The Alternative to Loneliness

Ch. 3

Dreams & Desperation

"Draco?" Harry's voice whispered. He shivered in anticipation. "Draco, where are you? It's me."

He stepped out from behind the tree beside the lake, right into Harry's path. Harry jumped.

"Christ Draco, don't do that! Say something before you leap out at me."

Draco snorted as he wrapped his hands around Harry's waist, drawing the slightly shorter boy into a loving embrace. "Really, Potter, there was no leaping involved. You Gryffindors simply don't understand the simple beauty of being able to sneak up on people. You just charge in, banners flying, and all that. No cunning at all." He paused, and Harry rolled his eyes affectionately.

"On the other hand," he purred into Harry's ear, just brushing the sensitive skin with his lips, "we Slytherins prefer a more...shall we say, seductive approach. Sneaking and slithering around." His mouth was now busy kissing and nipping his way down Harry's jaw line and throat. "Getting under the opponent's skin." His hands were untucking Harry's shirt. "And getting our prey." Harry moaned. "Exactly where we want them."

He stepped back, leaving Harry looking mussed up, bemused, and utterly fuckable.

"And right now Harry," Draco whispered, trailing his fingertips up and down Harry's sides, making the black haired boy shiver, "I want you to kiss me like there's nothing in the world but me. And I want you to shag me like it's the last thing you'll ever do in this life." Harry was breathing hard. "Think you can manage that, Potter?"

Harry stepped forward, eyes glinting. "With pleasure, Draco. With pleasure."

Draco closed his eyes in anticipation. Harry's arms were on his shoulders, he could feel Harry's breath against his lips and...something was...knocking?

Draco jerked his head off his pillow, looking about him in confusion. This wasn't the garden at Malfoy Manor. Harry wasn't here. He was in his bed in the Slytherin dormitories. Draco swore, with great fluency; something he'd picked up from his father before Lucius had so nicely kicked the bucket. It was only a fucking dream. He should have known better.

That infuriating knocking was still sounding, and Draco looked murderously around the room, ready to Curcio whatever had awakened him from his dream before Harry got naked.

The culprit was a school owl, tapping on his window, looking rather irritated itself at having been forced to wait so long. He stalked from his bed to the window and opened it, wand ready to give the bird what was coming to it. The owl, however, was smarter than Draco had given it credit for. It threw its package through the opening in the window and flew rapidly away in the direction of the owlry. Draco glared at it as it retreated, before stooping to retrieve the package from the floor.

It was rather bulky but not that heavy. Draco looked in curiosity at the return address. CC Photography. Draco grinned. At least the mud blooded midget was prompt. Eagerly he ripped open the brown paper and pulled out the photos.

He sucked in his breath at the sight that greeted his eyes. Harry was flying, an incredible sunset of red and orange behind him. Harry had his eyes closed, a look of bliss and peace on his face, as he soared far above the Quidditch pitch. Draco looked through the rest of them. Brilliant, the lot of them. Close-ups of Harry's face, panoramic views of the sunset and scenery behind him, one of Harry diving, a look of intense concentration in his green eyes. Draco's eyebrows shot up as he came to the last photo. It was a full on view of Harry's arse as he reached for the Snitch. Draco eyed it hungrily. This was exactly what he had been needing.

Oh yes.

Remembering what Creevey had said about flipping through them, Draco tried it and was tickled to see a jerky image of Harry diving and catching the snitch. Oh this was lovely. Much better than he had given a mud blood credit for. Well, he mused, even purebloods are mistaken on occasion. Now perhaps he ought to send an owl to Creevey and make a request for what type of images he wanted for his next package?

But what did he want in his next package? He shivered in delight as the possibilities presented themselves in his mind. Perhaps he could catch Harry in the shower? Maybe after a Quidditich game? Harry would be peeling off his sweaty Quidditch uniform, tossing off his glasses, turning on the shower, stepping in. Lathering up, shampooing his hair, rinsing off...

Draco wrenched his mind away from the delectable mental images, realizing that he needed to have his own shower if he didn't want to be late for Snape's class. Not to mention the very large problem that still needed to be dealt with; left over from his interrupted dream and the lovely photos. Plenty of time to think about it in the shower. Oh yes. A rather long shower was in order this morning, Draco decided, smirking.

Draco chuckled to himself, as he started stripping off his pajamas. If Harry Potter only knew that Draco Malfoy yelled his name when he wanked off in the shower, he'd probably have a brain aneurysm. The Boy Who Lived, killed by embarrassment. No, it just wouldn't do. He'd have to get Harry to warm up to him before any talk of Draco's wanking entered into conversation. Unless Harry brought it up, but that was about as likely as Voldemort inviting the Order of the Phoenix out for mimosas and karaoke.

Half an hour later, Draco stepped out of the bathroom, carefully toweling off his platinum hair. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he padded over to his desk and took out a quill and parchment. He had finally, after much deliberation and careful thought on the subject, decided that Harry in the shower was exactly what he wanted next from Creevey. Shouldn't be too hard; they did share a bathroom after all. How difficult could it possibly be to sneak a camera into the shower and snap a few quick shots? He'd understand if they weren't quite up to par with the first bunch, humidity and all that rot. Might affect the film. Or something like that; Malfoys simply did not have anything to do with anything as plebian as photography. Certainly not.

Creevey, on the other hand, seemed to be fairly adept at using that damn camera. Which just proved the point; if an uneducated and Muggleborn cretin like Colin Creevey could manage to do it, Draco certainly wanted nothing to do with it. No, he'd stick to what he was good at; being the sex symbol of Hogwarts, putting down the mudbloods, managing his vast financial empire, and scheming to get into Harry Potter's pants.

Dashing off a quick note to Creevey, he folded it up, sealed it with the Malfoy crest, and sent it off with his eagle owl, Octavian. He then turned to his wardrobe and pondered. He had to look good this morning, as he had potions with the Gryffindors first thing. Just in case Harry had had a similar erotic dream and was feeling amenable to the idea of skiving class and getting to the Room of Requirement to shag like rabbits. Unlikely, of course, but Malfoys prided themselves on never being caught unprepared. He may be the first Lord of Malfoy Manor who preferred pecs to breasts, but that was no excuse for not upholding time honoured family traditions.

Truthfully, Draco didn't mind leaving out certain time honoured family traditions, like the one in the Code of Conduct that stated that the firstborn son had to face a manticore before coming of age. That one certainly did not need to be carried on. It had been in the book since 1245 AD, but it had been instated by Cygnus Augustine Malfoy, who had been killed by his wife after he was found attempting intercourse with a goat on All Hallows Eve. Draco certainly didn't hold with that sort of nonsense, and didn't follow rules put into place by madmen. Though he'd followed most of his father's rules, and Lucius had been certifiable.

He'd been young, naïve, and vulnerable. At least that was the sob story he'd told the Ministry at the hearing before he was recognized as Lord Malfoy. They'd bought it of course. The generous donations hadn't hurt either. Draco sighed as he pulled on his tailored black trousers, silk white button up top, knotted his Slytherin tie, and pulled on his Gucci loafers. His father really had disgraced the family in the worst sort of way, bowing to that insane half blood excuse for a Dark Lord. Lucius had been nothing but an abomination to the noble house of Malfoy. It was up to Draco to make sure that he stayed on the winning side, kept up the family honour, and made sure his finances came out of this war intact. He knew where to place his bets. He was no fool, unlike his father. No wizard who had been defeated by a baby was getting his support.

No, as distasteful as it may be, the mudbloods were the sure winner of this war, and Draco intended to be on their side. Besides, he had another, much more attractive half blood that had caught his interest. Where Harry went, Draco went too, and Harry was fighting against the Dark Lord. Ergo, Draco would...not necessarily fight Voldemort, but he wouldn't support the bastard either. He, of course, would be there for Harry when the horrors of war got to be too much for him. He'd hold Harry, and distract him, and love him, and make it all better. So when Harry finally did kill that thrice-curst excuse for a wizard, he'd be the one to mop Harry up and take care of him. And then they'd have a lovely victory shag, and live happily ever after. Into the sunset and all that.

Draco sauntered out of the common room toward the Potions Lab. He smirked as a group of first years scattered quickly out of his path. He did cut quite the impressive figure, especially after he'd worked out all summer and had a bit of a growth spurt. Goodbye, androgynously beautiful ice prince Draco Malfoy; hello, piece of amazingly manly, toned arse and incredibly hot six-pack. Draco made a mental note to send a Christmas bonus to his trainer. The man was a genius, and Draco had never looked better. If only Harry could notice.

Draco strolled into Potions just as the bell rang, and sat in his usual seat at the back. Harry was sitting across the aisle with Weasel and Mud-Granger. Draco flashed them a smile and raised his left eyebrow at Harry. They give him a suspicious glare, then turned to listen to Snape drone on about dreamless sleep potions. As if Draco couldn't produce one in his sleep. Potions was one class Draco never had to put forth much effort in. He had a natural ability in the subject and was far ahead of the sixth year curriculum. It gave him a wonderful opportunity to ogle Harry, and still get stellar marks in the class. He'd even gone so far as to start inventing his own hybrid potions. They all seemed to work too--well, all the ones he'd tested so far, but Crabbe and Goyle were beginning to grow tired of being the guinea pigs, and he would soon need to recruit new test subjects.

He'd considered using a potion on Harry, but that was so cliché, not to mention fake, and Draco wasn't going to demean himself in such a way. No, he'd have Harry's honest love or nothing at all. The nothing at all was what he was getting at this point, but Malfoys did not concede defeat. As his grandfather used to say, 'If at first you don't succeed, try a new tactic.' Cheers.