Obsession - A Drarry Fan Fic

Two Sides Of The Same Coin

Obsession. That's what it was. Draco spoke about Harry Potter so much that even Crabbe and Goyle, who usually listened mindlessly to what the blond boy said, were starting to complain. Harry Potter, the idiot with his stupid scar and stupid pride, occupied Draco's thoughts most days.

In a way, the two boys were very similar. Harry was proud to say he belonged to Gryffindor, while Draco, from the moment he was born, was taught to paint himself every shade of confident, to be proud of his pureblood heritage. This arrogance, Draco believed, was what scared Harry away. Maybe if he hadn't screwed up, Harry would be sitting next to him in the Slytherin common room.

But Harry always saw Draco as the villain. Just last week, they were brewing Wiggenweld Potions. Potter, like the fool he was, had fallen asleep during Professor Snape's explaination. Snape took 5 points from Gryffindor, and had told Harry that if his potion wasn't perfect, he'd be on detention. He'd forgotten the mint sprig, an ingredient that would significantly increase the quality of his potion, and Draco leant over to drop it in when no one was watching. Ron, however, had seen.

"Harry, I think Malfoy's trying to sabotage your potion." Then Harry fixed him with that accusing stare, those green eyes narrowed and oh-so-cold, and Draco felt himself die a little inside. Hermione, surprisingly, had risen to his defence.
"That's no sabotage, Ron. That's a mint sprig. He might have just saved Harry from detention." All Draco knew was that as soon as class was dismissed, he bolted from the room, heart pounding.

Or maybe, if he'd been sorted into Gryffindor himself, he could be curled up by the fireplace with Harry, Ron and Hermione. His parents would have been thoroughly disappointed, but Draco would've faced it just to feel like he belonged. It truly hurt to know that he really had no one. No real friends, because let's face it, Crabbe and Goyle were just brainless followers.

Hateful thoughts had quickly become wishful ones, funny how fast that had changed. Draco lay in bed that night, almost longing for Potter. He listened as the chatter of the common room was killed by the constant tick of the clock displaying later and later times, until all was silent. He was the only one not asleep.

Draco had built up solid stone walls as tall as the eye could see, afraid of letting anyone close. Deep down, in the most vulnerable parts of him, his greatest fear was rejection. That's why it really sucked that these feelings for Harry had manifested. Because everytime Draco considered letting him know how he really felt, he heard the laughter in his head, heard the trio make fun of him for his emotions. And he couldn't take that sort of pain, agony in his heart like the bitter sting of a knife.

That same night, Harry lay very much awake in his four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower. Maybe Draco wasn't so bad after all. His conflicting opinions of Malfoy were giving him a splitting headache, Harry listened as the heavy rain hit the thick glass of the window. When it rains, it pours, doesn't it?

Both boys rose early the following morning with the sun, feeling like reanimated corpses walking out from their graves. With tired, sunken eyes bloodshot from the sleepless night they'd had, Draco still thought Harry looked beautiful. And Harry admitted silently that Draco looked cute too, his white-blond hair ruffled and falling in front of his steel grey eyes.

Harry zoned out, eyelids growing heavy as he picked at his breakfast, half-heartedly pretending Ron's joke about him and Draco having sex was funny. Because maybe Harry he had thought about that a fair bit (not that he'd let anyone know of course)

"Ever wonder who'd top and who'd bottom?" Ron whispered, and Draco happened to overhear. He spluttered, his orange juice going down the wrong way, sending Ron into a fit of laughter. Harry just shook his head, abruptly standing up, marching off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

"What's his deal?"
"Too far, Ron."