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Behind the Green Door	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6279 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 1-Part I
- 2-Part II
- 3-Part III
- 4-Part IV
- 5-Part V
- 6-Part VI
- 7-Part VII
- 2
- 3
- 4
Part III
�Rook to F5.�
�Pawn to C4,� Potter mumbles, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up at me, blinks. �So, how was last night?�
I take a minute to consider. Last night was much like expected. Tiresome, dreadful, alarmingly dull; I was being watched by my Father the entire evening, while I was trying to court the most uninteresting woman in the entire Wizarding world. And of course the whole ordeal was highlighted by the constant background noise of Mother and Mrs Greengrass� exuberant wedding plans. It was positively atrocious.
Naturally, I would never tell Potter that.
�Lovely,� I answer instead, gazing at the chessboard. �Bishop to E7.� I cast a look in Potter�s direction. �Why do you ask, anyway? Missed me?� I add in a sing-song voice as an afterthought, wishing I hadn�t immediately after my words leave my mouth.
�Tremendously,� Potter mutters sardonically, watching the board intently. Too intently. �Nott is a bore. And a bitch. At least with you I get to play chess,� he scoffs, looking up at me with a slight grin. �Knight to C5.�
I snort. �Potter, your chess-playing is abominable. Bishop to C5.� I feel a tinge of delight at watching the little chess piece break the other and throw it off the board.
�Fuck you,� he grumbles morosely, eyeing his smashed knight in annoyance. �You refused to play Exploding Snap.�
�Honestly, Potter! I haven�t played Exploding Snap since I was twelve,� I drawl, leaning back in my chair. Not to mention if we were to play Exploding Snap, I�d be forced to actually sit close to Potter. This way I can just stand back and win from afar.
"Pawn to H4." Potter yawns, lying down on his stomach on the bed and peering at me. I feel a jolt go through me as my eyes wander to where his collarbones peek out from under his worn Muggle T-shirt. It takes a minute for me to realise that Potter is looking at me peculiarly. �Your move, Malfoy.�
�I know that,� I murmur exasperatedly, looking hastily over to the chessboard. It takes me exceptionally long to gather my thoughts and make my move. �Knight to A6.�
Potter too takes long to ponder about his next move, which gives me a perfect opportunity to observe him. I have a hard time understanding how someone can be this positive, this alive, while being held hostage. He has been here for more than two weeks now, and not once after he was brought here have I seen him throw a real tantrum.
One would think I would be relieved that the prisoner I�m watching is behaving so well. But in truth, it just makes my life that much harder. When Potter isn�t yelling and screaming at me, throwing punches and picking on me every second, I have no idea what to do with myself. And what bothers me most is to have to admit to myself that Potter�s behaviour actually makes a difference to me.
�Malfoy, what is with you? It�s your turn.� Potter lifts an eyebrow humorously. �I thought I would be the one going nutters in this dungeon, but it seems you beat me to it.�
Touch�.

�Pawn to B6,� I hurry to say, wondering for a second if I could actually ask what I want to. �Potter?� I begin, in a far more tentative manner than I would have wanted.
�Hmmh?� Potter responds, looking up at me.
I take a minute to formulate the question. �Why aren�t you more angry?� Well, that sounded really sensible. �Why aren�t you furious, screaming and shouting and trying to throw your porridge at me?�
�Oh,� Potter utters, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. He sits up on the bed, arms around his knees, head leaned back against the stone wall. �Well, Malfoy, you really are more of an imbecile than I�d thought if you think I�m not furious.� He looks at me pointedly, and I try to not show my embarrassment. Luckily Malfoys do not blush.
�But what good would yelling do?� Potter sighs, sneering at me. �It wouldn�t make me any less of a prisoner, most likely even more of one as you wouldn�t entertain me with the occasional tantalizing game of chess,� he drawls, chuckling lightly in a manner that almost makes me want to smile. Almost.
I am shocked by the reign of self-restraint Potter is showing. What he said is absolutely true, I just have a hard time believing that Potter would be able to constrict his signature Gryffindor attitude at any level.
�Why do you ask?�
An excellent question. One I will not be obliged to answer. �Just curious.�
Potter snorts exasperatedly. �Right,� he drawls. �OK then, Malfoy. Then we�ll play fair; question for question.�
I feel the urge to inform Potter that Malfoys do not play such silly games, but in truth I am curious what Potter wishes to know. I only answer with a remotely amused raised eyebrow, and Potter takes that as a cue to continue. �Why do you follow Voldemort?�

Damn. I hadn�t expected Potter to be this forward. Though I should have, after all: he is a Gryffindor.
When I do not answer immediately, Potter sighs and gets up from his seat. He moves to the bars, wrapping his hands around the cold metal and leaning slightly forward. �Come on, Malfoy. What can it hurt at this point? Why did you choose to follow Voldemort?�
�Don�t say his name!� I hiss, embarrassed of the hint of fear shining through my voice. Potter snorts but doesn�t object. Instead he remains silent as I sigh, gathering my words.
�It�s simple. I follow him because he serves my family�s interests.�
Potter grimaces viciously. �Killing Muggles is your interest?�
I sigh exasperatedly, riled up by Potter�s thick head. �No, you doltish twit. Is everything that black and white to you?� I sneer at the Golden Boy, who looks mildly abashed by his ignorance. He should be.
�My interest is to live in a world where the Wizarding community isn�t constantly polluted by Muggles. A world where one doesn�t have to worry about the wizarding line being weakened by bad blood.�
��Bad blood�?� Potter repeats, looking no less than mortified. Suddenly I find myself watching as the Boy Hero�s repressed anger surfaces, with a vengeance it seems. �If there is anyone in this world with bad blood, it�s your lot! Torturing and killing innocent people because you think yourselves to be somehow superior to them!� Potter spits, looking much like he would jump at me and break my neck if he could get through the bars.
I sneer at him, wondering to myself why I even bothered to try to explain this to someone like Potter. As if he could ever understand. Still, can�t seem to hold my words back anymore. �You think it�s that simple, don�t you?� I drawl, getting up from my chair and approaching the cell. �If they didn�t invade and endanger our world, we would have no reason to assail theirs. While your lot is busy defending the cretins, our magical blood is flooding down the drain!� I spit the words in Potter�s face, suddenly realising how close I am to the man.
Potter clenches his fists around the bars, and his flaming green eyes seem to be able to shoot me down, but he doesn�t say a word. For a second I dare to think I have actually gotten through to him. A drop of perspiration gathers on Potter�s brow, and his chest rises and falls violently with his agitated breath. To my horrification I realise that I have never been this tuned on.
Then Potter opens his mouth. �I despise you.�
And that is the last drop. I grab a hold of the front of his shirt through the bars and tug him forward, violently pressing my mouth to his. Potter gasps in surprise as he is pulled against the bars, his open mouth giving me the perfect opportunity to suck, lick and bite at his lips. I close my eyes, leaning further, trying to get ever closer.
Potter�s mouth tastes of sugar and heat. Spices. And something elusive that is entirely Harry-fucking-Potter.
He doesn�t move an inch, but his breath is ragged and I can feel his chest shivering under my hand where I still hold him trapped by the cloth of his shirt. I deliver a particularly harsh bite to his lower lip and Potter whimpers, not wholly in pain. A jolt of thrill washes over me at this power I hold over him, and the realisation does nothing to reduce my arousal.
Then suddenly a loud pop is heard, and I jerk back violently from the bars. Looking to my side, I see the house-elf Tilby, holding forth a tray.
�Harry Potter�s dinner, sir,� she utters. I feel a faint flush creeping over my nose in spite of the fact that the elf probably didn�t notice anything odd and for the record wouldn�t be in the position to say anything about it.
From the corner of my eye I can see Potter still standing by the bars, and most importantly; I can still hear his ragged breathing. Ignoring him I reach for my wand and produce a trapdoor into the bars. �Slide it through there,� I gesture to the elf, very careful no to look at Potter�s face.
The elf obeys, bows at me, and Disapparates. I take a deep breath and make the trapdoor disappear, hurriedly turning around and stalking over to my chair.
�Malfoy, I-� Potter begins, but I cut him off.
�Shut up, Potter,� I command, pronouncing his name with as large amount of venom and distaste as I can manage. I sit down and open my book, still very careful not to look over to where Potter is still standing, having not even touched the tray on the floor.
He takes an aggravated breath. �Would you just-�
�No!� I snap, losing my temper and looking up. A fatal mistake.
Potter is standing by the bars, hands still clenched around the metal. He staring at me, his emerald eyes filled with embarrassment, anger, shock, and something unnerving I can�t quite put my finger on. He opens his mouth, beginning to say something, but no words come out. He looks almost remorseful.
And I loathe him. I contemn him endlessly for having the insolent audacity to show me any other feeling than hate and despise. I open my mouth to tell him off, but am forced to close it again as the words get stuck in my throat. Instead I am content with spitting demonstratively on the floor. Potter takes a quick intake of breath, and I look away.
�Eat your dinner.�

End of part III
- 2
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- 4
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Behind the Green Door