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Chapter Seven

The opposite sides of the coin

Harry didn't know how long he remained sitting in that chair. All he knew was that he felt that pain again, the feeling he'd had when he'd fallen down the stairs, breaking the knuckles of his right hand, and getting him hurt enough that he'd had to stay in the Hospital Wing for three or so days--yet he'd been oblivious to the physical pain. It was the same depressing mentality he'd felt then, what he felt currently.

But now it was even worse.

For then, Draco had been absent, yet temporarily. Now, Harry had confessed his love, and Draco seemed gone from him forever. Now Harry had even less chances with Draco.

A lone tear slid down his cheek, and he didn't care to wipe it away, feeling it slide smoothly down the surface of his skin. He loved Draco dearly, wanted to protect him, to make the Malfoy realized that they were equal, wanted to know Draco's thoughts, know Draco. He wanted to create a special bond between them, an unbreakable bond, preferably one of love rather than anything less. Mostly though, he wanted to let Draco love him. For with love came joy, and with love, pain went away.

Apparently, however, unrequited love brought much pain; more pain than Harry could ever have imagined. Somehow, in his mind, every time he'd fantasized telling Draco, he'd never considered rejection. He'd always dreamed of Draco hugging him, kissing him, or saying "I love you too," and them sneaking off somewhere to be together. But never, not even once, had he dared imagine Draco rejecting him. Sure, he'd imagined Draco saying playfully "No" and then taking it back and telling Harry the truth, that he loved him back. Yet he never imagine Draco actually saying no.

But Draco had said even worse than no. His words had told Harry that Draco was different, that there was no chance the two boys could have any sort of bond. And he'd told him that...Harry gulped back his sob in vain, and tears and sobs slipped from him simultaneously, as he rested his arms on the table, burying his face, twisted in sorrow, to hide in his arms.

I mean nothing to him! Nothing!

-----*-----

Harry bit back an exclamation of surprise, as he rounded the corner of the shelf. Ever since his crying fit had ended, he had been wandering about the library. He'd never realized how truly big it was. It cheered it him slightly to see the thousands of ancient, magical books piled up on the shelves that reached to the top of the high ceiling. Each book was unique in its own way, giving an aura of unique magic different from any other book. The musty smell, warm and comforting, had pleased him, although he had sneezed a few times due to all the dust.

Harry stood there for a moment, shocked. Sitting there, his body leaning against a bookshelf in deep slumber, was Draco. He still wore his Quidditch clothes, dirty though they were, and, in the dim light, Harry idolized the one he loved.

His long, dark lashes falling delicately upon the pale skin of his cheek, Draco's silver hair glowed in the small ray of light that peeked from a library window. Still in his arms was a thick, black book. Upon carefully moving it slightly so as not to wake the Slytherin, Harry saw that the book was titled Transfiguration for Dummies. He laughed quietly to himself, and leaned slightly over Draco, staring at the other boy's face, for once not twisted in rage, sneering, hatred, or pain.

Harry sat down on his knees beside Draco, his eyes roving over the other Seeker. He admired the way the expensive Quidditch boots managed to be still glowing, polished, opposite from the dirty Quidditch clothes--which he marveled at even more. Harry always had loved Draco's taste in clothes. His clothes were always impeccably tidy, precise, elegant, expensive, and...well-fitting. The way the black, tight leather trousers, and deep emerald shirt always showed off Draco's slender frame during every Quidditch match...it was all Harry could do to stop himself from grabbing the Slytherin boy instead of the Snitch!

Edging even closer toward Draco, Harry lightly put a hand on his shoulder, and then, breath coming quickly, licked his lips before leaning and giving Draco a gentle, brushing, kiss on the cheek. Then, reminded of his rejection due to the loss of reaction from the stony-faced sleeper, he stood up, and reluctantly walked away.

Unbeknownst to him, a blue-grey gaze watched his retreating figure, pale fingers grazing the cheek that his soft lips had fallen upon.

-----*-----

Harry's stomach grumbled, whining for the dinner that all the other Hogwarts students were currently enjoying. Arguing back with his stomach, Harry chose a few select words, swearing at his own self. Then, grinning, he laughed at himself, his depression temporarily disappearing as he wondered at his own strange habits. Luckily, he only talked to himself, or his stomach, when no one else was around.

Suddenly, he heard someone shout a string of swearwords; quite fluently, in fact. Curious, Harry approached the tunnel that led underground to the boy's Quidditch room, where they all changed back into school robes after a Quidditch game. It reminded him of how everyone had their own lockers in P.E. in Muggle school; except these lockers looked different, worked magically, and were much bigger, tall and rectangular, with a space for fitting a broom, and a small shelf for clothes and other possessions.

As he reached the locker room, he caught sight of a person's foot, clad in a Quidditch boot. Walking forward he'd just rounded the corner, when the boy shouted, "Get away from me!" The boy sat there, sitting on a bench in front of an open locker, leaning back away from Harry, his head turned away, and his arms held up guarding above him, attempting to protect himself. It took Harry a few moments to realize who it was.

Draco.

He almost laughed at the irony of it all; how many times had he bumped into the boy after being rejected? In the library, a half hour ago before dinner started, and now here, again. However, it was different now. Draco cringed before him, guarding, wandless, obviously not aware that it was he, and was still wearing his Quidditch clothes. Harry considered pouncing on the boy momentarily, wondering what it would feel like with Draco pressed against him wearing that tight, seductive leather. But he then quickly brushed the thought away, not wanting to take advantage of Draco, and sure that it would lead to disaster. Now came the question as to whether he should reveal to Draco who he was.

Harry bit his lip, and then, words lashing out into the air, he snapped, "Do you really hate me, or are you just afraid?"

A snicker came from Draco, and, beginning to turn towards Harry, he said, "Malfoys are never afraid. We are the ones who cause fear. I do hate you; Malfoys don't love. We-"

But then Draco was turned all around, facing Harry, realizing who it was, and their eyes met. Something came over Draco, Harry wasn't quite sure what it was. But as the blue-grey eyes stared, wide open, at him, Harry knew that, gradually, he was letting himself sink into those eyes again, and that, somehow, the other boy was sinking into his eyes as well.

But before he could comprehend how a boy who didn't love him or perhaps anyone could possibly let himself stare at any other boy the way Harry stared into Draco's eyes, Harry felt himself pushed back, to fall, hard, to the dirt floor, and then Draco pounced on him. Harry became filled with panic, wondering in awe and terror if Draco was planning to kill him, questions still swirling in his mind about what had just happened, and other things Draco had said to him in the past. He felt the other boy straddle him, hands tightly gripping his shoulders, and then--

Draco kissed him.

It was unlike anything Harry had ever felt before, everything that and even more than he had ever dreamed; but he was lost for words, swarmed by confusion, the word why pounding repeatedly through his head like a stampede. But eventually, all questions washed away, and he let himself drown, wonderfully drown, into the sensation of those smooth, sweet lips pressed against his passionately. He finally managed to respond to the kiss, reveling in the bittersweet taste of Draco's mouth, sour as lemons, yet sweet as chocolate. Unlike everything he seemed to be, the Malfoy boy's lips were warm and inviting.

It was the exact opposite of the previous events of the day; he had flipped from the Tails end of the coin to Heads. Harry, eyes closed, moaned in pleasure as he felt Draco's tongue slide into his mouth, slippery and hot, caressing every crevice and chasm inside. He yielded to Draco's dominant nature, melting like butter, surrendering to the wild tongue, hot lips, and seductive body. Simultaneously terrified and exuberant, he tentatively let his tongue rise to meet Draco's, and as they entwined, Harry wondered if this could be the turning point in his life. Not a, but the turning point. He wasn't sure about it, but knew that the sensation of Draco's kiss, and the Slytherin's body pressed hard against his, was all he needed right now.

However, Harry had never had experience with anything like this, and found Draco's passionate and quick approach rather intimidating. He loved it, but it also made him afraid. Reluctantly, he broke their kiss, and let Draco's head lie on his shoulder. One of his arms slid around the other boy's waist, and the other attacked the mop of luscious silver hair. Harry closed his eyes, smiling, gently brushing his fingers through it, feeling the silky hair brush against his skin, thick and smooth as he'd always imagined.

He tensed though, muscles tightening, as he felt Draco's cold hands lift the hem of his shirt and slide upwards, rubbing against his chest. He was also aware of, especially with Draco still wearing his rather tight fitting Quidditch clothes, how their crotches rubbed against each other. Although Harry managed to fight back the wave of lust, Draco, apparently, had much more difficulty with his own surges of uncontrollable libido. Harry groaned, whether in protest or welcome he didn't know, as he felt the other's boy's body give a hard rub against him, sensuously.

Harry wondered, dazed, why he was doing this. He had Draco where he wanted him; or maybe it was the other way around? Well, though the Slytherin currently had dominance, he had Draco in the mood and place he'd always wanted him, so why, he asked himself, was he now protesting? There were many reasons.

First of all, the fiery, passionate, quick, sudden, and uncontrollable libido pulsing in Draco was different from the slow, sneaky, and gradual process of Harry's. He'd never expected it all to happen so fast, and his inexperience made him apprehensive and scared. He had wanted this to be one of the last parts of their relationship, the reward for their shared love, not the beginning! Also was the fact that Draco had rejected him, and the rejection had been final and thorough; how could he have changed his mind so fast, and why? Also, why no explanations? Why no declared love?

The way Draco had said go away, it had been filled with nervousness and fear, and only when Draco's gaze met Harry, and something strange had come over him, had he pounced. However, Harry hadn't the time to file these thoughts, as, suddenly, he felt Draco's hand creeping slowly up his thigh. Every breath in those moments seemed to last longer than a thousand yawns, though in reality his breathing was quick, rattling gasps. Every inch of Draco's hand moving upwards seemed more like a mile, the few seconds it took seeming to last eternity.

Then, Draco slid diagonally slightly off of Harry, the top of his torso still on Harry's chest, hand still resting on his thigh. Everything happened very suddenly for Harry, the next moments. He felt that hand taking advantage of his vulnerability, his entire body, especially his groin, bursting with fire as he gave in to the sensations of that rubbing hand, clutching Draco tightly to him.

The fire of lust raged inside him, bringing heat to his body and making his heart beat fast and furious. Every movement of Draco's, every rub, stroke, or push of that hand, made him moan in pleasure, whimpering for more. He gave all his control to the other boy, surrendering to the unfamiliar overwhelming feelings rushing wildly inside him. It spoke against every brave and controlling thought he'd ever had, was worse than the most challenging thing he'd ever had to face; but he couldn't help letting all thoughts of dominance slip away. He'd never demanded it, never thought about it, but being Gryffindor, he always had had a temper, and a will to dominate--just not an evil will. Yet here he was, giving his entire self to this other boy, and a Slytherin at that, a boy with cunning and evil will coursing through his blood since the day he was named. Harry's mind registered none of this, and accepted everything, anything. He would surrender it all, protest against nothing, as long as this sensation that drove him mad, that burned him with intensity, and that he loathed and yet simultaneously had always hankered for, if he could keep this sensation, everything would be fine.

Then, he felt Draco's hands working at his belt, fingers so swift and nimble that before Harry could say a word, he felt his belt whisked off. But then Draco's fingers paused, and Harry murmured, "Don't..." Whether it was protest against Draco's actions, or protesting against the loss of the sensations, Harry couldn't pinpoint. If Harry hadn't been so overwhelmed, he would have wanted to take over and have dominance over the Slytherin. Suddenly Draco's fingers were at it again; this time, Harry's Gryffindor sense of determination for control did kick in, suddenly and violently, and with a protest, he curled his body in defiance, crying "No!" and as Draco's elbow dug into his side hard, whether accidental or not he didn't know, but the next he knew he'd bitten Draco's shoulder. It had been an act of defense, protest, and an automatic need to do something when he felt the pain; but he immediately regretted it. Snarling, Draco pulled back from Harry, and crouched, eyeing Harry warily.

Both boys were frozen, one, dark hair chaotic, clothes disheveled, perspiration shining his skin; the other, head bowed, piercing gaze dangerous and defiant, crouched, feline, pale skin perfect, each silver hair in place, as if nothing had happened.

Then, Draco suddenly sunk to the ground with a thump, as his eyes glazed over slightly. Harry rolled over on his stomach, sliding his trousers back over his hips, and reached out for the fallen Slytherin, voice emotional with worry, whispering, "Hey? Y-you okay?" And suddenly, Draco's head snapped up, and he stared at Harry as if the Boy-Who-Lived had suddenly sprouted a second head.

Standing up swiftly with a whisper of leather, he barked, "What are you doing here? Why are you-" then he noticed Harry's condition, and his eyes widened. Harry barely caught the words as Draco whispered, "Oh. Oh, oh no. Damnit, damnit, the devil, it just had to be him, didn't it? The potion got to me, so I chose him!" then the Slytherin muttered a few choice swearwords, before turning and grabbing a pile of clothes from his still open locker.

Before walking to the other side of the room, he barked at Harry, "You! Don't you think I meant whatever I said or did. I'm innocent of any ardent thing I just did involving you, alright? Don't you dare move from that spot while I get out of these filthy, surely contaminated clothes!" Harry noticed that upon saying contaminated Draco made a point of glancing over Harry's state of dishevelment, as if blaming everything and anything on him, saying he was dirty. Harry stared in wonderment and annoyance at the other boy's refusal to be at fault, before turning around to attend to his own state of dress.

Tugging up his trousers, his mind momentarily, now wistfully, replayed the recent events. What had come over Draco? Why? And now he was back to his normal, spiteful and hissing Slytherin self; why? How? Something was up, something was wrong.

He grabbed his belt, momentarily rubbing it against his cheek; he could almost taste Draco's mouth again, just touching the belt that had been touched by him. Then Harry put the belt back on, and double checked to make sure that he was neat and tidy now other than his naturally unkempt hair. He turned around, asking Draco if he was finished, but ended up choking on the last word, as his eyes widened to the sight of the pale Slytherin shirtless. Shooting a malevolent glare at Harry, Draco hissed, "Stop staring, Potter."

Harry couldn't stop, though. His eyes remained fixed, his hands trembled and his lust returned as he greedily took in the sight of pale revealed skin, masculine chest, strong muscles gained from Quidditch. Sudden perspiration of being stared at in such a way by another boy made a curl of Draco's hair stick to his brow in a way that made Harry want to swoon at the utterly dead sexy scene before him. A black dragon tattoo weaved it's way up from the small of Draco's back to rest it's head between the boy's shoulder blades. And, innocently showing itself to Harry's eyes from it's perch below Draco's left collarbone--which Harry only saw as Draco began to turn toward him--was a scar.

It was quite unlike any scar Harry had ever seen (not that he had seen many other than his own), and obviously something Draco didn't want other eyes to see. He knew it was a scar, though, the same way everyone knew the lightning bolt on his forehead wasn't a tattoo. Emblazoned against the Slytherin's pale skin, was a large, fully open eye. It was simple, just two curving lines to form that shape. But in the eye, in place of a round, black pupil, was instead a ball of flame. But the entire scar, both the eye and it's pupil of flame, were colored blue, so startling and dark a blue that it almost blinded Harry. Harry shook his head, trying to force away the image; but it remained against his eyelids even when he closed his eyes. He grit his teeth, repressing a scream, as, the image of the eye still blaring at him, his scar began to burn furiously hot, and then lower to icy, freezing cool. It blinked, hot cold, hot cold, and then his muscles went limp. He gave a final shout of pain, and then fell to the floor.