Poppet

Authors Note: Many many thanks go out to my brilliant beta's Laurel and Shannon. Laurel has recently finished a brilliant H/D fic and you should all go read it. You can find it under her profile (DreamingInColour) Wow. 30 reviews for one chapter!!! You guys are awesome!!

Chapter 2 With Great Power Comes Very Little Responsibility

Harry’s boots made loud crunching noises in the powder white snow as he made his way toward Hogsmeade with Ginny at his side. All things considered, it had been a peculiar week for him.

Tuesday morning found him waking from the most erotic dreams he could ever recall having, but the subject of them remained a mystery. This continued every morning for the rest of the week followed by breakfast in the great hall with Ron and Hermione. While he ate he couldn’t seem to pull his attention from Malfoy, which was not an unusual pastime for him, however, just like Monday, he found Malfoy watching him just as intently.

During random times of the day he would became inexplicably aroused and have to rush off to the loo to relieve the pressure he felt building up. Sometimes he would swear he felt someone touching him, feeling phantom fingers caressing his skin and causing gooseflesh on his arms and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. But it was impossible that someone was petting him fondly, as clearly no one was near him and Harry began wondering if the war had snapped a tiny fragment of his mind away and if it would just get worse until he was committed to St. Mungo’s where he might share a room with Neville’s parents.

Even more frustrating than his progressing insanity was the fact that still, at every meal, Malfoy would be there, watching.

It made Harry so angry and he didn’t even know why, but he was vaguely aware of the fact that his recent behavior was slowly but surely driving away all of his friends.

As he strolled through the glittering white snow lining the trail to Hogsmeade he reached over to take his girlfriend’s hand, but felt suddenly compelled to release it and shove his hand back in his pocket. Ginny looked up at him with confusion written all over her face, but Harry had no words for her. Something inside of him just couldn’t seem to touch her.

It had been that way all week.

It had started at breakfast earlier in the week. Ginny had come to the great hall – late as usual- and sat playfully in his lap, that was until Harry, in a gesture he didn’t think he was even capable of, practically threw her off by getting up and moving down the expansive bench closer to Ron.

All he could do was look down at her angry red face as she sat on the floor where she landed.

He tried to apologize but his mouth had snapped shut, his lips sealing together to prevent him from uttering a word. Ginny had merely huffed, and stormed from the great hall, followed by Hermione.

“Harry mate, no one likes seeing her sitting on your lap that way less than me, but you could have just asked her to get up,” Ron lectured before following Hermione.

Later that day Harry was able to apologize, and luckily Ginny forgave him, but not without punishment. To make it up to her he had promised to take her to Hogsmeade on a date that coming weekend which was why he was traipsing along beside her now, making his way to Madam Puddifoot’s teashop.

He winced as he stepped inside the cramped little shop. He thought the shop looked slightly less tacky decorated for Christmas rather than Valentine’s Day where instead of glittering golden cherubs, there was mistletoe hung from the ceiling above every table.

“Oh look Harry, mistletoe,” Ginny cooed, pointing out the twig and berry plant hanging above them.

Harry smiled and leaned in, about to press his mouth against hers in a tender kiss when instead he simply stuck out his tongue and blew her a raspberry.

His eyes widened in shock at his own actions and he promptly felt the sting of Ginny’s across his face as he realized that he had ruined things yet again at the terrible little teashop, but worse than that he had also ruined things with his girlfriend.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into you, Harry?” she asked, her face a mixture of anger and concern.

Harry sighed and shook his head, unable to find a good excuse for his actions and not wanting to sound ridiculous by telling her he didn’t mean to do it, so he remained silent while she examined him closely.

“Does this have something to do with Draco Malfoy?” she asked. This was one of the only things Harry had not been expecting her to ask.

“What? No, why would you say that?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Do you think I’m dim, Harry?” she asked, her arms folded angrily across her delicate frame.

“No, but I don’t understand what this could possibly have to do with Malfoy?” Harry replied honestly. He had been watching the smarmy git for weeks and nothing indicated that he was up to anything.

“I was there, remember?” she hissed.

“Where?” Harry asked, still completely confused.

“I was on your lap Monday morning at breakfast when you got… hard,” she whispered, looking suddenly shy.

“When I… what?” Harry replied, taken off guard at having to think back to that morning.

The morning Malfoy blew him a kiss, the morning Malfoy winked at him.

Suddenly his face began to heat up anew and Ginny shook her head. “That’s what I thought,” she muttered.

“What!?” Harry asked, near to shouting in the small room. “What did you think?

She sat back in her chair looking hostile, but also a tiny bit sad. “I thought at first it was my presence that made you react that way, but then I looked at your face and your eyes were all for Malfoy.”

Harry tried to protest, but she raised her hand and shook her head to prevent him from saying anything further.

“Then you seemed to refocus on me, even asking me to the dance, so I figured I was just being a paranoid idiot, but all this week you’ve been avoiding me, keeping your distance, you won’t even touch me,” she whispered.

“I don’t mean to,” Harry rushed, but was silenced with a glare.

“Just be honest with me, Harry. That’s all I want. I promise I won’t be mad if you just tell me the truth. I’ll be hurt, but I can forgive you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“I am being honest, Gin,” Harry pleaded.

“Are you fucking him?” she asked suddenly, her face heating up and the tears finally spilling onto her cheeks.

“No!” Harry shouted. “Merlin, no, Ginny. I hate Malfoy!”

“There is a fine line between love and hate, Harry. I think you might have crossed over,” she spat.

“I swear, Gin. I’ve never touched him; I never even talk to him. You have to believe me,” he begged. It wasn’t even a matter of saving his relationship anymore. He saw now that it was over no matter what he said, but he needed her to understand the truth, that she was breaking up with him on unfounded charges.

“I’ve seen you, Harry. I’ve seen you sneak into the boy’s toilets several times a day, always looking over your shoulder to see if someone was following you, always in there for ages,” she hissed lowly as if appalled that she would ever have to be so forthright with Harry.

A bark of laughter escaped his lips at the absurdity of her accusations and suddenly the conversation took a vicious turn. It was true, he had often needed to pull himself off in the loo this week, disappearing for long periods of time to do so, but how could he explain any of that to Ginny? How could he make her understand that it had nothing to do with Malfoy when he had no explanation for why it did happen?

Finally he sighed in defeat, his exasperation at their constant bickering coming to a head, and got up from the table, not even able to meet Ginny’s gaze. “Think what you want, Gin. But I haven’t been with anyone, I’m still a virgin for Merlin’s sake, and the fact that you would refuse to believe me speaks volumes.”

Her mouth fell open and she looked conflicted between telling him to sod off and apologizing for being too hasty. Harry let her silence wrap around him and he gave her one curt nod. “I think we’re done here,” he whispered before leaving the tiny teashop for what he hoped would be the last time.

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Potter was a virgin? Well, wasn’t that interesting?

Draco had been listening to the entire lovers’ spat, most of which had been orchestrated, or at least initiated with his voodoo doll.

It was almost amazing the ease with which he could wield it, the things he could make Potterdo with just a whispered command or a loving touch. It was as if Potter wanted to obey it as much as Draco wanted him to.

It had been worth it really, all the trouble he had gone through to get the ritual just right, it had all been worth it in the end to have Potter as his poppet.

That ugly display with his girlfriend in the Great Hall on Monday morning had set Draco’s heart on fire, and he refused to witness it again, but this… this turbulent break up of theirs based on accusations so ludicrous and untrue; even Draco could not have predicted that.

Sure he would have loved for it to be true, for Potter to be sneaking away from his girlfriend to enjoy steamy trysts with him. It would have been perfect. But clearly that wasn’t the case, loathe as Draco was to admit it, Potter was no fonder of him than he had been on the first day of school.

Finding out that even the fiery redhead had not been able to bed Potter filled him with a sense of purpose and fear. Would the stubborn hero ever want him in the same ways as he fantasized? Was he really so unattainable, so pure that he was virtually untouchable? Was he a prude, shying away from any and all kinds of sexual intimacy or has he just been waiting for the right person. Perhaps he was waiting for some mysterious blonde Slytherin, the man of his dreams, to whisk him away?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear the ridiculous thoughts from his mind.

No, Harry Potter was not meant for him to have, only to borrow, and only through his likeness, the tiny doll he kept securely in his robe pocket at all times.

Draco thought little of the basket of apples on the Slytherin table until Harry Potter walked into the room and sat at the Gryffindor table in just the right place for those apples to block Draco’s view of him. It was if he knew the sneaky blonde was watching him, or as if the apples themselves had predicted Potter’s mood and knew that he would prefer to sit where the sunlight could cast a faint blue shimmer to his hair so they deliberately placed themselves there to block his view.

He could remember a time when he had thought the Gryffindor hero’s hair unkempt and perhaps even rough to the touch, though when he skulked into the lion’s den to steal a lock of that wild mane, Draco found different.

The raven hair adorning his rival’s head was smooth like silk, pleasantly soft, and it curled around his fingers as though it wanted to be caressed, as if Potter’shair had a mind all its own. How he longed to run his fingers through the Gryffindor’s ebony locks with his permission, and not as some nighttime stalker while his victim lay fast asleep, completely unaware of Draco’s looming affection for him.

Logic reasoned that he should leave the apples alone. He needed to let his mind think on other things instead of constantly being preoccupied with Potter, but he just couldn’t seem to let it be. He roughly shoved the basket aside, feigning distaste for their odor and aligning things in his favor once more.

Two weeks had passed since Potterand the she-weasel’s breakup and the entire school was well aware of it by now. Potter continued to sit beside Weasley and Granger at every meal, but no longer did the fiery redhead implant herself on his lap, or even at his section of the table; instead she sat at the other end flirting with the likes of Finnegan and Thomas.

Draco was only mildly surprised that Ginevra’s reasoning behind breaking things off with Potter -or vice versa depending on how one looked at it - never surfaced. Clearly the youngest Weasley was hurt and annoyed, but she was still a Gryffindor at heart and if Draco knew anything of their kind, they were loyal bunch. She would have never betrayed what she thought she knew of her former boyfriend, though even if she had she would have found herself wanting.

There was no evidence to link him with an obsession with Harry Potter, he had made sure of that, and certainly no reason for anyone, save Ginevra to suspect Potter had feelings of a romantic nature for him.

It made him curious though. What had led her to believe Draco was the object of Potter’s desire and not herself? There had to have been sufficient evidence to that effect to make her draw that conclusion. Although girls were a notoriously silly bunch, known to glean things from a topic that were never there and always reading too much into any given word or emotion.

Still, it made him wonder what words or emotions Potter had betrayed to make her see such a falsity?

He remembered her mentioning the morning that he had taunted Potter with a kiss and a wink across the Great Hall, but thought little of it at the time. Surely she had been right in her initial assumption that his gaze and his erection were unrelated, but the thought that they were not intrigued him to no end.

Late at night he would imagine Potter reacting to him in such a way, imagining that a mere look from him could make Potter hard, but he knew deep down that it was impossible. If he could steal even a small romantic moment with Potter it would be a miracle, but a bond like that runs much deeper than a brief tryst such as he might one day attempt with the boy.

He both hated and loved Potter; he wanted to build him up and he wanted to destroy him all at once. The conflicting emotions within him were in a constant battle and he was never sure which would be the victor, which would leave with all the spoils and which would slink away inside of him never to be seen again.

Most of him rooted for the destroyer, but only for the sake of self-preservation. He knew that Potter would have no compassion for a fallen former Death Eater and if his love for Potter prevailed over his hatred, than he would be left a retched leper trying to always claim something that would never be.

He couldn’t have that. His weakness for Potter was enough; he couldn’t let his entire soul become absorbed by the hero.

Harry walked to class sandwiched between his two best friends, who were fighting once again, or rather still as the case seemed to indicate.

It seemed his fight with Ginny had ruined things for both their relationships. Ron, who had been planning a very sweet lunch for he and Hermione at Madam Puddifoot’s arrived with her there shortly after Harry had exited the same shop. As soon as Ginny spotted Hermione she leapt upon her, tear strewn and distraught over her breakup with Harry and monopolized her completely while Ron busied himself flicking bits of scone across the table into empty teacups.

Ron hadn’t been able to formulate a new plan to ask his girlfriend to the dance and so Hermione was still alternating between acting as though he didn’t exist and biting his head off at random.

He hated it when they squabbled and he wished that they would either get over it already or break up and be done with it, though the repercussions of that option made him shudder slightly as he knew he would be placed in the center and forced to choose between his two best friends.

As they made their way to the dungeons for potions he felt a slight chill down his spine and turned to glance quickly back down the corridor to see Malfoy trailing a few paces behind him. He shot the boy a sneer that was unsurprisingly returned with a smirk and continued though the open door where he took his seat between the still angry Hermione and the ever confused Ron.

Draco sat in his chair at the back of the potions classroom watching Potter talk quietly with his friends. He’d been carefully resisting the urge to use his secret weapon in public, but the draw to actually watch his machinations on Potter in person was just too impossible to ignore.

Carefully he slipped the doll from his robe pocket and placed it in his lap, focusing on the connection he had built with it. He ran a cool finger along the length of the doll, just testing to see if he had achieved the desired bond, and was happy to note the almost indistinguishable shiver that ran down Potter’s spine.

It wasn’t the first time he’d wished the doll had been made anatomically correct. Still, there was a significant bulge there, as no doubt the creator of the doll assumed that their hero was well hung.

Placing the doll inside his textbook, he raised it just enough to keep it out of site as he blew a breath of cool air over the doll’s body.

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Harry shivered again, this time his whole body shook, which made Hermione look at him with narrowed eyes, no doubt thinking he was purposefully trying to distract her from the lesson.

“Is it cold in here?” he asked Ron, who just shrugged in response. Harry tried to banish the gooseflesh on his arms and continue taking notes. A moment later he felt a flushing heat travel across his entire body and pool in his groin. He tugged at the collar of his shirt trying to get the cold air that had been assaulting him just moments ago back again to sooth his rising temperature.

“Alright, Harry?” Ron asked, watching him quizzically.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Harry whispered. “I’m freezing one minute and boiling the next.”

Hermione shushed him viciously and turned back to the front of the class while Ron swallowed thickly and - apparently not wanting to argue with Hermione again - did the same. Harry hated it when she took out her anger on him, but he couldn’t concentrate on her misplaced emotions because of a bubbling desire, which was making him lose focus on everything else.

Only a few minutes later Harry felt as though someone was sliding their hands up his legs and resting them gently on his thighs while blowing hot air right onto his cock. It was both electrifying and embarrassing as he realized he was getting a very rapid erection in the middle of class, all the while he sat in the center of his two best friends.

This had been happening off and on at the most random times for weeks now and Harry was no closer to understanding what was going on with his body than when it had first happened. But never had it been so extreme or in such an awkward public place.

He tried to nonchalantly push at his erection to make it less conspicuous, which only earned him an odd look from Ron. He then tried to ignore it, but his arousal continued to build making his erection more painful and more obtrusive.

Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to think of every non-erotic thing he could, Quidditch, Professor McGonagall, Ron, puppies, giant man eating spiders and even Draco Malfoy, none of these things helped erase the feeling of hands groping him and working him to completion.

It was the oddest sensation and he couldn’t explain it, nor could he think of a way to talk to Hermione about it, which was probably his only way to find out what was happening to him. No doubt she would have a perfect explanation locked away in that brilliant mind of hers from a book she had read over the summer or some such nonsense, but he could hardly tell her about it could he? ‘Hermione, I feel like someone is having invisible sex with me’ didn’t sound very sane at all, let alone a topic he would broach with his female best friend.

Harry had to clamp his lips shut tight to keep from moaning as the pleasure took hold of him and rode him, all the while sitting in class trying not to writhe and scream out. As the orgasm rolled over him he gripped the edge of his desk tightly, a small chunk of it breaking off in his hand, but still he couldn’t suppress the sudden moan that escaped his lips. He blushed furiously, trying to turn the mean of pleasure into a cough, earning him yet another quizzical look from each of his friends before the feeling of pleasure and embarrassment began to subside and he could take a deep breath and focus again.

No one was paying him much attention and it appeared he had gotten away with whatever had happened, but his trousers were soiled; he would have to get to a restroom right after class, or at least a private place where he could magic away the mess.

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A permanent grin was plastered on Draco’s face as he watched his favorite toy writhe in his seat while Draco gave him an orgasm better than anything he was sure Potter would have experienced. Even from his seat in the back of the room he could see the faint flush to the boy’s cheeks and he imagined he could hear his whimpering cries. He was even more pleased that his stubborn victim hadn’t been able to hold onto his control and Potter’s wanton moan still echoed in his mind.

He felt a small victory in his ability to secretly affect the Gryffindor hero and from his spot at the back of the classroom he could imagine himself being able to affect him the same way in person, though the chances for that were slim to none.

No, Potter was not attainable to him in that manner, nor, if Draco really thought on it, did he want him to be.

There was little doubt that the real flesh and blood person was, in fact, nothing like the image people had of their savior. The fearless and all-powerful boy who killed Voldemort was probably just a lucky coward and it would be most disappointing to discover that for himself.

Or so he needed to make himself believe.

Draco would have to be content pretending that he was wielding a mighty power, being able to control someone as perfect and untouchable as the great Harry Potter.

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Authors Note: The challenge was: Harry hates Draco, pure and simple. However, Draco acquires/creates a Harry voodoo doll and uses it to show the other boy how love and hate can be easily confused. In essence, seduction by voodoo doll

Random things to include: strawberry ice cream, a pocket watch, snow, apples, scorpions, and a blender.

I used pocket watch in the last chapter and I used two more in this one. I'm eager to see what everyone thinks of this new installment!