Up The Road

Title: Up the road
Pairing: H/D
Rating: NC-17 (of course!)
Disclaimer: JK owns them, damn it.
A/n: This is my first try at fanfic. Please be kind! There will be more ahead, I promise!!

The weather was damp and cold, and Harry looked out the window with disdain. His friend Ron was busy laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling with wonder and awe.

\"What\'cher thinkin\' about, Ron?\" asked Harry as the grey clouds loomed across the sky. It was raining again, and he couldn\'t wait to go outside and play Quidditch. He loved Quidditch: streaking across the stadium, feeling the wind in his hair, and yelling and hooting.

\"I was thinking about Hermione,\" sighed Ron, one hand on his stomach. \"Do you think she\'d go out with me?\"

Harry sighed. \"I don\'t know,\" he said. He felt jealous of Ron, because everyone at Hogwarts knew that Ron and Hermione were practically a couple. It was hard not to notice! They would walk along, their hands bumping each other timidly, each one apologising with an awkward smile. Hermione had started giggling recently, something Harry couldn\'t make heads or tails of. It just didn\'t seem to suit her. He bet it was because of Ron.

\"I think she\'s pretty,\" confided Ron, feeling the blush in his cheeks. Harry looked down at his own bedspread, trying not to contemplate what would happen if Ron told Hermione he thought she was pretty. Probably nothing good, well, good for Ron, but not for Harry. It was already tough, being the Boy Who Lived. His scar twinged angrily and he found it difficult to focus.

\"Are you all right?\" asked Ron, sitting up and looking over at his friend. \"Maybe you should go see Madame Pompey?\"

\"I don\'t want to,\" growled Harry, sliding beneath his sheets. He faced away from Ron, to Neville\'s bed, but Neville wasn\'t there because he was off with some of the other Gryffindors. Probably getting into trouble, Harry wagered. Neville was nice, but he was always getting into trouble. It made Harry sad to think about how Neville could have been like him, but turned out to be a dunce.

\"I\'m off then,\" said Ron, sounding more happy than Harry would have liked him to sound at that moment. Even for all of Ron\'s giddiness, Harry didn\'t want to be alone. And Seamus and Dean were out, too, paiting things and making jokes. It was hard being alone, because he would think of a pale face framed by gleaming white hair and a sharp wit that he knew he could never really match.

Something had happened in the summer, something that changed Harry. A dream, one that he didn\'t want to have, but did anyway. Maybe his brain was trying to tell him something through his subconscious - Harry didn\'t know. All he knew was that he\'d woken up, tangled in sheets, sweating and letting the last trail of a moan float into the air. He knew that he\'d gotten excited, and he knew it was because he\'d imagined Draco, down below, doing things...

It was weird to come back to Hogwarts after that. It was even weirder to find himself defending Draco Malfoy around Ron. Ron hated Draco, and Draco hated Ron, and that\'s the way it had been for so long. Even Harry had hated Draco, until that dream that had changed everything. Harry often shifted uncomfortably around the Slytherin, unable to control the heat from rising in his cheeks every time grey eyes met his. It was as if the wiring to his brain had gotten skewed, his heart racing faster and faster, to go as far as it could to catch up to some invisible force, some wall that would offer him solace.

As Ron left the room, Harry felt his hand slide lower. He always used his right hand, because it was stronger, and he could control his orgasm better. He\'d tried to stroke himself with his left hand, but it had left mismatched stains on the sheets, and then Dobby had come in right afterwards and said hello with his new socks because he was always getting new socks, and then Harry had blushed even darker than he did when he met eyes with Draco and said it was all right, he was just sick. Since then, it had always been the right hand for him, veined and firm.

He wrapped it now around his cock, which had hardened the moment Ron had stepped from the room. It was so difficult to get time to himself to do this, and Harry planned to take advantage of it as much as he could. He loved the feel the way his cock pulsed in his hand, almost as if it were going to burst if he didn\'t come soon. But Harry liked to drag out the moment, to see the blonde hair in his mind, going lower, lower, sliding down his body, opening his thighs and grinning with the smirk he wore before taking Harry\'s prick into his mouth and sucking hard.

Harry wanted it hard. He liked everything hard, from his bed to his trunk to his studies. It was always better hard, he knew that. Harry closed his eyes, alone in the Gryffindor tower, his bed the only one being occupied as he let out a tentative moan, eyelashes fluttering at the first stroke.

It felt so good. He could see Draco in his mind\'s eyes, his tongue flicking out, teasing the tip, dripping with beads of precome, licking them and wanting more. Draco always begged when Harry let his mind wander, waiting to get Harry to let him suck him off, to take the hard flesh into his mouth and lick and suck on it. Harry wondered what it would feel like to let Draco bite it. Not hard, but just a little, to get the feeling of teeth grazing the hardness he felt in his own hand, which he pretended was Draco\'s mouth.

Harry spoke to the empty dorm room.

\"Yes...Draco...suck me harder...\"

\"Yes...mmm...Harry... were the words he heard in his mind.

\"That feels so gooooood...

Yes, I love your big cock in my mouth...swollen and beautiful...dripping for me...only me...

\"Oh Merlin...\"

Harry could feel the hot come spurting between his fingers, lacing them with white residue, marking his mind\'s journey, the way he\'d seen Draco, could swear that it had all actually happened.

\"Draco,\" he whispered, hearing it echo through the walls, like poetry that lulled his heart and made his body feel whole once more. It was a betrayal of himself, and he wanted to shower, to make it all go away, and yet he wanted more of it, only not alone, with someone else...

He needed Draco.

The thought coursed through his mind, searing into his brain, securing a spot before the time would come when he would realise it. And then he\'d have to do something about it.

He could hear the footsteps of people in the hall.

\"Shit!\" he swore, reaching for his wand with his left hand, saying a quick evanesco and breathing easily. He pulled up the covers just in time to see Ron looking mad, stalking to his bed and fuming.

Harry turned around and pretended that he was snoring. He could ask Ron about what happened with Hermione later.

+++

The next day came, and Harry found himself fumbling with his books, a few feet behind Ron and Hermione, who didn\'t seem to be on speaking terms again. He couldn\'t pay much attention, since Draco had caught his eyes for longer than he\'d ever done before, and Harry\'s hands were still shaking. It was ironic, how the Boy Who Lived could be so shaky from the opposite side, the Slytherins. Harry knew that Draco\'s father was a Death Eater, but he couldn\'t bring himself to care as much anymore. The grey eyes of the son were softer than the ones of the father. Besides, it wasn\'t as if Draco had actually killed anyone. Maybe he wanted to kill Harry, but Harry knew he\'d deal with that hurdle when he came to it.

\"Potter,\" drawled a voice behind him just outside the Potions classroom.

Harry felt his heart give a slight flutter. He wiped at his brow, feigning comfort. \"Malfoy,\" he answered in turn, giving himself a mental pat on the back for not betraying the way his palms had begun to sweat, which made him lose his grip on his books. The books slipped to the floor and he bent over to pick them up.

\"Clumsy, clumsy,\" tsked Draco, his eyes positively dancing, fixed to Harry\'s face once the Gryffindor had stood upright again.

\"Shut up, Malfoy,\" hissed Harry. He didn\'t want to be too loud, because Potions had been going badly. Professor Snape had been taking more points than ever away from Gryffindor, and Harry knew that they just had to win the House Cup this year. If nothing else, even if he died, at least Gryffidor should have that small triumph over evil.

Still, when Draco snorted and brushed past him, Harry\'s stomach gave a jolt, and he nearly fell sick right then and there. Draco had touched his arm - his left arm - as he\'d moved him out of the way, and Harry thought he\'d felt a distinct squeeze. Something that said \"meet me later.\"

But maybe he\'d read the signs wrong. He could just be overly-hopeful.

Harry sat in class, making notes and trying not to rise to the bait Snape offered. It was difficult, since he kept glaring, and grilling Harry on the potion they were concocting, taking points regardless of his good behaviour. Harry could feel his neck getting redder, fleeing there as he managed to keep the rage from showing on his face. It was something Harry had been practicing, and he knew it made Snape anxious, which made him practice more. Now he\'d finally gotten to the point where he could focus the energy in his body all to one place. It was an entirely magical thing, he knew, though he had no idea how he\'d learned it.

As the class split up, Harry heard someone whispering behind him. Three Slytherins stood tall. Draco was surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking idiotically at the Gryffindors leaving. Only Draco\'s gaze was thoughtful.

Harry walked out, feeling rather chillier than before. He knew that dungeons were cold, but it wasn\'t the dungeons that had made his blood feel curdled. It was the grey gaze.

It haunted Harry as he exited the classroom, and it was as if he could see nothing else.

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