Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Moments	By : ladycat Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1116 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Moments
- 1
There was this one moment. Draco couldn’t quantify it or
understand it. He hated it, especially when he realized how much he didn’t hate
it at all. What it was changed all the time, too. There was never any predictability
that he could prepare for. Never a moment when he could steel himself and say no,
this time I won’t.

It was the randomness that really bothered him. He had an image to maintain,
dammit. It was difficult to terrorized the first years or plan to bring
Gryffindors down to less self-righteous heights when it could happen at any
time. It made him lose respect in the eyes of the rest of the school, and power
among the Slytherins. He’d already lost enough of both respect and power,
lately, what with his father in prison. He didn’t need to sabotage himself.

There were plenty of others who were willing to do that, for him.

Sighing, Draco didn’t rub his forehead. Wrinkles were an enemy his mother
fought against every day and she’d gifted her son with this neurosis. It’d been
a source of friction between father and son, who didn’t appreciate the shallow
vanity in his son unless it was cultivated for some purpose, as it was with the
father—and wasn’t this the most ludicrous thought ever? Worse, it wasn’t
working. Draco only succeeded in making himself feel worse, remembering his
family woes. It did nothing to remove this .... this ...

Ug! There wasn’t even a name for it, or if there was, Draco refused to
acknowledge it. It simply wasn’t possible. Imaginable. Probable. It couldn’t
be. Giving up on his father’s master wasn’t that much of an issue in the long
run; at least, not among Slytherins: sides were fluid, anyway, since most of
them viewed the world as Themselves and Everyone Else. Draco’s choices were
made as to what was best for Draco. No true Slytherin, as opposed to the
mindless thugs who were born to be led, could object to that. The thugs Draco
wasn’t worried about, either. Vincent and Greg were his.

No, changing allegiance was never an issue. But this? This wasn’t just an
issue, it was a problem. It cut at everything Draco had known about
himself and all the private plans he’d made towards his future. It undermined
every self-image he’d had, whether they were created for others to believe or if
Draco had genuinely been certain of it. And it was still utterly and completely
random! It would strike him when he walked to class. When a teacher droned on
about things he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. When his friends
spoke and socialized around him. During Quidditch, and wasn’t that the
most humiliating thing ever?

Galling though it was to admit, Draco knew that there were certain ...
triggers. Things he did or thought that would inevitably cause the same damned
reaction. He tried to avoid them, of course, something he was usually quite
good at. Draco had mastered his own mind and body years ago; his father would
have nothing less. But now, during lunch, Draco could scream inside his own
mind as much as he wanted: still his eyes would wander over to find and meet
Potter’s.

The flush was immediate, startling against his fair skin. That was bad, but
excusable since people were becoming almost used to it. It was the feeling
that came along with it that gutted Draco. The warmth and soft, squishy feeling
that no Slytherin, no Malfoy had ever felt in the history of the Malfoy
family. It wasn’t an overwhelming need to stare simperingly at Potter until his
features were memorized; Draco had done the memorization part back in first
year, when he’d hated the git. Something he still did now. It wasn’t a bid for
Potter’s attention, because he’d always had that. It wasn’t mere
attraction, either, because Draco had long ago come to terms with his own
deviant desires. That was fine. He would handle that the way gay Malfoys had
handled that for generations, and indulge his own whims as life permitted. That
was all well and good. Rational. Compartmentable, for lack of a real word.

No, the problem wasn’t that he wanted Potter, both physically and in a way he refused
to really think about. It wasn’t even that he wanted Potter to want him
back—that was a slight bit of weakness on his part, but a true Malfoy would
have gone through a variety of methods to ensure that Potter did want
him back. Some were more legal and morally acceptable than others, of course,
but that, too, was something Draco could plan for and deal with.

This was something else.

It was how much Draco wanted Harry to take. To shove him into an empty,
dusty classroom and do whatever he liked to Draco. The rough stone hard against
his shoulder blades, the way Potter’s eyes glinted as he pushed Draco down to
his knees, his back, his belly. The half-smile that Draco knew was his alone,
because it said mine more clearly than the gasped out utterance Harry
moaned when he made Draco come, or came himself. It was the way Draco wanted to
say ‘yes’ to any request Potter had, simply because it would make Potter
happy and that, in turn, made Draco happy. It was how much Draco wanted to
be over there, by Potter’s side, just in case Potter needed him for something:
a shared laugh, a shared fuck, a shared heartbreak.

Across the hall, Potter met his eyes for a half second. There was a promise and
a smile in those green depths, but it wasn’t either of those things that made
Draco shiver and be thankful they all worse loose robes. It was because each
time, Draco knew without a doubt that every time Potter said mine, Draco
said yes and yours.
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