The Alternative to Loneliness

Disclaimer: The following work is an original idea, based on the Harry Potter characters created by J.K. Rowling.

The Alternative to Loneliness

Ch. 1

The proposal

It was perfectly simple. It was practically fool-proof, which was perfect seeing as Gryffindors were involved. The plan was one of his better ones, even he had to admit. And that was saying something. After all, he wasn't a Malfoy for nothing. He was the zenith of hundreds of years of careful breeding and cultivation of class, and sooner or later Harry bloody Potter was going to realize just how irresistible Draco Malfoy can be.

Unfortunately, Potter seemed to be thicker skulled than even Draco had given him credit for.

Draco sighed, carelessly brushing his hair from his eyes. Potter- Harry, as Draco had begun calling him in his head, seemed oblivious to all of Draco's advances. He should have known better, really, as subtlety had never been one of Harry's strong points. He snorted to himself. That was a tactful way of saying that Potter's head seemed to resemble a Quaffle; full of air and not much else. Draco had thought that he couldn't have been more obvious, but no matter what he did, the Boy Who Lived continued to be the Boy Who Didn't Notice Shit. Which was kind of catchy in it's own way, but Harry seemed to have an aversion to such humorous nicknames, and Draco was trying to respect his wishes

He had tried to clue the Gryffindor in slowly, but nothing had worked. He had offered Harry help on his Potions assignment, since, as he pointed out in his offer, Harry was failing spectacularly in that subject. Harry, however, had not taken this suggestion the way it was meant, and hexed Draco for insulting his intelligence. Which was the stupidest thing Draco had ever heard of, because Harry obviously didn't have any intelligence to insult. Draco had then offered to share some of his favorite Quidditch moves, only to have Harry laugh in his face that if Draco ever won against him, he'd be sure and ask for advice. Draco had sulked for hours, until he remembered that it was undignified to sulk, and that it did nothing for his complexion. Very much like the color yellow. But that didn't bear thinking about.

He had tried to send Harry a gift via owl post, but apparently the powers that be kept a close eye on the Boy Wonder's mail and it had been confiscated. Draco had burned the note from the ministry stating that, due to matters of state safety, his package 'could not be delivered, and would be returned when it was deemed appropriate.' Which, knowing those lack wits at the ministry, wouldn't be until Harry declared his undying love for Draco over dinner in the Great Hall; and this was seeming more and more unlikely as the year went on.

He had even tried to be civil to the Weasel and Mud- er, Weasley and Granger. That had been a regular debauchal. Granger had been convinced he was acting under the Imperius Curse, and he had spent the remainder of the day in McGonagall's office trying to convince her that he was acting of his own volition. Weasley had merely punched him in the face, and said something about not 'taking any crap from junior Death Eaters' and been thrown in detention- which was small consolation for the indignity of a swollen lip. He hadn't let Madame Pomfrey heal it though, to show Harry that he didn't mind taking pain to be with him. Harry had not noticed the gesture, or if he did, he certainly didn't let on.

All in all, Draco was beginning to get discouraged. Which was why he had come up with his brilliant plan. It wasn't a way to win Harry's heart- oh no, even Harry Potter couldn't resist Draco Thomas Lucien Malfoy IV for long, so it was only a matter of time. It was merely a way of keeping himself sane in the ensuing time period. Just a little something for him.

Draco chuckled to himself. His father was probably cursing him from the bowels of Hell at this very moment. A Malfoy, in love with a Potter? A half-blood? A BOY? It wasn't done. It simply wasn't done. There were no 'poofs' or 'fairies' in the Malfoy family tree- except Great Uncle Delarius, but no one ever talked about...the incident.

But here he was: a Malfoy and gay. Well, probably. Trouble of it was, he didn't care for boys terribly, just...Potter. He couldn't understand it. Ever since he had seen him in Madame Malkin's robe shop at the tender age of ten, he had wanted Harry James Potter. Not like he did now, certainly, but he had always wanted Harry in his life. Always wanted Harry to like him, and care about him, and show his approval. He longed for Harry to just once smile at him like he did Weasley and say, "Well done, Draco." Just the smile would have done, really. Just a look other than hatred in those green eyes, or worse- disinterest.

He must be gay, because he sounded like a sodding girl, going on like that. But if being gay meant admiring Harry's lovely arse during Quidditch games, he'd hop on his broom and join a pride parade somewhere. Not to mention Harry's legs. And eyes. And chest. And that scar was dead sexy. Even that horrendously messy hair that begged to be brushed back from his face, and have pale aristocratic hands run through it. And no one had paler or more aristocratic hands than Draco. It was a proven fact.

All that aside, however, Draco did care enormously for Harry. He did try to protect him as best he could. That was half the reason he picked on Harry so much- if the other Slytherins knew that Harry was Draco's to sharpen his witty tongue on, they'd stay the hell away from him. He made sure to sneak around Harry's Quidditch practice whenever he was able to make sure nothing happened to the boy. He'd even made up lies to his father about it, saying that Harry was much better protected than he was so that Lucius wouldn't be tempted to try and abduct him.

The least Harry could do was bloody well love him back. Was that so much to ask for? Draco sighed again, and shut his book with a bang, earning a glare from Madam Pince. He rolled his eyes as Granger shushed him from a few tables away. Harry looked up from his homework and glared at Draco, who inwardly winced at the look. He collected his things, smiled at Harry, and swept from the library, swirling his robes in a way that rivaled Snape.

It was getting to be too much for him, this pining after Harry thing. The funny thing was that no one else seemed to notice either. Ruddy Pansy Parkinson was still after him all the time to go to Hogsmeade with her, and, although Granger eyed him suspiciously in the halls, she seemed to share Weasley's opinion that Draco's behavior must be part of some dark, secret, nefarious plot to kill Harry and/or hand him over to the Dark Lord. Honestly, he may have been a prick before, but did he really deserve all this animosity? Not that he wasn't flattered that they thought him capable of outwitting the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but if they only knew how thick Harry was being, they'd realize it wasn't all that difficult to do.

Draco made his way down to the dungeons, muttered the password to the Slytherin common room, and stalked up to his private room. One of the distinct advantages to being filthy rich. It was a nice room, he mused, with the small stained glass window (one of the few in the dungeons), the mahogany four poster bed, small window seat, and writing desk. It even had a small bathroom attached, which was lovely, as he did not enjoy sharing his bathing space with the other boys. He shuddered at the thought. Blaise Zabini hogged the mirror, and Crabbe and Goyle were pigs. This was definitely an improvement.

The room, he thought, would be better if he had someone to share it with. Namely a dark haired, green eyed hero who hated his guts. It really was intensely unfair. Of all the hopeless cretins he could have been drawn to, it had to be Harry 'the boy who lived' Potter. Unbelievable. He really did have the damndest luck. Harry was becoming all he could think about. Not having Harry to talk to, and laugh with, and look at was driving him mad. He knew all about Harry, and Harry knew nothing about him, except that he was a bastard.

"But I'm not," he whispered, as if Harry could hear him. "I'm not really like that. Well," he amended with a rueful smile, "not entirely."

He wondered if it was worth changing for dinner, as the only person he cared to impress wouldn't notice if he showed up wearing a tea cozy and precious little else. He paused. It was a thought. But no, Harry didn't seem the type to be swayed by toned abs and a sculpted arse. He could tell that Harry wanted someone who really loved him. Only the fool couldn't see that such a person was right in this castle waiting for him to get a clue.

He certainly hadn't intended to fall in love with Harry. He had just wanted to be his friend in the beginning. But his hand had been refused, and he hadn't been expecting that. He'd lashed out, starting a cycle of hate and violence between them that was proving difficult to break. He had wanted to make Harry pay for refusing him, for hurting him, as so many others had done. But the more he fought with Harry, the more miserable he became. Then one day he was sitting in Potions staring at the back of Harry's head as Snape bullied him about his failure to complete the assignment, and he thought, 'I wonder what it would be like to kiss Potter?'

Needless to say, Draco was rather alarmed to have found himself thinking this. Kissing Potter? What the hell was his subconscious trying to tell him anyway? Then he started noticing how much he thought about Potter, how much he looked forward to their fights, and how Potter was beginning to feature more and more predominantly in his dreams. And slowly, very slowly, Potter became simply Harry. But the real kicker was when he saw Harry crying behind the broom shed one evening after Quidditch practice. He'd felt a painful wrench in his chest at the sight. How he'd wanted to hold Harry like he'd always wished his mum and dad would hold him, and whisper in his ear all the things he'd wanted a friend to say to him, kiss away the tears like he'd secretly wished Harry would do when he cried. And he would have done it too, if Harry hadn't looked up at that moment, green eyes rimmed with red, and snarled, "What the fuck do you want, Malfoy? Get the hell away from me before I hex that pointy nose off your fucking face!"

Draco had felt like he'd been slapped, then pulled himself together, and sneered, "How sweet. Boy wonder needs to come and have a little weep for his dead mum, and dead dad, and dead Diggory, and dead Sirius Black. Poor golden boy; must be awful hard to be loved by the entire wizarding world. No wonder he's sobbing. Must be hard to have to live with the rest of us mortals. How's it feel to be a hero, Potter? Was it worth losing all of those people?"

Harry had let out a strangled yell and launched himself at Draco, fists flying. Draco had goaded him into it on purpose, of course. If he couldn't comfort Harry the way he wanted to, he'd at least give Harry release some other way. He fought back enough to make it seem real, but let Harry land most of punches; let Harry work out his anger and grief. His face had been bruised and bloodied for days, as were his knuckles and ribs, but Harry had seemed calmer when it was over, and that was what Draco had been after in the first place. That was when it had been painfully obvious that if Draco was willing to get beat up to make Harry feel marginally better, something besides anger and hate was being felt on Draco's side of the equation.

He'd slowly come to realize that it was love. He'd fought the idea as long as he could, but there was no getting around it. He was in love with Harry Potter. Very much so. And it didn't hurt that he was incredibly attractive, in a sort of innocent, casual way. Harry didn't know how good-looking he was, which was terribly adorable in itself. It also caused Draco to do the most un-Malfoy-like things, such as using the word 'adorable', especially in this particular type of context.

He went into the green-tiled bathroom and stared into the mirror. The slate grey eyes he had always seen stared back at him; fine, white-blonde hair falling loosely about his face. His face had filled out a bit this year; still sharp in the aristocratic cheekbones, but softer in the nose and chin. He'd grown a few inches over the summer, and was taller than Harry now. He'd be turning sixteen in a month's time, just before Christmas. Harry's birthday was sometime in July. Draco snorted derisively. He couldn't even think about his birthday without thinking of Harry. This was getting out of hand, and something had to be done, or he'd lose it.

No, there was nothing for it. Something was going to be done about this, and it was getting done tonight. As soon as dinner was over. And then he'd get a little something to make the long nights bearable, and the days shorter. Maybe it would inspire him, and he'd figure out how to make Harry love him.

He snorted. He really was sounding like a girl lately. How upsetting.

Draco walked out of his room towards the Great Hall to catch the rush of students as they left dinner. Standing slightly in the shadows, he watched for his target. His eyes followed a knot of Ravenclaws, searching for the only person who could help him. Finally he saw what he was looking for. There, next to Weasellette; yes talking to that Loony Ravenclaw, Lovegood. Draco waited until the group passed him, then snaked out his hand and grabbed the target. It let out a squeak as it stared up into cold, grey eyes.

"Creevey," Draco drawled quietly, "I have a proposition for you."

The little mud-blooded runt was hardly bigger than a first year, though he was only a year under Draco. Dear God, he thought, looking down at him. He's almost half my height. What do they feed those Gryffindors? And then was assailed by the terrible thought of Harry being undernourished. He had always looked so frightfully thin, as if he'd been fed nothing but bread and water since he was old enough to chew.

Draco shook the thought away and stared harder down at the tiny Gryffindork before him. "Well?" he said.

Creevey let out another squeak and would have fallen over himself if Draco hadn't been grabbing hold of the front of his robes. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take a picture of you when you were alone, but it was such perfect framing and the light was just right and I really couldn't pass up the opportunity, you see. It came out very well, you're very photogenic, and I can show you if you would like. I've got it in my bag if you'd like to see--"

Creevey started digging around in his bag frantically. Draco was amused. The kid couldn't be all that bad if he thought Draco was photogenic. Yes, he had good taste and that said good things about the likelihood of success in this venture.

"Creevey," Draco drawled again, "this is not about any photo you may or may not have taken of me."

Colin looked up at him with wide eyes. They were brown, and not nearly as nice as Harry's Slytherin green ones. Draco shook himself mentally.

"It is however about photography. You see, as much as I hate to admit it, I've taken a fancy to one of you lions up there in that big, pointy, thrusting tower of yours, and I was hoping you could help get a little memento of them. Of course, I'd be willing to compensate you handsomely for your trouble."

"Compensate?" Creevey squeaked again. Draco sighed,

"Yes, you silly little thing, compensate. You know, pay you? Believe me, I'm the second richest wizard in Europe, money is no object. It will be worth your time and effort, I promise you."

Creevey looked up at him in curiosity. "Who's the first richest wizard in Europe?"

Draco was beginning to grow tired of the conversation, and he snapped, "It's the wizard of never you mind! Now will you do it, or do I have to a obliviate you?"

"Oh no," Colin said quickly, "I'd be happy to do it. See I've always wanted to be a real photographer, I thought maybe for the Daily Prophet or I could set up my own business, like a portraits studio or something of that sort. I could really use the practice. You would be my first client and--"

"Do be quiet," Draco sighed. "Don't you even want to know what exactly it is that I'm after? Some customer service."

Creevey became very serious. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Of course, you're right, it would help to know the nature of...well, firstly what sort of poses would you like?"

Draco paused. He hadn't really thought that far ahead. Hmm: Harry in the shower, Harry after Quidditch with his hair all mussed up, Harry asleep in his bed, Harry laughing... The possibilities were too numerous to name.

"I leave that up to your better judgment," Draco said finally, "but I want them to be... intimate in nature. You know, something a...lover would have. But the subject can't know about this arrangement." He fixed Creevey with his best imitation of his father's death glare. "Is that perfectly clear, Gryffindor? Don't forget whom you're dealing with. I'm not above a few illegal curses, if you take my meaning."

Colin swallowed hard. "Of course, of course, I won't tell, I swear."

"I don't want you uttering a word of this to anybody, not even your little friends."

Colin shook his head vigorously. "Not a soul. I won't even tell Luna..."

"Luna?" Draco frowned. "You mean that wacky Ravenclaw?"

Colin bristled and drew himself up to his full height, such as it was. "She's not wacky. She's not loony. She's wonderful and very smart and looks lovely in the evening light up on the South Tower. You'd better not say anything bad about her or I won't take your pictures for you."

Draco chuckled. "Well, well, home of the brave after all, isn't it? Very well, my apologies, such a remark was very remiss of me."

Colin looked surprised. "Holy mother of Merlin!" he squeaked and then clamped his hand over his mouth.

"What?"

"Erm...you just...took it back? You did, didn't you!"

"Yes," Draco replied, "and I don't intend to make a habit out of it, so shall we continue on in our negotiations?"

"Oh yes." Colin paused. "So you want something intimate...er, rather, something a lover would be after. Candid, of course, as I'm not to let them know I am taking pictures of them for you. But...well, who am I supposed to be taking pictures of?"

For the first time, Draco seemed rather embarrassed. His cheeks turned pink, and he shifted from one foot to the other in a very un-Malfoy-esque way.

"Harry Potter," he muttered, looking furtively around the deserted corridor.

Colin's eyes grew wide again. "Draco Malfoy, you're a fan of Harry's, too?" he said, and Draco could see him clutch his camera tight. "I have been photographing him my entire time here at Hogwarts, but I have to do it in secret now because he doesn't like it when I take a picture. I've gotten really good at it, too! I know the exact right combination of light and backgrounds to compliment any sort of look a person could ask for. Lover, you say? Oh my, I don't know as I've ever taken a picture of him in that sort of light or framing, but I suppose I could see if I could think of him looking like Luna or something to get just the right mood lighting and--"

"Creevey!" Draco growled and covered the tiny Gryffindor's mouth. "I expect complete confidentiality, do you understand me? You blabbering on like this is not what I had in mind when I said to keep quiet about it."

"Sorry!" he squeaked. Then his eyes grew even wider and he stared at Draco in bewilderment. He opened his mouth, then looked around and leaned forward. "You want sexy pictures of Harry Potter?" he whispered. "I thought you said it was somebody you fancied, not..."

Then his mouth dropped open. "You fancy him? A boy? Like how I fancy Luna?"

Draco felt his patience growing short. "Don't ask questions, you," he snarled. "And don't you put me on the same level as you and your...girlfriend, do you hear me?"

He nodded and shrank down, looking like he was preparing to run should Draco become less friendly. "Right, sexy Harry pictures. Er...it won't be easy, but I know his whole schedule. What time he showers. He's not a prefect, so we use the same shower room. When he changes from Quidditch. Of course since he's a boy...erm...well, I can sneak into his dorm while he's asleep but it will be very difficult to take that picture, as I can't use a flash, so I will need to use a slow shutter speed and expose the film for a very--"

Draco grabbed hold of the front of Colin's robe front. "I don't care how you get them," he growled, "just get them."

"It will...it will be expensive. These sorts of pictures will...will be difficult and if I get caught, he could clobber me!"

"Money is not an option. Now when can you have the pictures done by?"

"I...I...I really don't know. When do you want them done?"

"Creevey," Draco purred dangerously, "I'm asking you to take intimate photos of my supposed worst enemy, whom I've suddenly decided I want to shove up against a wall and snog until I can't see straight. How soon do you think I want the bloody photos?"

"Right," Colin said weakly. "Right. Snogging Harry...yes, uh, well... are you sure this isn't a trick or something? I mean, are you just fooling with me so that I'll be caught by him or one of his friends and get pounded? I'd really rather not get pounded, I get picked on enough. But you are a Slytherin after all, and you know what they say about..."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Draco ground out. Colin seemed to shrink still further at the tone. Draco sighed wearily. Merlin, these Gryffs were going to be the death of him some day.

"Look," he said slowly, as if to a small child, "pay close attention, Creevey, because I'm going to be perfectly candid about this situation, and I won't repeat myself should your small brain fail to grasp my meaning. I, Draco Malfoy, fancy Harry Potter. Truly and honestly. I wouldn't really know, but I imagine it's probably somewhat similar to how you feel about Lovegood. I've never fancied a girl so I can't rightly say. And I swear to you, on the Malfoy Family Code of Conduct that I am not tricking you. I'll even go so far as to say that, if you do this for me and all goes well, I'll put in a word for you at the Prophet for a job, though why you should wish to work at that sorry excuse for a rag is beyond me. Provided, of course, that by the time this bloody war is over, I've still got a reputation and some money. That satisfy you? Now, how much gold will cover you for this deal?"

Colin looked gob smacked. "Er, well... I suppose it depends on how many rolls of film I use and, er, how difficult it was to take them, not to mention the equipment to develop them..."

"Would eight hundred Galleons do it?" Draco asked lazily, examining his nails.

Colin's eyes nearly fell out of his head, and he squeaked again, "Eight...hundred?"

"Oh alright," Draco sighed, "we'll make it the even thousand. Satisfied? Thousand Galleons and a job recommendation. Just think of all the vegetable jewelry you could buy your girlfriend. All I ask is that I get those photos as soon as possible. Do we have a deal, Creevey?"

Colin was speechless, for the first time in his life. Draco feared for a moment that he had killed the small boy; but no, he was definitely breathing. Just in shock then. It certainly was better than all the chatter. Pity it was sure to wear off any...

"Are you sure? That's a lot of money." Colin paused. "Won't you have to write home for it?"

Draco snorted elegantly. "Write home for it? To whom, my servants? I am the Lord of Malfoy Manor, since my father's very considerate demise. I control all my own capital. And anyway, a thousand Galleons is pocket money compared to what I've got in my Gringotts account. Not to mention the Swiss and French banks, just in case." He peered at Colin in honest bemusement. "Don't you know all this? It's rather common knowledge, since that write up they did in the Prophet about it. I'm the youngest Lord Malfoy in two hundred years, you know."

"I... I didn't know, sorry, should I be calling you Lord Malfoy? I mean seeing as that's your proper title and all, and since you're being so generous about this whole thing, I could you know, if you wanted me to..."

"Get one thing straight, Creevey," Draco snarled suddenly. "I am not being generous. I can afford what I'm paying you a thousand times over and not bat an eye. I've got more money than anyone could spend in their lifetime, so it's not a matter of generosity, alright? I want something, and you're going to give it to me. And so help me, if this thing gets bollocksed up on your account, I will personally make sure you can't buy so much as a Polaroid for the rest of your days on this earth. Is that clear?"

The small boy clutched his camera even tighter at Draco's last words and nodded so hard, Draco was afraid his head would come flying off at any moment. "I...I...yes! Okay! Ah...p...p...pictures and...no b...I'll get them done for you, Lord Malfoy. Sexy pictures of Harry, as many as I can take. I think if I time it just right, I can even make a whole collection of pictures that if you flip through them fast enough, it looks like he's moving. It's like wizarding pictures for M...Muggles. Would you...ah...do you think you might like something like that? If I can do it?"

A moving picture? Now there was a thought. If the Creevey shrimp could pull it off, Draco might actually see Harry shower, not just an image of it, but the motion. His lip curled up in a cross between a smirk and wistful smile, and if he wasn't mistaken, he could feel a tingling sort of warmth creep into his face and a bit further south. "Alright then, Creevey," he said, letting the small boy go. "If it's as good as you make it sound, you might even find an extra token of my thanks at the end of our dealings."

Colin, who had nearly fallen when released, scrambled to his feet, hugging his camera to his chest. He bowed a few times, saying a few dozen times that he would have the pictures done as soon as he could, and then darted into the Great Hall before Draco could say another word.