It's Not A Love Potion (Drarry)

Chapter 2

Draco buried himself under the covers.

Green eyes, dark with arousal...

He had not slept at all well. His hair was undoubtedly almost standing up on end from the amount of times he had tossed and turned during the night, and he was uncomfortably sweaty.

A pair of wind-chapped lips open in a gasp, a whimper escaping them...

Of course, that wasn't the only reason he was uncomfortable. He groaned and turned onto his side, gripping the pillowcase tightly in his fist and trying desperately to ignore the images that would not leave – him – alone.

He tried to do what Snape told him to do, to focus on his hatred for Potter, but when he did all that happened was that he began to imagine Potter angry, which in turn led to him imagining Potter red-faced, which in turn led to him imagining Potter flushed and sated after a long session of what Snape had delicately termed 'copulation'.

He rolled over again and sighed heavily. Last night when he'd finally returned from Snape's office, he'd had a huge fight with Blaise. Not a shouting-hexing-punching fight like he always had with Potter – please, they were Slytherins – but it had been intense. Zabini refused to admit that forcing Draco to drink a potion that could kill him might have been a bad idea, and Draco refused to admit that Blaise wasn't the only one who took jokes too far sometimes (that time he'd completely removed Nott's arm was an accident, for Merlin's sake!).

That being said, Draco had had a wonderful time informing Zabini that Snape had walked into the Entrance Hall to find him fiercely pushing another student (for obvious reasons, Draco didn't say who) into the wall and snogging the living daylights out of them, and now knew the full story (although Draco also emitted the part where he'd refused to tell Snape who'd started the whole thing in the first place), right down to the brand name of the potion.

And now Zabini was going to be turning people against him for at least a week and Draco didn't know how many more knocks his reputation could take before he was officially a social outcast and he just wanted Potter so much.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd gone over it, how the cloying taste of liquid rose petals had threatened to overwhelm him and there was nothing he could've done about it. How when the very moment he'd caught sight of Potter an explosion of something so powerful it was skirting the edge of pain had set itself off in the pit of his stomach. How then it had spread, extending upwards to wrap around his chest and tingling at the ends of his fingers.

How he'd all of a sudden become aware – so incredibly aware – of everything that was Harry James Potter.

He could still feel it now, running through his veins, lurking just beneath the surface of his skin. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; like fire and ice in a constant battle right within every fibre of his being.

It was worse when Potter was around. As soon as Draco caught sight of him, the potion would ignite inside him, urging him closer, promising rewards if he could just touch.

Even when he wasn't even looking at him it was bad; just by being in the same room as him, the feeling of uncontrollable desire was enough to send him mad. Or at least send him to the headmaster's office if any of the teachers happened to cursorily use Legilimency on him and see just what he wanted to do to their hero.

And perhaps the worst thing was that he still could not stand the thought of liking Potter in any way. Just thinking about the arrogant speccy git in any positive way at all made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want to think Potter attractive. He wanted to be able to hate Potter as much as he'd always done, he wanted to despise the sight of him rather than get turned on.