But Draco cherished the obsession, even when it hurt. It had grown up with him, from childhood stories and toys to starstruck infatuation as he’d awaited meeting his hero at Hogwarts. It had been cut at the root by Potter’s rejection, but it hadn’t died; though twisted beyond recognition, it lived, and thrived, and at last it bloomed, together with Draco, into something sexual, dark and ravenous.
A darkish 4th year Harry Potter story where Draco obsesses over Harry and eventually gets a bit more friction than he bargained for.
Read here or on AO3.
Where Vince finds out the hard way.
Friday, December 18, 1994 (three weeks later)
Half of the group had already gone through the serpent door when Draco realized he’d forgotten the fifth year Runes textbook he was supposed to return to Marcus Belby. It had to be tonight: Belby was among the few students going home for Christmas this year, and Draco had better things to do than try and hunt him down tomorrow morning before the train departed.
“I have to go back to the dorm to pick something up,” he told Pansy and pecked her cheek. “You go on without me. I’ll see you there.”
“Alright.” She pecked him back. Then, as he turned around, she slapped his bum. He laughed and gave her a wink before starting down the stairs. But once safely out of sight, he dropped the mask of cheer.
Continue reading Epilogue
In which Draco is presented with an ultimatum.
Sunday, November 29, 1994
Draco twitched with anxiety as he stood before Professor Snape’s office, gathering the courage to knock. The calming draught he had been given upon waking in the Hospital wing, frightened and disoriented, in the middle of the night, had long worn off. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t questioned him, nor made any comments on the state he had been in when brought to her. By Potter, it turned out. Who hadn’t only stayed by Draco’s side when he’d collapsed but had apparently taken the responsibility for their fight too.
With great effort, Draco pushed aside all thoughts about that. He had to keep his wits about him. The bubo was gone. In its place, only a tender pink patch remained. Draco didn’t feel any different. The magic of it hadn’t had time to work, like Vince thought, or hadn’t worked on Draco to begin with, like Draco thought. Either way, if there was any chance to keep it all secret, he had to cling to it. Both for Vince’s sake and his own. There was no telling what Father would do if Draco’s stupidity were to result in another Auror raid of the Manor. Or worse, if he learned why Draco had taken the potion in the first place.
Salazar, guide me.
He knocked.
Continue reading Snape’s Grace
Saturday, November 28, 1994
Harry sat shivering on a rickety chair in the Hospital wing. About six feet from him, behind a wall of portable screens, lay Draco Malfoy, out cold and for all Harry knew, dying.
Continue reading Harry
In which Draco finally gets Potter’s undivided attention.
The Great Hall was so vacant at breakfast on Saturday that Draco thought the holidays had arrived a few weeks ahead of time. Apparently, two separate parties had raged on till well after midnight—one for Diggory, thrown by the Hufflepuffs, and one for Potter, thrown by the Gryffindors. On top of that, about half the older Slytherins and Ravenclaws had gone at the break of dawn to a Forbidden Forest expedition with Hagrid for Herbology and Creatures credits.
Blaise had refused to get out of bed. Draco had heard him return to the dorm late last night but had been too mortified even to peek through his bed curtains.
“What did you do to him?” he had asked Greg in a whisper as they ascended from the dungeons.
“Don’t worry about it, boss. There isn’t a single bruise on him.”
Continue reading The Chase
The calm before the storm.
Friday, November 27, 1994
Next morning, Draco could detect no trace of the bubo. He spent half an hour inspecting his armpits, feeling them carefully for signs of swelling, but there was nothing there. Between worrying about it and failing from minute to minute to keep Potter and his merciless words out of his mind, Draco thought little of the mild, nebulous ache at the top of his right thigh while he slathered himself with soap in the shower. But then it made itself known more insistently when he lifted his leg to put on his pants. He felt gingerly about the base of his cock, where his hair, such as it was, grew thickest. Sometimes he got painful zits there, deep under the skin and as hard as pebbles, that he’d squeeze viciously till they’d discharge their load of blood-streaked puss over his fingers, taking twisted pleasure in it even though he knew the spell to remove them painlessly.
This time, however, the pain surrounded something large and soft. A swelling.
Sweat broke on his forehead. He spread his legs wide and bent to have a look.
And there it was: the bubo. Not in the armpit, but in the groin. It was smaller than Vince’s, but darker, perhaps on account of the pallor of Draco’s skin. Vince had said it didn’t hurt, but Draco’s did. And it didn’t seem as solid, or as loose under the skin. Draco’s pulse ticked as if he were running while he poked and prodded at it, terrified and hopeful.
Continue reading The Ache