Because I Hate You

Once again, I had the infamous Harry Potter lying next to me in bed. Oh, if father could only see...

We always ended up like this, and I rather hoped we always would. It was just too much fun to stop; really. I know, I know, we shouldn't live in our pathetic little realities, but well, what else have we got?

"Malfoy..." He made a pitiful noise. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and playfully bit at the skin on the juncture of shoulder and neck, liking the feel of the sensitive flesh at my mercy. He gave a little moan. "Malfoy. This has got to stop."

In annoyance, I moved from my decidedly comfortable position to glare down at him, settling myself on my elbow, cheek in palm. "Why?"

"Because I hate you, and you hate me."

I smirked, lightly dipping my head to flick my tongue over the pale skin just under his collarbone, feeling smug as his skin jump underneath me. "But doesn't this feel good?" I raised my head again to glance at him with one raised eyebrow, feeling satiated and laconic.

"Well..." he looked adorably confused, chewing on his lower lip like he always did when he didn't know what to do about me. I'd never seen him use the expression on anyone else, but around me he turned into a little boy, again, innocent and naive. Finally, after long deliberation, he shrugged and looked up at me defiantly. "But I hate you." Before I could stop it, a burst of laughter escaped my mouth, and I fell back on the bed, lying beside him now. He frowned at my distractedly. "What?"

My smirk had fully returned, and I gave his chest a condescending pat. "Yes yes, Potter, you hate me. But, you can't resist me either." His lips twitched in a begrudging smile of acknowledgement. "So, what's wrong with this arrangement?"

"Tons of things!"

"Name one."

"I hate you!"

With a long-suffering sigh borne of many of these conversations, I rolled my eyes, not realizing that he couldn't see the expression. "Potter. You do not hate me."

He seemed confused. "I was positive I did, before this started."

"Before, Potter. Before."

There was a long, pregnant pause, full of some indecipherable meaning. When I turned to look at him, he had one of his hands behind his head, staring up at the top of my canopy bed. Finally, he gave me a little pout. "I thought I still hated you."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"N-ooooo..."

"Do you want to maim me?"

"N-ooooo..."

"Do you want to tie me to the bed and fuck me senseless?"

"N... Uhm. Yes."

"My my, Potter. What *would* Dumbledore say to that?" I smiled teasingly and fluttered my fingertips down over his abdomen, feeling his breathing hitch for a second.

But, of course, Potter smirked and winked at me. "Probably recommend how I should go about it, actually."

Again, I couldn't help the laughter that escaped me in a startled gasp, and he snickered himself, until I realized that yes, I was laughing. I stopped that quickly, though I couldn't help the grin on my face. "Well, Potter. Look at that. Twice in one day."

He raised an eyebrow and then gave me a wicked look, hands creeping over my waist to lightly stroke at my sides, right exactly where that blasted prat had figured out... well. I'm ticklish. So, of course, in the face of his hands, I shrieked and swatted at them, squirming (and laughing, I admit), and trying to get away.

Unfortunately, I fell off the bed.

He stared down at me with a surprised expression, then burst into laughter, rolling about on the bed until tears came from his eyes. I glowered at nothing in particular, until the cold stone floor of my dormitory became too cold, and I stood up, feeling disgruntled and somehow cheated of my winning mark. Potter gave a girlish giggle and then smothered his mouth with his hand, breathing hard through his nose. I climbed back into bed and gave him my haughtiest glare. "I *did* get away, though."

He snorted so hard I thought his glasses were going to fall off his nose. I narrowed my eyes at him, and sulked. As noble as I was supposed to be, I had to. After a few more minutes, he sobered, and nudged my shoulder with his palm. "You looked adorable, really. All confused and vulnerable."

"VULNERABLE?!"

I couldn't help it. I shrieked and grabbed the pillow, aiming to smash his head in with it. But he snatched it instead and leaned close. "You looked entirely fuckable. I wanted to pin you down and have my wicked way with you."

I paused. Fuckable was always good.

"But wait. I can't fuck you!"

I facefaulted into the pillow, and could have wept for the frustration of it all. "Whyyyyy, Potter, can you not just tie me down and have your wicked way!?"

"Because I hate you." He nodded, as if that settled it.

Of course, it didn't.