Anatomy Of A Dysfunctional Relationship
by zahra

Section 1: Getting involved with someone you hate is generally not a smart move.

The most important thing to remember is that Harry does not like Draco Malfoy.

Point in fact, saying Harry doesn't like Malfoy is a bit like saying that Snape's a bit of a bastard or that Hermione's a bit of a stickler. Harry tends not to be given to under exaggerations, and as such, he knows that 'dislike' isn't really the right word to apply to his feelings concerning Malfoy. Intense hatred, utter loathing, wishing very much to hang him by his genitals in Azkaban for all eternity. These are better phrases to describe Harry's feelings toward Malfoy, because yes, Harry has feelings for Malfoy.

Malfoy has spent the better part of seven years doing everything possible to make Harry's life a bloody disaster. He's consistently tormented all of Harry's mates and called them every name in every book including the ones in the Restricted Section. Malfoy has gone above and beyond the taunting straight into physical assault, although that's only in regards to Harry, as though only Malfoy is good enough to touch him. Harry would beg to differ, but without the begging. Harry simply differs from Malfoy on everything, including the company they keep.

Slytherins don't seem to have friends as much as they have co-conspirators and alliances, and Harry abhors Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Zabini on a scale reserved for Potions and Rita Skeeter. They're almost as disgusting as Malfoy himself, because Malfoy is most certainly disgusting. He's vile and rude, and his hair oozes like broom polish. Malfoy resorts to trickery in Quidditch, and he reminds Harry entirely too much of his life with the Dursleys.

If all that weren't enough, Harry would bet his last galleon that Malfoy is, or very soon will become, a Death Eater.

There is absolutely nothing good about Draco Malfoy.

To put not too fine a point on it, Malfoy is a Bastard of the First Class.

However, Harry doesn't have to like Malfoy to fuck him. Of this he is quite certain.


Section 2: Chemistry is no excuse, or rationale, for involvement. Should your urges overtake you think of highly combustible elements and mass destruction.

Bad things come in threes:

Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Harry's dead mother, dead father and Voldemort. Snape, Potions and Malfoy.

Yes, three is certainly a bad number for Harry, as long as he's not thinking about Hermione and Ron, but that's not what's got his pants in a twist. He's supposed to be mincing Circus Fleas and mixing them with hairs from a Jakarta Green Gnat, not stealing looks at the three freckles on Malfoy's pointy little nose.

This realisation is past pear-shaped and onto some new diagram that Harry can't even visualise properly.

It pains him greatly to think it, but aesthetically speaking, Malfoy is fucking gorgeous. He may be an insufferable, inbred git who hopefully will die in the first wave of the war, but Harry's a seventeen year-old boy. He's not dead, and he can admit when he's attracted to someone. He can certainly admit when he wants to shag this certain someone senseless up against the nearest wall and listen to him scream Harry's name, because he's just that good.

No, Harry does not have problems with humility.

He does have problems partnering Malfoy in Potions though.

"What's wrong, Potter? Finally come to the conclusion that you'll never be as good-looking as me? Must be quite a disappointment, really." Malfoy sneers and stares, but even with the most twisted expression on his face he's still quite fit. It's way beyond off-putting straight into alternate universe. If Harry didn't have to pass Potions, there's no doubt in his mind that he would walk out right now.

After giving Malfoy a pair of black eyes. Sadly, he'll have to settle for an elbow to the ribs.

Malfoy makes a snorting noise when Harry's elbow glances off his side rather than hitting its desired target. Harry would make another attempt if he couldn't feel Snape boring holes into the top of his head. His Circus Fleas are practically powder, and Malfoy is entirely too close for comfort. Harry very much wants to push him away. Or at the very least poke him in the eye with his wand. "If being 'good-looking' means having a pointy nose and no eyebrows, I'll pass."

"You fucking snot-nosed tosser," Malfoy hisses.

His sibilant tones awaken something in Harry, and for a second Harry's not sure what is going to come out his mouth. He's almost disappointed when words spew forth rather than a two-headed snake. "Really, Malfoy, I think you said the same thing a fortnight ago. It's getting old you know."

"Fuck off," Malfoy retorts.

"You first," is Harry's rather unscathing reply.


Section 3. Thankfully, exchanging of bodily fluids is not a blood contract.

Harry does not like Malfoy.

Malfoy does not like Harry.

However, Harry finds Malfoy attractive.

Ergo, Harry does not have to like Malfoy to slam him against the wall of the broom shed, and snog him with every ounce of hatred and lust in his body. The rationalisation is quite dodgy, but Harry's not that bothered. It might have to do with all that hormonal energy.

Harry has at least half a stone on Malfoy and a few metres on the outside, but it's the element of surprise that most likely does the trick. None of this would have happened if Malfoy hadn't been the first to the Snitch, but as it's a day for all sorts of strangeness, Harry figures he should start as he means to go on. Get the proverbial jump with two whole seconds of surprise, as ostensibly that's how long Malfoy will need to locate his wand and shove it someplace that will cause Harry quite a bit of discomfort. When this doesn't happen, Harry reckons that it won't at all, and he's free to take what he wants.

Malfoy's lips are thin, but his tongue is thick in Harry's mouth, and it's quite clear that he knows how to use it. Rather than jamming it down Harry's throat, he's exploring and licking, and even if Harry moans that's all right. There's nothing wrong with Harry thrusting his hips forward, and writhing against Malfoy like a cat, or a snake. There's nothing wrong with Harry's hands twisting in slick hair, or pulling Malfoy's head to one side so Harry can get a better angle. It's not kissing so much as mauling using teeth and lips. It's not the most skillful assault ever, but it's not lacking in heat.

It's important to note that not once does Malfoy attempt to touch Harry back.

After several seconds, Harry pulls back, licking his lips. Automatically, he checks his watch and begins to rearrange his robes. Three minutes until he has to meet Ron.

"This doesn't change anything," Malfoy says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are swollen, and his jaw is turning red. Harry knows stubble burn when he sees it, and it's a rather hard internal struggle to keep from crowing at the top of his lungs or sending up pink sparks so everyone can see what he's done.

Surely this reflects worse on the Psuedo-Heir than it does on him. Harry's always been a fragile, loose cannon about to go off anyway. Everyone knows that. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

"I should certainly hope not." Harry's unable to keep a note of satisfaction from tingeing his voice.

He doesn't care.

Malfoy spits on the ground by Harry's feet, but Harry doesn't move. He's tired of moving. "I still hate you." Malfoy's eyes are bright and his hair is incredibly disheveled. Harry did that. Yes, he feels very satisfied right now.

Reaching out, he fists Malfoy's robes, and pulls him close. His lips brush against the lobe of Malfoy's ear when he whispers.

"Did I ask your opinion?"


Section 4: You do not have to have your friends' approval to get involved with someone. However, withholding information from those closest to you tends to be indicative of a larger problem.

Harry's never had a family of note, so he's made one of his own. Ron and Hermione are Harry's family by his psychological decree, and as such Harry does his best to protect them the way family should be protected.

They cover for each other with professors and insignificant others. They loan each other chess sets and class notes and Invisibility cloaks without batting an eyelash. They study together, take classes together, and are connected the way Harry likes to think he would have been with his brothers and sisters and parents.

As far as Harry is concerned, long after everything else ends they'll still be together.

All the same, there are limits to certain things.

Information is given on a need to know basis, and as such there's no point in Harry telling Hermione and Ron anything about his assignation with Malfoy because there's nothing to confess to.

There is nothing happening. No information to relay.

Harry snogged Malfoy, and now it's out of his system. Perhaps.

"Mudbloods and Weasels to one side, all Purebloods carry on," Malfoy voice carries down the Charms corridor, and Harry's got his wand whipped out before anyone else can blink. He can't actually see the prat, but he must be around somewhere. It won't take Harry more than a second to turn Malfoy into something a bit more unseemly then a ferret. It'll do death to Harry's burgeoning sex life, but he's young, as long as he doesn't get killed tomorrow it won't be the biggest travesty ever.

"I hope you weren't planning on using that one someone, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall's voice is right in Harry's left ear, and all the hairs on his body stand up at the exact same time that whatever erection he might not have had, dies an instantaneous death. Her voice is more deadly than a curse.

"Of course not." Hermione comes to Harry's rescue with Ron right behind her, and he's grateful to her as only he can be. There's a part of him that thinks it's a shame that he's not interested in her, but Ron would probably challenge him to duel, and she's too much like a sister to make that worth it.

"I expect you have classes to get to," the Professor prompts, to which all three nod dutifully, and wander off in the direction of the front doors for Care of Magical Creatures. The fall in step easily enough, and Ron's the first to speak when they're out of earshot. "Fucking hell, can't he piss off and die?"

"My luck's not that good." Harry offers more as a option than a real possibility.

"Hermione, can you sort something out?" Ron says, reaching out and linking hands with his girlfriend. He's got an enormous grin on his face, which, in a way, is something that Harry envies, but perhaps it simply isn't meant for him.

"Of course she can." Harry opens the door for the twosome to walk through. "We'll call it S.C.A.M. Society to Crucio all Malfoys."

There's a long pause as the three of them hold up traffic in and out of the castle.

"Oh, I quite like that," Hermione says after several seconds.

"Yeah, not bad is it?" Ron agrees.


Section 5: Just because you are attracted to someone does not mean you should have relations with him, her or it.

It could be anybody that Harry's kissing, mouth open and tongue darting about like a niffler let loose. Soft bites on an upper lip, harder bites on the lower one, seeking the blood just below the surface. There are wet noises and stifled groans being drawn out like an Auror torture that's still being refined.

There are fingers tangling in Harry's hair, and his glasses have been removed and dropped, he might step on them later. He might step on them now. He doesn't really care. There's a willing and welcoming mouth beneath his, and that's what's important. Thin lips pressed against his, and sharp teeth reminding him that this isn't something soft and delicate.

It could be anyone that Harry has pushed against a stonewall, fingers scrabbling madly for clasps and zippers. Not-so-clumsy movements pushing at trousers and pulling at shirts, nails scraping across bare skin more in haste than anything else. There are robes falling to the floor for future sweaty sacrifices, but that's later and this is now.

Now is when Harry has someone's wrists pinned against the wall so that knuckles are being scraped raw.

Now is why Harry is leaving love bites that have nothing to do with love, on an exposed neck and shoulders and nipples.

There are cries of pleasure and cries of pain.

Harry doesn't care about those.

If it were anybody but Malfoy, Harry might actually bring himself to consider what he's doing, but it's not anybody else and so he doesn't care. Harry's movements are quick and sure, and his consideration for his partner is at an all-new minimum. His trousers are around his knees, and he sees no point in removing his shirt the entire way.

Harry's grasp around Malfoy's cock is tight, his hand sliding up and down roughly, using only pre-come as a lubricant and boarding dangerously close to friction burn. Malfoy's hands rest on Harry's shoulders, holding on for dear life. Whatever expressions are on Malfoy's face are blurred, so Harry keeps his eyes open the entire time.

Malfoy comes with a noise that Harry doesn't listen to, and he's pulling Malfoy down onto his robes while his cry still echoes in the room. The preparation is swift: words muttered while his fingers rest on Malfoy's wand and then very small circles in anticipation of the main event. The slide in gets easier every time, and Harry relishes the power of seeing someone he hates so completely at his mercy.

Malfoy wants him, and one day he'll beg.

For now, though, Malfoy wriggles like a flobberworm let loose, and Harry cages him in with his body, legs and arms restricting movement until Harry's ready. The time between his fingers sliding out and his cock sliding in is negligible, and Harry fucks like it's business.

He fucks like his life depends on it, and the lives of everyone he cares about. Every slick slide is a victory and every thrust is a spell. The good guys always come out on top, and if Harry actually listened in Divination he might see signs here.

But that would require time and thought, and this isn't about thought.

Harry isn't even really here.

It's just sex.


Section 6: Relationships do not have to be healthy. But it doesn't hurt.

Malfoy doesn't snore, but he tends to twitch in his sleep. Not that Harry cares. He'll be leaving at any second. He doesn't need to stay here, he certainly doesn't want to stay here, if for no other reasons than sleeping with the enemy is so Slytherin.

Not that any of this matters. At least not to Harry. Soon the war will come, and this dalliance with Malfoy will be forgotten. It's good for right now, but it's not going to last, which suits Harry fine.

"I don't like you," Malfoy mumbles rolling into his side, and fixing Harry with a low-lidded stare.

"I don't care." Harry's answer is simple and straightforward. Whether or not it's true is another matter.

After all, the most important thing to remember is that Harry doesn't like Draco Malfoy.

But he doesn't have to like him to take what he needs.


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