All\'s Fair In Love And War

Disclaimer: Sneaks up on JKR and points a wand at her, \"Imperio! Mwahahahaha! Draco and Harry belong to me! What? What do you mean I\'m holding a pencil? ::sigh:: Oh well, it was worth a shot.\" This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers includint not not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Life is built on simple truths. The sun comes up in the morning, the earth is round, what goes up must come down - those sorts of things. Then of course there are more personalized truths. Everyone has their own; some are commonly shared and others are exclusive to the individual.

Draco Malfoy was no different. He had truths that he lived by, some were things he was raised to believe - pureblood wizards were superior to halfbloods and mudbloods, and Voldemort would kill Harry Potter and win the war - for example.

His own personal beliefs, the things he knew deep into his soul to be true, were iron clad and above reproach. Gryffindors and Slytherins would always hate one another, Snape was far smarter than that old coot Dumbledore - he\'d been spying on him for the Dark Lord for years without getting caught after all - and Potter was the straightest boy on the planet.

He believed these things with all his heart. There was no doubt in his mind about how the future would turn out. He would graduate, take the Mark, fight in the war and come out on the winning side. The wizarding world would be thankful to the Dark Lord in the end, once they realized they were so much better off with out the taint of muggles in their midst.

So, you can understand that when Draco happened upon a secret rendevous between none other than Harry Potter and his own room mate Blaise Zabini, that he had difficulty accepting what his eyes were seeing.

It was dark in the room, but not too dark. Zabini was naked, flat on his back across a table. His long, black hair lay fanned out around his head, his deep brown eyes locked on the young man in front of him as he slowly licked his way down his bronzed chest.

Potter was shirtless, his glasses tossed haphazardly on the floor by the wall, his hands held Blaise\'s hips; his thumbs making small circles on his skin as his mouth moved from one wine coloured nipple to the other.

Draco stood, silent in his confusion, as he watched Harry\'s agile, pink tongue trace patterns on Zabini\'s abdomen and then plunge into his navel as Blaise moaned and thrashed beneath him. He covered his mouth to stifle a gasp as Potter - Harry Fucking Potter - slid his lips over Blaise\'s cock.

It couldn\'t be real, he told himself. If it were real, then he wouldn\'t be watching such a private moment, if it were real Potter would be doing this with the mudblood, or the Weasel\'s ginger-haired little sister. If it were real, Blaise would not be here at all. Therefore, it couldn\'t be real, and so it didn\'t matter that he was there, that he was watching, that his body was reacting to the scene in front of him.

Not real, Draco reminded himself. Not real, not real, not real.

Not real! Draco screamed inside his head. He closed his eyes and willed it to all go away.

Not real, not real, notrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotreal NOT REAL! Draco chanted over and over, but when he opened his eyes, they were still there.

Potter had removed his trousers, his toned, tanned body glowed in the sparse light. He had positioned Blaise\'s legs up over his shoulders, and as Draco watched, he slowly pushed himself inside Zabini as the other boy moaned and arched his back.

As they began to move together, as green eyes stared into brown, as their hands came together and fingers entwined, Draco finally came to the conclusion that this was real. That Potter and Zabini, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, were fucking - scratch that - making love, right here in front of him.

His world was all upside down. Maybe everything he knew to be right was wrong. Purebloods were not superior, Gryffs and Slyths didn\'t hate each other, Voldemort wouldn\'t win the war, and Snape had been spying, just not on Dumbledore. He needed to consider the facts.

Potter was bent.

Potter was in love.

With a Slytherin.

His own dorm mate at that.

Well, fuck! was about the only thing Draco\'s shocked mind could come up with. It was almost funny. Years of repressed desire, feelings of want turned to bitter hatred. Punching, kicking, biting at Potter just to satisfy his body\'s need to touch him in some way; knowing that there was no other way. Hating the mudblood even more than Weasley because he just knew that she was sleeping with Harry, touching him in ways that he never could. It had all been pointless.

If only he\'d been less sure of things, if only he\'d taken a chance, it might have been him lying there, panting and moaning beneath Harry. It could have been him that Harry whispered words of love to. It should have been. But he had been blind.

He wasn\'t blind anymore.

His future was no longer set in stone, he didn\'t have to take the Mark, be a Death Eater and fight against Harry in a war that Voldemort would never win. He didn\'t have to stand in the shadows and pine for what would never be, he didn\'t have to follow in his fathers footsteps and marry a nice pureblood Slytherin girl and produce an heir.

All he had to do was wait.

Sooner or later Zabini would go to the Dark Lord. He would leave Harry to fulfil his family obligations, he\'d take the Mark and turn against the man he was even now professing his love for.

And Draco would be waiting to pick up the pieces when Harry\'s heart broke.