For the Worst

Author’s Note: Many thanks to Kasey for her beta work on this part. This story might end up being longer than the original 3 parts I’d thought it would be.

Part 2

The following weeks provided me plenty of teasing fodder for Potter. He seemed endlessly distracted by me to the point of hilarity. It got to the point where I hardly needed to try, which wasn’t nearly as fun as it had been in the start. The bright side, if you could call it that, was that Harry seemed more willing to open up and be friendly toward me. Albeit, there was that strange snapping he’d occasionally slip into if I said something obscure that offended him, as if he had two heads with completely different opinions about me.

“So, tell me then, why didn’t you try and scoop up Weasel as a partner when Granger dropped out of the program?” I asked one evening. He was sprawled up on the top bunk, his leg hanging over the edge. Apparently the twin bed just couldn’t contain him entirely. Three times I nearly leaned up and bit the appendage, or licked it or kissed it, anything – just to see what he would do. I resisted though, and patted myself on the back for my restraint.

“His name is Ron,” spat the head that didn’t care too much for me. Now that I thought about it, perhaps Potter’s head was split into three, one that hated me, one that didn’t think I was so bad, and one that simply wanted to shag me senseless. I had yet to decide which I preferred.

“Well, I’m sure he’d have an aneurysm if I called him that,” I noted. There was a long pause from above, halted with a light chuckle.

“I suppose that’s true enough. You really should try getting along with the other trainers though, they might be your workmates one day,” he suggested wisely. I had been thinking the same thing; only I really didn’t want to get to know any of them better. How would it make me a more successful Auror if I knew their pets’ names or what alcohol they preferred? When I made it into the department, I had no intentions of spending more time with these people than was absolutely necessary, so I didn’t know why I should bother to put up with their leery stares and backhanded comments now.

“What if I called him Won-Won?” I offered. “Do you think he’d let me have lunch with him then?”

Harry snickered manically and his dangling leg disappeared to be replaced by his head. His hair floated around him like an ebony halo and his face was already pink from the blood rushing to his head. He looked like an intoxicated angel and I laughed aloud at the ridiculously cheery look on his face.

“Would you actually do it?! Merlin, I would give anything to see Ron’s face if you called him that,” he challenged and I raised a delicate blond eyebrow in response.

“Careful with your promises, Potter,” I replied coyly, leaning up from where I was sitting so that our faces were merely inches apart. The laughter died abruptly on his lips as he stared back at me for a moment before pulling back up to his own level. I smirked into the silence that followed the movement and waited for him to say something else.

“I just thought it would be a laugh,” he said at last.

“I’m sure it would be, but if I were to make a gesture that would humiliate bothWeasley and myself, I would need a little incentive,” I explained.

“I take it Malfoys do nothing for free,” Harry muttered, the bitterness returning.

I pulled myself up and stood in front of our joined beds. Drawn up to my full height I could easily see Harry’s bunk and I leaned against it, placing my chin demurely on my folded arms, gazing across the mattress at him. He’d retreated to the far corner, his knees brought up to his chest as if he was afraid of me, but that would have been impossible.

“If it pleases you, I would do it,” I told him. I don’t know why I said it but it seemed to shake something loose inside of Harry and he relaxed, letting his legs sag back to the bed. The movement parted them and gave me a direct view of his groin, but I doubted that was his intention or that he was even aware of what my view might be from this angle.

“Why?” he asked hesitantly.

“We’re partners, you and I. We should get along,” I reasoned.

“We have been,” he pointed out and I conceded with a nod.

“Mostly, yes.” His eyes sparkled with challenge at my words and it was all I could do not to grin at his falling into my easy trap.

“What else do you want?” he asked, bristled and obstinate.

I shrugged, which jostled my head slightly and a bit of hair fell into my face. Before I could brush it away, however, Harry had leaned forward to take care of it for me, tucking it gently behind my ear. My eyes widened ever so slightly at the action and he froze, his fingers still lodged in my hair as if he couldn’t believe he’d just touched me. He’d never been so overt in his attraction toward me before, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. This charade was both progressing too quickly and not quickly enough.

I slowly reached up and closed my hand over his, watching as his face braced for rejection. I carefully pulled his fingers from my hair but held them tightly when he tried to pull from my grasp. He seemed so thoroughly confused and I adored that look on the powerful Gryffindor. I didn’t let go of his hand, merely caressed his palm with my thumb as we sat there and stared at one another.

Moments flew by, his eyes going from wide, green orbs to hooded dark contentment at my petting. I liked that I had such an effect on him with just a small, innocent touch and I wasn’t quite ready to give that sensation up when he cleared his throat, pulling his hand from my grasp.

“I suppose we should be getting to sleep,” he rasped, blinking down at me.

I nodded, but I lingered there, making no move to return to my own bunk until he nervously chewed his lip, nearly causing me to laugh. I grinned instead and sunk back down out of sight. “Goodnight, Harry,” I whispered and I heard him gasp lightly at the use of his given name.

“Night,” he replied and I chuckled to myself in silence, wondering how far I’d be able to press him the next time.

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The next day brought awkward glances and lots of Harry running his hands through his messy locks, which seemed to be what he did when either nervous or frustrated or both. It was time for Legilimency lessons, and Harry seemed anxious.

“I know we’re sort of friends now, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you reading my mind,” he said plainly. I appreciated the honesty, but oddly it still stung to hear.

“You can go first then,” I prompted.

“Really?” Harry asked, incredulously. “You don’t mind?”

“I’ve been at this since before you knew you were a wizard, Potter. Just get on with it,” I told him. His first attempt was a complete and utter failure, leaving him shaking slightly from the effort. My mind remained impenetrable and he was already getting frustrated. “Clear your mind, Potter, you’re trying too hard.”

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, before nodding as he faced me again, wand drawn. “Legilimens.”

The attempt was still weak, but I pushed a few harmless memories to the forefront, projecting them at him to try and get him to latch on to those and press forward with his power, sort of giving him a taste of what was to come.

It worked, and he gasped as an image of me riding one of my favorite horses, Alabaster, accosted him. As I predicted, it whetted his appetite for more and he added power to the spell, closing his eyes as he watched me at supper with my grandmother Black and eavesdropped on a fight I’d had with Crabbe in Second Year. The memory brought a twinge of pain along with it as I remembered the Fiendfyre that took his life, the same tragic moment that Potter had saved mine. Thinking of the incident in the Room of Requirement made those images rush to the front of my mind, letting Potter take a peek at the tremendous agony and relief I’d felt in that moment.

He broke the spell with an audible gasp and stared at me with piercing green eyes. “I would have saved him if I could. Even though he started the blasted spell,” he whispered, rubbing his temples slightly. I knew from experience that having someone else’s memories inside your own head for even a few moments could cause excruciating headaches, especially for amateurs like Potter.

“It was his choice,” I muttered. “Fucking idiot,” I spat, though it was only to mask the tears trying to escape my eyes. I missed the sorry lout. In his own weird way, Crabbe was my favorite of the pair who stalked my shadow, even though he’d betrayed me in the end. I’d taken him for granted until that night, and now it did me no good to think otherwise.

“I can’t believe it worked,” he said, thankfully sensing that I needed a change of topic as we focused on the task at hand.

“Well, I helped a bit, but I reckon next time you might get the hang of it straight away,” I instructed.

“You helped?” he asked curiously and I sneered at him.

“You didn’t think that was all Gryffindor gusto did you?” I asked, but it was clear by the sheepish reddening of his cheeks that that was exactly what he’d thought. “I projected a few memories to pull you in,” I informed him.

“So the Fiendfyre?” he asked and I looked away abruptly. How had we come full circle to that?

“You pulled that from my head yourself,” I conceded. “So, it was a good start.”

“Thanks,” he replied, beaming at me as if I’d told him he had the most beautiful cock in the world. “You’re a better teacher than Snape.”

“Why don’t we steer away from topics like that,” I muttered, though I was mildly curious how he had even discussed the subject of mind reading with Severus. “I’d rather keep the sad memories from the war locked up tight.”

“Right,” he whispered, nodding his acceptance of my barter.

“How about you give it another go,” I suggested, a wicked scheme coming to mind. I would take both our thoughts far away from the war and continue my seduction of Potter in one fell swoop.

As he readied himself, I did the same. I thought of every devious thing I could remember and pushed them to the front of my conscious, so that when he shouted the spell, he was accosted with images he certainly wouldn’t be expecting.

I started mildly, letting him watch me in the shower for a few moments before shifting it to a memory of me wanking in bed, slowly pulling myself off with languid, strokes as I panted and rose toward climax. After that I pulled out all the stops and allowed him to view the time that Cormac McLaggen sucked me off. It was after Gryffindor tryouts. The boy had been careless enough to bet me a blowjob that he’d get on the team. I knew Potter’s tendency to preserve friendship over anything else and I took the bet willingly. When he made the wager, McLaggen had no idea I was bent and would enjoy the pleasure even if I were to lose. He was a lovely boy, and I had a feeling mine hadn’t been his first blowjob.

The look of gaping surprise on Potter’s face was so worth the effort, and I smirked as the wand dropped from his hand and the spell was suddenly broken. I tried to look embarrassed, as if I hadn’t wanted him to see those memories at all, but I had no idea if I’d affected it because he turned and bolted from class in the next moment. I had to fight not to snicker. The instructor would already assume I’d been the cause of Harry’s distress without my giggling like a loon at his quick departure.

When Cockburn glanced my way I merely shrugged and picked up Potter’s wand, intent on getting it back to him after class.

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When I got to our room, Potter was already there. I offered him his wand and he took it without a word, just staring at me oddly from a few feet away. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” I began, but Potter held up his hand to halt me.

“Are you gay?” he asked, his voice the barest of whispers.

“You could safely assume as much,” I replied, leaning against the wall. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” he replied too quickly, blushing, as he seemed to realize that fact himself. “I didn’t know.”

“Not a lot of people do. I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way,” I told him. The last thing I needed was for the word fag to be added and further besmirch the Malfoy name. As of yet, wizarding society was only slightly more accommodating to Homosexuals than Muggles were, and Muggles seemed downright charitable toward the gays in comparison to the pure-blood families. Having a son or daughter who only mated with their own sex meant no heirs. No heirs meant the family line would eventually die out completely. There was no greater offence to a pure-blood than to be sterile or gay. I myself fought against my true nature for a long time, eventually resolving that no matter what I did on the side, I would have to take a wife and bed her eventually.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry replied hastily and then fell silent as I slipped over to sit on the edge of my bed. He watched me with glowing eyes and I wondered how aware he was of his attraction to men, or if it had ever manifested itself before he first noticed me that way. I had been aware of my own desires my whole life it seemed, but Potter had dated girls before, so perhaps he’d never noticed his erection growing around another man before, though it was fairly prevalent now.

“Can I ask you a question?” he breathed, the faintest of whispers.

“Of course.” I wouldn’t begrudge him that, especially when he gazed at me with such open, vulnerable interest.

“What does…it feel like?” he asked, pulling out one of the desk chairs and sitting on the end of it, his arse nearly hanging off the thing, he’d pushed himself so far forward.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Potter.” I wasn’t handing him anything. If he wanted to know anything more about my experiences than I had already shown him he was going to have to pull it from me.

“Well,” he started, and he looked terrified the poor dear, before swallowing down his fear and mustering up some of that Gryffindor courage I’d heard about. “What’s it like to kiss another man?”

I arched my eyebrows in challenge and smirked slightly. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I just walked right into that one, didn’t I?” he huffed, running a hand through his hair.

I smiled and nodded and then shrugged elegantly. “I suppose it’s just like kissing a girl. It’s different with everyone you try it with. Better with some, worse with others.”

Harry seemed to think that over, mulling it around before nodding. “I get that, I suppose. And the rest of it?” I stared at him with feigned confusion until he continued. “Sex and whatnot,” he blurted suddenly and I smiled at his deep flush.

“I’ve never had what I would consider true sex with another man, as in, I’ve never penetrated someone or vice versa, though I imagine it would be brilliant,” I told him. I’d never told anyone that I was a virgin before, and I wasn’t sure why I was telling Potter, but something compelled me to be honest while the boy looked at me with those sappy green eyes.

“Oh,” he replied, as if surprised, or maybe disappointed. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” I chuckled, “eventually. I suppose finding a willing bloke would be the first step.” I let the weight of my words hang in the air between us and watched him gulp them down and file them away.

“Were you serious before…about showing me?” he asked, and I wouldn’t have heard him if not for the lack of distance between us. Somehow, throughout the conversation, we’d started inching closer to one another, though I was fairly certain that most of the movement was on his part. Had to be.

“Are you asking me to kiss you, Potter?” I asked imperiously and he frowned slightly.

“No, I mean, yes…” He sighed, running a hand through that tousled hair again. The gesture made him seem fragile, and it started to grow on me. “Maybe,” he finished with an exasperated puff of air.

“Come here,” I told him, gesturing to the spot beside me on the bed. He complied, moving swiftly yet somehow awkwardly to sit right next to me. His thigh was pressed into mine and he just stared at it, as if being so close to a Malfoy was a blasphemy. Maybe it was.

I took his chin in my hand and lifted his face so that I could lock eyes with him. His gaze was swimming with emotion, fear, anxiety, eagerness, hunger, all floated for purchase within those emerald depths.

“No one will know about this, right?” he whispered as an afterthought.

“Would you pull away from me right now if I told you that I’d be announcing it to the Daily Prophet in the morning?” I asked him, and he didn’t answer, though he frowned at me. More importantly, he didn’t break my grip on his chin. “I won’t utter a word. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Don’t say that!” he ordered, seemingly before he could halt himself.

I smiled at his sudden outburst and leaned in, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip before sliding my wet tongue across its dry surface. He let out a sharp gasp at the contact and I took my advantage, pressing my lips fully against his fuller and pliable ones. He kissed back, melding us together shoulder to hip as he did, and he made the most delicious noises as I plunged my tongue into his mouth, tasting every last inch of him.

To my own surprise, Potter was rather adept at kissing, and I enjoyed it quite more than I’d expected. I felt my cock respond to him at once, growing uncomfortable in my restrictive uniform. He’d been obviously hard from the moment he sat down, so I reached across tentatively and stroked him through his trousers as we kissed, eliciting another gasp as wide green eyes opened to meet my own stormy gray.

I didn’t stop, preferring to see how far he’d let me push the encounter before he cut me off. I cupped his jaw with my other hand, letting my fingertips trail into his wild hair, finding it surprisingly soft. I shifted away when he let loose a strangled cry and shoved the heel of his hand to halt my strokes, but I had already felt the wetness accumulate there and held him still as he shuddered his release.

“Merlin,” he gasped out, eyes closed, breathing heavy.

“It’s Draco, actually,” I replied with a smirk and he blushed an even deeper shade of crimson.

It took him a moment to compose himself, but when he did, he leaned forward and captured my lips in a quick peck and then swiftly moved up to his own bunk. I rolled my eyes but kept silent, figuring it might be too soon to persuade Potter to return the favor. I was perfectly adept at getting myself off anyway, and did so that night to the memory of kissing Potter’s perfectly pouting lips while the Gryffindor laid above me in silence.

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Potter amused me greatly the next morning as he avoided me like the plague. Apparently the ‘G’ in Gryffindor stood for guilt, because he was oozing the distasteful emotion through every pore. I hoped it wasn’t contagious. Personally, I had no regrets over our exchange, aside from the fact that he bolted immediately afterward. I know he was supposed to be my enemy, but I hadn’t been feeling too hostile toward him as of late and if the expediency of his orgasm the night before was any indication, neither was Potter feeling unfriendly toward me.

He certainly was now though, but I shrugged it off. He could push me away and pretend I forced him into his slow spiral or debauchery all he liked, but deep down, he knew the truth. He’d asked me to kiss him and he didn’t complain even once as I got him off and I’m sure that truth rang like a bell in his mind as he persistently avoided my gaze.

“Shall we go over yesterday’s lesson?” I suggested. “Are you ready to try again?”

“No,” he replied flatly.

“There is hardly any choice, Potter. You need to master both Legilimency and Occlumency in order to pass through training. Or do you want to find yourself the way of Vane and Kimmins?” I asked. Those two had already been removed from the program because of their shoddy performance in other tasks. I knew the mild threat would get him into the right mindset.

“Fine,” he ground out, clearly unhappy with me. “Let’s give Occlumency a go then.”

“As you wish,” I replied with a mocking bow. “Are you prepared to shield yourself against me?”

“I thought-” he began, looking suddenly ill, “I thought I could try and break through your barriers.”

“I assure you that would be an impossibility until you master Legilimency. It’s you who needs the practice, not I.” I had already explained all this to him yesterday, but apparently one single kiss turned his mind to mush.

He remained silent, probably not arguing only because he knew I was right and that he desperately needed my assistance. I watched as his jaw stiffened, remembering the slack feel of it beneath my fingers last night, and then his shoulders squared, preparing for the worst. “I’m ready.”

I cast the spell and easily breached the barrier around Potter’s mind as if it was made with gossamer fabric. I pulled out the moment he realized I’d broken through so as not to spook him into halting our progress altogether.

“You can’t fight me out of your mind with physical strength, Potter. You have to use memory strength. If someone powerful tries to break into your mind, you can’t block them out entirely. You have to focus on one thing, one memory, something that will give you strength to keep them from delving further. Something that you want to hold on to, a memory that will keep your attention rooted in place,” I explained.

“But Snape said-”

“Forget what he told you. Clearly his method doesn’t work for you,” I told him. “Liken the magic to a Patronus,” I reasoned and he perked up considerably. “Conjure a memory that makes you feel invulnerable. Instead of happy thoughts, think powerful thoughts.”

His countenance changed and he nodded, so I tried again. This time the wall I met was constructed of thick stones, but there were cracks, places where the mortar had broken away. He would have to work on that but the effect was infinitely better than before. I think it was the first time I realized that Potter was a force to be reckoned with. Given the right training, Potter could be very powerful indeed, a power that would have nothing to do with his lucky destruction of Voldemort.

“Good,” I told him when I backed off. “Not perfect, but much better.”

His face broke into a grin and I found myself smiling back at him until he realized what he was doing and shut down again. “Thanks,” he muttered and steeled himself. “Again.”

We spent most of the day practicing, Potter adjusting memories until he got the right fit, one that made his barriers as thick as steel. He was concentrating on the Forbidden Forest, which surprised me. That place always made me feel like a jittery wreck, but Potter was thinking of walking through the forest and standing before Voldemort, of all people, and letting the man murder him. It was the most uncanny thing I could imagine, and Potter found so much strength in that memory that he could effectively fight me out of his mind and away from all his other thoughts.

“You’re an enigma, Potter,” I murmured in his direction. If he heard me he ignored it and soon the day was ending and Potter disappeared as he always did, not returning again until late that night.

I feigned sleep when he got to our room that night and heard his sigh of relief. I watched him undress through slatted eyes and let my unknown gaze linger over his body for a moment. He was quite fit and the tanned complexion was uniform all over his body, except the spots where faded scars gleamed pink in what little light there was in the room. A moment of rage flared through me as I stared at them, knowing that my own father had probably inflicted at least one of them. So many people had hurt this man, yet he wasn’t broken, far from it. I respected that, admired it even, which I realized, only too late, was my ultimate undoing.

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That night his screaming woke me up again, but instead of casting a silencing bubble around his bed as I usually did, I found myself climbing up and soothing him back into restfulness personally. All it took was a soft touch and some calming words and he was back to breathing levelly, his nightmare apparently fleeing him. I pressed a kiss against the famous scar on his forehead and he smiled in his sleep, a smile that was all mine.

When I tried to climb back to my own bed, he clung to me like a favorite teddy but I carefully pried his fingers away. I refused to deal with the aftermath of waking up in his bed when a kiss had practically driven him mad with shame, or whatever it was that fueled his biting tones toward me.

I didn’t fall back to sleep that night. Instead, I found myself staring up at him through the mattress as if I could see him there. I sent my magic probing and caught flickers of his dreams. He was having a meal with the Weasley family, although, in his mind they were all far more attractive than they were in reality, especially the girl. I saw him kissing her and I felt that it was a goodbye kiss, but when he opened his eyes, her face melted into mine and I nearly gasped as I felt his emotions roil through him. Lust was there like a thick blanket that nearly smothered me, but under that was confusion, so much anguish and something else, something deeper that I didn’t recognize and I was fairly certain that he didn’t either.

I slowly extracted myself from his dreams, feeling a smidgeon of that Gryffindor guilt for being there to begin with…so it is contagious.

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“Do you mind, we’re trying to have a private chat here, Malfoy,” Weasley hissed as I approached him and Potter standing idly to the side of the room.

“Why would I mind?” I asked, leaning casually against the wall beside them. “By all means, carry on.”

“Malfoy,” Potter sighed, his tone a warning.

“You expect me to get reprimanded again when I’m found sans partner? I think not,” I informed him. “If you can’t have this little talk in front of me, then have it outside of class.”

Weasley’s face turned eight shades of red before Harry put a placating hand on his arm and calmed him down to only five shades. “Ron was just informing me that Gin wants to see me this weekend.”

“Oh,” I muttered, feigning disinterest. “That’s a match made in heaven isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Weasley spat but Harry seemed to fall back into himself, shutting down his usually expressive eyes at my words.

“What’s wrong Won-Won?” I asked, noting Harry’s immediate grin. “Do you fear the big bad Draco will ruin Potter’s date with Weasel-ette?”

“Her name is Ginny,” he spat, rounding on me until Harry stood between us.

“Just calm down, Ron. Malfoy’s just being a prat,” he noted, emphasizing his words with a glare in my direction.

“I don’t know how you sleep with this jerk every night,” Weasley muttered and I smirked delicately.

“Did you tell him we were sleeping together?” I asked Harry, watching him blush furiously. “Why you naughty, naughty boy.”

“Gross, Malfoy. You know I didn’t mean it that way,” Weasley scoffed, practically gagging on the insinuation.

“Let’s just go back to our desk,” Potter suggested, grabbing my arm gruffly and leading me across the room, but we didn’t go back to our desk. When Weasley wasn’t looking he lead me outside the room and into an empty corridor. “Did you have to do that?” he hissed when we were out of earshot of his friend.

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

Harry looked at me as though I knew very well what he meant. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. “Plant those ideas in his mind.”

I chuckled and leaned against the wall, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “You act as though I spilled some dirty secret, Potter. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course I do,” he spat. “And you know it.”

“Am I really so repugnant?” I asked, anger leaking into my voice for the first time to mask the sting I felt at his words.

“No!” he nearly shouted, looking as if I was being ridiculous until he carefully schooled his features back to a look of thick disdain. “It’s just wrong.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to throw him, and he blinked at me for a few minutes in surprise. “It’s unnatural.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders, too fast for him to bat me away and whirled him, pinning Potter against the wall I was just occupying. I kissed him hard and fierce and frenzied, swallowing down his moans and whimpers of pleasure as he pressed more fully against me in my probing. “Call it unnatural again,” I challenged when I broke the kiss.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered after regaining his breath. “It’s your fault I feel this way.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I corrupted you?” I hissed, seething with anger. “It was you who asked for that first kiss. You who leers at me all the time like I’m some delicious meal.”

His face flared to life and he tried to shove me away from him but I held steady, barely. “I don’t want this.”

“Your body tells a different story,” I replied, rubbing against his straining erection until his eyes glazed over and his head lolled back.

“I can’t,” he whispered weakly as I stroked him through his trousers again. “I want to, but I can’t.”

He made no effort to shove me away again, melting into my embrace, his own hands roaming my flesh until he came across the matching bulge in my own trousers. His eyes went wide then, while his hand lingered over the fabric there. So many things flickered through his gaze, running, screaming, giving in, wanting more. He seemed to steel himself, the same way he had with our lesson and he stroked me, matching my own movements until we were rutting against one another like teenagers. He let out a strangled grunt as he came, whispering something that sounded surprisingly like ‘fuck, Draco’, but he kept the pace on my own cock and I spilled myself for him a few strokes later and sagged against him.

The moment I pulled away, placing a chaste kiss on his lips, his eyes were burning green flames of shock and remorse. “No one need know,” I assured him. “It will be our little secret.”

He nodded curtly, straightening himself as I cast a cleansing Charm on both of us. “No one finds out,” he repeated and we both returned to the classroom without another word.

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There was no delay in Potter returning to our room that night as there usually was. In fact, when I returned from dinner he was already there. He rushed at me and I pulled my wand, ready to fend off an attack, but he only attacked my lips, shoving me against the door and devouring me as if he hadn’t had a meal in weeks. I was instantly hard from the sheer idea of his eagerness and I showed him what he’d done to me by grinding into his thigh.

He let out a gasping cry, desire and surprise mingled together in a sound that was so intoxicating to my ears. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he admitted breathily. “It’s like you’ve planted yourself inside my mind and taken permanent residence.”

“If you’re accusing me of-” I began, blood boiling, but he cut me off with another kiss.

“No, I know you didn’t do anything to me. You’re fucking hot, Malfoy. I couldn’t deny it forever, right?” he asked me cheekily and I melted into this newfound confidence he was exuding.

“It’s rare that anyone can,” I replied haughtily, all sneering cut off when he grabbed my aching cock through my trousers.

“Are you serious about not telling anyone? Because if you tell a soul about what we do here….” His voice trailed off at the end, the warning dying abruptly on his lips when he looked up into my eyes. “I just don’t think I could stand to have anyone know yet.”

“Yet? Do you think I want people to know? A pure-blood is not permitted to be gay, Potter. It would surely mean the death of my poor mother. I have an heir to produce after all,” I snapped. He seemed to process that and the idea shocked him.

“You plan to marry a woman?” he asked, as if the idea were more foreign to him than what we were doing right then. It was absurd, as if he expected for this to transgress into something permanent, something real.

“Why? Are you proposing, Potter?” I asked bitterly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Of course not, we’re not even dating, but I thought-”

“You thought that I live in a fantasy world that allows me to marry for love?” I tried and he grimaced. “Well, I assure you I don’t, but perhaps if a property there becomes available I’ll buy in.”

“You could adopt,” he reasoned, or at least the beautiful fool thought he was being reasonable.

“Heir, Potter. That means blood of my blood, unless of course you know of a way that a man could become pregnant.” He made a disgusted face at me and I nodded. “I thought not.”

“Why not just donate your sperm to some surrogate or something,” he replied.

“It would be a bastard were I not to be married to her when the woman conceived. It would be marred by shame and I can’t bear to bring any more shame to the Malfoy name.” His face took on a softer expression that I’d only seen directed at Weasley or Granger, and it felt off to have that subtle smile honing in on me.

“So, you’re stuck. Doomed to be unhappy no matter what you choose,” he whispered, his voice tinged with pity and I shoved him away.

“Don’t act as though my predicament matters to you in the least, Potter. I’m content with my lot in life and quite frankly it’s none of your business,” I scoffed, moving across to grab the door handle.

“You’re leaving?” he asked and I nodded.

“You need to decide what it is you want, Potter. I’m not going to fall in love with you and we’re not going to date and be all lovey-dovey in public, so you can wipe that out of your head right now. If you want to get off, I’ll be happy to oblige, but I don’t need your soft glances and pity. Save those for your girl-weasel.” With that, I turned and left him staring incredulously at my back. I never knew then how false all those words had been, or how much I might one day regret having ever uttered them.

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Author’s Note: Well. Draco and Harry seem to be doing bitchy trade-off. Go figure.