All I Ever Wanted

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write, are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

"All I Ever Wanted".....chap. 3 'Draco's Dreams'


Draco lounged restlessly in the comfiest chair in Slytherin's common room. It was his chair by right of strength, and more than a few foolish younger Slytherins had been caught flirting with suicide by 'borrowing' his ersatz throne while he was out.

A few minor hexes usually kept it unoccupied for a few weeks until, lulled into a false sense of security, someone would try again. Couldn't blame them really, that being the 'Slytherin Way' and all. Always testing boundaries and looking for any sign of weakness.

This, however, was no morning for testing Draco Malfoy. Blaise had been out of hangover cures almost since dawn. Draco was nursing a cup of tea and watching the room through nearly slitted eyes. His brow was wrinkled in concentration, pain and irritation. This was a fiendish bitch of a way to start a day off.

Worse yet, Pansy had twigged to the fact that Draco had had SOME kind of fun the night before. She'd seen the faint wince Draco had made when he sat down, and drew her own conclusions. She'd started in mockingly, inquiring if he needed a pillow to sit on or just a few Numbing Charms for his overworked arse, and that's when the first curse flew.

'Better to get it out of the way quick,' Draco thought, otherwise he'd need to hex half the house... and he didn't have that kind of energy right now. At least she hadn't a clue who he'd been with! Apparently no one in Slytherin recalled anything out of sorts, except for a grand hissy fit by Potter at the party last night. Something Draco had said just stuck in Harry's craw, and it had magnified into a full-tilt insult free-for-all. As far as the other Slytherins were concerned, Draco had come out well ahead...just as always. Sweet Merlin, what a relief!

He couldn't even properly enjoy his afterglow. Potter might well be the most hopelessly insipid do-gooder in all of Gryffindor, but at least he had one talent...and a few extra inches where it counted most.

Draco had always savored the way he felt AFTER sex almost as much as the actual sex itself. It was true that he was a bottom through and through. It was true that he had really never hungered for any other sexual activity quite the way he loved receiving. Yet it was also true that he was very aggressive about his sex. He was in charge, no matter what the other twittering prats thought about poofs.

When Draco took a partner, it was to please himself, and he bent every iota of his being to reducing them to a shuddering, gibbering shadow of their former selves while he took his pleasure from their bodies. Even from the bottom he ruled them, and everyone of them had been damned lucky to even touch him.

The lingering discomfort after sex was a badge of honor to him, nearly a turn on in itself. More than once, he'd been at his horniest the day after a particularly wicked shag. The only thing spoiling this 'morning after' was a persistent headache...and Potter.

Bloody ignorant, scar-headed, git Potter. Even the simple pleasure of secretly enjoying his own soreness, and knowing that he'd earned it by rocking some poor boy's world, was trashed by the knowledge that Potter...POTTER, had been buried to the hilt in him and thrusting for glory. How galling was that? Most infuriating of all, was that the daft twit had probably been better at it drunk than most people were sober...and THAT was really nauseating!

"Draco?" It was Blaise behind him, his voice polite and soft as a consideration for Draco's condition.

"Yesss...?" Draco's voice dripped honeyed venom.

"I pulled a few strings, someone in Ravenclaw had some leftover hangover cures and I scored one for you. No charge...this time."

"Blaise?! Charity? From you? How gauche! Not complaining though, I will remember to thank you for it... after it's worked." Draco sniffed the contents as soon as he opened it. Trust was a rare commodity in Slytherin, and Draco was no one's fool. It smelled right, and the first sip had the correct taste and consistency...so he downed the rest and felt the magic seep through him. The headache was already fading when he heard Blaise's comment as he walked away.

"No charge in cash...but you can work it off in trade anytime, sexy, that is...as soon as your bum feels better."

"You're damned lucky, Blaise! I'm comfortable and I'm not budging...not even to hex you, and Pansy as well, for talking. Consider my thanks being the fact that you can PROBABLY sleep safe tonight!"

Blaise's nervous chuckle from the hall told him he'd at least kept up the pretense of being in charge of this morning's affairs. Even miserable and hung over, he could hold court in this house without breaking a sweat. Draco Malfoy ruled Slytherin House with an iron fist in a velvet glove. A soft statement here, a veiled threat there, blackmail, extortion, and every so often a well-aimed hex. When he said jump, everyone, save for a few recalcitrant seventh-years, asked how high. The few hold outs were respectful only out of fear of Draco's wrath.

Six years at Hogwarts had given Draco ample time to forge alliances, and by the time seventh year had started, he was the best connected and most influential student in school. Nothing came free. It was always an effort to settle minor disputes, smooth wrinkled nerves, dole out rewards and dish out subtle punishments. All this cut into his free time, but power was its own reward.

Draco scanned the room. Crabbe and Goyle were playing Exploding Snap with all the enthusiasm and none of the skill of a pair of first years. Bullstrode was scowling over an Advanced Charms text. Nott was lounging, with a small sheaf of homework, on one of the large couches that filled Sytherin's common room. A few underclassmen were watching a round of wizard chess that was passingly well played. All was calm. This gave him a moment for reflection.

It was back to the seventh year grind tomorrow. More homework, more tests, and a hundred possible things that might go wrong. What Potter didn't know was that Draco had made an edict concering inter-house dating for Slytherins, restricting any member of his house from having any kind of relations with any member of Gryffindor House. It was his most rigidly enforced decree. The last time a fourth-year got caught snogging with a girl from Gryffindor, the 'punishments' were so swift and regular that the poor boy developed insomnia and a mild tic from stress.

Not to imply that Draco was personally cruel...at least not in the sense of enjoying it, but weakness in a Slytherin was the ONLY sin. Better to be cruel...in measured doses...than to work even harder to prove his strength after damage had been done.

One slip and a fellow could fall from the top of the heap, right back to the bottom rung of the social ladder, and that was no place for a Malfoy. His family name was already tarnished enough. A father arrested for being a Death Eater...twice! Lucius was in Azkaban for life, and Draco had been left to pick up the pieces.

He'd built connections here that would pay off for years, made deals that would put the Malfoy name back at the top of the heap. He wasn't risking that for anything or anyone...not even good sex...and that brought him back to Potter.

As suddenly and disturbingly as the last one, another flashback struck him as he lounged.

The heat of breath on the back of his neck, while tiny bites and kisses were teasing their way around his throat. A strong hand was running through his hair and another was entwined with his own hand, clutching so tightly yet the pain was utterly ignored. He was moaning and crying out in the heat of orgasm, while the lithe body behind him kept a steady pace. Driving him...filling him completely. Even as Draco shuddered and exploded into the sheets beneath him, the pace of his lover never slackened. The heights of one climax passed without pause and the building of the next began. There were tears of ecstasy on his cheeks, and he felt no shame for them.

Draco's eyes were glassy when he snapped out of it. He quashed the disturbing memory quickly, then glanced around furtively to see if anyone had noticed his momentary lapse. No one had.

The hangover was gone, and for a moment he shuddered, realizing just how good he felt, now that he was free of his aching head. Now he knew with perfect clarity how he felt this morning. He felt light, free and utterly relaxed. It was a real effort to concentrate on maintaining his famous disdain. Fluttering in his chest was a growing sense of giddy cheerfulness that would make a Hufflepuff blush. He felt beautiful, wanted, sated, comfortable and admired. Three years ago, a tall, dark-haired Bulgarian boy had made him feel very nearly this good, then kissed him goodbye, never to be heard from again.

When sentimentality overtook him, and this was always a brief and silent experience, Draco would wallow in a moment of self pity and idly wish for the things he knew he couldn't have.

All he'd ever wanted was to feel warm and safe and loved. To wrap himself around someone strong enough to carry him through the worst of days. To know that someone wouldn't turn their back on him when he needed them most. To be utterly certain that, no matter what came, one person would always be there for him, to hold him when he wanted the world to go away.

His father would puke knowing his heir was such a pitiful, disgusting creature. Lucius may have been a hopelessly arrogant idiot, but he was right about one thing. There were few certainties in the world, but one of them was the cruelty and undependability of others.

Draco might dream of a world that was different, but dreams just don't come true. At the end of the day, it was on him to squeeze the little pleasures from life and stick to the duties that were expected of him. All the stupid dreams in the world wouldn't change that.

With a little luck, these tidbits of memory would work their way out and be done with soon. Potter would keep his mouth shut and life could go back to normal. No harm, no foul. If the ingrate prat could keep secrets for the war against Voldemort, he could probably manage to keep this quiet.

The flashbacks would go away...had to go away. He only barely managed to quash the thought that the replay in his mind's eye had pleased him. Too much of that kind of thinking...well...no going where angels fear to tread.

Draco let out a faint sigh of resignation, stood as regally as a king in the midst of his court, and informed Crabbe and Goyle that they would be visiting Hogsmeade shortly. He'd finally gotten rid of the hangover, so perhaps a little largesse was called for...especially if it involved chocolate and shopping.

No day, however difficult it may have begun, was completely beyond redemption if chocolate and shopping were still possible. He had money, minions, half a day off left, and an afterglow so wondrous that he felt like he was glowing even while his carefully schooled face maintained a look of bored contempt. If he couldn't make something of the day with a head start like that, well...he didn't deserve the name Malfoy.