𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

Prologue

Warnings: Abuse, heavy angst, abusive harry

Harry scowled as Hermione's droning voice reiterated with exasperation, "I'm only asking you – if maintaining our friendship, mine and Ron's, is at all important to you – to find someone else to vent all this unresolved anger to." She pinned him with guilt-inducing hazel eyes. "You know it's what's driven Ginny away. Do you really want Ron and I to be casualties of your unpredictable outbursts? We're tired, Harry – tired of being punching bags."

Harry cringed as Hermione brought up the Ginny dig. He clamped his mouth to keep from spouting off about what a nosing bitch she was and tried to corral his vehement response. He managed to compose himself somewhat and instead took to sneering. "I can't help it." He seethed, unable to meet Hermione's questioning gaze. She had already nixed his theory on why he was the way he was with surprising indifference.

Harry had assumed that aspects of Voldemort's soul had transferred to him during the final battle but Hermione had let out an amused scoff, murmured something about 'excuses,' and explained that she doubted he had destroyed the Horcrux within himself only to create another. He had, of course, shouted her down, demanding to know her theory then. She had gazed at him for a long moment and then, not quite meeting his eye, told him she did not have one.

Hermione shot him a sympathetic look and Harry reluctantly acknowledged that she had a point. He knew ever since Voldemort had been destroyed that he had been inexcusably, abruptly and inexplicably angry but knowing it did not mean that he had any more of an idea as to what to actually do about it.

Hermione's tone was calm and even, as though she realized she had gotten over the biggest hurdle – getting Harry to admit there was a problem, even if it was not aloud. She offered him a kind smile. "We understand that, of course. We're not asking you to change overnight." The unspoken 'yet' hung between them. "We're simply asking you to find someone else to take out all this frustration on. A safe outlet. Someone who hasn't been your friend since you were eleven," She said, an amused and perspicacious glint to her eye.

Harry jeered at her mockingly, ignoring her wordless pleas for amiability. "Who's going to willingly submit themselves to that," He demanded, feeling an unjustified urge to make her feel small and stupid. However, as the words left him, he knew exactly who would gladly accept all the abuse he would heap upon them.

He sat back in his seat, mulling over his solution. He was unhappy about it but it was the quickest – and possibly only – fix and, as much as he already detested the idea, he really did want to keep Ron and Hermione in his life.

~*~

It had taken over a week for Harry to locate the man. The war seemed to have broken him of his arrogance and nepotistic celebrity and the low profile he had adopted had not done Harry any favors in finding him. But, finally, Harry stood within feet of the unique silvery-blonde hair and basked in his triumph, the memory of the last time he had seen such a golden mane coming back to him.

The Quidditch field was as black as pitch and Harry had long since lost track of the time, preferring star-gazing to intensive studying, or a nag that wanted nothing more than to jabber on about nonsense or suck face, or the inquisitive glances of his best friends. He let out a deep breath, enjoying the silence and stillness of complete desertion.

However, the moment was short-lived as he heard feet crunching on the grass by his head where it was resting on his crossed forearms. He let out a weary sigh and guessed, "Ginny?"

A slightly amused and deep drawl sounded. "Afraid not."

Malfoy stepped to the left to stand at Harry's side and looked down into his face with an unreadable expression. Harry felt an unquenchable fist of hatred rise in his breast and he sneered unhandsomely, spitting out, "What are you staring at, Death Eater?" Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to train his wand on Malfoy and rip him apart with as many spells as he could think of – starting with Sectumsempra.

However, Malfoy's quiet response of, "I'm sorry," was so unexpected that it stilled his stalwart fury and luckless scramble for his wand. Malfoy gave him a feeble half-smile. "For staring, I mean."

But they both knew that wasn't what he meant and Harry ignored the tacked on sentiment. "Did you just apologize?" An unwavering suspicion streaked through his words with an undercurrent that made his voice tremble with anger. He jumped to his feet, his hands clenched into fists and, Merlin, did Harry want to simply break the boy – attack him until every square inch of his perfect skin was covered in scratches, bruises, and cuts.

Malfoy's meek smile extended to his eyes and Harry noticed they were softened and fatigued. He was disgusted by the blatant emotion. What right did this insignificant stain have to offer apologies when he had gotten Dumbledore killed? "It's this new thing I'm trying, it's called acting like a human being."

The drawling voice grated on Harry's nerves more than he would have expected. It was a reminder of why the whole bloody war had begun in the first place, of why his parents were dead – because of Malfoy and people like him. The rich, the elite, the pureblood – and that stupid accent jarred unpleasantly against Harry's eardrums. He gritted his teeth, trying not to care about the peace offering Malfoy was clearly extending to him or to find him in any way endearing or amusing.

He managed a snarky, "How's that working out for you?" Though the apathy and indifference in his voice was all too clear.

Malfoy seemed to be steeling himself. He turned and looked straight into Harry's too-green eyes. "It's interesting, to say the least. Though I suppose the success of it all hangs on you."

Harry only stared impassively at him. He was not going to help the other boy in any way.

Malfoy struggled with himself and finally admitted, "See, you're the cause for this... change, I suppose you could call it. As I have no desire to harm you any longer, I find that all the hatred seems to have seeped out of me and it appears as if it was just a mask for something else, something greater."

Harry's stare didn't waver and he found himself wondering if standing here with Malfoy was any better than being subjected to the constant prattling and worry that awaited him in Gryffindor tower. He decided it wasn't and his stance relaxed as he waited for Malfoy to finish so he could leave, all the while wondering what the hell he had to do with anything that concerned Malfoy.

"I—Merlin, this is hard to say," Malfoy muttered before taking in a harrowing gulp of air. "I think I'm in love with you."

It started innocently enough, a twitch of his lip, a faint convulsing of his throat, but soon Harry had burst out laughing, entirely unstoppably. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed until there were tears in his eyes and his stomach was aching and screaming for mercy. And with every bark, Malfoy's face fell a little bit more. Harry didn't really care, the prat deserved it after all.

He finally straightened up, trickles of weak chuckles still pouring forth at irregular intervals, and Malfoy gamely offered him a slightly perplexed and forced laugh as they stared at each other. "I must admit, I hadn't planned for that sort of response," He admitted.

Harry shrugged, feeling cold-hearted and cruel. He wanted to smash Malfoy's stupid, hopeful face in. "I'm sorry," He said, sounding anything but. "But you cannot be serious."

Malfoy shook his head, seeming amused by a private joke. He glanced up at Harry, a pleased quirk to his lips, though it took Harry a moment to notice that none of these light-hearted movements matched the devastation in his stormy grey eyes. Harry grinned wolfishly.

"While part of me is tempted to agree, laugh this off, and forget the whole thing, I'm afraid I've finally worked up the courage to do this and I am not giving up so easily. So." Malfoy inhaled deeply. "Yes. I am completely and foolishly serious. I know our rivalry has lasted the better part of seven years but, even then, I was only after your attention." The following simpering smile was nauseatingly pathetic. "I want you," He declared with the tenacity of a man that was sticking his heels in the mud, refusing to budge.

Harry found himself revolted by this sickening display of such emotional weakness and spat, "Malfoy, this is pathetic. You're sicker and crueler than I ever gave you credit for."

Malfoy's eyes widened in immediate denial. "Harry, this isn't a joke."

Harry had never thought it was and was simply referring to the repulsive prospect of having this ferret-y waste of space claiming to be in love with him and was about to tell him as much when he was grabbed by what Malfoy had said. Incensed, he screamed, "Don't you dare call me that, Malfoy!" This boy, using the same name Sirius, Dumbledore, his mother and father, and Remus had used – he was going to sully it with his filthy mouth!

Malfoy offered that pliable twitch of his lips once again. "I'm sorry, Potter," He relented with a crushed façade.

Harry wanted to see how red Malfoy's insides were and forced himself to look away from his infuriating and pitiable face before he simply slaughtered the boy. "Stop apologizing to me." Harry had clamped his teeth together so hard that his jaw was aching and his fingers had drawn blood from where they were clenched against his palm. "Fucking stop talking to me like this. Act like the goddamn prick we both know you are. I'm with Gin and I doubt it's escaped your notice. I'm not a fucking perverted freak like you, I'm not queer and even if I was – it would never be you, Malfoy. You disgust me."

Malfoy's expression went so far past hurt – in fact, Harry couldn't have come up with a word for the absolute destruction of any hope that might have been lingering in his eyes even if he had a thesaurus, a dictionary, and a year to search.

For a moment, Malfoy looked as if he'd rather be tortured and gutted than find himself still standing as he was in front of Harry. He plastered a sort of grimace on his face that Harry thought might have been a grin in its inception. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears and his voice was shaking badly. "Harsh." He gave an odd-sounding laugh. "But much more expected than the laughing."

"You deserve it," was Harry's unsympathetic reply.

Malfoy nodded, a sharp laugh escaping him that edged a bit too close to hysteria for Harry's liking. "But of course," He muttered agreeably. He glanced up at Harry, pinning him with his stare. "Can I ask you something?" He added, seeing Harry's look of incredulity, "I promise you, it will be the last thing I say to you tonight, and—" He laughed that tinny-edged laugh again, sounding a bit mad. "In all likelihood, the last thing I will ever say to you."

Harry gave a condescending nod of his head that said quite plainly that he would rather be anywhere else on earth than with Malfoy. "Fine."

Malfoy smiled with a frenzied look to his eyes. "Do you think there's a possibility you might ever change your mind, given time or different circumstances?" Malfoy seemed to be pleading with his defeated gaze for just a crumb – some hope to hold on to.

Harry didn't even pause to consider – or fake considering – Malfoy's words. "Not on your life, Malfoy."

Malfoy seemed to have expected this and his face turned downward. When he looked back up, his emotions were hidden under a mask of indifference. He kept his promise and strode off the pitch without another word, leaving Harry standing there on the barren field, alone once again.

Harry smirked, stepping up behind the slight figure of Draco Malfoy as he stood in a deserted row in Flourish & Blotts, holding a beaten-up old book and reading it's dust jacket with his tongue stuck between his teeth. "Hello, Malfoy," Harry whispered sibilantly into his ear in what he hoped was a sultry voice.

Malfoy started violently, nearly dropping the book in his hands, and Harry bit back a harsh laugh. He turned around, recognized Harry, and looked as if he might swallow his tongue. His eyes had widened in surprise and he seemed at a loss for words, alternately looking confused and smug about how close he and Harry were standing.

His gaze darted about for an escape path but Harry had planted his hands on either side of him so Malfoy was trapped in the cage of his arms and chest. Malfoy licked his lips nervously. "Um. Potter." He held up the book in his hand. "I was just, uh, looking for a book." He was speaking as if Harry was his parole officer and he had just caught Malfoy doing something illegal.

His anxiety was clearly only growing as he babbled pointlessly. "Though, of course I'm here for a book. I'm in a bookstore. It's unlikely that I'd be here for anything else, like a job or something. Not that there's anything wrong with working in a shop. I just don't have any need to work – not because I'm above it or any such nonsense as that, understand." Malfoy's expression was becoming more and more desperate and it was obvious that nothing was coming out the way he meant it to. "I just happened to have been left with enough that a job is unnecessary, and I don't mean this to be as pompous as it sounds."

Harry grinned at him toothily, already thinking of how enjoyable it was going to be to 'retrain' this stumbling boy. He could see the pain he would soon inflict in his mind's eye as he flirted with a playful tone to his voice. Disgusting. "So, you did mean it to be somewhat pompous then, did you?" He slowly ran his thumb down the line of Malfoy's neck as he spoke.

Malfoy was staring at him, his face utterly closed off so Harry had no idea of what he was thinking. His tone was flat and unreadable. "Regardless, I'm just here for a book."

Harry frowned. Malfoy was not flirting back. He decided to be a bit more forceful and pressed his body up against Malfoy's. Malfoy let out a deep and sensuous moan. His eyes darted to Harry's and he dropped his gaze, seeming furious with himself. But Harry had gotten so turned on by the simple sound, his stomach doing a sort of slow roll, that he grabbed Malfoy by the wrists and nearly demanded he do it again.

He had never heard anyone make such a glorious noise before and Harry had barely even touched him! He pressed his half-hard erection into Malfoy with a growl and started to rut maddeningly slow against him. "Remember what you asked me right before we parted ways?" He demanded of Malfoy's glazed eyes.

The blonde boy didn't respond – his mind seeming to have short-circuited the moment he felt Harry's arousal. Harry pulled his hips away angrily at Malfoy's silence and the blonde boy made a keening sound of distress before arching his back off the bookcase and pushing his body into Harry's.

Harry's eyes crossed at the pretty sound and Malfoy's blatant desire and he rammed him back into the bookshelf, frotting against him with vigor now. "Remember?"

Malfoy nodded frantically, his throat fighting to swallow past the lump that had taken up residence there.

Harry's toothy grin resurfaced as his erection throbbed next to Malfoy's. "I was wrong," He whispered, licking Malfoy's earlobe. "I think I could." His grin widened, knowing Malfoy had probably documented and obsessed over every microscopic detail of their conversation and that he would not have to elaborate.

Malfoy dropped his book, scrabbled for Harry's shoulders, and made a low whine in the back of his throat, pulling Harry against him and humping him like mad. He was making sweet little strangled noises and Harry was so hot for him he thought he just might spend it in his trousers.

He had always been proud of his stamina – in fact, sex with Ginny had always been a bit of a production – but hearing those lyrical sounds pour out of Malfoy's mouth and having Malfoy's warm, tantalizing body pressed up against his were driving him mad.

Malfoy's mouth was against his neck and he was murmuring things like "Want you" and "So long" and "Harry," with increasing frequency. Harry released his death grip on Malfoy's wrists and instead grabbed his arse, dragging their cocks together as he growled, "Fuck, Malfoy."

The blonde boy whimpered, slammed his chin onto Harry's shoulder, and came biting his lip and with a gasp of, "Always you, Harry."

Harry shoved the limp body back against the bookcase and charged forward, rubbing himself hard against Malfoy's over stimulated prick. His fervor paid off and he came only moments after the other boy with something between a purr and a snarl.

Coming down from an orgasmic high as he was, it took Harry a second to realize that – one – he had collapsed against Malfoy's satiated body in complete exhaustion and – two – that Malfoy was stroking his sweaty hair with a lazy and tentative smile on his sated face. Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed in a contented manner, "Har—" His eyes snapped open and his sigh was more beaten this time. "Potter," He corrected.

Harry nuzzled Malfoy's neck carefully, his glasses making the action less comfortable than it would have been otherwise. He cherry-picked his words and tried to make his tone endearingly hesitant. "Malfoy – Draco. I would love it if you would call me Harry." Malfoy stared at him guardedly and said nothing. Harry tried to blush and wondered if he'd affected it. "Besides, I love the way it sounds rolling off your tongue."

Malfoy's skeptical look melted away to be replaced by one of complete bliss.

Harry smiled to himself against Malfoy's neck. There, he had done as Ron and Hermione had asked and he couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more. He had found himself a new punching bag.