The Perfect Imperfection

As I stormed out of the classroom, I half expected him to come running after me. I'm not sure if I was upset or relived that he didn't. I managed to regain my composure before entering the common room, but the second my head hit my pillow, those silent tears started to fall. And that's how it's been for the past few hours. Me, pathetic, stupid, Draco Malfoy crying over a prat like Harry Potter. Yet, in some ways, I like it better when I'm alone. At least then I can think about how things were and now how things are becoming.

* * *

I remember the look in his eyes after our very first tryst in the hallway. He was a bit confused, yes. But definitely not as scared as I had imagined. It was a show down of sorts, to see who would take the first step away. Both of us were still, beads of sweat kissing our brows.

I was still pressed up against his chest, eyes of gray locked against those gorgeous emeralds of his. He was silent as could be, save his erratic breathing, which rolled like waves along my neck. A smirk tugged relentlessly at the corner of my mouth, and I couldn't help but break the silence with an exaggerated sigh. It was at that moment he took my hand out from underneath his robes and shoved me backwards.

"And is that all the thanks I get, Potter? Just a shove in the opposite direction?" Arcing a slender brow, I took a step back toward him. "I'd have expected a bit more gratitude."

"Bugger off, Malfoy..." His voice was quiet and unsure as he straightened his boxers and smoothed out his robe, finally taking his eyes off me.

"Please don't try to pretend you didn't like it. I'd even dare say I did better than you yourself could've done." As I crossed my arms over my chest, I cocked my head to the side, the grin playing at my lips growing even larger. He stayed quiet and turned on his heal, heading down toward the end of the hallway.

"Don't feel bad about liking it, Potter!" I yelled; my voice echoing between the deserted stonewalls. "Everybody does!" He turned to glare at me. It really was a striking look. Harsh green orbs, barely covered by the matted mop of black he had as hair, stared straight through me.

His chest was heaving now, with passion or hatred, I never knew which. I don't think he knew just how handsome he looked there, but it was the first time I realized just what a sex toy he could be.

"I'll never like anything you do, Malfoy!" He spat out, fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh? Is that so?" With a shrug of my shoulders, I turned around and sauntered off in the other direction, leaving him standing alone at the end of the hallway.

I didn't see him at breakfast the next morning, not that I was particularly looking for him, mind you. However, I seemed to be the only person who cared. That stupid mudblood and Ron were so enthralled with each other, I imagine a heard of Unicorns could've thundered through the Great Hall and they wouldn't have even bothered to look up. I just prayed they wouldn't breed, God knows we could use less of those types in the world.

As much as he was trying to make himself sparse, there's no getting out of Potions' Class. I did my best not to look back at him, although nothing could stop be from uttering snide remarks every chance I got. I figured, by then, they'd have learned to ignore me, but that day I proved myself wrong. Once we had been set on our own to brew a simple enlarging potion, I took to opportunity to turn around to his table.

"Get much sleep last night, Potter?" I whispered with a grin as I motioned to the two stupid lovebirds at the table beside him, "I imagine with those two going at it like rabbits in the bed next to you, it must be a bit hard."

I'm not sure what exactly it was that happened or who it was that threw the first frog heart. I only remember looking up to see Professor Snape looming over Harry and I. Both of us were a tangled mess of robes, limbs, and a funny blue potion that smelled strongly of seaweed. I might've found it a bit more erotic had Snape not been staring straight at us. Breathing hard, I jumped to my feet, knocking Harry into a table, which spilled a small vial of dragon's blood.

"Professor...I...surely you saw what happened! He attacked me! And with no good reas-"

"Save it, Draco. Your potions may be slightly above average, but let me assure you that your acting skills leave much to be desired. Get up, Potter."

The class around us was full of whispers, and I'm sure I heard a few stifled snickers from the back of the dungeon. Harry stood up next to me and we both stared up at Snape, awaiting the horrible sentence that was sure to come.

"Naturally you two will stay after class to clean this mess up. You will not have a chance to make up this assignment; instead you will organize the jars, cauldrons, and vials that are currently piled up in the storage room. I'm sure it will be a most pleasant experience for the both of you." He turned away and walked back to the front of the classroom, his black robes billowing out behind him. A small sigh slipped out from between my lips; I was quite relieved I wasn't being forced to lick the dungeon floors clean. "Oh, and by the way-" he turned to face us, and my heart sank,"-Sixty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor. And rest assured Mr. Potter, that Professor McGonagall will hear of this."

Harry looked absolutely crestfallen as we began the task at hand. Professor Snape had left for dinner, as had everybody else, and the silence between us was deafening. Cauldrons, bottles, vials, and jars of all shapes and sizes were pulled from the storage area and onto the floor around us. Soon enough, we both stood in a knee-high pile of all sorts of tools for potion making. I casually tossed a few buckets to the side and made my way over him. He was in the corner of the room, scrubbing a large purple stain off the stone floor.

"You look pretty comfortable down there, Potter. Spend a lot of time on your knees?" I found myself kneeling next to him, staring intently at his features. A few strands of charcoal hung down over the rims of his glasses and his eyes were fixated on the purple spot in front of him, a little nub of tongue sticking out between pressed lips. He didn't' respond to my comment, which naturally caused me great irritation.

"Don't answer me then. We both know the answer anyway."

I knelt there for a bit more, looking at him and the spot he was scrubbing. I think we were both aware that his scrubbing wasn't doing any good. And as much as I was perfectly content to sit there staring at him, I had to put his stupidity to and end. With the slow roll of my eyes, I reached out and slapped his hands away.

"If you insist on cleaning every damn spot in this place, at least do it the right way." I muttered and pulled my wand from my robes. Pointing it at the spot, I muttered a simple spell and the purple instantly vanished, revealing a perfectly smooth, gray stone slab. He didn't seem all that impressed as he raised his brows and looked up at me.

"Snape said we weren't supposed to use magic to do the job." He turned away from me to reach other for a handful of small vials, which he placed on a shelf above us.

"Since when did you start following rules, Potter? Just do as I do and we can get the fuck out of here. I don't imagine you're actually enjoying yourself." I stood and walked to the entryway of the storage room, and again raised my wand. "It's really quite easy...Mundum!" With a flick of my wand, row upon row of cauldrons stacked themselves neatly against the opposite wall.

"Give it a go, Potter. I really don't have all day." The job didn't take long with both of us using the charm. Occasionally we'd have to duck out of the way of a flying bottle or jar, but it was relatively painless. I found a secret pleasure in watching him perform his spells. He spoke his spells loud, and clear, with assertiveness only a Quidditch player would have. I also found myself fixated on the little wrinkles that appeared on his forehead when he was concentrating.

Momentarily, I was disgusted that he would put so much effort into something as stupid as detention, but then I realized it was just how Harry is. A passionate and upfront sort of man. I enjoy that in a person. Who am I kidding? I hate that in a person. But it's just...so different with him. Everything is different with Harry.

With a sharp kick to the wooden panels of the storage room door, our detention was over. Both of us stayed mute as we walked to the door of the dungeon. As he opened the door, he slowly turned to look at me, those green eyes trailing lazily up my form. I'm not really positive if he meant to give me an once-over, but I did notice it, that's for sure.

"Thanks..." He muttered his gratitude, running that velvety tongue of his across chapped lips, "...For the spell, I mean."

I'm pretty sure he knew just what he was doing to me with that tongue of his, and I instantly felt t hat familiar twinge of heat welling up inside. At that moment, I wanted nothing, absolutely nothing more than to have that tongue running slowly down my neck. I shrugged and glanced away, hoping the flush I was feeling in my face wasn't apparent to him.

"Don't mention it." I bit down hard on my lower lip, and tried desperately not to give in. In the end of course, there was nothing I could do. As he turned away from me to walk out, I immediately reached over and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back toward me. It was a harsh kiss, one of the most intense I had ever experienced. Up to that point, anyway. My hand tightened around his unusually slender wrist as I pressed myself against him. Naturally he was tense at first, who wouldn't be? But he melted into it, just as I knew he would. With a small whimper of protest from him, I tore my lips from his and trailed my tongue lightly along his jaw line to his ear.

"Tonight, Potter. At the lake."

After a sharp nip to his earlobe, I let his wrist fall to his side, and I quickly turned on my heel to walk out the door. I made it a point not to look back at him. It was in his hands now, really. It was a strange feeling, to leave the decision up to another. And yet, deep down, I knew what he would do. At least...I hoped I did.

* * *

Stupid Potter. Only he could make me feel this way. Of course, he's the only person that can do a lot of things...with a small sigh; I buried my head in my pillow and chewed contentedly on my bottom lip. It's a horrible habit, really, but it helps me think. Think about what on earth I am going to do with Harry.

He's lying to me. We both know he is. Lying to me is very bad business and he should know. The relationship-if you can call it that-wasn't his idea, it was mine. Of course, now he thanks his lucky stars he ever met me. Reluctant at first, more than willing in the end. That's the way they always are with me. I think that makes him a little crazy.

Yet, he makes me crazy. I'm supposed to be in control, I'm supposed to be in charge of him, but I'm not. Then again, I don't think either of us are in control now. We're connected by some strange twist of fate, as enemies...as lovers. He didn't tell me no when he had the chance, and now neither of us can do anything about it. I wasn't supposed to end up this way with him. Me, Draco Malfoy, actually falling for Harry fucking Potter. Who'd have thought? No one.

Just another thing on the list of shit to never let anybody know. Especially not him.

Everything has been spiraling out of our control for quite some time, now...but, it doesn't matter, we work together. My arrogance and ability to pretend we have a flawless relationship is matched only by his ability to make me honestly believe he enjoys being with me. Maybe that's what makes us so perfect together. Or maybe, that's what's going to tear us apart in the end.