Jealousy: PART XLII, PART XLIII, PART XLIV
JEALOUSY UPDATE!
Title: Jealousy: PART XLII, PART XLIII, PART XLIV
Author: laughs_muses (fic journal)
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13, NC-17, PG-13
Disclaimer: No, none of these characters are mine. If they were mine I wouldn’t be working absurd hours in a coffee shop, now would I? Nup, I’d be cruising around in my Merc with little HP flags on the bonnet and…*dreams*
Summary: Draco vs Professor McGonagall...Harry jerks off...The boys, um, chat...
Set: Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
Beta: None, aggggaaaiiinnn.
Authors Notes: Goodness Grief. Go read the LAST parts so you know what the hell I'm talking about. It has been so long since I've posted, but these bits are probably my favourite yet. *grin*
Jealousy: PART I
Jealousy: PART II
Jealousy: PART III
Jealousy: PART IV
Jealousy: PART V, PART VI
Jealousy: PART VII, PART VIII, PART IX
Jealousy: PART X, PART XI, PART XII
Jealousy: PART XIII, PART XIV, PART XV
Jealousy: PART XVI, PART XVII, PART XVIII
Jealousy: PART XIX, PART XX, PART XXI
Jealousy: PART XXII, PART XXIII, PART XXIV
Jealousy: PART PART XXV, PART XXVI, PART XXVII
Jealousy: PART XXVIII, PART XXIX, PART XXX
Jealousy: PART XXXI, PART XXXII
Jealousy: PART XXXIII, PART XXXIV, PART XXXV
Jealousy: PART XXXVI, PART XXXVII, XXXVIII
Jealousy: PART XXXIX, PART XL, PART XLI
PART XLI
Draco hated waiting outside for classes. Especially when he had Transfiguration and Professor McGonagall was usually exactly punctual, so when she was late she was going to be very late. Draco sighed and hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, fingering the strap and half-listening to Blaise and Theodore talk about Potter’s next game against the Tornados.
“You reckon he could break the league record?” Theodore was asking as he absently scribbled in his unfinished Transfiguration homework. Blaise had been watching Lavender show Parvarti a run in her stockings up her thigh and let out a snort.
“Yeah right, I mean, I know Potter’s good. But as if the fucker could beat, what was it? Three and half seconds?”
“I don’t know,” Theodore said doubtfully, snapping his book shut as quick footsteps were heard coming up around the corner, and craning his head around McMillan’s back. He visibly relaxed when the person came skidding around the bend. “Merlin,” he said snidely to Blaise who was grinning, “Speak of the devil, and don’t he look half shagged.”
Draco whipped around in time to see Potter’s lithe form shimmy past Susan and collapse against the wall next to Granger. His tie was knotted wrong and his hair was mussed up worse than usual. His face was tinged pink and his lips were swollen. Draco felt a revolting taste of bile well up at the back of his throat as Potter sank his head a little, no doubt to listen to the Mudblood’s scolding.
“Someone’s been getting action this morning,” sniggered Blaise.
Draco had never wanted to hurt someone so bad in his life. The sight of Potter leaning exhaustedly against the sandstone wall, looking so deliciously shagged, made Draco felt the stirrings of magic gather at his fingertips. There was no way in the pits of hell that Potter wasn’t feeling the gaze Draco was burning in his direction, he was focussing every inch of hatred he possessed into looking at Harry Potter.
How the fuck dare he.
Draco was right, for Potter looked up just at the moment, shattering Draco’s carefully measured stare, by…smiling. The cocky, supercilious, good for nothing, arrogant, patronizing, condescending, over confident, fucking stupid bastard had the balls to smile at him. After clearly having screwed that goddamn Weasel slut for all the bitch was worth.
“You okay Draco?”
“Fuck off Zabini,” Draco spat, hoisting his bag higher again onto his shoulder as Professor McGonagall swept into view and opened the huge door. He stalked in behind Ernie McMillan and slammed his bag onto his usual desk while Blaise and Theodore quietly slipped into the seats surrounding him.
Potter slunk into the room behind Granger and Draco clicked his fingers under the desk.He saw to his vindictive pleasure, Potter’s tie tighten considerably. Green eyes widened as his fingers struggled momentarily with the material.
“Sit.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was crisp as usual but had an element of do-not-fuck-with-me-it-is-that-time-of-the-month. “Today we’re revising exactly what we did last lesson, because the majority of you managed to superbly ruin any notion I had of you passing this unit in time for your NEWTS.” Her nostrils flared as if daring anyone to groan and the silence in the room was thick.
“You will receive your essay from two nights ago and compile a list of why you have received the pathetic mark you have. If there is any talking I will personally oversee your detention.”
Draco slumped lower in his chair and ran a hand through his hair as the pile of parchment essays off Professor McGonagall’s zoomed towards their respective owners. Draco snatched at his parchment as it whizzed around his head. To his displeasure it did a neat little side-step around his fingers and continued to flutter. Draco clicked his fingers audibly and there was a strangled gasp from Potter’s corner of the room and Draco’s essay sank meekly to his desk.
Mr. Malfoy; precise essay with only a few adjustments required in the definition of the terms used. Bear in mind that the expressions you’ve used throughout your piece are from a branch of Transfiguration that we did not actually cover hence will need to be explained in more detail for the reader. E
Draco bent his head and skimmed through his handwriting for the shimmering red ink that outlined the required amendments. With meticulous care he wrote a patronisingly obvious definition of each term, so exact that a five year old could understand what he was explaining.
How fucking dare he. Okay, so Potter was officially still connected to the Weasel slut. What did that mean? He, Draco, and Pansy were still receiving mail addressed to both of them. Fuck him. Fuck. Him. Fuck. Him. Goddamn it. Draco felt his inside begin to churn with the need to vent. He felt the magic crackling around his person and tried desperately to breathe normally. After all, Malfoys were renowned for being able to control themselves.
FUCK.
He had never felt so stupid. In. His. Whole. Life. He sunk his head into his hands. Draco Malfoy had never felt so…crap.
“Malfoy,”
Draco raised his head to look at Professor McGonagall.
“What?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What?”
Both eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
“Mister Malfoy, is there a problem?”
“No,”
“No, what?”
Draco looked blankly at her, knowing full well she was itching for him to begin using his usual drawling manners.
“No, there is not a problem,” he said monotonously and could almost feel Blaise trying not to laugh.
“Mister Malfoy, if you do not begin to speak with respect I shall be forced to…Potter!”
Draco looked down at his fist which had been clenched so tight that his knuckles were white, and then across at Potter whose face was mottled with the need for oxygen. Calmly Draco held his fist clamped shut, watching Potter struggle desperately with his tie and Professor McGonagall rush to his side. With vindictive pleasure Draco surveyed Harry Potter urgently tug at the material tightening around his neck. With an almighty wrench, which, Draco thought absently, showed of a rather impressive bicep clench, Potter ripped his tie from his neck. Feeling the magic rush back into his fist, Draco unclenched it and coolly began to pack up his books.
“Malfoy!” McGonagall’s shrieking voice pierced the room, cutting cleanly through Potter’s laboured breathing. “Where in the name of Merlin do you think you’re going?”
“Although,” Draco said calmly, standing up, “this lesson has been of the utmost entertainment, I feel as though I am in extreme danger of unexplainable uniform actions which would be detrimental to my health.”
Sliding his bag easily onto his shoulder Draco walked to the front of the room and placed with exaggerated care, his essay on her desk.
“Sit down, Malfoy!”
Ignoring her he picked up her quill, examined it disdainfully for a moment and then signed his name under the entry parchment.
“Here Professor,” he said easily, “I’ve fixed the bits you didn’t understand.”
And walked out.
Fuck Potter.
PART XLII
Harry wrenched his broomstick skyward and swore aloud. The golden fluttering of the Snitch glinted into his vision and he viciously tore after it. His hands were freezing cold and sticking to the handle. The wind whipped painfully against his cheeks and his glasses were cutting into his nose.
Swearing again, Harry flung himself forward, crunching the Snitch in his fingers and feeling the feeble beat of its wings on his palm. Fuck Malfoy. Harry let his broom drift lazily to the ground, stretching his arms above his head, the golden ball now stilled in his hand.
It was two in the morning. And it was cold.
The sweat that was making his shirt cling to his body was cooling rapidly and Harry felt the cold air begin to permeate through to his skin. Fuck Malfoy. Harry dropped onto the soft grass and immediately felt the dew dampen his trainers. He snapped his fingers and both the Snitch and his broom crusaded towards the Quidditch shed.
What the fuck did Malfoy expect? Ginny did still exist. And it’s not like he was completely gay...right? Harry threw himself painfully onto his back and immediately his already wet shirt was freezing. He wound his fingers around his throat where the bruising from his tie had been. A quick draining spell had left the area where the bruise had been clean and clear. What was Malfoy’s problem?
“What the fuck,” Harry said out loud and watched the clouds scurry lazily over a velvet sky. How come he was allowed to show affection with Pansy still but Harry was supposed to ignore Ginny completely? He remembered just a few days ago seeing Pansy lying in Malfoy’s lap.
“Hypocrite,” he said aloud again and watched an owl skim lightly above the trees of the forbidden forest. Rolling on his stomach and wincing as the grass flicked against his face and drenched his front, Harry looked over at the Slytherin bleachers.
They were empty.
Harry felt an angry pang. He hated himself for secretly hoping Malfoy would be there. That would be so cliché. He imagined himself diving spectacularly, looping and then settling himself on the grass to find Malfoy standing there. He would be wearing… Harry’s fantasy paused as he thought of all the different clothes Malfoy wore. Okay, so, he would be wearing something. Something skin tight maybe. Or just a polo. Or…
“Oh God,” Harry muttered into the grass and feeling the blades tickle his lips, “I am so … gay.” He dropped his forehead heavily into the ground. So Malfoy would be standing there wearing something. And then Harry would see him walk towards him. With that walk that he did. The one with the hip swivel thing. He would be doing that. Harry would lean against his broom and. Malfoy would stop just in front of him.
Harry pressed his hips hard into the ground to rid himself of any impending stirring in his groin. Malfoy would then say something along the lines of, “Potter, I’ve missed you.”
No way.
Malfoy would not say that in a million years. He would say something like, “I’ve been watching you.”
No. Still not right.
“Fuck you, Potter.”
Perfect.
And then Malfoy would grab Harry roughly by the shoulders and yank him forward and do that thing with his tongue against the hollow of his throat. Harry would then feel Malfoy’s tongue dipping lower, lower.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
It would trace along the thin line of hair that dusted down under Harry’s navel and he would feel his stomach jerk. Just like whenever Draco did that smile. Just when the left side of his thin lips quirked upways, only for a split second. Just at him. The long, slim hands would slip their way into the loops where his belt should have been and pull him closer still.
Harry would lean his head back against the tree behind him … What the fuck? Harry’s fantasy halted. Since when were there trees on the Quidditch pitch? It took a moment for Harry to realise that in his fantasy they were back in the Forbidden Forest, where that glade had been. The first time Harry had kissed him.
…and try to calm his nerves. Okay, so this was new territory. They hadn’t done this before. His breath would catch in his throat when Draco’s fingers began to slip his buttons out from their clasp.
Harry moaned and pressed his hips into the ground again. Only this time to relieve some of the pressure on his erection. Feeling the dirt and grass scale over his lips, he wiggled his right hand down his front and into his training shorts.
…he would feel that soft, blonde hair brush lightly against his stomach and felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. He was so hard. Draco was easing down his jeans, the slippery tongue still dancing on the skin just above his boxers...
“Oh God,” he breathed out the words as his hand wrapped around his aching cock. Precome slid over his fingers and mingled with the sweat from his flying. Harry lifted his body slightly off the ground and leant on his left forearm, his head hanging only centimetres from the grass.
…he wound his hand just so that is slipped through the silky strands of Draco’s hair and pushed gently…no wait. He would push roughly. Cold air wound its way around his cock and Harry imagined he could feel Draco’s breath hot and heavy against the sensitised skin and then…
Harry gasped and the gasp turned into a moan as his fingers stroked up the underside of his penis…that would be where Draco was winding his tongue around the base and then slip over the head… sensation shot through his body as the familiar need for someone’s mouth around him flowed from his groin.
Except that this time. It wasn’t just anybody.
Harry could feel dirt on his lips as he slowly began to rock his body in time with the gradual strokes of his hand. Harry looked down and imagined Draco’s blond hair moving slightly as he began to move his head up and down. Christ. It was so hot. Watching Draco Malfoy’s flawless features a bright pink and his tongue lick tantalisingly over Harry’s dick.
“You look so…good.” Harry breathed and felt vibrations shoot up his spine as Draco would ‘hmmmm’ against him. His hips bucked as the sensations curdled their way through Harry’s body and it wasn’t long until he felt that pooling in his abdomen that told him climax wasn’t far away.
“Fuck. Malfoy. Draco. Fuuuuck.” Harry let out a loud hiss as white blinded his vision and he thrust desperately forward into his palm, come spilling over his fingers, through his boxers and onto the grass beneath him. His tongue tasted mud he slumped his head foreword onto his arm.
Tears ran down his face in rivers and the revolting feel of dirt and grass grated against his body, his face and in his mouth. Huge heaving sobs wracked Harry’s frame as his mind ran desperately through all the images of Draco Malfoy that he could conjure. He had just jerked off on the Quidditch pitch. He had just jerked off thinking about Malfoy again on the Quidditch pitch. He had just jerked off thinking about someone who would never love him, never want him, never need him on the fucking. School. Quidditch. Pitch.
Harry’s tears continued to run long after the tang of post-coital harmony had left his body. They continued to stream long into the morning.
Harry Potter had never felt so low.
PART XLIII
He had no idea where to be next. Fumbling in his bag, Draco hunted for his timetable. People thronged around him, moving bodies pushing past and a constant babble of voices. High girlish squeals and low blokey mumbles. Pansy and Blaise were just behind him and he could hear Pansy’s voice saying something, but he couldn’t make out what. Stumbling a little, he pulled his creased timetable from his bag and studied it.
He was shoved. Hard.
Careering to the side, Draco whipped his head around to see Harry Potter’s slim shoulders parting a way through the masses of students. A dull pain throbbed in his shoulder.
“Oi. Potter!” his voiced seemed to trump over the crowds of students. A cold shiver ran down his spine as Potter halted and turned. “What the fuck is your problem?” Desperately hoping his voice wouldn’t crack, Draco sent his most loathsome look in Potter’s direction.
“My problem, Mafoy?” Potter’s voice was like ice. It was cold. It was hard. And Draco had never heard it before. His face was blank. As if someone had sapped every emotion from his body. Draco swallowed. Potter’s face was usually alive with some kind of feeling. Anything. “Is you, fucker.”
“Oh?” Draco’s voice was suitably condescending but he could feel his hands clamming as Potter began to move slowly towards him. The Gryffindor’s school shirt was frayed and it was only tucked in on one side, his hair was as unruly as ever, and his fists were clenched. “Is that right, Potter? Well,” he felt Pansy stiffen at his side as his voice took on a more mocking tone. “We had better do something about that, hadn’t we?”
Potter’s face didn’t change.
It took a moment for Draco to register the Weasel’s red head to Potter’s left and the dark skin of Thomas to his right. The student throng surrounding them had stilled and they were looking keenly at Potter who had halted about a meter from Draco himself. He was reminded briefly of their encounter when Potter had been selected for the Magpies.
“Fuck you, Malfoy.” His voice was low, but it carried through the air and the words bit at Draco’s ears. “You know what you are?”
“Enlighten me, oh-brilliant-one.”
“You are a cheating, manipulating, cowardly sonofabitch.”
“Am I? Really? Well,” he paused, “Let us deconstruct that sentence, shall we?” Draco waved a hand vaguely at the crowd surrounding him. He stuck out a hip and put his hand under his chin in exaggerated thought. “Cheating? Oh, Potter darling. When have I cheated on you?”
There was a ripple of laughter and a few guffaws.
“I have always remained faithful,” his voice lowered and he leant forward, piercing Potter’s gaze with his own, “To. You.” He leant back and struck up his mock thoughtful pose again, noting Potter’s clenched fists and beating pulse at his neck. “Although, the same cannot be said about you. That Weasley girl, goodness.” He raised a hand to his forehead and pretended to faint, “I was so hurt, Potter. To see you two together. And there I was thinking I meant so much to you.” He smiled cruelly and felt a thrill of satisfaction as the student body around him laughed.
“What else was I?” he looked around as if asking for help. “Manipulative? Me? Good grief, Potter. These insults, where do they come from?” He took a step closer and saw Potter’s eyes narrow slightly. Another shiver ran down his spine. The Gryffindor’s face had taken on a flushed look. Colour tinged his brown cheeks and ran lightly down his neck. He looked…Draco struggled to pin-point it…he looked…the same…just before he came.
“Cowardly?” Draco dropped the theatrics and grabbed a fistful of Potter’s shirt, yanking him forward. There was a collective gasp from the students surrounding him and a yelp from Pansy. The Weasel and Thomas both started forward but smacked into the air. Potter had put up the invisible box.
Their invisible box.
Anger curdled in Draco’s stomach.
“Cowardly?” he murmured again, staring directly into the depths of Potter’s eyes. “Am I? Then I guess this would be cowardly, am I right?” He leant closer and could feel Potter’s breath on his face as the Gryffindor opened his mouth in surprise.
And licked his lips.
Draco wanted them so badly. So badly. He wanted to claim them, wanted to brand them, mark them, make them his. So he did the only thing his hormones would let him.
He punched Harry Potter so hard in the stomach the only thing louder than Potter’s shout of pain was the blood rushing in his head.
~~~
Author's Notes: OOOOHHHHHHH! Did I catch you out? Did you think they were going to...kiss?
Again, I'm sorry about the squillion years it has taken me to put these parts up and I hope you guys still remember what was happening. So, I thought to make up for being so LAME and not posting I would put a picture of something really hilariously cute...
Yoinked from tyna01.
So anyway, I hope you liked this little tidbit of Jealousy, and if you want to drop me a line I won't bash you on the head.
JESSSSSICA.
Title: Jealousy: PART XLII, PART XLIII, PART XLIV
Author: laughs_muses (fic journal)
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13, NC-17, PG-13
Disclaimer: No, none of these characters are mine. If they were mine I wouldn’t be working absurd hours in a coffee shop, now would I? Nup, I’d be cruising around in my Merc with little HP flags on the bonnet and…*dreams*
Summary: Draco vs Professor McGonagall...Harry jerks off...The boys, um, chat...
Set: Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
Beta: None, aggggaaaiiinnn.
Authors Notes: Goodness Grief. Go read the LAST parts so you know what the hell I'm talking about. It has been so long since I've posted, but these bits are probably my favourite yet. *grin*
Jealousy: PART I
Jealousy: PART II
Jealousy: PART III
Jealousy: PART IV
Jealousy: PART V, PART VI
Jealousy: PART VII, PART VIII, PART IX
Jealousy: PART X, PART XI, PART XII
Jealousy: PART XIII, PART XIV, PART XV
Jealousy: PART XVI, PART XVII, PART XVIII
Jealousy: PART XIX, PART XX, PART XXI
Jealousy: PART XXII, PART XXIII, PART XXIV
Jealousy: PART PART XXV, PART XXVI, PART XXVII
Jealousy: PART XXVIII, PART XXIX, PART XXX
Jealousy: PART XXXI, PART XXXII
Jealousy: PART XXXIII, PART XXXIV, PART XXXV
Jealousy: PART XXXVI, PART XXXVII, XXXVIII
Jealousy: PART XXXIX, PART XL, PART XLI
PART XLI
Draco hated waiting outside for classes. Especially when he had Transfiguration and Professor McGonagall was usually exactly punctual, so when she was late she was going to be very late. Draco sighed and hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, fingering the strap and half-listening to Blaise and Theodore talk about Potter’s next game against the Tornados.
“You reckon he could break the league record?” Theodore was asking as he absently scribbled in his unfinished Transfiguration homework. Blaise had been watching Lavender show Parvarti a run in her stockings up her thigh and let out a snort.
“Yeah right, I mean, I know Potter’s good. But as if the fucker could beat, what was it? Three and half seconds?”
“I don’t know,” Theodore said doubtfully, snapping his book shut as quick footsteps were heard coming up around the corner, and craning his head around McMillan’s back. He visibly relaxed when the person came skidding around the bend. “Merlin,” he said snidely to Blaise who was grinning, “Speak of the devil, and don’t he look half shagged.”
Draco whipped around in time to see Potter’s lithe form shimmy past Susan and collapse against the wall next to Granger. His tie was knotted wrong and his hair was mussed up worse than usual. His face was tinged pink and his lips were swollen. Draco felt a revolting taste of bile well up at the back of his throat as Potter sank his head a little, no doubt to listen to the Mudblood’s scolding.
“Someone’s been getting action this morning,” sniggered Blaise.
Draco had never wanted to hurt someone so bad in his life. The sight of Potter leaning exhaustedly against the sandstone wall, looking so deliciously shagged, made Draco felt the stirrings of magic gather at his fingertips. There was no way in the pits of hell that Potter wasn’t feeling the gaze Draco was burning in his direction, he was focussing every inch of hatred he possessed into looking at Harry Potter.
How the fuck dare he.
Draco was right, for Potter looked up just at the moment, shattering Draco’s carefully measured stare, by…smiling. The cocky, supercilious, good for nothing, arrogant, patronizing, condescending, over confident, fucking stupid bastard had the balls to smile at him. After clearly having screwed that goddamn Weasel slut for all the bitch was worth.
“You okay Draco?”
“Fuck off Zabini,” Draco spat, hoisting his bag higher again onto his shoulder as Professor McGonagall swept into view and opened the huge door. He stalked in behind Ernie McMillan and slammed his bag onto his usual desk while Blaise and Theodore quietly slipped into the seats surrounding him.
Potter slunk into the room behind Granger and Draco clicked his fingers under the desk.He saw to his vindictive pleasure, Potter’s tie tighten considerably. Green eyes widened as his fingers struggled momentarily with the material.
“Sit.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was crisp as usual but had an element of do-not-fuck-with-me-it-is-that-time-of-the-month. “Today we’re revising exactly what we did last lesson, because the majority of you managed to superbly ruin any notion I had of you passing this unit in time for your NEWTS.” Her nostrils flared as if daring anyone to groan and the silence in the room was thick.
“You will receive your essay from two nights ago and compile a list of why you have received the pathetic mark you have. If there is any talking I will personally oversee your detention.”
Draco slumped lower in his chair and ran a hand through his hair as the pile of parchment essays off Professor McGonagall’s zoomed towards their respective owners. Draco snatched at his parchment as it whizzed around his head. To his displeasure it did a neat little side-step around his fingers and continued to flutter. Draco clicked his fingers audibly and there was a strangled gasp from Potter’s corner of the room and Draco’s essay sank meekly to his desk.
Mr. Malfoy; precise essay with only a few adjustments required in the definition of the terms used. Bear in mind that the expressions you’ve used throughout your piece are from a branch of Transfiguration that we did not actually cover hence will need to be explained in more detail for the reader. E
Draco bent his head and skimmed through his handwriting for the shimmering red ink that outlined the required amendments. With meticulous care he wrote a patronisingly obvious definition of each term, so exact that a five year old could understand what he was explaining.
How fucking dare he. Okay, so Potter was officially still connected to the Weasel slut. What did that mean? He, Draco, and Pansy were still receiving mail addressed to both of them. Fuck him. Fuck. Him. Fuck. Him. Goddamn it. Draco felt his inside begin to churn with the need to vent. He felt the magic crackling around his person and tried desperately to breathe normally. After all, Malfoys were renowned for being able to control themselves.
FUCK.
He had never felt so stupid. In. His. Whole. Life. He sunk his head into his hands. Draco Malfoy had never felt so…crap.
“Malfoy,”
Draco raised his head to look at Professor McGonagall.
“What?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What?”
Both eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
“Mister Malfoy, is there a problem?”
“No,”
“No, what?”
Draco looked blankly at her, knowing full well she was itching for him to begin using his usual drawling manners.
“No, there is not a problem,” he said monotonously and could almost feel Blaise trying not to laugh.
“Mister Malfoy, if you do not begin to speak with respect I shall be forced to…Potter!”
Draco looked down at his fist which had been clenched so tight that his knuckles were white, and then across at Potter whose face was mottled with the need for oxygen. Calmly Draco held his fist clamped shut, watching Potter struggle desperately with his tie and Professor McGonagall rush to his side. With vindictive pleasure Draco surveyed Harry Potter urgently tug at the material tightening around his neck. With an almighty wrench, which, Draco thought absently, showed of a rather impressive bicep clench, Potter ripped his tie from his neck. Feeling the magic rush back into his fist, Draco unclenched it and coolly began to pack up his books.
“Malfoy!” McGonagall’s shrieking voice pierced the room, cutting cleanly through Potter’s laboured breathing. “Where in the name of Merlin do you think you’re going?”
“Although,” Draco said calmly, standing up, “this lesson has been of the utmost entertainment, I feel as though I am in extreme danger of unexplainable uniform actions which would be detrimental to my health.”
Sliding his bag easily onto his shoulder Draco walked to the front of the room and placed with exaggerated care, his essay on her desk.
“Sit down, Malfoy!”
Ignoring her he picked up her quill, examined it disdainfully for a moment and then signed his name under the entry parchment.
“Here Professor,” he said easily, “I’ve fixed the bits you didn’t understand.”
And walked out.
Fuck Potter.
PART XLII
Harry wrenched his broomstick skyward and swore aloud. The golden fluttering of the Snitch glinted into his vision and he viciously tore after it. His hands were freezing cold and sticking to the handle. The wind whipped painfully against his cheeks and his glasses were cutting into his nose.
Swearing again, Harry flung himself forward, crunching the Snitch in his fingers and feeling the feeble beat of its wings on his palm. Fuck Malfoy. Harry let his broom drift lazily to the ground, stretching his arms above his head, the golden ball now stilled in his hand.
It was two in the morning. And it was cold.
The sweat that was making his shirt cling to his body was cooling rapidly and Harry felt the cold air begin to permeate through to his skin. Fuck Malfoy. Harry dropped onto the soft grass and immediately felt the dew dampen his trainers. He snapped his fingers and both the Snitch and his broom crusaded towards the Quidditch shed.
What the fuck did Malfoy expect? Ginny did still exist. And it’s not like he was completely gay...right? Harry threw himself painfully onto his back and immediately his already wet shirt was freezing. He wound his fingers around his throat where the bruising from his tie had been. A quick draining spell had left the area where the bruise had been clean and clear. What was Malfoy’s problem?
“What the fuck,” Harry said out loud and watched the clouds scurry lazily over a velvet sky. How come he was allowed to show affection with Pansy still but Harry was supposed to ignore Ginny completely? He remembered just a few days ago seeing Pansy lying in Malfoy’s lap.
“Hypocrite,” he said aloud again and watched an owl skim lightly above the trees of the forbidden forest. Rolling on his stomach and wincing as the grass flicked against his face and drenched his front, Harry looked over at the Slytherin bleachers.
They were empty.
Harry felt an angry pang. He hated himself for secretly hoping Malfoy would be there. That would be so cliché. He imagined himself diving spectacularly, looping and then settling himself on the grass to find Malfoy standing there. He would be wearing… Harry’s fantasy paused as he thought of all the different clothes Malfoy wore. Okay, so, he would be wearing something. Something skin tight maybe. Or just a polo. Or…
“Oh God,” Harry muttered into the grass and feeling the blades tickle his lips, “I am so … gay.” He dropped his forehead heavily into the ground. So Malfoy would be standing there wearing something. And then Harry would see him walk towards him. With that walk that he did. The one with the hip swivel thing. He would be doing that. Harry would lean against his broom and. Malfoy would stop just in front of him.
Harry pressed his hips hard into the ground to rid himself of any impending stirring in his groin. Malfoy would then say something along the lines of, “Potter, I’ve missed you.”
No way.
Malfoy would not say that in a million years. He would say something like, “I’ve been watching you.”
No. Still not right.
“Fuck you, Potter.”
Perfect.
And then Malfoy would grab Harry roughly by the shoulders and yank him forward and do that thing with his tongue against the hollow of his throat. Harry would then feel Malfoy’s tongue dipping lower, lower.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
It would trace along the thin line of hair that dusted down under Harry’s navel and he would feel his stomach jerk. Just like whenever Draco did that smile. Just when the left side of his thin lips quirked upways, only for a split second. Just at him. The long, slim hands would slip their way into the loops where his belt should have been and pull him closer still.
Harry would lean his head back against the tree behind him … What the fuck? Harry’s fantasy halted. Since when were there trees on the Quidditch pitch? It took a moment for Harry to realise that in his fantasy they were back in the Forbidden Forest, where that glade had been. The first time Harry had kissed him.
…and try to calm his nerves. Okay, so this was new territory. They hadn’t done this before. His breath would catch in his throat when Draco’s fingers began to slip his buttons out from their clasp.
Harry moaned and pressed his hips into the ground again. Only this time to relieve some of the pressure on his erection. Feeling the dirt and grass scale over his lips, he wiggled his right hand down his front and into his training shorts.
…he would feel that soft, blonde hair brush lightly against his stomach and felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. He was so hard. Draco was easing down his jeans, the slippery tongue still dancing on the skin just above his boxers...
“Oh God,” he breathed out the words as his hand wrapped around his aching cock. Precome slid over his fingers and mingled with the sweat from his flying. Harry lifted his body slightly off the ground and leant on his left forearm, his head hanging only centimetres from the grass.
…he wound his hand just so that is slipped through the silky strands of Draco’s hair and pushed gently…no wait. He would push roughly. Cold air wound its way around his cock and Harry imagined he could feel Draco’s breath hot and heavy against the sensitised skin and then…
Harry gasped and the gasp turned into a moan as his fingers stroked up the underside of his penis…that would be where Draco was winding his tongue around the base and then slip over the head… sensation shot through his body as the familiar need for someone’s mouth around him flowed from his groin.
Except that this time. It wasn’t just anybody.
Harry could feel dirt on his lips as he slowly began to rock his body in time with the gradual strokes of his hand. Harry looked down and imagined Draco’s blond hair moving slightly as he began to move his head up and down. Christ. It was so hot. Watching Draco Malfoy’s flawless features a bright pink and his tongue lick tantalisingly over Harry’s dick.
“You look so…good.” Harry breathed and felt vibrations shoot up his spine as Draco would ‘hmmmm’ against him. His hips bucked as the sensations curdled their way through Harry’s body and it wasn’t long until he felt that pooling in his abdomen that told him climax wasn’t far away.
“Fuck. Malfoy. Draco. Fuuuuck.” Harry let out a loud hiss as white blinded his vision and he thrust desperately forward into his palm, come spilling over his fingers, through his boxers and onto the grass beneath him. His tongue tasted mud he slumped his head foreword onto his arm.
Tears ran down his face in rivers and the revolting feel of dirt and grass grated against his body, his face and in his mouth. Huge heaving sobs wracked Harry’s frame as his mind ran desperately through all the images of Draco Malfoy that he could conjure. He had just jerked off on the Quidditch pitch. He had just jerked off thinking about Malfoy again on the Quidditch pitch. He had just jerked off thinking about someone who would never love him, never want him, never need him on the fucking. School. Quidditch. Pitch.
Harry’s tears continued to run long after the tang of post-coital harmony had left his body. They continued to stream long into the morning.
Harry Potter had never felt so low.
PART XLIII
He had no idea where to be next. Fumbling in his bag, Draco hunted for his timetable. People thronged around him, moving bodies pushing past and a constant babble of voices. High girlish squeals and low blokey mumbles. Pansy and Blaise were just behind him and he could hear Pansy’s voice saying something, but he couldn’t make out what. Stumbling a little, he pulled his creased timetable from his bag and studied it.
He was shoved. Hard.
Careering to the side, Draco whipped his head around to see Harry Potter’s slim shoulders parting a way through the masses of students. A dull pain throbbed in his shoulder.
“Oi. Potter!” his voiced seemed to trump over the crowds of students. A cold shiver ran down his spine as Potter halted and turned. “What the fuck is your problem?” Desperately hoping his voice wouldn’t crack, Draco sent his most loathsome look in Potter’s direction.
“My problem, Mafoy?” Potter’s voice was like ice. It was cold. It was hard. And Draco had never heard it before. His face was blank. As if someone had sapped every emotion from his body. Draco swallowed. Potter’s face was usually alive with some kind of feeling. Anything. “Is you, fucker.”
“Oh?” Draco’s voice was suitably condescending but he could feel his hands clamming as Potter began to move slowly towards him. The Gryffindor’s school shirt was frayed and it was only tucked in on one side, his hair was as unruly as ever, and his fists were clenched. “Is that right, Potter? Well,” he felt Pansy stiffen at his side as his voice took on a more mocking tone. “We had better do something about that, hadn’t we?”
Potter’s face didn’t change.
It took a moment for Draco to register the Weasel’s red head to Potter’s left and the dark skin of Thomas to his right. The student throng surrounding them had stilled and they were looking keenly at Potter who had halted about a meter from Draco himself. He was reminded briefly of their encounter when Potter had been selected for the Magpies.
“Fuck you, Malfoy.” His voice was low, but it carried through the air and the words bit at Draco’s ears. “You know what you are?”
“Enlighten me, oh-brilliant-one.”
“You are a cheating, manipulating, cowardly sonofabitch.”
“Am I? Really? Well,” he paused, “Let us deconstruct that sentence, shall we?” Draco waved a hand vaguely at the crowd surrounding him. He stuck out a hip and put his hand under his chin in exaggerated thought. “Cheating? Oh, Potter darling. When have I cheated on you?”
There was a ripple of laughter and a few guffaws.
“I have always remained faithful,” his voice lowered and he leant forward, piercing Potter’s gaze with his own, “To. You.” He leant back and struck up his mock thoughtful pose again, noting Potter’s clenched fists and beating pulse at his neck. “Although, the same cannot be said about you. That Weasley girl, goodness.” He raised a hand to his forehead and pretended to faint, “I was so hurt, Potter. To see you two together. And there I was thinking I meant so much to you.” He smiled cruelly and felt a thrill of satisfaction as the student body around him laughed.
“What else was I?” he looked around as if asking for help. “Manipulative? Me? Good grief, Potter. These insults, where do they come from?” He took a step closer and saw Potter’s eyes narrow slightly. Another shiver ran down his spine. The Gryffindor’s face had taken on a flushed look. Colour tinged his brown cheeks and ran lightly down his neck. He looked…Draco struggled to pin-point it…he looked…the same…just before he came.
“Cowardly?” Draco dropped the theatrics and grabbed a fistful of Potter’s shirt, yanking him forward. There was a collective gasp from the students surrounding him and a yelp from Pansy. The Weasel and Thomas both started forward but smacked into the air. Potter had put up the invisible box.
Their invisible box.
Anger curdled in Draco’s stomach.
“Cowardly?” he murmured again, staring directly into the depths of Potter’s eyes. “Am I? Then I guess this would be cowardly, am I right?” He leant closer and could feel Potter’s breath on his face as the Gryffindor opened his mouth in surprise.
And licked his lips.
Draco wanted them so badly. So badly. He wanted to claim them, wanted to brand them, mark them, make them his. So he did the only thing his hormones would let him.
He punched Harry Potter so hard in the stomach the only thing louder than Potter’s shout of pain was the blood rushing in his head.
~~~
Author's Notes: OOOOHHHHHHH! Did I catch you out? Did you think they were going to...kiss?
Again, I'm sorry about the squillion years it has taken me to put these parts up and I hope you guys still remember what was happening. So, I thought to make up for being so LAME and not posting I would put a picture of something really hilariously cute...
Yoinked from tyna01.
So anyway, I hope you liked this little tidbit of Jealousy, and if you want to drop me a line I won't bash you on the head.
JESSSSSICA.