Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

**If you were here

I\'d never have a fear

So go on live your life

But I miss you more than I did yesterday

You\'re beautiful**





-





Draco lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been weeks since the defeat of Voldemort, as so many people were now calling him. No one had any fear left, certain that everything would be fine forever. Once again, so many claimed to have been under some sort of control whilst doing the Dark Lord’s biddings. This time, however, a lot of their claims were taken into account. It was in fact the case with a lot of families that they simply came back to the fold out of fear for their lives, as well as their children’s or spouse’s. The Malfoys happened to fall under this category. They were definitely shunned and looked down upon, but they were under no undue repercussions by the law. To put it bluntly, they were simply unpopular. As a result they kept mostly to themselves, especially not daring to contact anyone with any connections to the Dark Wizard.





A pop resounded to Draco’s left, and he glanced half heartedly in the direction of an elderly house elf shuffling toward the bed with a large tray in his hands. It was laden with a sumptuous array of fruits and creams and a sponge cake or two. Next to the mess of food there lay a newspaper. On the front there was a picture of a haggard looking Harry Potter somewhat scowling at the photographer,

while in the background Ron and Hermione, standing a little closer than many had seen them stand before, waved happily out at the viewer.





“I’m not hungry, Toddy. Just take it away.”





The elf bowed low, “Toddy knows this, sir. Toddy was just hoping Master would be tempted by something more special? He hasn’t eaten in days.”





Draco just shook his head slightly, lazily, “I don’t care. I just don’t want anything.”





The elf bowed again and set down the tray; his way of forcing his opinion on his owners. Before Draco could say anything more, Toddy disappeared with another loud pop, and Draco sighed. The elf had been trying to get him to eat for days, attempting increasingly tastier displays. The trouble was he just didn’t WANT anything. He didn’t want to sleep, eat, or go outside, or consider whether he was

going to get a job now, or anything. His eyes trailed to the paper on the silver server and he leaned himself up off the comforter long enough to reach for the broadsheet, and then fell with a flump back to the divan.





He stared hard at the hero. He couldn’t help his focus falling to the slight pout of the lips. The way green eyes seemed to bore straight back into him. He sighed, and pulled out the wand he’d eceived by owl. Harry had had no use for the Hawthorne stick now that his own Yew had been repaired, and gave it to Kreacher for owling back to the Malfoy residence. Draco took the baton and traced the edges of the photo and set the paper down, charming the print to float in the air. He reached under his mattress for the box he kept. Inside the box there lay many moving images; all were of Harry at one point or another, all taken within the last couple of months, all from the wizarding newspaper. The new addition did a loop-the-loop, floating gently down to rest on top of the muddled pile.





Draco closed the lid with a snap, set the box on the bed, and tossed the paper aside. He had long given up on reading about the saviour’s life after the battle. All he really wanted to do was stare at the boy and dream; dream of a world where the both of them didn’t loathe each other, a world where they could have had a proper chance to discover feelings between each other. As it was it took the end of a life consuming war and the loss of the one fluctuating constant in his life for Draco to realize just how much he loved their heated exchanges. It never occurred to him to think about the driving force behind his incessant need to have the boy notice him, to rile him with nasty comments about his friends, to put him down, to get him to fight back... But now he thought about it. And he regretted ever trying his hardest.





His eyes now drifted back to the box and he reached under the lid for the first picture his fingers touched. It turned out to be his favourite one; the one he stared at the most, the one he stared at the longest. It was a picture of just Harry, and for once he seemed genuinely pleased to have himself photographed. The serene smile, the excitement in his eyes… The wind was clearly blowing pretty roughly, his hair was a mess. Draco couldn’t figure out why he loved this one the most, but he lost himself in it every time. Staring at the boy who lived, the boy he loved, his thoughts would drift to bantering back-and-forths between him and the golden boy. The heat, the intensity… Draco thought of other circumstances in which that look would be just as delicious. The same look on his face as he lay on a mattress, hair spilling over a pillow, the covers bunched underneath his lithe frame... Naturally Draco would be on top, maybe even holding down Harry’s limbs; just enough force to induce a struggle. A struggle they both would know would be unnecessary.





The places his thoughts were taking him sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel his breath quickening, and he stretched surreptitiously. His fingers danced a trail down his chest leading to his stomach. He lifted the edge of his shirt, and teased his belly with soft touches. He didn’t care how many times he’d already done this in the past week, but he still felt slightly ashamed every time he felt the

tightening in his groin. He kept his eyes locked on the eyes of the boy in the picture. The teasing fingertips softly traced their way under the hem of his pants. He paused as he brushed the curls. He had always loved the feel of the down fluff nestled between his legs. He imagined he just might love someone else’s even more.





Oh Merlin, that was enough.





With a flick of his wrist, he undid the fastening of his pants and moved just enough to shimmy them down to reach what he wanted. It surprised him how hard these thoughts about Harry Potter always managed to make him. Not that it mattered much now that his palm surrounded his heat. His hand slid down, then back to the top. His breath hitched as he reached the head, and a shudder passed

through him again. He did it again, convulsed again.





He didn’t want it to be fast this time. He felt like drawing it out, though why, he didn’t know. He pulled low again, and fit in a delightful squeeze to his testicles before rising once more. A moan broke the silence and another pass of his hand made for an opportunity to massage the muscle just behind his package.





His breath was picking up even more, and his body decided it was time to speed up again. More passes, up and down his length, and he released the photograph and dropped his head in the same moment. This left his other hand free to join in the fun and he squeezed his eyes tight. One hand fondling, the other stroking, his mind conjuring random images of a Harry breathing just as raggedly as

he was, green eyes intensely boring into his own ice blue, whimpers renting through the room, it almost became too much for Draco to handle.





And then it was.





And Draco had a mess to deal with, physically as well as figuratively, and an intense need that had everything to do with what he’d just completed.





-





**Well I\'m a total wreck and almost every day

Like the firing squad or the mess you made

Well, don’t I look pretty walking down the street

In the best damn dress I own**