Three is a Magic Number
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
1,767
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
1,767
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Three is a Magic Number
HIYA!
OLD Slash peice I wrote about 3 years ago. You can tell it's old by the style I use. I don't own such a gold mine as HP, that's JK Rowling's perogative.
Enjoy!
_____________________________________________________
Chapter 1- How They Ended Up Here in the First Place
“ . . . . Draco?”
No matter how he tried, Draco Malfoy couldn’t forget how Potter’s voice had lilted when he’d said his name. There was an undeniable uniqueness to the tone. Desperation, desire, resolve, regret, and yes, thought Draco, even love had mingled to create the sweet and irresistible beckoning that he had somehow ignored. But for Merlin’s sake, it’s been three days, Draco. Forget about what that damned Scarhead said or how he said it. A little voice in the back of his mind answered I would, but you keep bringing it up.
* * *
I can’t understand him at all. Why does he do that? For the third time in an hour, Harry Potter had noticed Draco Malfoy staring at him. It isn’t like I’m particularly attractive or anything. He wasn’t. Unless you were really into “underfed scrawny Seeker-types”, as Draco Malfoy had put it just last week. But why was Malfoy looking at him like that? Those eyes . . . thought Harry, Those beautiful eyes. Wait a sec! Did I just think ‘beautiful’? How little was he aware that a silver-haired Slytherin was thinking the same thing. Potions was never easy, but now it was nearly unnerving, what with Snape breathing down his neck and now, Draco Malfoy staring at him all the time. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, no, his name is Draco, and noticed him lick his upper lip ever so slightly when their eyes met. Then both boys looked quickly back to their potions.
That day, at the end of class, Draco Malfoy heard an unfamiliar tone from an all-too-familiar voice call his name. “Malfoy.” He ignored it. “Hey, Malfoy!” The voice tried again, louder. He heard the owner of the voice catch up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Malfoy? I want to talk to you . . .”
“Get your hands off of me, Potter.” He’d said coldly, shrugging him off.
“ . . . . Draco?” It was quiet, but Draco Malfoy had heard it. He half-stormed, half-trudged off.
* * *
Harry had cried himself to sleep that night. He didn’t know why. It was so cruel, so cold, so typical of Malfoy. But it had hurt. It always hurt. Every time he called Hermione a mudblood, every time he made a crack about Ron’s being poor, every time he insulted one of Harry’s friends, it hurt Harry. But every time Malfoy insulted Harry, Harry just wanted him to do it more, to really degrade him, to tell him how worthless he was. Harry had always been like this. Or at least, as far back as he could remember. He loved being degraded. Everyone tried to insult his parents, thinking they’d get to him that way. Not Drac- Malfoy. He always insulted Harry. Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the end of fourth year. When he’d been tied up. It hadn’t occurred to him then, but looking back to it, he’d adored the finality of the knots that held him. Face it, Harry had told himself in sixth year, You’re a masochist. He remembered the beatings he used to get from the Dursleys almost fondly. But ever since he’d told them about Sirius in third year, they’d been to afraid to raise a hand against him. He laughed to himself as he remembered the time he’d almost asked Dudley to beat him up. That would probably be something like incest, though. Truth was, Harry realized at dinner, that Harry would like it very much if Draco Malfoy spent more time insulting him.
Harry sat in the common room, rakishly thinking about certain types of being tied up when Ron sat down next to him. “All right, Harry? You seem kinda, I dunno . . . out of sorts.”
“I’m fine, honest.” The look of incredulity on Ron’s face rivaled any one of McGonagall’s. Harry then realized his tone had been wistfnd dnd desperate. He switched to a more normal tone. “I was just thinking about something, that’s all.”
“Sure, and Hermione and I are just good friends.” The Ron-Hermione make-out sessions were famous throughout the school. “What were you thinking about?” Harry decided to be honest and see what happened.
“Black leather . . . and steel handcuffs.” There was a dreamy look on his face as he said this. Ron fell out of the chair.
“HUH!?”
“You heard me. I was also imagining-”
“Never mind. Sorry I asked.”
“I’m sure you are.” Harry’s face went dreamy again. Silver-blonde hair mingled with his own pitch-black, and a passion unlike any he’d felt before was coursing through his body. He moved as though detached from the world to the dormitory, not hearing Colin’s “All right, Harry?” Or Ron’s “Harry? Harry?!”. He reached the dormitory and lay down on the bed. The vision became stronger as the silver-blonde hair pulled away from him, and above him . . .oh, Harry sighed at the sight - Mal- Draco’s face, lips swollen and red, a pink flush on his cheeks. The blessed lips uttered two desperately needed syllables. “Harry . . .” Then, all of a sudden, the feverish dream stopped. Harry sat up, wondering what if . . . what if he needs me as much as I need him? What if indeed, Harry?
_____________________________________________________
OLD Slash peice I wrote about 3 years ago. You can tell it's old by the style I use. I don't own such a gold mine as HP, that's JK Rowling's perogative.
Enjoy!
_____________________________________________________
Chapter 1- How They Ended Up Here in the First Place
“ . . . . Draco?”
No matter how he tried, Draco Malfoy couldn’t forget how Potter’s voice had lilted when he’d said his name. There was an undeniable uniqueness to the tone. Desperation, desire, resolve, regret, and yes, thought Draco, even love had mingled to create the sweet and irresistible beckoning that he had somehow ignored. But for Merlin’s sake, it’s been three days, Draco. Forget about what that damned Scarhead said or how he said it. A little voice in the back of his mind answered I would, but you keep bringing it up.
* * *
I can’t understand him at all. Why does he do that? For the third time in an hour, Harry Potter had noticed Draco Malfoy staring at him. It isn’t like I’m particularly attractive or anything. He wasn’t. Unless you were really into “underfed scrawny Seeker-types”, as Draco Malfoy had put it just last week. But why was Malfoy looking at him like that? Those eyes . . . thought Harry, Those beautiful eyes. Wait a sec! Did I just think ‘beautiful’? How little was he aware that a silver-haired Slytherin was thinking the same thing. Potions was never easy, but now it was nearly unnerving, what with Snape breathing down his neck and now, Draco Malfoy staring at him all the time. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, no, his name is Draco, and noticed him lick his upper lip ever so slightly when their eyes met. Then both boys looked quickly back to their potions.
That day, at the end of class, Draco Malfoy heard an unfamiliar tone from an all-too-familiar voice call his name. “Malfoy.” He ignored it. “Hey, Malfoy!” The voice tried again, louder. He heard the owner of the voice catch up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Malfoy? I want to talk to you . . .”
“Get your hands off of me, Potter.” He’d said coldly, shrugging him off.
“ . . . . Draco?” It was quiet, but Draco Malfoy had heard it. He half-stormed, half-trudged off.
* * *
Harry had cried himself to sleep that night. He didn’t know why. It was so cruel, so cold, so typical of Malfoy. But it had hurt. It always hurt. Every time he called Hermione a mudblood, every time he made a crack about Ron’s being poor, every time he insulted one of Harry’s friends, it hurt Harry. But every time Malfoy insulted Harry, Harry just wanted him to do it more, to really degrade him, to tell him how worthless he was. Harry had always been like this. Or at least, as far back as he could remember. He loved being degraded. Everyone tried to insult his parents, thinking they’d get to him that way. Not Drac- Malfoy. He always insulted Harry. Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the end of fourth year. When he’d been tied up. It hadn’t occurred to him then, but looking back to it, he’d adored the finality of the knots that held him. Face it, Harry had told himself in sixth year, You’re a masochist. He remembered the beatings he used to get from the Dursleys almost fondly. But ever since he’d told them about Sirius in third year, they’d been to afraid to raise a hand against him. He laughed to himself as he remembered the time he’d almost asked Dudley to beat him up. That would probably be something like incest, though. Truth was, Harry realized at dinner, that Harry would like it very much if Draco Malfoy spent more time insulting him.
Harry sat in the common room, rakishly thinking about certain types of being tied up when Ron sat down next to him. “All right, Harry? You seem kinda, I dunno . . . out of sorts.”
“I’m fine, honest.” The look of incredulity on Ron’s face rivaled any one of McGonagall’s. Harry then realized his tone had been wistfnd dnd desperate. He switched to a more normal tone. “I was just thinking about something, that’s all.”
“Sure, and Hermione and I are just good friends.” The Ron-Hermione make-out sessions were famous throughout the school. “What were you thinking about?” Harry decided to be honest and see what happened.
“Black leather . . . and steel handcuffs.” There was a dreamy look on his face as he said this. Ron fell out of the chair.
“HUH!?”
“You heard me. I was also imagining-”
“Never mind. Sorry I asked.”
“I’m sure you are.” Harry’s face went dreamy again. Silver-blonde hair mingled with his own pitch-black, and a passion unlike any he’d felt before was coursing through his body. He moved as though detached from the world to the dormitory, not hearing Colin’s “All right, Harry?” Or Ron’s “Harry? Harry?!”. He reached the dormitory and lay down on the bed. The vision became stronger as the silver-blonde hair pulled away from him, and above him . . .oh, Harry sighed at the sight - Mal- Draco’s face, lips swollen and red, a pink flush on his cheeks. The blessed lips uttered two desperately needed syllables. “Harry . . .” Then, all of a sudden, the feverish dream stopped. Harry sat up, wondering what if . . . what if he needs me as much as I need him? What if indeed, Harry?
_____________________________________________________