit unrepentantly. He searches for distractions around the Great Hall, and finds one from the Hufflepuff table. "Look, Harry, Zacharias Smith is staring at you."

Harry takes a last sip of his orange juice and stands up. "I'm finished," he says, and leaves the room. He doesn't notice the helpless looks Hermione and Ron shoot at each other.

* * *

Harry doesn't know where his feet are taking him, but when he finally sits down, he notices that he is in the Potions classroom. He still has a few minutes until the class, so he reckons he might as well read for a while. He gingerly takes out his Potions text to start reading.

Moments later, Gryffindors and Slytherins start to enter the classroom and he still hasn't moved from the first paragraph.

Today's Potions lesson is the typical one for Harry. Snape takes Merlin knows how many points from Gryffindor, humiliates Harry and praises the Slytherins. Harry half-listens to Snape, stares at the board and resists the temptation to glance at Draco. It also ends typically, with Snape delaying him after class to tell him about his detention.

He is on his way to his Transfigurations class when he hears a moan and sees two figures kissing and grinding against each other. When he recognises them, Harry is unable to move, his blood running cold--so cold. A blond head rises from Zabini's shoulder and pierces him with mocking silvery grey eyes.

Draco...

He lets out a shaky breath and continues toward his Transfiguration class.

* * *

Harry stares blindly in front of the classroom as Professor McGonagall talks about human transfiguration. He ignores both Ron and Hermione, who are exchanging concerned looks. He ignores McGonagall and her lecture. He ignores the suggestive glances Zacharias Smith is giving him. He ignores the soft chatter of both the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He ignores everything... and tries to forget.

But he can't. Images of those mocking grey eyes from Zabini's shoulder haunt him, maim him, overwhelm him... he can't think, can't move, can't brea--

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry blinks. "Yes, Professor?"

"Do share what you think is more interesting than my subject."

He shakes his head slowly. "There's nothing, Professor."

Just Draco.

McGonagall frowns, but a hint of sympathy marred the look. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Pay attention to what I'm saying next time."

Harry nods and looks at the front of the classroom. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Zacharias Smith looking at him again, his eyes glinting with open interest. Harry sighs. He isn't exactly an innocent--not after Draco--and he can guess what Smith wants from him.

After the news of their break-up, many admirers have resurfaced for both of them. Draco, being the Slytherin that he is, takes advantage of this and is seemed to be bent on snogging different boys every day. Harry ignores them, willing them to go away.

Now, he looks at Zacharias Smith--really looks at him. Zacharias notices him and smiles, and Harry is surprised at how good he looks. Pale blue eyes--almost grey--and lush lips, pale skin, blonde hair...

Harry smiles slowly at him.

* * *

Harry becomes aware of the hands roaming on his chest, the hard body pressed to his, and the velvet mouth devouring him. He leans more against the wall and Zacharias smiles that beautiful smile of his and Harry kisses him again, his tongue slithering into that hot mouth. Zacharias leans closer, and Harry closes his eyes as the blonde's mouth trails soft, wet kisses down to his throat. Moaning, he lifts his head and clutches the other boy's head. Zacharias bites him gently, and his eyes fly open.

And he sees Draco watching them intently.

Draco's grey eyes have their usual blank, shuttered look, and he is leaning against one of the corridor's walls lazily. Harry flushes, aroused, staring back at Draco and shuddering uncontrollably at the intensity of that look. He gasps, shaken, when he feels Zacharias unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers and Zacharias' wandering hand goes down, down, down to his--Oh, God...

Harry comes, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip and grasping Zacharias' shoulders tightly, his mind imprinted with swirling ecstasy and haunting grey eyes.

Dimly, he hears a murmur of "Congratulations, Potter."

When Harry opens his eyes, Draco is gone. Zacharias feels him stiffen and kisses his lips. "Was that Malfoy I heard?"

Harry shakes his head and hushes Zacharias with a kiss.

* * *

Autumn is nearing its end, and the wind is getting colder by the minute. Harry tightens his scarf around his neck and continues his walk toward Hogwarts castle. He has walked for hours, a habit that has become a soothing routine since the "argument". He feels cold and tired, but also relaxed. He has finally gotten away from his friends' teasing comments about Zacharias and him--it is very obvious that they much prefer him to Draco--and Harry, for all his indifference, can't help but be annoyed.

A month. A month has passed since Draco, and the news of him and Zacharias has spread like wildfire at Hogwarts. Some students gush over them, others are disappointed to see the Boy-Who-Lived with someone once again, and the rest ignores them.

But Draco simply looks at them.

Harry is always aware of the Slytherin's penetrating gaze, looking at them with that empty stare. He can feel it from across the Great Hall, in classes with Slytherin, and in Quidditch matches. It feels unnerving, Harry thinks, but also--

He gasps when strong arms encircled his waist and from behind, a smooth voice murmurs, "Miss me?" Harry smiles, and turns to face Zacharias.

"Hello," he says.

Zacharias chuckles and drags him to a corridor in the dungeons. Pressing him against the wall, he grins and proceeds to kiss Harry hungrily, his tongue sliding inside Harry's mouth. Harry slides his arms around his neck and pulls him closer. Zacharias' hand slips up his chest and clutches the scarf, tugging it off and letting it fall on the floor to be forgotten, before kissing and sucking and licking his throat.

And just as Harry is enjoying the heady sensations, something collides with Zacharias that makes the Hufflepuff yelp and fall unto his back.

"Hey!" Zacharias says angrily. Harry frowns at the sudden lost of the warm body against his, and he turns toward the figure. He gasps when he sees Draco sneering viciously at them.

"What the hell was that for?" says the Hufflepuff angrily. He vaguely hears Zacharias yelling and sputtering; yet he can't help but stare incredulously at the Slytherin in front of him.

Draco shrugs elegantly. "You're in the way." He smirks. "But then again, I guess you were so busy with Potter, eh?" He bores those piercing grey eyes at Harry, and Harry stubbornly stares back. "I can relate." It is a whisper.

"Why you--" Zacharias looks ready to exploded. He is shaking and he has his wand pointed at Draco.

"Zacharias," Harry says, his voice quiet and his hand holding the outstretched arm by the irate Hufflepuff, "let's just go the common room." His eyes remain locked with steely grey ones.

A disbelieving stare. "Harry--"

Stubbornly. "Let's go."

* * *

Harry and Zacharias have already settled in the Gryffindor common room when he remembers his scarf. It is a gift from Mrs. Weasley last year, and his favorite. He doesn't want to leave it lying about only to be trudged upon by others. Sighing, he stands up from the sofa beside Zacharias.

"Harry?" Zacharias asks as Harry reaches the door. "Where are you going?" Ron looks up inquiringly from a chess game with Seamus, and across the fireplace Hermione does the same, closing her book with a snap.

Harry smiles sheepishly. "I forgot my scarf in the dungeons." He gives a reassuring glance to his friends and shoots a half-hearted glare at his boyfriend, who rakishly grins at him. He follows Harry at the door, and kisses him possessively.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asks, frowning.

Harry shakes his head. "I'm sure he's already gone."

The frown deepens. "But--"

"And I can handle him." He kisses Zacharias softly and tells him to go back to the common room. With a concerned glance, the blond boy returns to his seat.

Harry's eyes follow his boyfriend as he sits and chats with his friends. He feels guilty for using Zacharias like this... like an alternate for Draco. As a shield to stop himself from minding and obsessing about Draco. To help him put up the façade of indifference.

But Zacharias is very nice and kind and tender and he cares genuinely about Harry, and while Harry might not love him, but he likes him. With a tiny smile, he trots back to the dungeons.

Near the corridor, he stops.

Draco is still standing in the corridor with his head bowed down, looking at the scarf lying innocently at the floor. His eyes still have that shuttered look in them, although like last night, his face lacks its usual façade. He bends down and then straightens with the scarf held in his hand.

He holds the thick scarf with two hands, his fingers softly caressing the soft material. Then he brings his hands to his mouth and brushes the fabric back and forth across his lips, moaning quietly. He pauses, inhaling slowly, and his eyes darken and grow sensuous. A muscle flexes in his jaw.

Then Draco groans, and in a hoarse, pained voice, he says, "Fuck you, Potter." He drops the scarf, turns, and leaves the corridor.

Harry leans back, suddenly feeling breathless. His mouth is dry, his legs are weak and the beating of his heart reverberates throughout his body. He swallows hard, lifting his hand to his cheek. It feels hot, and his hand is shaking, quivering, trembling...

Indifference.

"God, Draco, what are you doing to me?"