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Summary
Draco Malfoy had few options. He was not his father, but he longed to be. He felt pathetic in himself. in his yearning, in his pining. Harry Potter, his new dormmate after new house integration, seemed to be unaware of his guilt. If he was aware, he disregarded it as senseless.
He had the better option, to ignore himself, to remind himself of his blood, to become like his father and lose that sickly remorse he clung onto. He would dress up in a corpse of well-groomed conformity, and it would be good. Simple.
He had the more realistic option, to get Potter out of his system, to rid himself of the guilt he felt. But that could fail, make him lose himself in another, to intoxicate his very being in one he swore off when his hand was turned away all those years ago. Draco was not fond on things that made him feel unstable.
Then there was the last option, the option that showed that no weight, no resolved guilt, no person could save him from the bitter filth of himself. It was the most tantalizing of the three. He had been taught to need no one, why should he learn reliance now?
And yet, with messy kisses and rough words, Draco could feel himself spiraling.
What a sick experience he was.