Clear

It was all suddenly very clear to Draco. He finally realized. He had not thought about it much, never thought that it would be that important.

But now, it was.

Draco suddenly realized why it was so important for some people that their spouse was a virgin. Just the very thought of the one you love being touched by hands that weren't yours, being kissed by other lips than yours, being fucked by someone other than you.

It would be enough to drive someone insane with jealousy and possessiveness.

He stared across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table, taking note of the how close Potter and that Weasley girl were sitting together. How she looked up into Potter's eyes, inches away, smiling. And especially how Potter smiled back, face lit up, eyes bright and cheerful.

They are not dating, they are not dating, they are NOT dating...

...yet.

Draco's heart gave a malicious wrench as he saw that Weasley girl leaned against Potter's shoulder briefly, and Potter grinning down at her. The two in their own private joke, behaving as if they really were lovers. Were they? Draco wasn't sure, but he was sure of the jealousy that was shooting through him rapidly.

A small frown furrowed between his brows as he stabbed at his breakfast. Damn his overactive imagination! He could see them now, holding hands, kissing...that damn Weasley girl running her hands all over Potter. When he looked over at them again, Potter was concentrating on something, and the Weasley girl was talking to Seamus across the table.

Draco chose that delectable moment to carefully examine Potter's lips, so red, and currently pressed tightly together. Upper lip rather thin, but compensated by full bottom lip that curved gently in a bow. Rather chapped, but Draco noticed that he had a tendency to chew his bottom lip whenever he was especially focused on something. Like now.

A furious, maddening, murderous rage of jealously and resentment flooded his being completely.

No. Potter can't date anyone. He simply can't. When one has a girlfriend, or boyfriend, one tends to do...intimate things. Intimate hands-on things. Intimate hands-on things that were sexual in nature, and, if not careful, would rapidly deteriorate into full blown sex.

Draco hands were shaking as he picked up his bag and left the Great Hall, silver eyes narrowed and glinting dangerously, lips compressed into a thin line, and his small frown had deepened and darkened his brow. He curled his fingers into fists.

They were still shaking.

***

Harry watched as Pansy Parkinson pulled on Malfoy's robe as he walked by her desk. Harry sneered inwardly. Faker. She was obviously pretending that she didn't understand how to do the question so that Malfoy could teach her. Obviously.

And did he have to lean over her? Did he have to be so close to her? Did he have to put one hand on the back of Pansy's chair while pointing at her parchment with his other, head bent so that if Pansy turned her head to face him, they would be close enough to fucking kiss each other? Did he have to talk in his low voice, as if he was whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and did Pansy have to giggle every so often as if he fucking was?

And...was he?

Unreasonable anger welled up in him suddenly as he thought of Malfoy even being so near to someone who had the potential to be his girlfriend. It enraged him to no end, and for no reason. It made him inexplicably sad and depressed. It almost made him want to go up to Malfoy and claim him right now, right here.

Almost.

Biting down hard on his lip, Harry tried to persuade himself that whatever it was he was thinking and feeling, he was not obsessed with Malfoy. Definitely not.

Just because he wanted Malfoy for himself, and was insanely jealous of whoever got too near him didn't make Harry obsessed, right?

It didn't work. Harry could feel his heart sinking and breaking when Malfoy's hand went from Pansy's parchment, to tilt her chin up to him, and then Malfoy was leaning in closer, eyes behind lowered lashes, making him appear almost shy. Pansy was trying too hard not to grin, and hope was written all over her face.

A flash of red and green blinded Harry.

"NO!" he shouted, banging his fist on the table and standing abruptly, knocking his heavy wooden chair over.

The entire class froze, and every single head turned to face him, eyes wide, mouths agape. Malfoy had been startled, and had his wand drawn and ready, posture frozen and alert, his eyes already darting around the room before it landed on Harry.

Professor McGonagall stood slowly from her desk at the front of the room. "Mr. Potter. What appears to have been the cause of your little...outburst?"

Harry flushed as he blinked once. Twice. With no small amount of trepidation, he stuttered "N-n-nothing. Nothing, Professor. I - I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just...don't know what got into me."

Professor McGonagall's gaze was piercing, and Harry flushed even deeper under it. "Well then. Why isn't anyone getting on with their work? Mr. Malfoy, put your wand away. You have no use for it in a theory lesson. Mr. Potter, do pick your chair up and sit down. And try not to have any more of your...sudden exclamations in class. Other teachers may not be as forgiving."

The class buzzed as quills were dipped in ink and notes were rapidly scribbled down, all the while whispering about what happened. Malfoy stuck his wand back to his sleeve and continued on his way to the wall of books on the far side of the classroom. By the looks of it, he had already finished copying notes from their textbook, and was looking for more.

Still blushing furiously, Harry set his chair the right way up again and slumped into it, trying to make himself seem as small as possible. Keeping his head down, he could hear the low murmurs from his classmates, and sniggers from the Slytherins.

He had never been so utterly embarrassed in his entire life.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?" whispered Ron, fixing a quizzical look on him. "Does it have anything to do with You-Know-Who?" He looked terrified at the very thought.

"No, it wasn't him. It was just -" the other him "- just vertigo, or something, that's all. It wasn't anything. Or maybe I was half asleep, you know. I haven't really caught up with my sleep yet."

"Maybe you're coming down with a slight cold?" asked Ron. "You're right, anyway, probably just a dream." He turned back to his work.

If only dreams weren't this vivid and didn't make his heart hurt like this.