Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation

Chapter 2- Harry fucking Potter
He was curled up on the sill of an enormous window, pressed as close as he could to the frost kissed pane. It was January, in the dead of winter and outside everything lay still and frozen. Draco watched it through glassy eyes, not really seeing anything, his expression hollow and lifeless. He was freezing. He could feel icy tendrils of the bitter night air seeping in through the cracks of the window. The cold bit at his cheeks and stung his ears, but he felt nothing all the same. He might have been shivering, maybe that was why the window rattled so, but it didn't matter. Only one thing mattered, only one person anyway and Draco would be damned if he was caught thinking of him. And so it seemed, Draco was. Since that one person was all he could ever think about. Harry fucking Potter. The one person in the world who Draco thought was safe to hate. Evidently, he had been wrong. The unbearable urge to kill Harry had somehow turned into an unbearable urge to... er, do something else to him. Draco had no idea where it had come from, it seemed to have quietly approached him from behind, until one day it grabbed him about the neck and tackled him to the ground. The first few days of it, Draco had been in vehement denial, but as he lay there with this enormous weight crushing his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs, it became difficult to ignore. The truth was painfully evident when Draco began to find himself thinking of nothing else. He found himself aching for the bottle green eyes and messy black hair falling dramatically against ivory skin. At the same time though, the whole thing made him feel suicidal. He hated, absolutely *hated* feeling this way. He despised it and for that he despised himself. But it wasn't even just the physical attraction (though for Christ's sake that was impossible to ignore) it was more than that. The way Harry had been so good and perfect used to make Draco feel ill, but now it made Draco want him even more. He was everything that Draco was not. Harry was kind and good, and beautiful and smart. He was The Boy who Lived after all, the god damned hero of their generation. Everybody adored him to say the least, and Draco detested himself for seeping into the stereotype. Becoming one of the millions who treated Harry as some sort of untouchable god. But even without the title, he was Harry. The kind of person who would help anybody, who would risk his own neck for the greater good. When you even stole a glance at his eyes, they were bright and shone with a kind of earnestness you could never find in someone like Draco. Draco, with his cloaked emotions and deceptive composure. With his snide remarks, and his icy, twisted sneer. He would be the first to thrust a knife in your back and everybody knew it. Before though, it had been all right. They all hated Draco and Draco had hated the world. It had been perfect. But then, Harry fucking Potter had come along and fucked everything up. Draco's world was wrenched upside down and things that ordinarily made sense, no longer seemed right. The emotions Draco was experiencing were so foreign he felt infected by them, like he'd caught some horrible disease. And it was spreading over him like wildfire, inescapable and painfully inevitable. At the same time Draco obsessed over him, there was still a bold undercurrent of anger. Draco's dark streak ran deep, and he wanted to hurt Harry for what he'd done to Draco. He wanted to hurt Harry for making him hurt. This stupid obsession was crushing him; it was slowly sucking the life from his body making him drained and lifeless. He knew (though he would never admit it) that even if he did confess these distorted feelings that he had, Harry would never accept him. Harry was his enemy after all; his adversary in every respect and Harry was too good for him. It killed him to admit it, even to himself but it was true. He could never be anywhere near as wonderful as Harry Potter. He knew he didn't deserve him, and worst of all he knew Harry didn't feel the same way. It hurt. A lot, to feel this feverish torrent of emotions and know they would never be returned in any way. Draco had thought, long ago that his heart had turned to ice. That it was impossible for him to care about anyone, let alone this much. Everything he had known, everything that had been drilled into him since he was born taught him otherwise. Lesson, after excruciating lesson with his father emphasized the fact that he was not to show emotion. Not to experience it, save the essentials: fear, anger, hatred and so on. Feeling otherwise led directly to pain, despair, and destruction and that was unmistakably not a choice. Not one Draco was supposed to be making anyway. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that feeling this way was something not to be done. It was simply not an option. And yet, here he was. Heart clenching brokenly within his chest, wracked with such jarring bursts of poignant emotion that he felt it would shatter. Draco could feel it now, aching endlessly. The pain was so intense, so acute that there were moments when he felt he couldn't bear it any longer. It was the worst when he was right near Harry. The closer he was, the greater it seemed was the distance. It was horrible during the day, in classes, when Harry would sit with those stupid friends of his and they would laugh at something and smile like idiots. They were all so sickeningly happy and Draco was miserable. He hated them for it, because he had never been happy, and so it seemed, never would be. Then one of them would make some sort of smart remark and laugh endlessly at Draco, and they'd give him these icy stares. But Harry's were the worst by far. Harry would glare at him, his bright green eyes dim with loathing. His fingers would knot into fists and Draco could almost feel jagged currents of hatred grinding into his flesh. During moments like these, Draco wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and die. He hated Harry for hating him, but at the same time he was dizzy with this infatuation for him. During the day he'd hide behind his impassive mask, and somehow we was able to glare back at Harry quite convincingly. But inside, he was dying. And at night, the facade would melt away and he was left with this piercing, unfulfilled desire. Sleep was beyond him, but that was nothing new. Draco had never been able to surrender to darkness, instead he embraced it. He would usually just listlessly wander the empty corridors, drowning his sorrow in a bottle of something alcoholic. It took the edge off the pain, and it helped blur his thoughts, helped slow down the dizzying speed at which things darted across Draco's mind. And now he sat, slouched against the frozen glass of a bleak landscape, scowling darkly. It seemed his normal bottle wasn't succeeding in successfully dimming his thoughts. They continued to bang restlessly about inside his head and it made him angry. Everything made him angry these days. It seemed his father had always been right. Anger followed pain in quick succession and it had begun to occur more and more frequently. He was always looking to smash something, whether it be a glass bottle or somebody's face. He tipped the bottle once more to his lips only to find it completely drained. He gazed forlornly out the frosted glass, feeling anger swell inside him. The moon hung silvery and still over the frozen ground and it all looked so peaceful and calm that for a moment Draco wished to fling the bottle through the glass and shatter the perfect stillness. His fingers curled fiercely round the bottle in a grip so tight his hand began to shake. He glowered at the picturesque scene and wanted to scream, his shoulders trembling with fury. He didn't just want to break the lovely picture he wanted to break Harry's face, he wanted to watch crimson ribbons stream into those perfect crystal green eyes. He wanted to break him, to bring him crashing to his knees, so that he would scream as loud as Draco wished to now. For a moment, Draco's eyes grew almost black with rage and his chest hurt as it rose and fell heavily in large ragged gasps. But then it was gone, the moment of anger passed and Draco's grip about the bottle slipped as he fell back against the wall. The bottle splintered as it collided with the stone ledge and bits of glass showered Draco's legs. He immediately felt sickened by the pictures that had just flooded his mind and it frightened him when these torrents of anger gripped him. The emotions were too much for Draco's slender frame, too passionate for someone so young. He felt violated by them and yet, he could not escape them. His shoulders continued to shake and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the glass with exhaustion. He was so tired, he just wanted to slide into Harry's arms and forget everything. For a moment, his shoulders ceased to tremble as his head was filled with thoughts of Harry. But something in the back of his mind sent him a sting of realization, reminding him that Harry hated him and had perfect cause to do so. It scolded him for thinking such sordid thoughts, boys didn't think this way of other boys. It was sick, it was twisted, it was wrong. Draco often wanted to tear this part of his mind from his head, but he knew it was permanently implanted there and had been there since he was small. It was the voice he'd heard as far back as he could remember, the horrible cold one, drained from emotion, save bitterness and distaste. It was the voice of Draco's father. Draco pressed his cheek wearily to the frozen glass, as if the pain from the cold would help soften the pain in his chest. When that didn't work Draco found his hand curling round a shard of broken glass. The sharp edges bit into his palm and fingers and Draco inhaled sharply as the glass shredded his flesh. Ruby jewels glistened against his dark skin before streaming together to run all down his wrist. Draco watched in horrified fascination, as his sleeve grew sodden with blood. He shut his eyes and let the glass fall from his hand, feeling warm wet drops trickle down his arm. Draco sat slumped against the glass for a quite a while, before he noticed the stars beginning to dissolve from the velvety sky, and it was then that he slipped from the windowsill and retreated into the fading darkness, to lay in bed only to crawl from it and face the nightmare once again. ******* Hmm, hope you liked it. More action promised in forthcoming chapters, not so much reflecting and all that. 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