The Subtle Knife

Chapter 9: Mischievous Heart

As he was stuck staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, Draco decided on the final Friday of lessons that he would make the best he could out of his suffering.

He had managed to avoid Harry Potter for nearly the past month and focused himself on drilling Quidditch practices four times a week in preparation for the upcoming January game against Gryffindor. There was no way he was going to have Potter win this time. Not after he had been humiliated more then once on such a personal level this year.

The rest of his time was spent on schoolwork. Several of the professors- Snape and McGonagall in particular- were in nasty, non-holiday spirits and gave them more work than ever before. Normally, Draco would have complained along with his friends about it, but he relished the distraction the assignments provided for once.

Before heading down to the awaiting carriages Pansy stopped in the Slytherin common room. There, Draco was reading his Arithmancy textbook halfheartedly and munching on one of the mince-tarts Goyle had stolen from the castle kitchens earlier that past week.

"Draco?" Pansy said with trepidation as she put down her shoulder-bag. She sat down on the couch across from where Draco was sitting and carefully smoothed out her dark skirt. She hadn't bothered to use a shortening charm in some time. "I know that we haven't been on the...greatest...of terms lately-"

Draco finally glanced up from his text, slightly annoyed with her presence. He was at a particularly interesting segment on how heart numbers correlated between soulmates. "That is an understatement." A sharp twitch of something reminded him exactly whose fault it was that their relationship was on the precarious grounds that it now seemed to be.

Potter, of course. If it hadn't been for Potter...

Pansy was playing with a large gold hoop earring of hers that dangled nearly to her neck. "Anyway..." She smiled coyly and batted her eyelashes a couple times.

Oh, God, not again!

Although she did give a good blow job that Draco reckoned he might one day miss.

"I wanted to give you this." Pansy reached inside her lavender leather bag (embroidered with indigo and yellow pansies) and pulled out a small box wrapped in green paper that was tied neatly with a glittering silver bow.

Draco eyed her as she proffered the present to him. He snatched it after a moment with a sneer on his face.

Pansy sighed. "I know you didn't get me anything-"

Draco glared at her. What did she want from him? "You're not joking." He tapped his finger impatiently on the spine of his tome.

Pansy glared back for a moment before her features softened and she smiled...seductively? Her lips curled up slightly. "Well then, Merry Christmas, Draco. I hope the solitude suits you."

He ignored her comment and returned to his textbook with a mumbled "whatever".

As Draco just sat there lethargically, Pansy got up and began to drag her trunk towards the door herself. She obviously didn't think to use a lifting charm. "I'll warn you now, Draco, don't try my gift out alone. Don't. Please wait until I get back." She laughed quietly to herself and Draco heard the giggles as the stone door shifted itself back into the wall.

"Stupid bitch," he added to himself.

As Draco was the sole Upper-Year Slytherin remaining for the holidays- there were a number of second years- he had much of the common room and the lavatories and the dorms to himself- not that he necessarily needed all of them. It was nice, if lonely, to be on his own over the holidays. It reminded him of when he was younger, only his mother would have been hovering around and smothering him constantly so it wasn't quite the same.

Blaise was staying over the holidays too. But she didn't count. Apparently her parents were having some sort of twenty-year wedding anniversary and spending it in Acapulco without her. She was rarely around the dungeons or library or anywhere, though. Draco considered himself alone.

It was eerily quiet down in the upper years' section of the dorms. They were far enough away from the second years' that Draco couldn't hear them at all, even without a silencing charm that he often had to cast when he was studying for tests. He allowed himself to lie in until nearly noon every morning before he sauntered up into the Great Hall (albeit alone) for lunch.

At meals, however, he could feel the perpetual glares from the Gryffindork table and the Dream Team (who stuck together for everything) and the loud whispers (directed at him) of "Oh, poor Malfoy; he's all alone. I guess his parents don't want him around now that You Know Who is back," followed by their obnoxious laughter, especially on the Weasel's part.

Draco found that it worked best to ignore the taunts and began to bring library books on ritual daggers of eighteenth century Yorkshire origin or on Sir Henry Hampstead Meelayna to the meals he bothered to show up for. He was pleased to learn that the dagger in question likely had a remarkable binding strength between star-crossed lovers and that the sapphires were used to increase potency. Draco still hadn't determined whether it was fertility-related or magically-related.

So it seemed that his father had indeed given him a rather useless gift, which now resided under his bed to gather dust.

Draco also realized that he had never properly thanked his father for the gift so on the first Monday of the holidays he went up to the Great Hall (past noon) in hopes of having his eagle owl already waiting impatiently at the Slytherin table with some Christmas treats from home. This would give him the opportunity to send his thank you note as well as his parents' presents: new earrings for his mother (she had sent him a cut-out of them from her favourite catalogue, Ross-Simons) and a new black tie for his father that his mother had suggested several months previously.

Medusa was waiting there for him when Draco arrived, hungry and with his quill and parchment in hand. She bit him hard on the finger for being late as he sat down on the bench, which had a bum-warming spell in place for winter.

The Slytherins never told the Gryffindors, or any other house, that Professor Snape always cast it for them. It was an in-house secret.

"Bloody bird!" he hissed as he sucked on the bleeding beak-mark on his index finger.

Draco swore he heard laughter from the Gryffindor region. He narrowed his eyes and turned with his back to them.

Dear Father, he began to write, thinking of how exactly to word his letter.

Happy Christmas! seemed like a good start, even if he was still angry with his father for what he had done in Switzerland recently. He couldn't let his emotions show so Draco neatly spelled out the greeting in festive green ink that blinked gold and silver.

I wanted to thank you for the relatively useless gift you gave me in September. Please forgive my tardiness to do so as I never got the chance prior to this.

Draco smirked to himself, imagining his father's scowl when he read it. Good.

The dagger is, as I am certain you know, of late eighteenth century Yorkshireorigin and used for binding rituals, especially between star-crossed or unwilling lovers. So unless you had planned that I was to fall in love with a star-crossed lover, the gift was usle-

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

Oh joy. The Dream Team.

Potter, Weasley and the Mudblood had taken the trouble to walk over to the Slytherin table just to bother him. Draco felt almost...special...

"Here to wish me a Happy Christmas?" he drawled, making a conscious attempt to avoid H- Potter's eye.

Weasley must have noticed that he was writing a letter. "Applying for early admission as a Death Eater? Friendly letter to a dark lord?" He leered, red hair and hideous freckles perking up.

Draco felt the colour drain from his face at the quip, but he managed a scowl. "I'm writing a letter to my father," he stated in a clipped and aggravated manner.

"Right." Granger's mud-brown eyes narrowed.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy." Weasley glared and Granger had to grab his elbow to lead the pair off before the stupid sod tried to do something harmful to himself.

Leaving Harry Potter a few feet behind, beside Draco.

Potter looked at Draco expressionlessly, his eyes blank and haunting- it reminded Draco of when he glanced at Potter after the Triwizard Tournament and he swallowed nervously.

Potter had the tiniest hint of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth. "Speaking of your father," he leaned in closely to Draco and Draco felt his blood begin to pound and his breath hitch in nervous anticipation, even though Potter seemed so threatening and...dangerous...His eyes were an eerie emerald. "What would your father say, Draco? You, lusting after the Boy Who Lived? His only son and heir turning into the biggest. Poof. In. Hogwarts?" In a subdued and menacing voice.

Potter leaned back away from Draco to survey the damage. The malachite necklace was lacklustre.

Draco felt his fist clench along with his heart. That bastard was Dumbledore's Golden Boy? "Shut your gob!" he snarled, no tears beginning to form, only utter and complete loathing. "You don't know him at all!"

Potter just laughed softly, obviously not wanting to draw attention, and walked away, leaving Draco to stew in his ire.

Fuck you, Potter! He wanted to shout, but something held him back, most likely Dumbledore, who had just come into the Great hall in frilled scarlet robes that made him look like a walking poinsettia. The Headmaster smiled gaily at the Trio, who smiled back innocently before resuming their glares at Draco.

"I don't need this." And Draco, for the first time in his history at Hogwarts, stomped loudly from the Great Hall, making sure to bang the massive door behind him with a deafening slam that echoed even into the dungeons.

Professor Snape wouldn't appreciate that, but Draco would have to deal with him later.

Draco brooded the remainder of the day in the Slytherin common room, jabbing harshly with a wrought-iron poker at the emerald and ruby flames burning in the fireplace. He was hoping Potter could feel the stabs. Take that! A white-hot log split in three and crackled loudly. And that, you ruddy imbecile! Sparks flew up and landed in his hair, ashes amongst the silver, but Draco didn't care about his beloved hair for once.

In his dorm, sitting on his bed, hands wringing the forest-green velvet curtains into a tight wad, the silver dagger half-peering out from under his bed caught his eye.

Don't keep it for yourself. Give it to someone...

Draco glared at it. Potter gets a present from you that's not poisonous or fatal? Am I not worthy enough to be the messenger of something important, Father?

"Stupid bastard." He looked at the forest-green coverlet he sat on. It was green...like...

"Sodding Gryffindor."

Why did everything always go back to him?

Draco scowled darkly and glared harder, longer. He was mad. Seething at yet another rejection. He wanted real revenge this time.

I always win, Potter. You shoot me down; I'll get you back worse.

Later that evening, with the sun set and the castle covered in heavy midnight shadows, Draco crept up to the Gryffindor area of Hogwarts, wary of the fat bitch in the portrait who was known for ratting out intruders or generally suspicious-looking individuals.

He pulled out his wand, smiling viciously. "Serpensortiae Apertus!"

That would teach him to mess with a Slytherin.

* * * * *

Draco actually bothered to wake up early the following morning. He almost ran up to the Great Hall; thankfully no one else was around to see this as Malfoys are never in a hurry to go anywhere. Plus, it would have seemed suspicious.

He waited patiently for the house elves to arrive with breakfast, followed by a perplexed Professor Snape (more so when he noticed Draco smiling winningly) and lastly the other students and professors.

Draco saw the triumvirate of Gryffindorks waltz in, led by none other than Harry Potter, and his trail of admiring fans in suit. They didn't walk to the Gryffindor table that morning but passed it curtly and continued on to the Slytherin side of the Great Hall.

A group of half a dozen bristled Gryfffindolts stopped in front of him, arms folded and scowling. Some even had the audacity to mumble insults about his mother and father.

Draco finished chewing on his piece of toast before looking up languidly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you now, Potter?" he drawled, knowing full well why the mob was glaring.

"We know it was you, arsehole!" Weasley, red all over, stepped up.

The Mudblood scowled. "Ron," she warned and the Weasel closed his mouth obediently, but gave Draco a middle finger. "None of us appreciated your little joke, Malfoy. Two of the first years won't even leave their dorms they were so petrified."

"Of what?" Draco asked them innocently, his face a blank slate.

"The snakes!" Potter added, finally doing something beyond looking angry and having really messy morning hair.

Draco allowed his jaw to drop dramatically. "And you blame me for this?" He shook his head.

"Cut the rubbish, Malfoy." Potter said quietly. "Next time we'll go straight to McGonagall."

"Ever the law-abider- Perfect Potter!" Draco sneered, dropping his aloof facade. "So far above the rest of us that you can sneak around but everyone else can't? Besides, I'm sure you said something to them in Parseltongue and they scampered-"

"Fuck. You." Potter said in a terrifyingly low and calm voice. "Leave me alone. I'm sick of you, Malfoy."

"And so are the rest of us!" Weasley stomped off in a huff along with the other Gryffindors.

Draco went back to his toast.

Blaise sidled up next to Draco with a plate of eggs in her hands. "What was that about?" Her eyes followed the other students to the Gryffindor table.

"Don't know," Draco lied solemnly.

Blaise made a noise of agreement.

Don't you get it, Potter? The Polyjuice potion? The snake? I'm practically throwing myself at you! What am I doing wrong? What more do you want?

Draco sighed. This obsession was hopeless. He wanted to move on, get over this Potter-thing, but he felt compelled, as though he had to continue through to the very end.

* * * * *

Draco betrayed his own Malfoy heritage that week.

He gave up. On Potter.

It was fruitless as it was. Mealtimes were the only time Draco ever saw Harry Potter anymore. He tried to play it down and just smirk sexily in Potter's direction, but either the Gryffindor would turn his back and ignore the advances.

Draco did wander on Potter and his Gryffindorks on the afternoon before Christmas Eve. He had been outside by the lake, having a quick ride on his Nimbus 2001, but the weather had cooled sharply and Draco, being too suave and sexy for his gloves didn't wear them. Plus he supposed he must have lost his favourite ones somewhere; he couldn't find them. And he had begun to feel the unwelcome sensation of frostbite prickle his fingers. So he trudged back up to the castle crunching through the knee-deep snow.

He rubbed his hands together and pulled his thick wool cloak sleeves over his hands. His broom was slung over his shoulder.

Thwap!

Something icy and hard hit him in the side of the head and he felt tiny frozen crystals slide down his cloak, melting into chilly water under his collar, itching as they slid down further.

He whipped his head around, a second snowball narrowly missing his arm.

"Damn! Missed the slimy bugger."

Weasley.

Draco looked around to see from where the snowballs were originating. He saw a make-shift wall of snow barely concealing at least one red-haired individual and one with black hair poking out from under a scarlet hat.

Another snowball pelted his body, this time on his other side at his ribs. The ball was softer and broke into sticky clumps that stuck to his cloak.

There was a second mound of snow, with several heads behind it, including a bushy brown one, sniggering.

He was standing in the middle of a Gryffindor snowball warzone.

Fuck.

"Plebeians!" he yelled and stomped off faster in the snow, which only made him lose his balance and trip. Draco landed face-first in the icy powder. He could hear the Gryffindorks laughing loudly behind him. At him.

"Fuck." He got up and wiped the snow from his face, which stung from the cold and his hands hurt more from the melting snow and frostbite combined.

"Nice fall, Malfoy! Really dignified," Potter shouted, laughing with the Weasel. "I'm sure Voldemort will be thrilled to have you join his ranks!"

That did it.

Draco's features darkened and his mouth tightened into a thin, determined line. He bent down in the snow and balled up a wad in his sore and numb hands and hurled it in Potter's direction. It should have been an easy hit, considering Potter was just standing there.

But he missed.

Badly.

Really swift, Draco.

"You throw like a girl, Malfoy!" Potter's voice grew distant as Draco shuffled back to the school even faster than before, ashamed of his pathetic aim and throw and the general fact that Potter had implied that he was going to team up with Voldemort.

But the inner voice of his father was sneering at him. Well, what have you got to lose now if you join His ranks?

Potter.

But he never wanted you in the first place...

* * * * *

Christmas.

And he was alone.

Draco had never spent the holidays on his own. He had always spent it with at least his parents, or in his second and fourth years at Hogwarts, with his friends.

But they had all gone home now and in his blindness, he had thought that he would have had someone special to spend it with.

Yes, he did spend Christmas morning in the company of other persons. Snape had arranged for the remaining Slytherins to eat Christmas brunch in their common room. Draco had sat in silence that morning, picking at his sugared pineapple and Christmas loaf as the second years giggled and hissed over their new presents, showing them off to each other. Snape had a conversation with the Bloody Baron over the uselessness of ground Kneazle dander in restorative elixirs. Blaise was likely flitting in and out of the Ancient Runes professor's private rooms.

He was alone.

Sure, his parents sent plenty of Christmas gifts. His mother had given him several new robes and his father had given him a number of old (and expensive) volumes on the Dark Arts, but no Polonius' All-Poison Potion to his expected dismay. He did receive gorgeous dragonhide lace-up boots from his Great Aunt Eunice- his father would have burst a artery if he knew that Draco's eccentric old aunt had finally sent him a pair! Crabbe had sent two cases of Fizzing Whizzbees and Goyle gave him a keg of pricey moonshine. There was the large package of Christmas sweets and Chocolate frogs sent from home. And there was also Pansy's small gift left unopened on his dresser.

It was late afternoon by the point Draco realized he had left his last gift unopened. He had been staring intently at his dagger for the last hour, trying to psychically work out the exact powers it held, but the dagger only lay there, dull and unexciting. He set it on top his dresser and grabbed Pansy's gift.

He frowned at it. It had better not be some ploy to get me back into bed.

Draco ripped off the glistening little bow and smooth paper to reveal a black velvet box.

Oh, just what I need- jewellery!

Draco sneered and lifted the lid, only to reveal a small cobalt vial, about the size of his thumb. He held it up to the fading light from a grate in the wall. There was a yellow label that read "Lascivus Cor".

Stupid Pansy! He knew enough Latin to get by, but not much. Lascivus- mischief? Sportive? Something like that?

Cor- well that was obvious. Heart.

So, Pansy had given him a Mischievous Heart potion. Interesting. At least it wasn't anything to do with sex or love. She must have grown a bit of a brain since last he dealt with her.

As he was feeling rather alone and miserable and still wallowing in self-pity, Draco figured that trying the potion couldn't hurt. He unscrewed the cap, breaking the waxy seal, and swallowed half of it.

It was sweet and syrupy, yet tangy and...minty at the same time? It scorched his tongue pleasantly.

I'll warn you now, Draco. Don't try my present out alone. Don't. Please wait until I get back.

He laughed to himself. Pansy had no idea what she was talking about. It was a Mischievous Heart potion. The most he was going to do would be to make some holiday mischief.

The potion was warming up his throat and stomach as it oozed through his body. He felt a little light-headed.

Draco sank back onto the pillows on his bed and swallowed the remaining potion until not even a drop was left. The feeling from some was good. But more would be better.

He looked at the bottle and laughed in spite of it. "Nothing's happening, you stupid bitch!" And he tossed the vial over to a far corner of his room, where it hit the flagstone floor with a faint clang and rolled behind something.

His stomach was heating up increasingly faster and the heat flowed all over his body through his veins. Draco exhaled loudly in slight discomfort, but the potion had no real effect beyond that.

I don't even really feel like making mischief yet. Maybe it needs a few more minutes to kick in.

Draco's eyes drifted back over to his dagger and he fingered the delicate silver knotwork. A scorching heat had erupted in his crotch and he twitched uncomfortably, wiggling around on his bum before finally giving up and pacing the floor.

He had the urge to go and find someone else, anyone else then. For helping with mischief? He couldn't seem to quite explain why he did. He just needed to.

However, Draco decided that the hardness that had just developed in his crotch might prove slightly embarrassing so he sat back down on his bed, forcing himself to think of anyone except Potter.

Maybe the new and sudden images of Potter flashing in his mind would go away.

Pansy.

Pansy.

Pansy.

He did not want to have to toss himself off just then. He wanted to mope in peace and maybe make mischief. Get into something.

Trousers?

No!

This was becoming increasingly impossible as he felt himself grow increasingly harder, painfully so. He curled up in a ball and whimpered, cupping himself and wincing.

And thinking of Harry Potter went along in hand.

Potter's face wafted in front of him, flushed and bright.

Draco groaned as he slipped a willing hand along the inside of his trousers.

Potter's perfect chest stood out, waiting to be touched.

But instead Draco choked as he stroked himself through the fabric of his clothes.

He saw Potter's bum, Potter's hands, Potter's hair.

And he just got harder. And harder. And harder.

This. Was. Useless.

Pansy.

Pansy!

Pansy!

Harder.

Snape. Flitwick. McGonagall!

Harder.

Draco moaned aloud in agony. He was so hard. He was at the point where he wanted to fuck someone. Anyone. Anything with an orifice. Simply humping the bed wouldn't do! His breathing was heavy and laboured and he knew his eyes were glassy. His eyes lingered over to the dagger and he swore it glowed like a moonstone.

Okay. Maybe if he went down into the common room, the feelings and desires would pass. Or alternatively, Blaise might be there and he could convince her that his balls were about to burst and she would sleep with him out of pity.

He could feel himself shaking as he wandered into the common room, careful to ensure that his new black velvet robes hid his raging erection and feverish skin.

But there was no one in the common room to distract him. The second years had left for dinner and the Bloody Baron was nowhere in sight.

Nor was Blaise.

Fuck!

The fire cackled festively.

Draco positioned himself on one of the leather couches, stretching out along its cool length. It felt good on his burning skin (despite the fact he had a robe on) and his crotch tightened further.

And Potter's eyes blazed jade green.

He felt himself at a flashover point where he would just open his robes and his trousers and wank himself off again and again until he was sated.

Which would take a long, long while if he tried.

No. No! He wouldn't lose control. He wouldn't give in. It'll pass. It'll pass.

Malfoys. Control. Control!

There was a knock on the stone entrance.

Draco blinked. A distraction!

Draco hoisted himself up off the couch carefully and said the password, "Gaudeamus"; the bricks in the door shifted and rearranged and opened.

Potter was standing there.

Potter.

No.

Draco felt his heart surge and his cock stiffen even more. It's an illusion, he intoned. Maybe I did drink too much of the Mischievous Heart potion and it's making me delirious. He's not real. He-

"Erm...can I...come in?" Potter fidgeted with his gaudy goldenrod-coloured jumper that had a big green H in the middle.

Of his chest.

Draco blinked slowly. He didn't say anything, didn't do anything but stare. What could he do? All of the blood was pooled in his loins, not his head.

Potter decided to take silence for an answer and stepped into the Slytherin common room, clutching a lumpy red package. He swallowed. "I wanted to...sorry. About the other day." He stared intently at the floor, swaying slightly to his left.

Draco fought hard to keep his breathing under control, but it was failing.

Potter smiled softly. "I wanted to give you this." He held out the package. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy," he said and spun around on his heels quickly, as though to leave.

Draco's gaze hardened. He grabbed Potter's arm. "Wait," he growled.

"Sorry?" Potter seemed confused and he tried vainly to pull away from Draco's vice. He looked at Draco with wide, myopic eyes. "What-"

Potter's necklace was glowing the same colour.

Draco gave in.

He forced his lips against Potter's which were soft, but yielding. Draco grabbed Potter's shoulders and pulled him closer, though the other boy squirmed and fought, beating his fists on Draco's chest. Draco ran his tongue roughly along Potter's lower lip and he felt Potter shake uncomfortably at this.

Draco forced Potter closer to his own burning body, desperate for close contact, snaking his arms possessively around Potter's back and arching his hips into the Gryffindor's own. He wanted Potter to feel how hard he was making Draco. He wanted Potter to know just how badly, how much Draco wanted him.

He wanted Potter to know just how insane with lust for him Draco had become.

As Draco's tongue assaulted Potter's mouth, Potter bit down painfully. Draco yelped and pulled back sharply, breaking the kiss, but remained latched to his body.

"What the fuck was that?" His voice was hoarse and unfamiliar to himself. He felt a furious rage build up inside at Potter for breaking contact with his mouth.

Potter's mouth hung open, his lips swelling and bruising. There was a little blood clinging to his teeth. "What are you trying to do, Malfoy?" He struggled again against Draco's manhandling.

To no avail.

Draco gripped the other boy's hips harder, making sure his fingers were making painful dents in Potter's slim hipbones.

Potter whined in pain. "Stop." He fumbled feebly for his wand.

Draco noticed this and snarled animalistically, shoving his hand down Potter's pocket, ripping the seam and hurled the wand across the room. "You don't need that." He dug his hips deeper into Potter's, who hissed and turned red with embarrassment.

Whose, Draco had no clue. Nor did he care.

Potter didn't respond. His body was tense and immobile and Draco was frustrated with a confusion of lust and loss of control.

Fuck it all.

He grabbed Potter by the arse and dragged him down the corridor towards his dorm room. Potter dug his feet into the flagstone floor futilely to stop it, but his trainers slipped and slid along the polished stone.

Draco forced him through the entrance to his dorm. Potter grabbed at the door and yelled, but Draco tossed the other boy to his bed as though he were an infant. Draco felt in complete control over Potter's body with the potion surging through his body, yet he was powerless against his own desire.

"Claudera!" The door slammed shut and stirred the air in the room.

Draco felt himself stalk towards the bed like a predator. He licked his lips and glared intently at his prey.

Potter was staring back at him, eyes locked in place. His green eyes were blazing with fear and utter confusion. He crabwalked into the headboard, frantically trying to escape.

The knife was gleaming pearlescently in the faded light. Silver and sapphire and amethyst blending with the green of Potter's necklace. Draco sped up and crawled over the bed on all fours until he was over Potter and he wedged his tongue between Potter's unwilling lips again.

"Harry," he hissed and clamped his mouth down on the Gryffindor's, pinning his wrists into the pillows with both hands. He forced Potter's mouth open viciously, needing to taste him.

Harry whimpered pitifully when Draco stroked his own tongue over his. Harry tasted faintly of cranberry sauce and eggnog. Christmas and mint and gloriousness. Draco ran his tongue through every crevice of Harry's mouth, ignorant of Potter's increasingly frequent whine and attempts to clamp his mouth shut.

Draco shoved an eager leg between Harry's knees to spread them apart as his kisses grew deeper and more frantic with the need to satisfy himself. Harry had become more pliable, weakened by the strength of Draco's lust and he had lessened his painful wriggling. Draco furiously yanked the horrid jumper off Harry, who had nearly ceased all struggling. And he ripped Harry's shirt from his chest, satiny buttons exploding off and fabric tearing and twisting.

Draco pushed his leg further between Harry's, brushing his straining erection roughly into Harry's own.

Harry's own erection.

Draco kissed him desperately, deepening the kiss more and bruising Harry's lips. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything beyond being inside of Harry Potter in the most intimate way possible.

He trailed his tongue along Harry's soft neck, grazing his Adam's Apple, feeling it bob under his ministrations. Harry's hands had found their way into Draco's hair, where they gripped and bunched it painfully.

Draco hissed at this and bit Harry's nipple maliciously, drowning in the moans and pleas it produced in the other boy. Harry arched up into Draco and the Slytherin bit harder, groaning himself in desire before attacking the other nub.

"You want this," he snarled into Harry's chest as he roughly pulled off his robe and shirt and tossed them aside.

"No," Harry managed weakly as Draco fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers. "Stop."

Draco sneered and shoved Harry's trousers down to his knees along with his boxers in one swift motion.

Harry's hands flew to cover himself, but Draco's mouth reached him first. He heard Harry gargle something as he nipped the flesh below the Gryffindor's hips, slowly working his way down as his hand unbuttoned his own trousers.

Potter whimpered pathetically when Draco pulled off the other boy's trousers fully first, then at last his own, leaving them both naked.

Harry gulped. "I don't want this, Malfoy," he said quietly, but not moving his body. "Please," he begged, his eyes afraid and moist.

Harry seemed about ready to get off the bed when Draco whipped off Harry's glasses and set them down on his dresser. Harry gasped as Draco grabbed him by the hair with both hands and fused their mouths together, not caring. "You will want this."

Oblivious to the cold Christmas air around them, Draco did get to know Harry Potter closer than anyone else in the world, pounding into the other boy who was tight and cried out in pain. Tears streamed down his face the whole while, but he didn't stop Draco with anything save words or the occasional squeal of pain until it was over and Draco made sure they came together.