Summary: Malfoy whispers. Harry can't resist.
Series:
Part 1 of the The Incubus Series series →
Whispers
Hermione sniffed. "At least he's attractive. Look at what I have to put up with."
During the last Potions lesson, Snape had decreed that she and Harry were banned from being lab partners for the remainder of the term, the first of their seventh year. In a fit of sadism, he had assigned Harry to working with Draco Malfoy and Hermione to work with Vincent Crabbe. She and Harry had speculated that this was a good deal for the Slytherins -- Hermione couldn't help but improve Crabbe's Potions grade, and when the conflict was restricted to verbal attacks, even Harry had to admit that Malfoy would give him better than he got.
Harry followed Hermione's look. Crabbe was just walking through the door, a step behind Malfoy. Harry silently agreed that he had got the better deal aesthetically. Over the last few years, Malfoy's sharp features and slim form had lengthened into an elegant grace marred only by a perpetual air of disdain. Harry suspected the blond would be stunning if he ever honestly smiled.
"And you have some chance of maintaining your marks," Hermione added, more quietly.
Improving them, actually, Harry admitted to himself. He watched Malfoy sit down and stretch languidly back, as if preparing to be admired. On cue, several of the girls giggled. Harry thought he wouldn't mind so much if it was only the Slytherin girls, but he had definitely detected Lavender's musical titter in the lot.
"At least Crabbe's too dumb to cause much trouble," Hermione whispered.
And that, Harry thought apprehensively, Malfoy definitely is not. He watched in resignation as Crabbe came towards them, and vacated the seat in time not to be ordered to do so. "Later, Hermione," he said.
Malfoy watched him approach. His eyes were temporarily veiled behind pale lashes as he looked down (how deceptively angelic, Harry thought), but he was smirking when he looked up again.
"Couldn't wait to sit next to me, could you Potter?" he asked mockingly.
Harry glared at him. His voice as scornful as he could make it, he responded:
"Jesus, Malfoy, do you kiss your mirror while you toss off?"
He hadn't been especially loud, but he hadn't been especially quiet, either. Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise as everyone nearby, Slytherins included, sniggered. Tight laughter progressed to the front of the room as Harry's comment was relayed to those out of earshot. Before Malfoy could do more than regather his composure, Professor Snape entered the room, his black robes swirling about him. Harry sat back, satisfied.
Harry's satisfaction lasted only until the end of the short lecture portion of the class. As soon as they set about preparing ingredients, Malfoy shifted closer on the bench. Harry, who had sat on the edge to begin with, couldn't move any further away.
In a low voice, Malfoy breathed:
"And where do you toss off, Potter? In bed, with the curtains drawn?"
Harry froze, shocked. He couldn't believe Malfoy had actually said such a thing. Before he could even process his astonishment, Malfoy continued.
"With a silencing spell? Or do you just try not to let out any sound? That one, I think. So very like you. Just keep your breath shallow and your movements restrained...."
Harry felt himself heat with embarrassment and anger. Malfoy was being quiet, but not so quiet that Pansy and Millicent, at the next table, would not hear if they started to listen. Currently, they were talking about marriage plans advanced by their respective parents. Harry decided to stay silent, rather than risk attracting attention to Malfoy's obscenity. Disturbingly accurate obscenity, too. And I can't imagine that's what he does. Harry couldn't restrain an upward quirk of his lip. Somehow, he expected that if Malfoy was getting off, everyone in the room -- hell, the adjoining rooms -- would know about it.
"Or perhaps in the showers?" Malfoy suggested softly. "With privacy if you are careful, and everything warm and wet, all slick to the touch." He began rubbing silvery wormwood leaves between his slender fingers. The motion was a practiced, even roll. Harry found he was watching it hypnotically, and pulled his gaze away, to the clumps of ... some sort of root ... in front of him. His brain seemed to have stalled on the thought of wanking in the shower. And Malfoy's hands. Or perhaps Malfoy's hand sliding over his, taking over -- No. Harry focused on the root mass. He had no memory of what this stuff was or what he was supposed to do with it.
"You can slip up a little there," Malfoy went on, in a silken whisper. "With a little noise for cover. And flying makes you hot -- anyone can see that."
Harry, to his chagrin, made a slight strangled noise. He supposed it was because he couldn't possibly get any redder, and the embarrassment had to go somewhere.
Malfoy gave a low, satisfied laugh. Harry wasn't sure if it was a little shaky, or if that was just his hearing. A mass of black paused in the aisle.
"Potter, I have not paired you with Mr. Malfoy so that he can do all your work for you," Professor Snape said caustically. "Cut and crush the valerian root, so he can continue with your potion."
Harry reached out to the tangled mass. His hands were shaking. "Yes, Professor," he said. "Er, sorry."
"You have not wasted my time, Mr. Potter. Apologize to your partner. Now."
Harry, to his horror, had to look at Draco Malfoy. The blond was slightly pink, but attractively so. Harry knew he himself must be roughly the color of his Quidditch robes.
"Er... I'm sorry I got distracted, Malfoy," he said. Very sorry. And it's bloody well your fault for distracting me.
"It's all right, Potter." Malfoy waved a magnanimous dismissal. "My presence just has that effect on some people."
This, thought Harry, is going to be a very long seven-and-a-half weeks.
Harry intentionally arrived at his next potions class just a hair short of late. He slipped into his seat beside Malfoy as Snape entered the room. Harry's eyes closed momentarily -- please let Malfoy have some other target, today -- and he noticed that the whispering flutter of Snape's passing robes was as familiar as the way they looked.
Quickly, but still including derisive comments about how it was beyond most of them, Professor Snape outlined that day's project.
"The Relaxation Potion that we brew today will be an element in next week's potions," he concluded. "For that reason, you must make in an adequate amount, and you must make it accurately. If you fail to produce an adequate Relaxation potion, you will brew more in detention -- or detentions, if necessary -- until you complete a serviceable batch."
Harry fetched the ingredients for himself and Malfoy. When he got back, he found that Malfoy had moved to the center of the short bench, leaving Harry a merely adequate space on either side. Harry sat by the aisle. For a few minutes, Malfoy was quiet. Harry hoped he was going to stay that way, but Malfoy began talking as soon as there was enough ambient noise to provide some cover.
"I was thinking about our conversation yesterday," he began idly.
Conversation? You speculating about how I masturbate is a conversation?
"It occurred to me that I might not be giving you enough credit for imagination. After all, it's well known that you have an invisibility cloak."
I don't want to hear this, Harry thought. Quickly, he said:
"Could you pass the linden leaves, Malfoy?"
"Do you want to do the rubbing, today? All right -- I'll take the knife work."
Great. My face already feels like I have sunburn, and he hasn't even got to whatever he thinks I might do with the cloak.
"With that, you could go practically anywhere," Malfoy continued, lowering his voice again. "There are plenty of rooms where you could be as loud as you want."
If it wasn't for Peeves and Mrs. Norris, Harry thought.
"And you could go to someone's bed,'" Malfoy continued wickedly. He was leaning close enough that Harry could feel the warmth of Malfoy's breath on his shoulder. "I bet Brown wears clingy, lace nightgowns. You could stand over her and rub yourself -- keeping your breath so quiet..."
Harry found he needed to concentrate on just that. Lavender had a beautiful figure and beautiful face. The thought of her in a revealing nightgown, with her stupid mouth shut in sleep, was enough to get him hard in seconds. Oh good Lord, Malfoy's getting me turned on over someone I think is an idiot!
"Pity Granger probably sleeps in something dumpy," Malfoy breathed. "She's got nice tits. Do any of them sleep naked?"
Harry was determined not to answer, even to say he didn't know, that he would never think of using his invisibility cloak to sneak into the girls' dormitories. With shaking hands, he rubbed the linden leaves, turning them into a clumpy mess. Malfoy, he knew, would have produced a perfectly even powder. He remembered those fingers, yesterday, sliding smoothly against each other.
Malfoy picked up the thin slicing knife and ran those fingers down the blade, just above the edge.
"I do," he whispered, setting the point of the blade to the choralfish egg sack Harry had brought back in a black ceramic bowl. "I can't abide seams. I sleep restlessly, especially when I dream." The pierced sack released a mass of tiny, golden eggs that gleamed against the black enamel. Malfoy picked them up and let them run through his pale fingers. The shimmering eggs made a sound like tiny glass bells as they tumbled over each other. "Usually I throw off all my covers, and awake with my feet --sometimes an arm -- entangled in the twists of them."
Malfoy looked over at the linden leaves and snorted slightly. "Perhaps I better do the rubbing for you, Harry."
Yeah, pretty thing, why don't you do that? Harry twitched as he caught the growling thought. Oh no. I'm going to be a basket case by Christmas. He twitched again. Who the fuck does he think he is, calling me Harry?
Malfoy was silent through the rest of the ingredient preparation, which was a delicate enough procedure to warrant the attention. Harry thought the torture was over for the day, but when their mixture was simmering, Malfoy again began to speak.
"And no one would ever know," he said lightly, as if the pause had lasted seconds, rather than close to an hour. "Not if you can hold back the noise and catch the mess. Though if you wanted ..."
Malfoy's voice was getting increasingly quiet. Harry found himself straining for the words.
"... you could let it out ... on the girl ... or the boy ... or the sheets beside."
Harry had trouble focusing at lunch. He kept picturing Malfoy, lying naked in a tangle of dark sheets, his skin like moonlight against night shadows, moaning and turning in his sleep, while Harry stood over him and sprayed him with glistening jism. He bit back a gasp.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, as Harry stumbled to his feet. "Are you leaving? You've barely eaten anything!"
Harry shook his head at her. "It's okay. I'm not hungry. And I need to go back to the tower for something."
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. I'll see you at Transfiguration, Hermione, okay?
Hermione looked rather puzzled. "If you're sure you're okay."
"Fine. Later."
Over butterbeers in The Three Broomsticks, on Saturday, Hermione brought up Potions class.
"Crabbe hasn't been too horrible. He seems to forget he's supposed to hate me, as long as I tell him what to do. How's Malfoy?"
Harry put his head down on his arms.
"Harry? Is he really awful?"
Harry lifted his head up and looked around. No one seemed near enough to hear over the ambient rumble of conversation. "He ... whispers."
"That doesn't sound like it should be bad ... but I've heard Malfoy's talk," Hermione said sympathetically. She laid a hand on Harry's arm.
"I think I'm permanently scarred," he said. "I've got this embedded image of him sleeping naked, turning all tangled in his sheets."
Hermione's gentle touch stiffened. "Er..."
"I think his plan is to get me so distracted that I fail. Or maybe so embarrassed that I die of stroke."
"Malfoy told you he sleeps naked?!" Hermione said, in a shocked, but suitably low voice.
"Oh, it was far more detailed than that." Harry laughed shakily. "I don't know what more he could say. With luck, he'll have some other amusement, next week."
Harry sat in Monday's Potions class, waiting with trepidation for Snape to finish his cursory review of the day's procedure. Finally, the students started on their potions. This was it. Malfoy was going to edge closer and start in on some obscene fantasy....
Except he didn't.
Harry's already taut nerves vibrated with anticipation of the advance, but it never came. Malfoy stayed quietly on his end of the bench. Every time he shifted, Harry tensed more. When Malfoy finally did speak, pushing their tiny allotment of demiguise skin at Harry, he said only, "Grind this in the mortar, Potter. Evenly, for once."
By the end of class, Harry was a wreck.
On Tuesday, Harry waited cautiously. Perhaps Malfoy had grown bored, or perhaps he'd run out of things to say. That's good, right? The silence was less unnerving, now that it was not totally unexpected. Harry actually managed to ask if there was a reason Malfoy was cutting the thistle root on the diagonal, rather than straight across, and Malfoy actually gave him a civil answer.
Nothing else happened.
On Wednesday, Harry was almost relaxed about sitting down next to Malfoy in Potions class -- as relaxed as he could ever be in Potions class, he thought. Professor Snape briefly described the Panic Draught they would be making from their Relaxation Potion, then set them to work. When Malfoy got back from fetching components, he sat very close to Harry.
"I'm so tired," he murmured. "I couldn't sleep at all, last night."
"Mm." Harry wasn't certain he wanted to encourage conversation, but he had to sympathize with not being able to sleep.
"Crabbe was shagging Bulstrode on an inadequately braced bed in the next room. It was a nightmare."
Harry could not help picturing the couple. His first reaction was revulsion. His second was to burst out laughing at the ludicrous image, presented as it was in Malfoy's bored drawl. He managed to choke back the sound, turning it into a loud snort that morphed into a ragged cough.
"Potter!"
"Sorry professor." Harry waved a hand in front of his face. "Dust," he explained.
"Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting class," Snape sneered. "You are not intended to inhale the markelskin, Potter. I assure you, the effects are over-rated." With that, he continued his circuit of the room.
Malfoy waited until he was a few tables away to resume. "I'm usually good at sleeping through disruptions, but no one could sleep through that. Except Blaise. He was still snoring.
"Do you sleep well, Potter?" Malfoy drew out a scoop of beetle eyes, leveling the measure with meticulous care. "I expect you do. It's reputed to be one of the benefits of a clean conscience. Not that I'd know."
Harry thought of saying that he had nightmares, and that he had spent most of the previous two years consumed with guilt, both deserved and undeserved. Before he could get up the nerve, Malfoy began speaking again, more quietly.
"How much would you sleep through? Could someone quiet slide your covers off, or would the motion wake you?"
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Oh hell, he's back to it. In that whisper. That purr.
"I bet you'd stay asleep. With that lovely body no one ever gets to see -- do your roommates, ever? -- uncovered. But you probably wear something to bed, don't you? That would need to come off next. Do you sleep soundly enough? Could someone undress you?"
Harry opened his eyes, but nothing took his focus. Malfoy's voice hovered between him and everything like a barrier of old, wavy glass. His close body had a slight musk smell under the light perfume of his hair.
"Unbutton, slide -- but you sleep curled up, don't you? On your side, turned slightly down, I expect, so you'd need to be coaxed to roll over. A dangerous business. You might wake."
Harry realized he was breathing heavily. He did sleep that way. He could imagine slender hands undoing his pajama top, coaxing him to roll to his back, pulling down the bottoms until they caught on his ...
Stop that! he told his imagination. I do not want to be molested in my sleep by some ... by anyone, even ... He dragged some leaves over towards his board and picked them up to rub. Malfoy caught at his wrist.
"Those go in whole, Potter," he hissed. He laughed slightly, and definitely shakily. "We'll continue tomorrow. You're a lovely toy, but I do have my marks to maintain."
"I am not a toy!"
"Anything I play with is a toy."
The statement rankled. Harry went to the next Potions class in no mood to put up with Malfoy's behavior. He sat down telegraphing do not approach me with the force of a brooding dragon. Malfoy did not take the hint.
"Do you ever think about what you would do if you woke to someone touching you?" he whispered, ignoring Harry's straight back and set lips. Harry stared stoically at Professor Snape's hand, as it underlined a word on the board. A few minutes passed in quiet preparation of ingredients. Malfoy resumed with a soft, pleased sound, before returning to quiet words. "Do you? Waking to a hand stroking down your side, hesitating, perhaps, then continuing into your pants, feeling to see if you were hard, or could, at least, be brought to it?"
I hate him, Harry told himself fiercely. I hate him, and he is only trying to humiliate me. He clamped his mouth shut.
"Of course, it would really depend -- do you want this person? At least not not want?"
"Malfoy," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, "shut up!"
A murmur of pleasure made it clear Malfoy had no intention of complying. "But we hardly got anywhere, yesterday. I want to see you close your eyes and pant."
"I was not panting."
"Perhaps you'd better see Madame Pomfrey about your breathing problem, then. Now imagine --"
Harry cut him off with a fierce whisper. "I'll cast Sonorus on you, if you don't shut up!"
Malfoy was quiet. Relieved, Harry concentrated on slicing his wyvern liver. When he put down the knife, he was surprised by Malfoy's quiet "Petrificalus."
Harry had had Petrificalus Totalis cast on him before, but not the unmodified version. He found he could move his eyes, and manage a sort of mumble, but no more. He suspected he looked less obvious than a completely petrified person, because he would blink. Professor Snape would probably think he was just daydreaming.
Malfoy's hand moved to Harry's leg, then slid up the inside of his thigh and down the outside in a large, leisurely oval.
"I think I'd like it," he whispered. "From pretty much anyone but Crabbe or Bulstrode. Waking to hands on my body --" at the end of the third circuit, Malfoy's hand went deeper between Harry's thighs, then slid slowly up to his groin. "--touching me like this...." Harry realized there were other allowances to the standard version of the Petrifaction Hex. Malfoy responded with a faint, pleased murmur as the pliant bulge he had found swelled and hardened under his touch. "Now, aren't you glad I didn't let you complain?"
Harry wasn't sure. Malfoy's touch was amazing, but he was Malfoy, and they were in Potions class....
"I wouldn't let on," Malfoy continued softly, returning to his fantasy, "because my visitor might stop. I'd want him to keep going, as far as he dared." Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry's now completely engorged cock, then loosened his hold enough to slide his hand up slightly, and move it in circles over the accessible side of the head. "I could moan a little, feigning sleep," he whispered, "shift in my bed to be easier to --"
Malfoy broke off suddenly. His hand went back into his own lap. Snape was approaching them.
"Mr. Potter! Is there a reason you are unable to contribute to your partner's work?"
Yes, Harry thought. Not that my partner was really working, except for what stirring he could do left handed with whatever is left of his brain while he's coming up with --
"Potter! Look at me," Professor Snape snarled. Harry tried, but Snape was beside him, out of the range of his peripheral vision.
And Malfoy's wand is on the table. It will be difficult for him to use it without being obvious. Harry wanted to laugh. A few unvoiced puffs of air emerged from his mouth.
"Potter?" Snape reached out and poked Harry, who fell into Malfoy. Malfoy pushed him back upright.
"Finite Incantantum!" Snape snapped. Harry let out a breath and twisted in his seat. "Who petrified you, Potter?"
"Malfoy, sir. He --" Harry stopped abruptly, dissuaded not only by Snape's angry look, but by the thought of how much trouble Malfoy would get in. And I should want him to, but ....
"He was being disruptive, professor," Malfoy whined.
"That is not an adequate reason for hexing your classmates, Mr. Malfoy! Ten points from Slytherin! And five from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for provoking him, as I am certain you did."
Snape swooped off. Malfoy leaned towards Harry. "You're so provoking," he teased, then quickly shifted away. Harry spent the rest of the class uncomfortably aware of any change in the size of the space between them.
By the end of class, Harry had figured out several reasons why he had not elaborated on Malfoy's behavior. The first, and easiest to accept, was that Professor Snape would not have believed him. Second, it would have been embarrassing to recount. Third -- and here he began to feel uncomfortable -- if he told, and Snape believed him, they would be separated. Potions class would go back to being boring, rather than agonizingly tense, and Draco ... Malfoy might not ever do anything like that to him again.
Malfoy leaned close while he was gathering his books. "You're provoking; I'm provocative," he whispered. "Perhaps I'll use that as a password." With that, he winked and walked away, disappearing quickly behind Crabbe's bulk.
It was a beautiful day, too warm for wool, late enough in the year that any such day might well be the last until spring. The Gryffindor seventh-year boys' dormitory was empty when Harry got there, which suited him just fine. He pulled off his robes, drew the door-side curtain on his bed closed and started touching himself through his trousers, reaching awkwardly from the side to try to duplicate the feel of Malfoy's hand. He gasped in pleasure when he got it close enough: Malfoy squeezing, stroking, whispering...
Let it out ... on the girl ... or the boy ... anything I play with ...
Harry gave up and reached into his trousers to jack off in earnest. The motion was automatic; his mind was occupied with the memory of Malfoy's voice. Bits and snatches of his speculations and fantasies raced mingled through Harry's mind in a blur of sexual suggestion.
You could go to someone's bed ... I'd like it ... waking to hands on my body ... I sleep restlessly ... usually, I throw off all my covers ... touch me like this ... I could shift in my bed to be easier to ... you could let it out on ... let it out, let it ...
"Oh!"
Harry lay gasping, a warm mess on his stomach and the inside of his trouser waistband. Dreamily, he rubbed the stuff on his stomach in slippery circles, then licked once up the length of slick fingers before wiping his hands on the inside of the bedsheets.
"You wanna play?" he muttered, in a lust-deepened voice. "Oh, we can play, yeah. I'll play with you tonight ... or at you, like you play at me."
He rose unsteadily, and stripped off the trousers. After wiping off with them, he dropped them in the laundry chute, then put his robes back on. He got his invisibility cloak from his trunk and tucked it into his school bag, then lay contentedly down on the bed. "Play with you," he murmured. Within the minute, he was asleep.
"Harry?"
"Mmmn?"
"You okay?"
Harry opened his eyes to see Dean looking down at him with a worried expression.
"Sorry to wake you, but it's dinner time. I thought you might like to know."
"Yeah, thanks." Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Didn't mean to fall asleep," he yawned. He picked up his bag. "Let's go."
"You're bringing your books to dinner?"
"I thought I might go to the library afterwards," Harry said. "No point in coming all the way back up here, is there?
Harry slipped out of dinner early, and went down half a flight of the stairs to the dungeons. Out of sight of the hall above, he put on his invisibility cloak, and continued down towards Slytherin, as far as he remembered the way. There, he sat and waited.
Several groups passed him before he saw his target. Harry rose and trailed quietly after the Slytherin group. Draco Malfoy was with Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, and two Slytherin girls whom Harry didn't know, but guessed to be sixth years. With that many people together, he did not need to put much effort into walking quietly.
In a blank stretch of hallway, the group stopped.
"Snake pit," Malfoy declared. A section of wall split and opened. Harry followed the group into the Slytherin common room.
Harry was prepared to be bored, but found watching the Slytherins interact on their own terms surprisingly diverting. Malfoy went straight to the chairs by the fire, and two younger students hurried to get out of his way. Pansy Parkinson immediately sat next to him and turned toward him expectantly. Malfoy sighed, rolled his eyes, and then kissed her for several minutes.
"Adequate?' he asked when he had finished.
Pansy stood. "Quite," she said cheerfully. "You're free for the rest of the evening." With that, she left, disappearing into a hallway at one side of the room.
One of the sixth-year girls, who had glossy auburn hair and had opened her robes to show off more tight-fitting garments beneath them, settled into her place.
"She's a bitch, you know."
Malfoy smiled and reached an arm around the girl. "It would be hard to miss, wouldn't it? But she's a bitch with manageable expectations, and my mother approves of her." He pulled her into his lap. "Whereas you would want me all to yourself, or some such nonsense."
They kissed enthusiastically, while Malfoy's free hand wandered over the girl's breasts, first over her stretch shirt, then inside it, from below. She stroked up the back of his neck and along his ears, while rolling her hips rhythmically against his lap. Two nearby fifth or sixth years watched avidly, but the other students present ignored the display. Again, Malfoy broke it off.
"You're lovely, Isadora, but I need to do some work."
He picked up his bag and headed to a hallway across from the one Pansy had entered. Harry followed, but glanced back to see the other sixth year girl, a curvy blonde, settle into Malfoy's place and mouth a suggestive kiss at the abandoned Isadora.
At the end of the corridor, Malfoy entered a spacious dormitory with three beds. He crossed that, and went to a tapestry of a rearing green snake.
"Provocative," he whispered, and the tapestry drew back to reveal an opening door. Harry slipped through quickly, ahead of Malfoy, then stepped to the side to avoid detection.
This room, and the furnishings in it, appeared to be Malfoy's own. Harry had an uneasy sense that he was somewhere else, not safe at Hogwarts. Slytherin colors were used liberally, but not exclusively, in the chairs, bed, rugs, and tapestries. The wood was all so dark as to be almost black.
Malfoy settled on a chair upholstered in green and blue, in front of an ebony and silver desk. For a while, he just did homework. Harry amused himself by watching Malfoy's expressions change as he read and wrote. Malfoy's customary mask of disdain was gone now, uncovering a more private range of emotions, even in this academic task. Harry could tell from watching whether he agreed or disagreed with what he was reading, when he was frustrated with his essay, and when he felt he was being clever. Eventually, Malfoy moved to his Potions text. A moment later he began to shift restlessly. Harry watched in amusement as the blond began to brush his fingers across his groin.
"Oh, I am going to hate the NEWTs in this. How on earth am I supposed to 'evoke my study environment?' Wear a butt plug into the exam? Bring a large dildo to fondle? Persuade Potter to sit near me and whimper now and then?" Malfoy groaned and slipped down in his chair. He let his head fall back. Harry watched his eyes close and his mouth open. From Harry's angle, he could no longer see the blond's hands, but he could see rhythmic change in the bend of his elbow, and hear the rustle of cloth when the motion paused. It resumed faster. Malfoy's face was flushed, now. Harry had grown hard just from watching, but he kept his hands still and worked on breathing evenly. It wouldn't do to get caught. He tried to temper his excitement with slow breaths.
"Harry ... fuck ... yeah, idiot, do it back..." Malfoy panted, and Harry twitched, despite himself, as the words went straight to his cock. So much for calming down. He allowed himself a gasp as Malfoy came in glorious screams. Just like I thought he would.
After his loud orgasm, Malfoy cast a quick cleaning spell on his furniture and clothing, and calmly finished his Potions homework.
"Must find out if there's an exam rule against wanking," he murmured. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
Malfoy undressed beautifully, Harry thought. He did not pull his robes over his head, but rather unfastened them and let them slide down to his feet. Underneath, he was wearing a thin, tailored, glossy, slate-blue shirt and a tight-hipped, loose-legged garment that came down to mid-calf. It would probably have been considered feminine in Muggle Britain, just by virtue of not mapping to any modern clothing Harry had ever seen, but Harry suspected it owed more to equestrian styles of the Dark Ages than to modern culottes.
Malfoy slid that off next, his hands sliding smoothly down his skin as he did so. Harry almost expected him to start wanking again. The self-touch was obviously for pleasure, and his eyes closed half-way as the garment whispered to the floor. Next he undid each button on his shirt, and then the cufflinks. Finally he pushed the shirt back and let it slide from his body. It pooled over the black school robe like water in a dark fountain, and Malfoy stood in the middle as a pillar of white, or perhaps the palest gold. His cock, though not stiff, had a trace of engorgement, and draped down to a covered point before his balls.
Malfoy stepped clear of the circle of shimmering fabric, and with a muttered charm, sent the robe sailing to a hanger and the other garments to a small, ebony bin. He slipped on a dressing gown, and left the room. Harry wondered whether to follow, but decided against it. Probably he was just going to brush his teeth.
That seemed to be the case. Malfoy returned a few minutes later and walked to his bed. He folded back the green coverlet, exposing dark, shimmering sheets. Harry tiptoed closer. Silk, he decided. Midnight blue silk. It was almost too much.
Malfoy climbed into bed with the same pleased murmur that he used in Potions when Harry responded to his talk. He turned, settled, and turned again. He rearranged his arms. He doused the lights and, from the sound of things, did it all again. Harry heard him gasp and sit up abruptly. The candles relit.
"Lunae!" the blond gasped, pointing his wand above Harry's head.
A dim light, near one edge of the ceiling, came on and bathed the room in a faint, silver glow. Malfoy settled and doused the candles again. He lay still.
Well! Harry thought. Of all people to be afraid of the dark...! He smiled to himself. Perhaps he senses that someone is here. Or perhaps he knows I'm here, and this is all for show.
Harry stole closer yet, and watched Malfoy's eyes, and waited for his sleep to deepen. Malfoy did, as he said, sleep restlessly. He pushed his covers down, then caught at them and pulled them up at his side, like a security blanket, then got his lower arm wrapped up in the muddle. Any hair on his uncovered body was too light to see, leaving it smooth and white against the darkness of his bed. Harry found himself wanting to touch that pale skin, to see if it was as smooth as it looked, or set with light, delicate hairs that would magnify his touch.
With a catch of breath, he opened his cloak and then his robe. He slid his hands down his own torso, as Malfoy had, but did not linger nearly as long there. He knew what he wanted. Getting off was part of it, but only part. Mostly, he wanted to come on that naked body, to know that perfect, aloof, impeccably groomed Draco Malfoy would wake sticky with the evidence of another's presence.
Harry shifted his foreskin down to the tip of his cock, then back up to the base of the head, getting it slippery with eager drops. Holding back a whimper, he moved down to rub the full length of the shaft, quickly setting up a rhythm. He could see the glint of moisture in the artificial moonlight, but his skin did not shimmer like Draco's.
Fucking changeling, Harry thought deliriously. Elf-child, soulless....
Malfoy rolled onto his back, displaying a half-engorged cock. Immediately, Harry wanted to set his hand to that one, instead ... rub Malfoy, rub up against Malfoy, pretty Draco, get him hard. He imagined it, but kept his touch to his own body. Finally, he spasmed and arched and caught the scream of pleasure that wanted to break free, and spurts of glistening silver, the fruit of his efforts, fell across Draco's hip and abdomen. One jet extended to the sheet beyond, and one spilled down across Draco's groin onto his far thigh. Malfoy shifted, and Harry quickly closed his cloak with his left hand, while his right milked the last drops out. He shuddered.
Harry wanted to tell Draco he was gorgeous, wanted to kiss him, wanted to lick up the mess he had made and more. Instead, he arranged his robes and cloak, picked up his bag, listened cautiously at the door, and then, even more cautiously, departed.
Harry was slouched in a puffy armchair and contemplating going back to bed, when the portrait hole opened. Hermione raced into the room. "Harry!" she called. "Where were you? We barely have time to get to Potions!"
"I can't go."
Hermione stared at him. She closed the short distance between them and tugged at Harry's arm as if to pull him from the chair. "What do you mean, you can't go? How many points do you think Snape will take from Gryffindor if you don't show up?"
"Maybe I can go see Madame Pomfrey and claim to have a headache." Harry groaned. Come to think of it, he did have a headache, though he was sure it was just tension.
"Harry?" Hermione sat down on the arm of the chair and slipped a hand along his shoulders. "What's wrong?"
Harry looked cautiously around. No one else was in the room. At this point, everyone should be between breakfast and first class. He sighed.
"It's Malfoy."
Hermione was immediately indignant. "That thing with the Petrification Hex? I'm amazed he got away with that. Even Snape --!"
"Remember how he had been ... whispering to me?"
Hermione was quiet for a minute.
"Harry?" she asked tentatively. "Yesterday...."
"He was ... I was so .... I was going to say something, so he petrified me. And then he started touching me --"
"That's it!" Hermione snapped. "Harry, you do not need to put up with this from anybody! We're going over Snape's head on this, and Malfoy --"
"Calm down."
"What? You're getting molested by some stuck-up --"
"I didn't mind, okay?"
Hermione went silent again. After gaping briefly, she said, in an artificially calm tone:
"Well, then. I suppose you can go to Potions. And sit with him."
Harry groaned and slid down in the chair. "You don't understand. I ... I went for it."
"Sorry? Went for what?"
"I... Last night, I put on my cloak, and went down to Slytherin, and watched him. He sleeps just like he said he does -- tossing and turning, all shimmering white on dark silk sheets -- and I tossed off all over him."
"What?" Hermione's shocked tone was marred by unwilling laughter. "You what? Are you --" She caught her breath. "Harry! You can brew potions to identify someone from ... that." She sat bolt upright, panicked. "He could claim you raped him!"
Harry flinched. "Argh! Don't tell me these things! I hadn't thought of anything like that!"
"Well, what are you worried about?"
"I'm just embarrassed! I mean, he knows it was me! He practically told me to do it, right? So if he wanted me to ... I guess that's all right -- he'll just humiliate me with it, and I'm used to that, but if he was just trying to embarrass me in the first place...." Harry trailed off, thinking.
"Then he can accuse you of sexual assault," Hermione said, with callous precision. While Harry was still speechless, she continued. "Well. It's a good thing you told me about the earlier parts of this before, because I can testify about that, if you need me to. However, skipping Potions is not going to fix anything. Up, Harry. Now."
Harry and Hermione were only a few minutes late to Potions. Gryffindor was docked ten points for each of them. Harry went meekly to his seat.
Draco Malfoy, as usual, was sitting exactly in the middle of the bench. Harry found this reassuring. Certainly, if Draco was upset, he'd be at one side?
"Sleep well, Potter?" he drawled, as he pushed a pile of caterpillars over at him.
Harry felt his anxiety melt away to nothing.
"Never better," he answered. "You?"
"About normal, I suppose," Draco said. "But this very odd thing, Potter -- when I woke up, in the middle of the night, my sheets were all sticky."
More your thighs and abdomen, Harry thought, hardening from the memory, but he said:
"What's odd about that? I wake up with my sheets sticky all the time."
Draco made a faint pleased noise. "But on the outside?" he shifted closer, so his right thigh touched Harry's left. Harry concentrated on not pressing into or out of the touch. Draco continued in a breathy whisper. "What do you think could have happened, Potter? It looked like some ... man had come all over me while I slept."
"How odd." Harry made himself get all wide-eyed. "Perhaps Slytherin has an incubus," he suggested. "You should look into wards."
"I was thinking it might be someone from another house."
Harry smiled uncontrollably. "Not unless Slytherin has some pathetic, guessable password."
Draco burst out laughing.
Rather than face Snape's glower, Harry glanced at Hermione. He shot her a grin, and she shook her head and rolled her eyes.
He found the motion had pressed his thigh against Draco's.
Originally, Harry reflected, he had thought that watching Draco would satisfy his desire to act on the whispered stories. Instead he found his curiosity had grown to obsession. On Friday night, he spent all of dinner watching Draco and wishing he had touched him. He spent all evening after dinner on the verge of returning to the Slytherin rooms. Only complete ignorance of the house's schedule kept him from attempting it.
He considered it seriously while he ate Saturday's porridge, not even noticing that he had forgotten to sweeten it. He could go to Slytherin -- then what? Watch again? He didn't want to just watch Malfoy, he knew; he wanted to touch him, to lick him, to do every obscene thing the irritating brat had hinted at in class. All that stopped him was the persistent fear he wouldn't actually like it. What if I start, and he wakes up, but then I decide it's gross? He'll torture me with it if I back out.
On the way out of breakfast, he let Hermione corner him, as she had been trying to do all of the previous day.
"Lake?" he suggested. She glanced up at the ceiling and nodded. Last night's rain seemed to have stopped, for the moment. They walked in silence from the rain-darkened walls of the school down to the lonely shore. When he looked at Hermione, she was frowning out over the grey water.
"So?" he prompted.
"Well, you know, I've always thought boys were really odd about how they approached relationships, especially sex."
Harry tried not to flinch. "And?"
"Well, I'm discovering that when both parties are boys -- excuse me, young men -- that oddness increases exponentially."
"Expo-what?"
"A lot at once."
"Ah." Harry thought. Finally, he shook his head. "No -- I think Draco's just an exceptionally strange little puppy."
"And you?"
"Oh, you know me. I'm ... agreeable."
Hermione was silent for several minutes. Harry forced himself not to look at her face, but when she spoke, he could hear the waver in her voice. "Harry? Are you really, well, you know, attracted to him?"
Harry shrugged nervously. "I suppose."
"I didn't know you, um, liked boys like that."
Harry picked up a stone and skimmed it across the water. It only skipped twice before falling beneath the surface. He'd been thinking about that himself. "Looking back, I suppose I've been attracted to boys about as often as girls. I just never thought much about it -- I mean, there were boys -- and men -- who impressed me, but I didn't really notice it was 'like that.' I noticed with girls because I was wondering if it was 'like that.' Does that make sense?"
"I ... I suppose so."
"The thing is ... I don't know if I'd like it, really. Doing anything with him, I mean. I feel like I want to, but what if I'm wrong?"
Hermione was frighteningly silent. Harry gave up and looked at her. She was biting her lower lip, and shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. "Hermione?" He felt a flash of panic.
"It's not that I mind if you're, well, bisexual, or whatever...."
"I think that's the word, yeah."
"But not Malfoy! Harry, he'll poison you, or something. Or slip you a portkey to Voldemort."
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. If Hermione's just upset about the politics, everything's fine. "I don't think so. I haven't heard a political word out of him since Voldemort tortured his father into St. Mungo's."
"And think about that! Voldemort subjected his father to the Cruciatus Curse -- for the failure of some insane plan -- until the pain drove him mad. Mr. Weasley says he's as badly off as Neville's parents! But Malfoy still doesn't oppose Voldemort; he just acts as if he doesn't care."
Harry picked up another stone. He knew about Malfoy's father -- perhaps more than most people. He knew that it was the Order of the Phoenix -- probably, he admitted to himself, Professor Snape -- that had discovered Voldemort's plans to attack a Wizarding community in Cornwall. It was public knowledge that Aurors had thwarted the attack, and that the leader of the Death Eaters, unmasked during the fight, was the escaped convict Lucius Malfoy. Before the Department for Magical Law Enforcement could even launch a new search for him, Malfoy was found -- by a street sweeper in Diagon Alley. Testing at St. Mungo's showed he was suffering from snake bites as well as extensive mental and physical damage from the Cruciatus Curse. Ron had related with relish that the Malfoy patriarch no longer remembered enough to use the toilet, much less recognize his son or wife. As much as he had hated the Malfoys, Ron's delight in the news had made Harry queasy.
"Malfoy's not very brave. I think he'd rather stay out of it than risk joining his father in St. Mungo's. And he probably doesn't like the opposition any better."
"That's what I mean! We're all--" She struggled for a word. "beneath him, or something."
"Oh. Still, killing me would be too much helping Voldemort, I think."
"But he could hurt you. I mean, you're a Gryffindor, and ... and your not one of his --" Hermione made a face as if something smelled bad -- "old purebloods."
Anything I play with is a toy. The words rang uncomfortably in Harry's head. "If you're saying he doesn't respect me, I expect you're right."
"You...." Hermione turned and stamped her foot. "So don't trust him."
Harry grinned. "Don't worry about that! I wouldn't trust Malfoy as far as I can throw him."
"Well good!" Hermione's certainty faltered. Tentatively, she stepped forward and laid a hand on Harry's arm. He reached over to grip it.
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"Caring, but not ... not insisting."
Hermione opened her mouth for a moment, then stopped. Harry could see her considering and discarding responses. Finally, she settled on, "You're welcome."
Harry looked back at the lake. "This would be harder with Ron." The words came out flat and strange, but he made himself say them, as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Hermione gave his arm a squeeze and leaned close.
"Deciding you're bi, or having this bizarre flirtation with Malfoy?"
Harry smiled, though he still felt melancholy. "Yes."
"Hmph." She stretched up and kissed his cheek. "He'll forgive you some day."
"You think so? It's been almost two months. How long will it take? Will I still care?"
He heard her take a long, slow breath. Her fingers tightened on his arm again, but he didn't think she knew it, this time. Very steadily, she said:
"He'll forgive you when the first of his brothers kills. Whether you still care is up to you."
Harry closed his eyes. He could still picture the crowded compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He had come back from buying snacks to find Neville sprawled petrified across the floor, and Ron and Hermione sitting back to back, shielding spells barely holding off three masked Death Eaters.
He hadn't hesitated. He had used the largest one to shatter the window and sent the next after as fast as he could. Goyle had fallen screaming beneath the train wheels; the second man died on impact with the embankment. He and Hermione had subdued the third Death Eater, and he had been tried and sent to Azkaban, and Harry absolved of culpability due to extenuating circumstances.
"It will happen, you know," Hermione said quietly. "It's a war."
When the first of his brothers kills. Harry remembered how horrified he had been when he first heard the prophecy and understood he needed to kill or be killed. The reality had left him oddly unmoved.
He hadn't planned it, but he hadn't cared. In a distant way, that worried him, so he could sympathize with Ron's horror. Ron sitting, all the blood drained from his face so every freckle showed brown against white.... He had nudged his shoulder and sent him a smile. "You all right there, Ron?"
"I know," he said aloud. "It's just -- how can he not trust me, just like that?"
Harry hadn't been surprised that his rescue had changed Neville's steady admiration to terrified awe; he didn't like it, but he had to say it was predictable. Ron's reaction had been far more of a shock. When Ron had run from the compartment and thrown up in the corridor, Harry had told himself it was shock. When, very stiffly, Ron had stood in front of him in their dormitory and stated that he understood there had been no other way for Harry to rescue all of them by himself on a moving train, he thought everything would go back to normal. Now it was November, and Ron still treated him like he was some sort of dangerous monster. Hermione was the only one of the three whose relationship with him remained basically unchanged.
Hermione grasped his hand. "He doesn't understand."
"He won't even fight with me. If he would, we might be able to --" Harry stopped. There was no point in "if". He swallowed and focused on the flat, grey water.
"Someday he will." Hermione's quiet faith soothed him even now. He looked over at her in time to see her solemn expression turn mischievous. "Meanwhile, you don't need to tell him about your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend! Malfoy is a self-obsessed, shallow, unprincipled, spoiled prat!"
She laughed.
It was true he didn't trust Malfoy in the slightest, and he didn't especially like him either. To Harry's dismay, this admission did nothing to temper his awakened lust. All weekend, he went back and forth on the idea of taking the matter further. He knew he wanted Malfoy, so he suspected he would like it, but he wasn't certain. Malfoy messes about with how I think. I know he does. I wish I could get him to sleep through it. Then, if I like it, I could wake him up.
He considered various spells that would keep Malfoy unconscious. Unfortunately, all would keep him from reacting, as well. He wanted the Slytherin to get hard beneath his touch. He wanted him to moan and shift closer. He just didn't want him to wake until he was certain he could enjoy getting him off.
On Sunday evening, when Harry was studying in the common room, he saw Ron head up to the dormitory. He visually confirmed that Seamus and Dean were still playing chess, and Neville still studying by the fire, then he rose and quickly followed the redhead upstairs.
"Ron?"
Ron turned quickly. His face took on that wary look that Harry hated. "Hi, Harry. What can I do for you?"
"Oh..." Harry cast himself down on his bed and rolled over on his side to look at Ron. (Down low. Non-threatening.) "I just had a question for someone who was raised in the wizarding world."
"Okay. What is it?"
"Is there a potion," Harry asked, tracing a finger along the design woven into the bedspread, "that will keep someone asleep, but not too asleep? Not unable to feel?"
All expression drained from Ron's face. "What do you mean?" he muttered.
"Something that allows for ... physical response."
Ron's blank look went very cold. "Yes," he said. "There is a class of potions like that."
"What are they called? Do you know where I could get one?"
"No, I don't know where you could get one." Ron growled. "They are called Violation Potions, and they are illegal, because the only use of something like that is to keep someone asleep so you can ... can take advantage of her!"
"The only use?" Harry felt a flash of indignant fury at the unvoiced accusation and the scorn in Ron's look. He struggled to quell his anger and felt it turn to something colder. "How unimaginative."
"Tell me another one, then."
"Give me a little time to think."
Ron glared. "Who're you planning on raping, Potter?"
"Come on, Ron. I swear it's utterly consensual."
"What, someone wants you to have sex with her, but doesn't want to remember it? Oh, that's likely!"
"Close enough." Harry managed to respond to Ron's snarl with an arch smile. "Really, Weasley," he said, emphasizing Ron's surname. "There's someone who likes anything."
Ron picked up the nearest heavy object, which happened to be his Transfiguration text, and hurled it at Harry. Harry rolled off the bed and onto his feet, easily avoiding the awkward missile. He continued on to the door.
"You frigging bastard!" Ron screamed. "Get out of my sight!"
"Ta," Harry said, and left.
At Potions the next day, he was the one to start talking under the cover of ambient noise.
"Malfoy?"
"Yeah? Lost already?"
"Do you know where I might get a Violation Potion?"
Malfoy actually turned his head to look at him. Harry continued to smile.
"Well, personally," Malfoy said, "I don't, but I've heard that Ninian Lennox, in Ravenclaw, might have an interest in that. Of course it could just be nasty talk."
"Of course. I know how people talk."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Oh, I just thought I could enjoy it. Looking is all very well...."
"Not into interaction, are you?"
"I'm not in any rush."
Malfoy let his breath out in a barely controlled hiss. "There's a certain thrill to waking up ... not knowing what happened."
"I thought you might think so."
Harry stood nervously in the third-floor main corridor, waiting for a particular Ravenclaw sixth-year to pass. When he saw the person he hoped was Lennox, he stepped forward at the right moment to fall in step beside him.
"You're Lennox, right?" he asked.
The young man looked at him in surprise. "One of them."
"Ninian Lennox?"
"That's right."
"I've a question for you -- have you got a few minutes?"
"A few." Lennox looked decidedly wary, now. He was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, and fairly good-looking. Harry found himself wondering if Lennox used the potion, and if so, why. He didn't look like he should have any trouble getting a tumble.
"Not here." Harry led the way to a side corridor. Lennox, rather nervously, followed. When they were out of earshot of the passing students, Harry turned.
"I heard you might know where I could get a Violation Potion."
Lennox's eyes widened. "You --?" He took a deep breath. "Why would I know that?"
"I don't know, and I don't particularly care." Harry tried to look as cold as Malfoy. "I want some -- two doses. Can you get me that?"
Lennox looked a little more composed, now. "I'd think you could get whomever you wished without."
Harry smirked. "But with complications," he said. He felt terribly dirty.
"Hadn't considered that." Lennox shrugged. "Well, I could probably get that for you. What kind?"
"What kinds are there? I don't know much about it."
"How responsive do you want?"
"As much as possible."
"Sleeping Goddess is the safest and the best for a girl. Deep Dream is better for a boy, and will work on a girl as well, but may leave dream images of what happened, though not with who."
"The last sounds perfect."
"Nine Galleons a dose."
Harry twitched. "Rather a bit."
"It's illegal, Potter. I could get in a good bit of trouble if you turned me in. Not easy to brew, either."
Harry shrugged. "I'm not arguing -- just a bit surprised. I've got that. When can you have it?"
"Tomorrow. Keep the money on you -- I'll find you."
Harry counted out the galleons as soon as he returned to his room, but soon realized they would clank noticeably if he carried them in his pocket all day. After some thought, he stacked them and taped them together. They made no noise that way, but he was horribly conscious of the weight of them, swinging out when he took a corner too fast, as he went from class to class the next day.
True to his word, Lennox found him a few turns from the library that evening, and passed Harry a thin tube. Harry knew the corridor had been empty a moment earlier, but forcing himself not to whip his head around and check for witnesses was almost physically painful. He didn't look at the tube or its contents -- he didn't dare. Without a word, he reached for the bound galleons. They caught on the corner of his pocket, and for a moment he was certain everything he was carrying would be dumped out on the floor. He managed to unstick the tape from the fabric and pass the roll over without spilling anything. He hoped he didn't look like as much of an idiot as he felt. He was certain his face was bright red.
Lennox smiled slightly and pocketed the roll without checking it.
"The dose is very small," he muttered. "Just get it between the lips -- it's easily absorbed. The effect lasts four hours."
Harry nodded. He was spared the awkwardness of an answer by the approach of a crowd of Hufflepuffs.
The potion burned in his pocket. Harry wanted nothing more than to run off to Slytherin that instant, in hopes Draco was napping and he could try it out. He forced himself to turn around, instead, and return to the library. By Dumbledore's orders, he had full access to the restricted section. He had better, he thought, look up the Deep Dreams potion. Lennox, simply by virtue of having got him such a thing, was clearly not to be trusted.
In the library, Harry saw Hermione at a table with a clear view of the entrance to the Restricted Section. He lingered by the door until she went to the stacks for something, then moved quickly across the room and into the quiet, dim spaces that housed the more dangerous tomes. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Malfoy watching him. The Slytherin licked his lips in a most compelling fashion. Harry wondered if he knew he'd done that; he didn't seem to.
At a half hour before closing, Harry was starting to fear he would never find anything on the potion. On impulse, he gave up on Potions texts and moved on to books that were mostly about sex. He scanned through them rapidly, casting translation spells on contents pages when needed -- many seemed to be in French, or Latin, or other languages -- there was even one in funny Russian characters, and a few that Harry thought were in Arabic.
At last, in the contents of A Philosopher's Guide to the Seduction of Youths, he found a promising entry -- The Philtre of Deep Dreams. Harry flipped quickly to the referenced page and checked the entry. "Sexualis" he saw, and smiled. He slid down to sit on the floor, back against the lower shelves of books, and recast the spell he had used to display the Latin contents in English.
If the object of your desire be reluctant or skittish, the Philtre of Deep Dreams can grant you access to his flesh.
Harry shuddered. He found himself hoping Madam Pince had no way of knowing what books had been touched and by whom.
"Ten minutes until closing!" the librarian's voice announced. "Please finish or bring your books to sign out."
"No way," Harry whispered. He returned to the entry.
The philtre is effective in small enough quantities that it may be given to a sleeping subject without fear of choking him, and wine does not change its effects. The boy will retain some memory -- dim and as of a dream -- of what befell him. In some cases, this may arouse interest, but a genuine antipathy to such sexual adventures will be similarly deepened.
Harry read on. Duration seemed to be proportional to dosage, so he could probably trust Lennox on that. After all, I'm sure he'd rather I bought more than got caught. The only side effect of significance seemed to be a slight chance of priapism in the subject, lasting for up to a day.
He had just slipped the book back in its place when Madam Pince called closing time. Harry caught himself wiping his hands against his robes, as if they were dirty. With a wry smile, he forced himself to walk normally as he left the Restricted Section. He would probably encounter Hermione, but if he told her it was to do with Malfoy and he didn't want to talk about, she'd probably just assume he'd been looking up normal sex things.
Which, he reflected, was probably a good idea. Did the wizarding world have any sexually transmitted diseases they couldn't cure? How exactly did sex with a man work, anyway? Obviously he could use his hands on Draco just like he did on himself, and he'd heard Seamus talk about Gemma, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, taking his cock into her mouth and doing marvelous things that way; he certainly didn't need to be a girl to do that. Harry licked his lips, remembering the trails of his come across Draco; he might enjoy that. He had heard crude, but still vague, references to having a man in the arsehole, but he thought there must be some trick to it. He could barely get a finger into his own, when he'd tried.
"Harry!" Hermione, her arms full of books, nudged up against him in a friendly way. "I didn't see you in there. Were you researching?
"Um ... Harry gave her a nervous smile, trying to think about sexual uncertainty and not the vial that was still in his pocket. "Stuff about, you know, Malfoy."
Her eyebrows went up. "Oh." She giggled. "The stacks behind the periodicals, second aisle, mainly on the top shelf."
"Oh! I was looking in the Restricted Section."
"Harry!" Hermione giggled again. "They can't put them there! Half the girls in school would never learn contraception charms if they had to ask."
Harry was glad to have an excuse for his blush. "Never occurred to me," he admitted.
Harry spent the next two afternoons reading up on more basic information about sex. During the first day, he copied down notes on charms for lubrication, and one to smooth the skin and nail edges on his fingers. With the combination, he found he could get two fingers into his hole, but though it mostly felt good, some shifts in angle hurt. The idea still made him nervous. In the books, he had also discovered this could be done to girls, as well, though fewer found it enjoyable. He wondered if Seamus had ever done it to one of his girls. Could he sound him out without letting on why he wanted to hear about it?
The next day, he found a sexual health manual, and became absorbed in that. Wizard diseases, he decided, were difficult for someone Muggle-raised to take seriously. Certainly he could worry about the ones that might cause death or insanity, but "a marked blue speckling on the privates and phosphorescent semen" just made him want to giggle. As far as he could tell, wizards didn't contract anything that was incurable if noticed in the first five years. He'd never thought about regular medical examinations, before, but that made it seem like a good idea. He found a couple of charms to prevent getting things in the first place (because wouldn't the Daily Prophet have fun with that!), and a less accurate one for sanitizing afterwards, and, while he was at it, one that would make him temporarily sterile, on the theory that he'd care about that sooner or later.
"Find what you were looking for?" Hermione asked him brightly, as she saw him leaving the library.
He grinned at her. "Yeah. Thanks."
On Thursday evening, he repeated his trick for getting into Slytherin. Malfoy was substantially less entertaining this evening. He snapped at Isadora when she tried to approach him, and the blonde girl stepped protectively between them. Despite the action, her voice was light.
"What's got into your pants, Malfoy?"
"Put a sock in it, Livy. I'm not in the mood." Malfoy strode off to his room, and Harry scarcely had time to duck inside before the door slammed shut.
Malfoy was not happy. He scowled at his books and worried at the point of his quill with a thumbnail until he had to repair both with spells. He didn't speak to himself in this mood, just frowned and damaged things that came to hand. Harry wondered what had happened to upset him. He considered leaving, but he knew that if he did, he would never dare to come back again. Some fears should not be accommodated.
It was a relief when Malfoy went to bed, and the vulnerability of sleep uncovered all his beauty. Harry stole forward and watched him that way for several minutes, valuing the danger he was placing himself in, before slipping the vial from his pocket.
The liquid inside glowed strangely silver in the artificial moonlight. Harry squeezed the dropper at the top and pulled some into the little tube -- filling it to the marked line did seem to take about half the philtre.
Malfoy was asleep, but still moving. Harry found he could not bear to wait for deeper slumber. He stroked the dropper along Malfoy's lips, and as soon as they parted, squirted the liquid inside. Malfoy's mouth glowed silver for a moment; then he swallowed. Harry growled with savage excitement.
He waited for a silent count of thirty. He'd intended to double the recommended time of the Roman text, but he could not hold still so long. He set one knee up on the bed and leaned forward.
"You are mine."
The whispered words shivered around him like an incantation. Harry pushed the covers clear of the edge of the bed and lay down, still clothed, on the slippery sheets. He trailed a hand lightly down Draco's covered form, and Draco murmured and rolled away.
"That won't change anything." Harry slipped the hand under the covers and over Draco's side. He felt the curved lines of ribs under his fingers and traced them down to the flat arch under his chest. Slowly, he stroked the flat of his hand down to Draco's abdomen. He could feel the hairs that had been too light to see, and he lifted his hand to repeat the motion, touching the skin as little as possible. Draco squirmed, and Harry yanked him close, and gasped as he suddenly became aware of his own erection, now pressed into the small of Draco's back.
"Not yet," he muttered. He sat up. As cautiously as if Draco could wake, he slipped back the covers to his waist. Draco's pale skin glimmered in the light. Harry stood and pulled the dark cloth back further, until Draco lay completely exposed. He made the fire flare back to life, adding more light to the room and turning Draco's pale skin to gold.
"God, you're beautiful."
Draco made an anxious noise and clutched for covers that were no longer there. His seeking hands found the edge of his pillow and he pulled it down towards his chest, then rolled on top of the stretched corner.
"I'll allow that." Harry smiled to himself. "For a little while."
He wanted to touch every inch of Draco's skin. He started at the ankles, brushing down to the feet. On impulse, he kissed the arched top of the second foot and trailed his tongue down each raised line of bone. Draco, still sleeping, whimpered softly.
Harry put the foot down and began to kiss softly up the leg. He spent a while at the back of one knee, where kisses and licks made Draco pant and rub up against the mattress beneath him.
Harry moaned. He moved his hands and mouth up to Draco's narrow hips and gently curved arse, and began to rub against Draco's leg as he touched and licked there. He couldn't quite get up the nerve to lick Draco's hole, but he came very close, and the strong male smell there aroused him to a degree that frightened him. Quickly, he made his way up Draco's spine, not slowing until he came to the marvelous flared lines of Draco's shoulders, which just demanded to be worshiped with fingertips and tongue.
He caught himself biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder, and was wondering if he was leaving marks, when he abruptly realized he was thrusting hard along the crack of Draco's arse. He wanted to shift his angle and push in. Damn it, I don't know what I'm doing. I won't hurt you. He pulled away, breathing hard, and Draco whimpered and squirmed onto his side, seeking the lost contact. Harry dragged him over onto his back. Draco was already hard and Harry grabbed for his cock without thought, causing Draco to sigh and arch up into his grasp.
"Oh, yeah. Haven't touched you on this side yet, though."
Draco bucked and mewled piteously when Harry's hand left his cock, but whimpered, distracted, at a pinch of his nipples. Harry touched more randomly around Draco's front than he had his back, interspersing slow exploration of lengths of white skin with specific touches to areas certain to be sensitive. Draco moved as much as in his dreams, but now it was to Harry's hands, to Harry's tongue, to Harry's plans.
When he made it back to that waiting cock, now leaking drops of clear fluid, Harry was more deliberate in his approach. At least, he tried to be. But after light strokes up the side of the hard length, and long, wet kisses over the line of one hip and the shallow hollow before it, he was drawn to the shining thread stretching from the tip of Draco's cock to the flat of his abdomen. He licked at the clear fluid where it touched, and then at its source, and at Draco's needy cry took the covered head completely into his mouth.
He needn't have worried, he realized dizzily, several minutes later. Draco's cock filling his mouth felt better than he could have imagined, and that combined with his following little cries had Harry thrusting mindlessly against Draco's leg. He tried to control himself and experiment a little more, but at his first attempt to use his tongue around the tip, Draco arched and came, filling Harry's throat with thick liquid. Harry swallowed reflexively, then made a face as the bitterness registered.
"Prat. You weren't supposed to do that. I wanted to get you messy."
He crawled up to look at Draco's face. Carefully, he moved a finger along Draco's lips, and Draco parted them, as he had for the potion. Harry pushed the finger inside. Draco sucked on it for a moment before moving his head to the side. Harry doubted he'd get more, but he tried it anyway, moving up on his hands and knees, then holding his cock down to point into Draco's mouth. Draco turned away, and after two tries, Harry gave up and shifted back down until he was straddling Draco's hips.
"You're rather useless like this, you know. Though you might not be any better awake. Do Malfoys suck cock, or is that beneath you?" He leaned forward to rub against Draco. A last bit of semen had slid out as Draco softened, and he moaned at the slickness of it.
"Want to know a secret?" He seized his erection and began to pull on it slowly. "I'm nobody." He paused a moment to cast the lubrication spell he had found in the library. Fisting his slippery cock felt good, and it was a moment before he remembered his words. "You think I'm important, but I'm not. Except when Voldemort's involved. Without him, I'm nobody; I was brought up as nobody, and I have no respect for your family dignity." He looked down to where Malfoy's cock was attempting to harden again, and smiling, trailed a finger up the length of it. The skin twitched in an intriguing way, and he did it again. "Obviously."
Another charm and he was rubbing Draco with his left hand and himself with his right. Doing this left-handed was surprisingly awkward, he thought. As Draco got firmer, he began to drag his cock up along Draco's, watching intently. A hungry cry from Draco brought his attention up. Draco was tossing his head, and his fair hair, darkened with sweat, was plastered down against his forehead. Harry had seen him like that on the pitch, sweaty and intent, but no place else. Malfoy didn't seem to work at anything else.
He willed the grey eyes to open, wanting to see if they would glare or plead, but Draco was thoroughly entrapped in the shallow sleep of the potion.
He brought their erections together between his hands and began to rub and pull on them both that way, but his attention remained glued to that enrapt face. Draco's cheeks were bright with exertion and a sheen of sweat showed at his brow. Harry forced his eyes to stay open even as he convulsed with the force of his climax.
"Fuck. Oh fuck, Malfoy, this -- Want you awake, damn it! Yes!"
For a moment, there was nothing but angry pleasure, too much like a fight to content him, but still wonderful, ecstatic, enveloping completion. His vision blurred with it. When he recovered, he ran his hand through the slippery mess, and added it to the lube on Draco's cock.
"Like that?" he whispered, settling in beside him. "That's for you."
He watched Draco's increasing agitation and climax with satisfaction, and lay still while the sleeping boy rolled on his side and threw a leg over him.
"Are you having sweet dreams?" Now that he wasn't in the throes of lust, his own commentary struck him as ludicrous, and he laughed nervously. "You know, Ron would think I was completely sick, for any of this." He brushed Draco's damp hair back from his forehead. "And I bet you'll think I'm a wimp for not having your arse."
He settled an arm over Draco and pressed up close to him. It felt comfortable, and Draco smelled nice. Several times, he had to remind himself not to fall asleep. Finally, after jerking out of a doze, Harry forced himself to get up. He spent a while arranging his clothes, then came back to the bed.
"Draco," he whispered. He didn't think he'd ever said the name out loud, except as part of "Draco Malfoy." He had a sudden urge to stay until Draco woke, but knew he would just fall asleep, if he did. It wouldn't be much of a first night, from Draco's point of view. Tenderly, feeling suddenly frightened again, he bent and kissed Draco on the lips. He hadn't done that before either, he thought, and he pulled away shivering.
"See you in the morning."
Draco lay still, and suddenly the illogical feeling he was dead hit Harry with the force of a nightmare. He leaned close once more to check Draco's breathing. It was fine.
"Bye."
Harry put on his cloak and stole out through the room with Blaise and Crabbe in it, through the Slytherin common room, which seemed creepier than ever now, and up through the empty school, all the way to Gryffindor, then up again to his dormitory. He slipped out of the cloak and tucked it quickly into his school trunk.
"Hunph."
He couldn't tell from Ron's snort if he was awake or asleep, but he cracked open the trunk again to add the half-empty vial to it, then closed it and sealed it with a privacy charm. No questions followed him into bed.
In the morning, Harry was even more terrified of seeing Malfoy than he had been the week before. This time, however, he did not dare let it show; he didn't want to Hermione to notice and ask what he had done. When he got to class, Malfoy was not there yet. Harry sat in his usual place and waited.
The blond boy slipped into his seat and immediately leaned close. "Good morning, incubus."
The whisper fluttered over Harry's ear. Harry shivered. "Sleep well?" he whispered back.
"You'd know better than I would." For just a moment, the soft voice took on an edge, and Harry wondered if the warm breath would turn to teeth. "Enjoy it?"
Blood sang in Harry's ears so loudly that he was amazed no one was turning to look. After a quick glance about them, calculating visual angles, he set a hand on Draco's near leg. "Yes and no." He squeezed. "Care to join me, some time?"
Draco responded with a faint whine, so unmistakably needy that Harry looked guiltily at the nearby tables, certain that someone must have heard. No one appeared to have noticed. Pansy and Millicent were talking about something that lengthened their eyelashes, and Parvati and Dean were whinging about the last homework assignment. Harry began to move a finger in circles and curves against the smooth weave of Draco's robe, pressing slightly into his leg, then letting up to skim just the fabric above it. He shifted to put his mouth closer to Draco's ear, and his hand tightened as he restrained himself from putting lips and teeth to that translucent flesh. What would Snape do, I wonder, if I snogged Malfoy in class?
Instead, he whispered, "What will you do when I wake you? Tell me."
Professor Snape swept in the door, and Harry hurriedly removed his hand from its improper location. The Potions Master was in a nastier mood than usual, and Draco's one attempt to speak brought him a reprimand -- Harry was sure any attempt of his own would cost Gryffindor points. They worked in silence throughout most of the class. Harry might have started worrying again if it was not for the little brushes of touch scattered throughout the session. When they were writing down the weekend's assignment, Draco used a scrap of parchment, rather than usual little log book. Harry thought nothing of it until the parchment dropped into his bag.
"Good luck passing that one, Inky."
Wonderful, thought Harry. Another stupid nickname from Malfoy. He cut ahead to evade Hermione, and ducked into an alcove off the dungeon corridor to read the note:
How does it feel to be a demon, Potter?
The problem was, Harry thought later, as he idly brushed his fingers across the note, that Draco's only communication today had been a brief sound of wordless lust. Harry had been expecting much more explicit desires and suggestions, and he felt a bit cheated. If Malfoy wants me to include him, he can damn well tempt me. He caught the petulant thought and smiled to himself.
He'd probably say Gryffindors have no imagination, Harry reflected.
That made the idea of putting matters off until Monday much less tempting. Still, he thought tonight would be too soon. He didn't want Malfoy to think he was that he was that irresistible. Besides, I have a D.A. meeting.
Then there was the note. It gave Harry a mild flush of excitement every time he looked at it, but he could also hear it in Malfoy's sneering voice. He brushed his fingers across the note again. "Think you've corrupted me, do you?" he whispered. "Think you can manage me if you have? Or didn't you think about that one?"
Harry was glad he was alone in the dormitory. It took mere seconds to cast an alarm spell on the door, draw his bed curtains and push down his trousers. He touched himself and tried to recall what Malfoy had said. "I think I'd like it. Waking to hands on my body touching me ... like this."
That day -- he said he'd fake sleep after he woke up. The earlier time when he was talking about doing it -- that would be what he'd want too, right? He should move things slowly, pretending he didn't intend Malfoy to wake, but letting him -- Harry remembered growling at Malfoy's passivity -- forcing him, if necessary.
Now, Malfoy! Look at me.
He came picturing a startled widening of Malfoy's pale eyes.
The afternoon dragged. At dinner, Harry lingered, trying to watch Malfoy without seeming to watch him. Once Malfoy looked up, and their eyes met for an instant. Malfoy broke the contact by squeezing his eyes shut.
After that, Harry left for to the Room of Requirement. It was still slightly early -- perhaps he could get a little planning time before anyone else showed up. When he got to the corridor, however, there was already a door across from the tapestry of Barnabas and the trolls, and the door was half open. Harry slowed in disappointment. As he approached the door, he heard Ron's voice and slowed more.
"I know I should give up on him. It's not like we're friends anymore; he makes that clear enough. But when he's nasty, or even just cold, it hurts. "
A derisive sniff replied. "Potter's always been cold."
Harry tried furiously to place the voice. Corner, perhaps? What had he ever done to Corner?
"He has not! He was a wonderful kid -- I thought we'd be friends forever."
Harry's momentary surge of satisfaction at Ron's defense left as he noted the past tense. Ron's voice quieted. "I wish I knew what happened to him."
"Wonderful to you, maybe," Corner persisted. "He's always ignored pretty much everyone else."
Harry had heard enough. He yanked open the door and strode inside.
"Believe me, Corner, if I paid you any more attention, you would not be pleased." He turned his glare on Ron. "And you --" Suddenly afraid of what he would start screaming if he allowed himself to continue, he turned and walked quickly away. Hermione was on the far side of the room, quietly discussing counter-hexes with Susan Bones. He hovered near her, and she sent him a perplexed look, clearly having missed the exchange. When his anger began to shift towards her for daring to be busy, he went over into a corner where there was a pile of small cushions. He threw one in the air and hit it with a rupturing curse. It exploded in a spectacular shower of feathers. Methodically, he set about destroying every cushion in the pile.
At cushion number five, Hermione approached him.
"Harry? I think we need those."
Harry destroyed cushion number six. "No we don't. We're all too soft, anyway. A few bruises would do us good."
Hermione grabbed at his wrist. "We can talk later. Practice is starting now. I need you to be reasonable and mature."
"I can't do that now."
"Then leave."
Harry left. At the end of the corridor, he looked up the stairs, and then down them. He had put his invisibility cloak in his bag, in case practice ran late. Now he pulled it out and put it on. I might as well go to the dungeons as anywhere else.
Harry stormed down the stairs. It wasn't until he was passing Hufflepuffs coming from the library that he realized he was making an obvious amount of noise, greatly lessening the security of the invisibility cloak. He stilled.
"It's just Peeves," one of the Hufflepuff girls said reassuringly to a first or second-year boy. "Ignore him."
When they were a full flight below him, Harry began to move again, treading far more lightly on the stone steps.
When he reached the level of the dungeons, he actually sat on the stairs and took off his shoes. After a quick deodorizing charm, he made his way to the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories in stocking feet. The corridor was blank and empty. Harry wondered if there was any chance that a Slytherin was going to leave or enter this late. Shouldn't they be out doing something disreputable? Late night parties? Theft? It's a Friday -- they can sleep in! Still, the door did not appear.
Harry watched the location of the hidden entrance for what seemed like a very long time. He was just considering conjuring an hour glass, so he could time the wait and hopefully estimate when the common room might be empty, when the blank wall slid open. Professor Snape came sweeping out, looking like well-dressed vulture. Harry, without thought, cut behind the swirl of the black cape. He made it into the Slytherin common room just before the door slid shut.
The common room was not empty, yet, but it wasn't busy. Harry saw Isadora and the blond girl studying together, their heads close as they shared a book. Zabini was sitting near them, watching them with a surly look on his face. He stood up, and Harry crept closer until he could hear Zabini's furious whisper:
"...your mind! We have only two beautiful blonds in the upper classes -- it's not fair for you to take both."
The blonde scowled, but Isadora squeezed her hand and shrugged. "You're welcome to try for Draco, Blaise. He certain doesn't seem to be content, these days, and we've never had anything serious."
The blond girl glared. "But don't blame it on her if you can't get him!"
Blaise nodded. "Understood." He sighed. "Sorry, Liviana. I try not to be a pain."
Liviana made a face. "You usually succeed. Can't you find a Hufflepuff to screw?"
Zabini was spared from answering by the sudden arrival of Draco Malfoy. The door to the seventh-year boys' dormitory slammed open, and Draco flounced out -- the motion was so childish and petulant that Harry couldn't think of it in any other terms.
"I'm going to the kitchens. If anybody wants anything, make me an offer." Draco crossed his arms over his chest and challenged the room with his glare.
"Hot chocolate?" Isadora asked sweetly.
"And?"
She hesitated. "A blow job."
Malfoy sneered. "Like you wouldn't any time I'd let you."
"Oh, all right! Preliminary research for your Herbology paper. You still need to write it."
"Of course. I wouldn't want Sprout recognizing your style."
Harry smiled as he watched Malfoy leave, and settled against the back of a sofa, content to wait and watch. Zabini, despite his earlier fit of jealousy, seemed to be close to Isadora -- and her girlfriend. Harry decided the blonde -- Liviana -- was actually in a relationship with Isadora, whether they acknowledged it or not. People gave them those allowances -- of course they must sit together, of course they would defend each other. They had to be either girlfriends or best friends, and, in Harry's experience, best friends didn't touch each other like that.
Blaise -- after ten minutes of listening, Harry found himself thinking of the skinny young man as the girls addressed him -- didn't show any of the posturing Harry thought of as a Slytherin standard. Perhaps, he reflected, it was merely a Malfoy standard. Blaise had a wry, self-deprecating sort of humor and a way of deferring just in time to deflect conflict. Harry remembered that he could see thestrals.
When Malfoy returned, he was carrying two mugs, and he had a little smear of chocolate above his lip. Harry wondered how it would taste, and he was a bit disappointed when Liviana told him to wash his face.
Harry followed Malfoy, still carrying his own mug, through the seventh-year boys' dormitory and into his own room. Malfoy set down the mug and fetched a bottle from the back of a drawer in his desk. He splashed some of the contents into the mug, then tasted it, then splashed in more and put the bottle away. Harry crept closer to look. He thought the contents had started out as hot milk, but Malfoy's addition had turned it rather pink and giving it a scent like berries in alcohol.
The room had a single tall-backed armchair, near the fireplace. Malfoy curled into that and watched the flickering flames while he drank his milk-and-whatever. He didn't speak to himself, tonight, and he didn't touch his schoolwork. When the drink was gone, he left the room briefly. On he return, he began to undress. It was not quite as sensual as the first night Harry had watched him, but not angry as he had been the night before. He seemed, if anything, nervous. His movements were quick and fretful, but still with the same grace that had hypnotized Harry the first night.
Malfoy climbed into bed, and Harry waited. He waited much longer this time than he had the night before. On the thought it had been only the night before, he nearly made himself leave. He had planned on staying away for a night or two.
But he was here, and anything that happened was bound to be better than the fight that was waiting for him in his dormitory, so he stayed. He stayed and watched Malfoy's restless adjusting and readjusting of his coverings, his turning off the light, and his turning on his moon nightlight in a panic. He watched him slowly, with several false starts, fall into a light sleep and then a deeper one. He watched his eyes flicker beneath his lids as he dreamed.
Malfoy hadn't pushed off his covers, tonight. Or rather, he had pushed them off, then pulled them back over himself again. Harry approached him cautiously, with a great sense of danger. For a moment, he was reminded of meeting Buckbeak, and the linked memory of Malfoy's behavior in that class was almost enough to send him away again.
Instead, he reached a hand out and tentatively laid it on the covers.
Malfoy didn't stir. Harry stepped back. He took off all his clothing, put back on his robes -- just his robes -- folded the rest neatly, and put it in his bag. He hesitated over the invisibility cloak, but in the end he folded it separately and set it on the top. That done, he returned to the bed.
Incubus.
He sat on the side of the bed, inside the corner made by Malfoy's bent legs. Again, he laid a hand on the covers over Malfoy's chest, but this time he traced down -- chest to waist to hip and down the side of a thigh.
"Malfoy," he whispered. "Draco. Shall I play with you, tonight?"
Being a demon, he thought, felt like fire coiling around his chest.
He shifted back the covers, as he had the night before, to Draco's waist. This time was different, though. His caution was not a game now, nor was it practice. This was real. Draco could wake. Harry's breath caught at the thought. Again, he made the fire flare and catch. From where Draco lay, Harry would be silhouetted dark against the flames. He reached forward and traced the air above Draco's fair skin, following the long line of his torso.
"So beautiful."
Finally, Harry lowered his hand to touch. The soft skin sent tingles of need though his hand, but he kept the touch light, and ended his downward stroke at the edge of the covers. Draco did not move. Harry recalled Hermione saying that people did not really move while dreaming. Harry reached up to just under Draco's nipple and stroked down again. This time he let his fingers go an inch under the covers. The coiled fire shot down from his chest to his groin and curled restlessly at the base of his cock.
"Yeah," he breathed. He broke his careful tableau by leaning forward onto his hands. He needed to get closer to Draco, close enough to catch the scent of his skin, to feel the warmth rising off of it. He ran his lips down the path his fingers had traced a moment earlier. When he reached the covers he nuzzled them down -- softly, but not as cautiously as he might have.
Draco did not move, but the feel of his body changed. Harry suspected he had woken. He reached down and took hold of a fold of cloth. With a steady, gentle pull, he drew the covers further down, exposing Malfoy's belly, then the tip of his cock. Harry kept pulling until he could see the sweet curve of his hip bones, the tops of his thighs, and the fine, pale curls on the balls at the base of his shaft.
"Mmmm. Nice."
Malfoy shifted slightly. His breathing was even. He was either still asleep or faking it well. Perhaps he just stopped dreaming. Harry trailed the tip of a finger along the edge of one hip, and from there down to the exposed thigh. He traced the edge of the blankets across, stopping just short of the base of Malfoy's cock.
"Are you hard for me, or just from sleeping?" Harry whispered. He leaned closer. "Oh right -- I'm not supposed to care." He breathed along the length of it, his lips never quite touching skin.
Being a demon, he thought, felt like drowning in air.
He wondered if he could breath kisses.
I'm supposed to be indulging my lust, not getting sappy at him!
Draco tossed his head, making a slight, animalistic noise, and fulfilling Malfoy's strange expectations was suddenly far less important than tasting his parted lips. Harry crawled up the bed and paused to drink in the look of him. His face was so much more enticing without scorn or anger tightening his lips and drawing in his cheeks. He looked delicate, not sour, in this placidity.
Harry swallowed hard. Draco was honestly still asleep. "Okay," he whispered. "We're going to play the game. But my way, not yours."
He leaned forward and touched his lips gently to Draco's, brushing them so softly that he might be mistaken for a soft breeze. Draco murmured and turned away.
"Sweet Draco," Harry breathed. He trailed his hand back down Draco's body, thrilling to the feel of soft skin over smooth muscles, till his fingers settled in the hollow of Draco's upper hip. He lay down, not touching Draco's back, but close enough that he imagined he felt the heat of it, even through his robes, along his neck and chest and groin. The back of Draco's neck seemed to be drawing his mouth closer without any thought on his part. When his lips settled on it, he realized he needed to suck at that particular bit of flesh, and after a moment of that, staying an inch back from Draco seemed stupid. Leaving his robes on also seemed stupid, but to remedy that, he would need to draw further away.
Draco flinched. Suddenly he was lying still -- very still. Harry raised his head and found his own breathing had quickened dangerously. With deliberate slowness, he moved his hand further down, till the tips of his fingers were held warm between Draco's thighs. He could feel Draco's pulse, quicker than a sleeper's should be.
He likes to talk; I wonder if he likes to listen?
Harry let his touch start slowly up, drifting in to meander over the softness of Draco's balls to the soft/hard of stretched cock skin.
"You feel so good, Draco. So good when you're not fighting me." He brushed his cheek along the back of Draco's neck, while he tightened his grip further down. "Is this what you want? Shall I handle everything? Do you want every touch I gave you last night?" He moaned at the memory. "I don't think I have the patience. You get me so hard, so fast." He pulled Draco closer and rubbed and wondered why the bloody hell he had left his robes on. His wand was pinned between them, so he grabbed Draco's from the bedside table and undid the fastenings with a muttered spell. The strange wand sent tingles of unfamiliar energy into his palm. Hurriedly, he put it down and yanked the accessible half of his robe off.
"Mmm?" Draco said. Harry bent close. "Shhh. 'S'alright. I'll take care of you." His hand resumed its rightful place on Draco's hard cock. It was harder now, and the tip of the head exposed, and a slick drop of precome waited there for Harry's thumb to spread out in soft brushes. His voice lowered to a growl. "Good care," he threatened.
That slippery fluid under his finger was calling to his tongue. Harry suddenly couldn't be arsed to pretend he thought Draco was still asleep. He slipped back down the bed, losing the rest of his robe in the process, and reached out his tongue to that enticing wetness. It tasted salty and nice. He licked once around the head to make certain he had got all of it, then again because it wouldn't be right to leave Draco less wet than he had been, and then again because he was sure a little more had come out, and after that he just gave up and took the whole tip in his mouth because it felt so good and Malfoy shook and mewled and gave up on pretending to be asleep and gasped "Fuck! Pot-- Harry!" and when he heard his name like that Harry had to open his throat and take him as deep as he could, which to his surprise, turned out to be all the way down to the balls.
Harry kept his mouth there as long as he could, but sooner than he wished, he had to back off to swallow and breathe. He tried to make it up with his tongue, and Draco seemed to like that as well, if not better, judging from the way his hips began to rise for Harry's mouth.
"Diana's fucking virgin cunt, I didn't know you'd do that!"
At the elaborate oath, Harry snorked around the obstacle in his mouth. He wondered if it was a pureblood thing. Draco whimpered and let his head fall back on the pillow with a soft "whomf."
"Please more."
Slender fingers were tracing though his hair now, combing and twirling and gripping it. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he might be losing control of the situation. He remembered Draco's casual rejection of a blow job from Isadora -- this experience definitely wasn't new to him. Perhaps he should couple it with something a bit more ... assertive. Harry pushed down a momentary panic that Draco would throw him out. If Draco hadn't expected this, then he must have expected to be fucked, last night, because really, there were only a limited number of ways he could get off with an unconscious man. He continued to suck and lick and adore Draco's hard length, but he patted the heap of his discarded robe as he worked, and eventually extracted his wand. A quick lubrication charm had his hand slick, and he took Draco's cock especially deep as he moved that finger into the crack of his arse.
"Wha-!" Draco moaned, apparently discarding the question as unnecessary. "Yessss."
Harry grabbed the base of the cock with his free hand and rubbed it while he lifted his head. "Like that?"
"Yes, but -- Fuck, please, Pot-- Harry."
Please fuck? Harry thought with amusement, but reclaimed Draco's cock with his mouth even as he pressed the finger in.
Draco was eager. Harry quickly had a second finger in him, and Draco was letting out little cries that inflamed Harry's curious interest to desperate lust. He felt the quickening that indicated Draco was nearing climax, and he lifted his had away, holding the base of Draco's erection in a tight grip.
"Not yet."
Draco let out a shaky breath, then a soft moan. He tried to sneer, but the effect was spoilt by his lust-bright cheek and half-lidded eyes.
"Does the big Gryffindor Hero want to fuck my arse?"
For a moment, Harry had to struggle repress a furious response; a moment later, he had to bend down and suck at a nipple to keep from laughing hysterically. Is that what all this is about? He's getting off on corrupting me? Like it matters! When he though he had some semblance of control, Harry lifted his head.
"Yeah, that's what I want." He sent Draco a challenging look as he added a third finger and pressed deep, making him bleat desperately and press his arse eagerly into the intrusion. "Doesn't the hero always fuck the prettiest thing around?"
Draco moaned. Harry cursed, which seemed only to make Malfoy more excited. "Fuck, Draco, do you have any idea what you've done to me? You call me a demon, when you send those whispers burning into me, day after day?" He recast the Lubrication Charm, on his cock this time, and pulled out his fingers, leaving Draco thrusting at empty air and whining. "Oh, you just have to have it, don't you?" Harry positioned the head of his cock at Draco's hole and moved it in teasing circles, getting everything around slippery. He wondered if he should admit he'd never done this before. Draco grabbed at his hips, and Harry let him stop the motion.
"I'm glad I saved this." It was a compromise, of sorts. Let Draco generalize if he wished to. "You're much more fun awake and squirming."
"Put it in, damn you!"
Harry grinned and pushed.
He could see he hadn't even gone in to the flare of his head, but Draco gave a gasp of surprise, and perhaps a bit of pain. Harry wondered if he was as experienced as he pretended to be.
"Shhh," he soothed. "Relax." He felt his lips draw back in an involuntary savage snarl as he licked at his teeth. "I'll take care of you." It was not the reassuring comment he had originally intended.
Draco whined, but a moment later, he had closed his eyes and his thighs softened. Harry seized his knees so he did not have to hold them up. Remembering something from one of the books, he Summoned a pillow from the armchair and worked it under Draco's arse. "Relax."
He tried again and got past the wide point, which drew a high gasp from Draco. He stopped. "Breathe. That's the thickest part. You're all right now."
Draco, eyes shut tight, nodded and breathed, long and slow. Harry felt the almost painful tightness around his cock lessen to merely incredible. He drew in a breath through clenched teeth.
"Oh! You're so tight, Draco. Feels so good." He wanted to ask if Draco was okay now, if he wanted Harry to move yet, but that wouldn't suit the image of the corrupted hero at all. "Can you take more? Or has my serpent pulled a bit more than you can handle?"
"Having second thoughts, Potter?" Draco taunted.
For answer, Harry shoved in.
He suspected it wouldn't hurt Draco much -- his cock didn't get any wider, after this, and it was well lubricated. Indeed, Draco's cry seemed to be mainly surprise; a long keen of pleasure followed quickly.
"I knew you'd be loud." Harry set up a slow motion -- out almost to the wide point, then slowly in. Draco let out a little cry at the deepest part of every push. Harry wanted to do the same as he slid in and out through the slicked grip of Draco's hole. He tried to maintain enough control for a few more words as Draco's tempted demon, but his brain was failing from the onslaught of sensation. "Even loud asleep," he managed. "Fuck! You..." He whined as he felt already-tight muscles clench around him. "Draco! Ah!"
He managed two pounding thrusts, the flapping weight of his balls slapping obscenely against Draco's cheeks, before he lost himself in heat, and flashes of white light, and everything in the universe descending into the roaring wave of brain and cock.
Everything was quiet.
Harry shifted slightly, feeling as if he was rising, new and wobbly, like Fawkes after burning. Draco was underneath him, so Harry kissed him on his mouth, which was as pliant and sweet as when he had slept. Draco sighed. Harry wondered if he could dare to say "babe?" like lovers on television.
"Draco?" Apparently there were limits to even Gryffindor courage.
Draco's eyes opened with a misty, debauched look that made Harry want to declare ... something. Not love, he thought, but something, if only he knew the name of it.
"Did you enjoy being woken?"
"Mmmm." Draco had a lazy cat's smile. "I hadn't realized Gryffindors were trainable."
Harry laughed. He bent close to Draco's ear. "Let me tell you something: we're not."
Draco opened one eye. "Really?"
"Really. Temptable, yes, but there's never quite control." He pushed against Draco, though both of them were spent, for the moment. "Of course, I suspect you like that."
Draco murmured agreeably and nuzzled into Harry's chest. Harry tumbled to the side, tucked an arm under his neck, and sent a charm to bank the fire. He gazed up at the silver light of Draco's pet moon. For a few minutes, they were comfortably silent, their breathing slowing and meshing in the quiet room.
"Was that all of this?" he asked hesitantly. "Seeing if I could be tempted? My house has nothing against 'pleasures of the flesh,' you know." He gave the archaic phrase a wry turn and dared a glance as his bedmate.
Draco looked thoughtful. "It was more...." He smiled slightly and looked away. "I intended to, ah, embarrass you...."
"I'd guessed that."
"But then you ... reacted." Draco shrugged, his shoulder squeezing up against Harry's arm. "And I realized ... I...." He bit his lip. His eyes finally met Harry's, and he swallowed hard, then spoke quickly. "You don't have to lose for me to win; I just have to win."
"Ah." That made sense, Harry thought. This was Draco's victory, but with his cooperation. Draco, however, looked nervous. Harry trailed a finger through the creamy mess on his stomach and raised it to Draco's lips. "Taste."
Draco laughed slightly. "What?"
"Victory."
Draco let out a slight moan as he sucked his come from Harry's finger. Harry bent to kiss him as soon as he was done, relishing the tacit agreement of the taste in Draco's mouth.
When he had taken his fill of lips and mouth and tongue, he lifted slightly and brushed damp hair away from Malfoy's face. He thought about the note. "Being a demon was fun." He bent forward and stole a new kiss, feather light, but tempting more. "This is better."
Summary: Draco is still trouble, even as a lover, and Harry finds his situation getting increasingly out of control. To make things worse, there's Ron...
Rumours
"Where were you this time?"
Harry wasn't surprised at the question. Of the last seven nights, he had spent four late evenings with Draco. Once he had even fallen asleep and not returned to his dormitory until shortly before dawn. He had expected that, sooner or later, he would be called on it upon his return.
The surprise was that it was Ron. Ron had made it clear that he and Harry were no longer friends. Harry had expected it to be Hermione who waited up and demanded details in the stressed, angry voice of someone who cares.
"What's it to you?"
Harry nearly winced as the words left his mouth. Belatedly, he realized that he had been given a chance to fix things -- and he'd just smashed it to pieces in favor of retaliation.
Ron's hurt anger iced over and he drew himself haughtily up. Harry was reminded of Percy. "I may not be Head Boy, Potter, but I am a Prefect. You have been out past lights-out repeatedly. Where have you been?"
Harry glared at him. "Having sex." He strode towards the staircase. Ron overtook him and pulled him around.
"Did she know?" he spat.
Harry looked up, refusing to be cowed by Ron's greater height. "I promise you, Weasley -- my partner was quite willing."
He stormed up the staircase. Ron let him go.
Draco had suggested that they take advantage of Saturday. After breakfast the next morning, Harry slipped down the staircase and made his way through the dungeons to Slytherin. It was complicated, but exciting, to work his way through the common room unseen and get into the seventh-year boys' dormitory. Draco had left the door to his own room open, and was lying on his stomach on the bed. Harry went over and eased his way on the bed, and Draco, at the feeling of the mattress shifting, smiled over his shoulder. Harry wanted to straddle him and rub against him, but he was certain that someone would notice a section of Draco's torso and legs disappearing.
He leaned down. "Close the door, Malfoy."
"Take off the cloak."
"Close the door."
"I like it open." Draco looked back over his shoulder again. "No one's going to tell on you, Potter. This isn't Gryffindor."
It was almost a dare. Annoyed, Harry took off his cloak and stuffed it in his bag. "There. I'm visible. Happy?"
"Not really. You're not doing anything to me yet."
With a growl, Harry dove into the place he had wanted to be before, coming forward on his hands for a symbolic bite at the back at Draco's neck. "Oh, I'll do things to you." He rocked his hips, rubbing against Draco's thighs. Draco brought them tighter together, arched back, and let out a shivering sigh.
"Yes, Harry! You're just what I need, now. So good."
"Take your shirt off," Harry ordered.
"Mm."
Draco stretched his arms out in front of him, and lazily began to undo his cufflinks. His progress was torturously slow, but Harry didn't help. He continued to push, enjoying the feeling of hardening against the furrow between Draco's thighs, like the crack of his arse, but longer. Draco let out a little cry, and Harry realized that his last push had gone far enough up to nudge behind Draco's bollocks. "Oh, you want it," Harry breathed. "So eager, Malfoy." He rocked more, making shorter, quicker, harder strokes as he leaned down close to Draco's ear. "Pretty Draco."
Draco gave up on buttons and yanked his shirt off over his head, so he could set his hands flat on the bed and push the skin of his back up against the front of Harry's robes. Harry grabbed his hair and twisted to kiss him, falling into the eager welcome of Draco's mouth.
A startled yelp from the doorway jolted them apart. Both turned to look. Blaise Zabini was standing there, staring at them, his mouth open as if he would speak. After several silent seconds, he backed away two steps and then left.
Harry snorted. "Now will you close the door?"
"No. I like it open."
Harry growled.
"Are you afraid?" Draco taunted. "Shy?"
"I'm never afraid." Harry lied. He pushed back from the bed to his feet, and Draco, startled, turned on to his side.
"Harry...."
"What?" Harry drew off his robes and tossed them on the ground, then made a show of yanking back his belt to release it from the buckle. "Lie back down! I'm not stopping just because you want to be weird."
Draco settled, but on his back. Watching hungrily as Harry's clothes came off, he shimmied out of his own trousers. Harry wasn't sure what he might want -- to be seen with Harry, or to get Harry angry and forceful -- but it was time to remind him about the dangers of tempting Gryffindors. With a prowling crawl, Harry moved back on to the bed to kneel between Draco's legs, which parted readily to accommodate him. He watched with satisfaction as Malfoy's eyes half-closed. From this position, he would usually lean forward for a kiss, and then start working his way lower with kisses and licks and bites, settling finally into sucking Draco's cock. He slid his hands down firm, white thighs, and then pulled them suddenly apart. "But if you want to be seen, you're going to be seen getting fucked."
Draco's eyes had flown open wide. He made an incoherent, high noise, like a dog begging for a treat. Harry shuddered with lust at the need in that sound.
"Is that what you want?" Harry reached for his wand. A quick motion and Draco's hole glistened with oil. Harry did his own hand for good measure. "Want it in you? He teased a slick finger around the puckered flesh, his other hand gripping Draco's hip. He wondered, for a moment, that Draco would want to be seen taking this from him, but then remembered that he was Draco's incubus. His voice lowered. "Want Zabini to see your demon fierce with lust?"
Draco moaned. "Harry."
Harry thought that was about as much of an answer as he was likely to get. He eased the finger inside and thrilled at the feeling of the hard muscle around it, first twitching tight, then slowly easing. He knew just how good that hard ring would feel around his cock. The idea of being watched should bother him, he thought, but it just made him hotter to imagine Blaise returning and staring wide-eyed as a Gryffindor intruder pounded Draco Malfoy into his silk-covered mattress.
That didn't take long. Harry was just reaching the end of his first slow push when the doorway to his side was filled again. As subtly as possible, moving only his eyes -- and those not fully -- he checked that it wasn't an attack. It didn't appear to be, but he had to hide his surprised twitch back with a hard thrust forward. Draco cried out in surprise and pleasure.
"Told you!" Zabini was saying triumphantly.
"Dear Isis," Liviana said flatly. Isadora peered past her with wide eyes.
"You have visitors, Draco." Harry kept his voice even, and set up a rock of his hips as he spoke, arching his torso back from his partner's, so the newcomers could get a glimpse of his slicked red cock pumping in and out of Draco's arse. He slid his hands under Draco's pink arse cheeks to lift them further up. Only when Draco was displayed to his satisfaction did he look back at their audience. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait, if you want his attention. I seem to have it at the moment."
Draco raised his head and tried to look, but then let it fall back with a cry, proving Harry's words. It was easier in Harry's position. While continuing to fuck Draco, he stared at the three Slytherins in the doorway, expecting that they would protest or leave. Instead, Isadora shifted forward for a better look, and Liviana, rather than protesting, pulled Isadora solidly in front of her. One of her hands stayed wrapped under Isadora's breasts, but the other went down to her groin, rubbing and pulling back.
"Merlin." Zabini took one hesitant step into the room, and then after a pause, another, bolder one.
"Draco?" Harry questioned, his voice low, as he slowed his motion to a suspenseful pull back, taking it almost to the point of withdrawal. Draco tried to look at the visitors again.
"Anything," he whispered, returning his attention to Harry. "As far as you'll go."
For answer, Harry rammed back in deep, and then, returning to a steady rhythm, looked up. "Want something, Zabini?"
"Oh yeah," the boy answered shakily. He slid his open robes off his shoulders and stepped right up to the edge of the bed. "A lot of things," he answered boldly, but the way his eyes stayed locked on Draco's skin showed where his interest lay. He fumbled with his trousers and drew out his cock, which was both long and thick. With one hand, he pulled it down to rub against Draco's hip. The other hand came almost to Harry's shoulder before flinching back.
"Would you mind, Potter...?"
"If you need to hold on, that's fine. Want to see you get off on him."
With a moan, Blaise not only held Harry's shoulder, but sidestepped down, moving his erection lower, so that it was caught between Harry and Draco each time Harry pushed. Harry noticed that it wasn't what he had agreed to, but had no desire to protest. Draco was nearly mad with lust, his face scarlet with heat. Blaise swore in a low, reverential tone. Harry spared a glance back to the door and saw that the girls had stepped inside and closed it. Liviana was leaned solidly back against it, and Isadora against her. Isadora's robes were open and her skirts rucked to her waist. From the motion of the back of Liviana's hand, Harry could imagine what her fingers must be doing -- plunging into Isadora's cunt and then twisting out.
"Hot, aren't they?" Zabini whispered, and Draco whined in protest.
"Harry, please!" he said. "Suck Blaise for me? Want to see you suck him."
Till he can't notice the girls? Harry thought, and snorted. "Want it, Zabini?"
"What the fuck do you think?" Zabini retorted, his voice going high with frustration.
"Straddle his face, then. Draco, lick his balls. Make him want to stay there."
Zabini's trousers hit the floor and he toed out of shoes and socks and vaulted on to the bed. In a moment, he was where Harry had said, his hard cock inches from Harry's face and intimidatingly large. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Harry wrapped most of his hand around the base of it before taking it in his mouth. Zabini moaned.
Harry slowed his fucking, the better to last and to concentrate on what he was doing with lips and tongue. He didn't mind, he decided, the stretched feeling of taking that big cock in his mouth, though he thought his cheeks would get sore a lot faster than with Draco's more slender length. Blaise made gratifying noises when he pulled back to use his tongue, so shallow was okay.
Blaise cried out. It was so unexpected that Harry lifted his head to look. He hadn't done anything new. Had one of the girls touched him? They were several steps away still, but Draco, he found, was licking at Blaise's hole, his body straining to stay curled up enough to reach with the tip of his tongue.
"Dirty, Malfoy," Harry said admiringly. "And he likes that. I think I'll make you do it to me, later." He looked back at the girls. "What about you two? Want to touch?"
Isadora let out a little gasp and shoved forward against Liviana's hand. With a chuckle, Harry lowered his head to lick at Zabini's cock before taking it back in his mouth.
A minute later, an arm rubbed across his sweat-sticky abdomen, and looking down, he saw a hand curl around Draco's cock. Draco screamed, and in moments, he was coming, the continued pulls of that hand milking out great spurts of white that splattered Harry's chest, and Zabini's left thigh, and his own stomach. Harry had to hold his breath and think of the Dursleys' kitchen to keep from following immediately.
"Yes," Isadora hissed, and Liviana pushed her forward.
"Fuck her, Potter, if you still can."
Harry lifted his mouth. "Yeah," he said. "Draco, take over for me."
He was glad that he'd looked at the heterosexual sections of the sex books. It made sense to cast a cleaning spell on himself before turning over, and he was able to follow it with a quick sterilization spell as well. Isadora seemed likely to be on a contraceptive potion, but he didn't want to assume. Blaise had scrambled off the bed to stand beside it, and Draco was kneeling on his pillow, already taking Blaise deeper than Harry had dared try. Harry lay back, throwing one arm over his head to hold on to Draco's calf. "Come on," he said to Isadora, trying to pretend he'd done this before. He had seen pictures of the position anyway.
"That's it," Liviana said roughly. "Ride him."
With no further encouragement, Isadora swung a leg over Harry and grabbed for his cock. She rubbed across the tip of it several times, that part of her -- Harry still hadn't seen it, he realized, but the cunt that he had so little concept of -- wet and hot and surprisingly soft. With a little cry, she plunged down, enveloping him in a gentler, more smoothly general heat than Draco's arse. Harry moaned.
He desperately needed not to come. Not yet, not quite yet. She must be close, too.
He concentrated on his hands, letting go of Draco's leg to slide them up her sides. Other hands were already on her breasts, he discovered, as his eyes moved up. Liviana was stroking and squeezing them in time with long rubbing pushes against Isadora's arse. Harry fell into time with her, so Isadora was rocked between them, each slow rub from Liviana pushing her fully onto Harry.
"So beautiful," Harry murmured. "You like the way she touches you, don't you? Those clever hands squeezing your breasts --"
Isadora's cries rose in excitement, and it was too much. He grabbed her hips, holding her down as he shoved up, and roared as his bollocks tightened and let loose. The thought of how he was filling her drove him wild, as did her gratifying screams of delight, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world.
They all shifted a few times more, Harry and Draco ending up with their feet on Draco's pillow, the boys sated and lazily stroking Isadora as she lapped at Liviana's cunt. After having got a look at that, Harry decided that he liked the feel better. He let one of his hands move to Draco, drifting down his back to cup a cheek possessively.
Draco raised his head from kissing at Isadora's shoulder blade. "Glad I left the door open, Harry?"
"Oh, I'm very well satisfied," Harry replied. "Any time you feel like sharing, let me know."
When Harry dropped by Gryffindor before dinner, Hermione was waiting for him. "Harry! Where have you been?"
He grinned. "Playing with Slytherins. Don't worry, Hermione; I was careful."
She grimaced. "Malfoy?"
"Of course." He didn't elaborate.
November flowed into December, and Harry stopped being so cautious when he went through the Slytherin common room. Once he was in the dormitories, he didn't hide at all. Crabbe seemed to accept Draco's order not to tell, and Blaise -- Zabini had become Blaise, somehow -- watched eagerly for the moments when Draco might want the spice of a third party. Goyle had left school after his father's death, and Nott after Halloween, so it was just those two seventh-years to contend with, except for when the girls wandered through. Harry fucked Isadora once more, and then another sixth-year girl, Irma, that she brought along one evening. Draco didn't seem to mind, although when Harry commented admiringly on one of the sixth year Slytherin boys, he got irritable. Blaise was never an issue, perhaps because he so obviously wanted Draco, not Harry.
He had to be increasingly more careful about when he saw Draco, because Ron had taken to informing Filch when Harry was out late. Filch hadn't actually caught him yet, but it had been close a few times, and on one particular occasion, Filch had staked out the portrait hole. Harry, afraid that he would be grabbed and have his cloak confiscated if he tried to get through, had spent an anxious night in the corridor, and Ron had taken thirty points from him in the morning, and then asked Professor McGonagall to give him detention. Hermione was too fair to interfere, but she and Ron, who had been uneasily reestablishing their friendship, returned to a prickly truce. Harry, for his part, adapted by doing less of his visiting at night.
One day, after a particularly pleasant, leisurely afternoon with Draco -- just Draco, and some conjured straps, and some new lube of Draco's creation, which actually tasted good -- he found himself coming up from the dungeons just in time for dinner. He caught sight of Hermione outside the Great Hall. She was listening to Parvati, but with silent annoyance showing in the side of her face and the set of her shoulders, and he moved up to rescue her.
"Hermione," he called cheerily, as he cut into the group of Gryffindors. "Sit with me, tonight?"
She smiled, and Ron, a few steps away, glared, and Parvati cheerfully excused herself.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, as they settled at the long table.
"No problem. It'll be nice to talk to you without studying between us, anyway."
With an exasperated look, she sniffed. "It's not my fault that you're never around before dinner. Frequently, you're not even at dinner."
"It's not my fault that Ron is a git."
"He's only enforcing the rules, you know."
"No. He's enforcing rules that he'd usually ignore, because he's out to get me, and it's a bloody pain."
Sighing, she reached for the rolls that had just appeared. "Still. He shouldn't usually ignore them."
"Why not? You know there's really nothing I can do after nine that I can't do before."
She giggled. "Have you conducted thorough experiments?"
"Very thorough."
They had a pleasant dinner, and were just starting on trifle when Professor McGonagall came down from the high table. She paused here and there along the length of the Gryffindor one, leaving whispers in her wake. Before Harry could establish a pattern, she had stopped across from them.
"Miss Granger."
"Yes, Professor?"
As Hermione answered, Harry relaxed a little. This didn't seem to have anything to do with him.
"The prefects will all be meeting directly after dinner. Please come to the room adjacent to my office as soon as you have finished."
Her voice was strained, and Hermione took on some of her tension as she nodded. "Yes, Professor."
As soon as McGonagall continued down the table, Harry leaned towards Hermione. "What do you think that was about?"
"I've no idea, but it can't be good."
"No, she looked upset enough frighten a June lesson into behaving."
Hermione took a last bite of her food and stood up. "I'll talk to you later, Harry. I think I'd better go."
Watching her leave, Harry noticed that it wasn't just the Gryffindor prefects that had been summoned. Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones were also heading for the door, Susan moving in anxious little steps, and Ernie walking with his chest puffed out to show his gleaming prefect badge. Draco, as far as he could see, had already left.
Harry finished his dinner thoughtfully. There was no point in looking for Draco, as he was no doubt with the other prefects. He might as well go up to the library and research for his neglected Charms essay.
When Harry got back to Gryffindor, Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but Ron was sitting by the fire. He stood and met Harry's eyes, but Harry ignored the contact and continued upstairs. He wasn't altogether surprised when Ron followed him. Ron never had known when to give up.
"Potter."
"What is it this time, Ron? As you can see, I'm in Gryffindor on time, and I've done my homework."
"No interest in our meeting?"
"Not from you."
"A Slytherin girl is pregnant."
Harry turned at that. He had a moment's alarm, and then realized that was ridiculous. It couldn't have anything to do with him, certainly. He had been careful about his few times with girls, even if there was some magical way to detect conception so early. Why was Ron telling him this?
"How careless of her," he said flatly.
Ron's face turned red with rage, and he opened his mouth to speak, seeming to only just choke the words back. "Never mind," he said instead, and left the room.
After several uneasy minutes, Harry decided to follow him and have the matter out, but when he got down to the common room, Ron was gone, and Hermione was still missing. He returned to his dormitory.
The next morning, during breakfast, McGonagall came down to the Gryffindor students' table again. This time, however, she did not want the prefects.
"Mr. Potter?"
"Er, yes, professor?"
"You will report to Professor Snape's office after breakfast."
Hermione gave a little gasp. After a glance at her, Harry focused on McGonagall again.
"I have Charms, professor--"
"I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. Nonetheless, you will report to Professor Snape."
"Professor--" Hermione began.
"No, Miss Granger. Reports are all confidential, as is the subject at hand."
She swept away, and Harry, bewildered, turned to Hermione. "What is she talking about?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Harry. You heard her. It's confidential."
"If she's sending me to Snape, I deserve to know--"
"It's probably best if you don't know. And Harry, please say 'Professor Snape.'"
"You're lucky I don't just say 'the bat.'"
"That will not help!"
Hermione seemed honestly distressed, so Harry choked down his slice of toast, which was suddenly dry and tasteless despite a generous slathering of jam, and he headed off to the dungeons.
The door to Snape's office was open. It swung closed behind him with a heavy thunk. From behind his desk, Snape regarded him with the peculiar sort of twisted pleasure that he usually showed when Harry was in trouble, but when he spoke, his voice was harsh with rage.
"Mr. Potter. You were an unexpected addition to my list, but in hindsight, perhaps predictable." As he spoke, he came to his feet and stalked around the desk. Behind him, a quill began to write on a roll of parchment. "Do you know why you are here?"
"No, sir," Harry said politely. To his relief, the quill wrote something of an appropriate length.
"Well, perhaps you had better think!"
"I ... I really don't know, sir. I mean, this obviously isn't about Potions, and I don't know why else --"
"A young lady of my house was raped, Potter!" Snape snarled, lunging towards him. He froze at the last moment, and then, snarling, turned and began to pace restlessly back and forth in front of Harry.
"Er...." And was pregnant, Harry realized. That was why Ron had been so angry at his response. But still, why come after me?
"Does this girl claim I raped her, sir?"
Snape whipped about. Black, hard eyes fixed on him. "Are you familiar with the term 'violation potion,' Potter?"
Harry froze. His involvement in the situation suddenly made sense. Ron knew he had been looking for that sort of potion, and had obviously continued to think that he would use it in the expected manner.
"Yes, sir," he answered. Snape knew that, obviously, if Ron had told him about that conversation.
"The girl cannot tell us who raped her, because the girl believed herself to be a virgin. Do you understand what this has done to her? What it will do?"
Bits and pieces of possible repercussions were running through his head, but he couldn't put them all together. Harry suddenly found himself able to sympathize with Snape's restless rage. "It sounds horrible, but no, I probably can't, completely," Harry said carefully. "But, professor, I --"
"Your friend Ronald Weasley--"
"He is not my friend."
"BE SILENT!" Snape looked like he might attack him then and there. "Mr Weasley has stated that you asked him how you might obtain a violation potion. Do you deny it?"
"No, but--"
Snape's hand clamped tight across his mouth, and Harry fought down an urge to bite. "I will let you elaborate on your excuses later, Mr. Potter. For now, you will answer the questions that I ask. Is that clear?"
Harry nodded, and Snape removed his hand. Harry licked his lips and wished that he hadn't. A bitter taste lingered from Snape's touch.
"Did you succeed in obtaining such a potion?"
Harry wanted to deny it. However, he wouldn't put it past Snape to slip him Veritaserum, illegal or not, if he wasn't satisfied by the answers he got, and lying now might cause him more trouble than admitting it.
"Yes."
"Yes." The answer seemed to take Snape by surprise. He stopped pacing.
"Once," Harry added quickly. "But it--" At a threatening move from Snape, he went silent.
"Once," Snape repeated. "And did you use this potion?"
"On my lover," Harry answered. Normally, he wouldn't have called Draco that, but it was the quickest way to sneak in an explanation. "Yes."
"Your ... lover." Snape's mouth curled around the word as if it was sour. "Meaning you had had sex with the victim previously?"
"Not exactly," Harry said, deciding to ignore the word "victim". "And it wasn't sex, the way I think you--"
"So you believe you could not have got her pregnant."
"Look," Harry snapped, "as far as I know, men do not get pregnant, and if there's some magical way to do it, it certainly wouldn't be from having your cock sucked!"
Snape froze. For a moment, Harry thought he would laugh, but he merely sneered. "It remains, you arrogant brat, that whomever you were with would not allow it."
"Allow it! He practically suggested it! And told me where to get the potion, and gave me his password!"
Snape glared at him disdainfully, but at least he wasn't pacing now, or even looming, much. "Did you consider that he may have thought you would use it on someone else and invite him?"
"Why? When he was talking about-- Look, he goes on about these strange sexual fantasies to me, and sometimes I do them. The first was all about how I could sneak into someone's room and come on them while they were asleep, and when I did that to him, he was pleased. And he's touched me when I told him not to -- remember that Potions lesson when Draco petrified me?"
Snape stepped back. "Draco?"
"Was groping me under the table."
Silence stretched through minutes as Professor Snape resumed his pacing, slow now, but with the silent menace of a great cat. "Let me see if I understand this," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You broke into Slytherin, and then into Draco Malfoy's room, taking his revelation of his password and his indication of where you might get a violation potion as consent."
"Not just that, but yes."
"Ah yes," Snape elaborated. "On a previous occasion, you felt he was complacent about you masturbating over his bed and spraying him with the result."
"Which he suggested, pretty much. And he continued to suggest things, afterwards."
"So, once you had gained entry to Draco's room, what did you do? Did you seal the door?"
"Er... yes, sir."
"And you gave him the potion?"
"Yes."
"How, exactly?"
"I ... I stroked the dropper across his lips, sir ... then he opened them, and I squirted it into his mouth."
"Did you squirt anything else in his mouth?" Snape shot back, with evident amusement.
"Er... no. I mainly ...." Harry struggled for words. "Is this level of detail really necessary," he complained, "or are you just enjoying it?"
Snape eased around behind Harry, to where Harry could not see him without turning. Harry, given the choice of remaining still or twisting and looking ridiculous, remained still, looking forward. Watching Snape didn't actually make him any safer, he knew. "Oh, believe me, Potter," Snape purred, from far too close, the warmth of his breath faintly perceptible on Harry's neck, "if I thought I could get away with making you put all this in a pensieve, I'd be hauling one out right now."
Harry snorted. His professor's tone had grown deep and slow with undisguised lust. Harry thought it would have confused and frightened him a month earlier, but now it seemed primarily amusing. "Well, at least I know what to get you for Christmas," he quipped. He glanced back at Snape's stunned face. "Not that I would. You'd show it to somebody, and then it would get reported in the national press." He shuddered, but couldn't restrain a nervous smile. "The Boy-Who-Lived a Pervert! Details, Page 2."
"You still haven't told me about the girl, Potter." Snape's voice was suddenly sharp again.
Harry gritted his teeth. "There was no girl! I used this once, on Draco, and he didn't mind. We've done a lot more, since. Do you need to give me Veritaserum to believe me?"
Snape moved back into view. Harry could see he was smiling. It was not a reassuring sight.
"What a lovely idea, Potter." His smile twisted yet more. "And since you suggested this," he leaned close, "may I presume that I have your consent?"
Harry refused to shift back. "I have conditions," he said.
"Oh really? Do you want me to respect your privacy?"
Harry winced. "No -- well, yes, but I don't really expect it. No, I want you to give it to Draco too, and let me ask him questions when I feel the answers are relevant."
Snape's lips tightened into a thin line while he thought. "Very well," he said finally. "If Draco consents."
"He damn well better," Harry muttered.
"Very well," Snape said. "You are dismissed, for now. Come back here after lessons, with Mr. Malfoy."
Nodding, Harry took a step back.
"Oh," Snape added. "This matter is confidential, Potter. That means you do not discuss it with Miss Granger, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not, I expect, that you would want to," he sneered.
"Well, she already knows a lot of it."
Snape, who had been turning away, whirled back to stare at him. "About the violation potion?"
Oh. The prefects had probably been asked about that. "No, not that. But the, um, masturbating, and him groping me during that lesson. After it happened."
"How intriguing." Snape accompanied the words with a definite leer, and Harry wanted to say that he hadn't told her in that way, but before he could speak, Snape's expression faded to weariness. "Send in the next young fool," he said, harsh again, and that was all.
At first, Harry was surprised that he was being given the opportunity to speak to Draco before they were questioned together, but he realized, once he considered the matter, that if Snape was going to give him Veritaserum, it really didn't matter. He was a little afraid that Draco would deny everything and refuse to be questioned, and that Snape would let him evade it.
He stopped Draco outside of the Great Hall at lunch, and pulled him into a corner.
"We need to talk."
Draco frowned, looked about them, and pointed to the stairway. A few minutes later, they were closeted in a dungeon store room, with the door sealed behind them.
"Is this about Jeannette?"
"Is she the Slytherin girl who was raped?" At Draco's nod, Harry nodded in return. "Sort of. I'd asked Ron about ... about what turned out to be violation potions, and he told McGonagall that, and Snape questioned me this morning, and you know how he hates me."
Draco, still alert, accepted this. "What did you tell him?"
"That I bought such a thing once, and I'd used it once -- on you."
"I see. Did he believe you?"
"He said not, but I think he did. He was getting off on making me describe it; you should have heard his voice! Before that, when he still thought I might have raped the g-- Jeannette -- he was livid."
"Would you like me to talk to him?"
"Actually, I've offered to take Veritaserum, but I said I wanted you there. He wants us in his office after lessons." Harry felt suddenly embarrassed by what else he had demanded. "I also said I wanted to be able to question you the same way if you wouldn't back me up, but that was just that he makes me paranoid."
"I will absolutely back you up, Harry," Draco said. "Although I won't take Veritaserum. One of us should be enough." His eyes went out of focus, as if he was picturing something. "You're sure, are you, that he was aroused?"
"'Oh, believe me, Potter,'" Harry quoted, trying to match Snape's lustful purr, "'if I thought I could get away with making you put all this in a pensieve, I'd be hauling one out right now.'"
Draco laughed. "This is perfect," he said.
"It is?"
"Do you still have a dose of that potion left?"
"Of course. I mean, I wouldn't use it on--"
"Marvelous. Bring it."
"Bring it?"
"To the questioning. I'll give it to you."
Harry stared. "Let's see," he said finally. "Snape is after me for using an illegal potion, so you are going to give me this same potion in front of him. This helps me how?"
"Oh, but he'll be mad with lust by the time you finish telling him every last detail -- and so will I. So I'll give it to you, then start undressing you and fondling you, and he won't be able to resist following, especially if I whisper some suggestions in his ear...."
Which you are ever so good at, Harry thought. He said:
"So now I'm unconscious, getting molested by the Professor-Who-Will-Not-Bathe."
"Who'd be damn sexy if he did."
"He would n--" Harry remembered that sinuous prowl, the feel of hot breath on his neck. "Okay. Perhaps. In the nastiest sort of way. But he doesn't."
"What do you care? You'll be unconscious."
Harry growled. "I fail to see how this helps."
"It helps because I have a ring that shields me against memory charms. He won't be able to Obliviate me afterwards, but I'll let him think he has, and then we can blackmail him." Draco grinned. "He'll have to let you off, whether he thinks you're guilty or not. He can't admit to having had the headmaster's favorite student, while said student was under the very potion Snape is supposed to be investigating!"
"Don't leave me with him."
"Of course I won't!" Draco said cheerily. "How could I blackmail him if I did that?"
Draco obviously thought his plan the height of cleverness; Harry was less certain. However, one-time sexual contact with Snape, especially as he did not need to be mentally present for it, seemed much better than living through the media storm that would result even from an unproved allegation that he had raped another student -- or possibly several other students, from Draco's account of the prefects' meeting.
So it was that he found himself in Snape's office, agreeing to Draco's amendment to Harry's deal with Snape -- that Draco be interrogated further only if Harry disputed one of his answers, or, at the end, his full story. Snape was leaning back against his desk, with obvious pleasure and menace tilting a small phial of potion in the light. One chair was set out in front of his desk.
"Now." Snape said, "I don't usually allow students being questioned to sit, but considering the enhancement, I think it advisable. In the chair, please, Potter."
"Give him a light dose," Draco said suddenly, as Harry sat down. "You don't want him too emotionally distanced."
Snape gave him a scornful look. "I do know what I am doing, Mr. Malfoy." He reached out, nearly brushing his finger across Harry's lips. "Open your mouth, Potter."
Harry did. Only two drops of the liquid landed on his tongue, he thought, but he instantly felt lighter.
"I am going to ask you your name, Potter. Do your best to tell me that it is Neville Longbottom. What is your name?"
Neville Longbottom, Harry tried to say, but what came out was "Harry Potter." He tried again, to the same result.
"Did you, at any time, have sex with a fifth year Slytherin girl?"
"No."
"How many students in my house have you had sex with?
"Four. Some people might say five, but Liviana is a lesbian, I think. She was there, but she only let Isadora touch her."
"An interesting reply, Potter. I thought it was only Draco."
"It was only Draco with the potion. Or asleep. And Draco has always been there, even when someone else has."
"So, Draco and Isadora. Who were the other two?"
"Irma and Blaise."
"What varieties of violation potion have you bought, Potter?"
"Deep Dreams."
"How many times?"
"Once."
"How many doses?"
"Two."
"Have you ever made a violation potion?"
"No."
"Have you ever obtained one by other means than purchase?"
"No."
"So these two doses of Deep Dreams are the only such potion that you have ever had in your possession?"
"Yes."
"How did you use them?"
Harry hesitated. There were so many things to answer to that. "I used one on Draco. I still have the other. Do you want to know about the one I used on Draco?"
"In a moment. First, why did you use the potion on Draco?'
"Because he'd whispered all sorts of things to me about sex with someone who was asleep. Both sides of it. I knew he'd think it was hot, and he'd made me think it was hot. Also because I wasn't sure I could go through with it -- with a man, I mean -- and I didn't want to find out halfway through when he was awake, and then have to continue or to refuse him."
"Interesting," Draco commented, and Snape shot him a look.
"When you gave Draco this potion," Snape said, his voice smoothing out to dark velvet, "what did you do?"
Harry told him. He told about sliding the covers off Draco, and about how his skin had shimmered, and how he had kissed him all over before taking his cock in his mouth and discovering that he didn't mind that at all. "He came too fast, though. In my mouth."
"Did that bother you?"
"Well, yes. I wanted him to come on himself, so he'd wake up sticky. But I got him off again, and myself as well, so there was plenty of mess to let him know I'd been there."
There was far more breath than usual between Snape's words. "And how did he react? When you next saw him?"
"He sat very close, and he called me 'incubus' and let me stroke his leg, and he whined when I asked if he'd like to wake up, next time."
"Oh. Yes. Tell me about the next time."
"Yes. I'd meant to delay, but I couldn't. I wanted him awake. I snuck into Slytherin in my invisibility cloak, and he was in a bad mood, which was alarming."
"But you stayed."
"Yes. But I waited longer. I knew he'd want me to start when he was asleep, because by then, that was the fantasy."
"When you were confident that he was asleep, what did you do?"
Words poured from Harry -- cautious touches, the times he wondered if Draco had woken, and, embarrassingly, how he'd moved to fuck him because he doubted his inexperienced attempt at a blow job would be special enough to please. That bit made Draco whine, and when Harry looked up, Snape's eyes were boring into him, and the professor's color was high. Harry vaguely remembered that Draco wanted that.
"Do you have any questions for him, Draco?" Snape asked.
Draco laughed. "Oh, absolutely. Harry, did you like it when I paralyzed you in potions class, and then fondled you through your robes?"
The question was complicated, but Harry couldn't organize his answer. It just came out in pieces. "It was scary," Harry said, "and I was angry, because it was you, and I didn't like you then, and you'd called me your toy, which offended me, but it felt good, and it was funny when I thought you'd get caught, and afterwards I had to go to my room and wank. I tried to get my hand at the angle yours had been at and imagined that it was you, going further, getting to skin."
Snape's breath came out in a shaky hiss.
"And you, sir," Draco said to him. He licked his pink lips. "Do you have any questions for me?"
"What was the appeal?" Snape asked, his voice tight with tension. "If you had followed it with this sort of questioning, to hear all of this, I would understand. If you had given him a potion of your own devising, which allowed you to remember, I would understand. But why allow him to truly do that to you? Was it just a step in seduction?"
"In part," Draco replied. "But it also has its own appeal. I doubt I'm the only person who would think so."
"An alarming theory."
"Give Harry the antidote? I want him better able to think."
Nodding, Snape handed Harry a cup that had been sitting to the side. "Drink this. You may still have a regrettable tendency toward honesty, but you should be able to rein it in if you truly wish."
Harry drank the thick liquid, and felt his mind reassemble the patterns and conditions and evaluations that controlled what he said and to whom. He licked his lips nervously, and then heated as he saw Professor Snape follow the motion with lust-glazed eyes. Of the two of them, he suspected he was now the one more in control.
"Do you trust me, Harry?" Draco appeared just as excited as Snape, with his cheeks pink and his breath quick, but his voice was a soft drawl, the sort that filled Harry with both alarm and excitement.
"Do you think I'm mental?" he asked indignantly. "Of course I don't!"
"Will you do what I say anyway?" Draco coaxed, reaching out to brush the side of his neck.
Harry moaned. "I always do, don't I?"
"Do you have what's left of that potion on you?"
"You think I walk around with highly illegal potions for no particular reason?"
"You might, but no. I think you walk around with highly illegal potions because I told you to. Come on, baby. Own up. I want to be the demon, today. Let's show him what it's like."
Harry nodded breathlessly and, with a glance at Snape, reached into his bag. He pulled out a box, and from that a bag, and from that a tiny vial with a dropper top. Draco took it from him, and stood straddling Harry's lap. He unwarded and opened the vial.
"Drink up, baby. It's all in my hands."
"Oh god." Harry closed his eyes and tipped his head back slightly, letting Draco squirt a dropper full of the cloudy liquid into his mouth.
"Oh," Harry murmured. "My darling demon. Do anything you will." The last thing he saw was Draco's keen eyes. Inexorably, his own relaxed shut and his breathing steadied.
"Harry?" a familiar voice whispered. Kisses touched the corners of his mouth, but he couldn't kiss back; he could only feel the brush of moist breath and the rub of a hot body across his lap.
"Oh yeah," the voice panted. "Oh, yeah, I think you're mental."
Everything faded.
When Harry revived, he was lying on the floor of Snape's office, but he didn't think he could have been on that hard a surface for long. He felt sore and sticky, but in a good, well-shagged sort of way, and he stretched and rolled onto his side to sit.
"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked, turning from the shelves.
Harry grinned. "You'd know better than I would," he quipped, and Draco laughed.
Before anything more could be said, Snape swept in from the back room. He looked as aloof as ever, and his eyes flashed over both of them with familiar contempt. "Ah. Mr. Potter. You have recovered from Draco's little exhibition, I see."
"Apparently," Harry answered, getting to his feet.
"Good. You are dismissed; wait outside or not, as you please. I have a few things to say to your paramour."
"But the investigation--"
"Later, Harry," Draco growled, and Harry left.
Draco emerged a few minutes later. "Come on," he said, and they walked down the corridor. "We've probably missed dinner, but we can get something from the kitchens, I expect."
"All right," Harry agreed. He wondered if Draco's ring had worked. "What happened back there? While I was asleep?"
"Nothing much," Draco said, but he winked. "Let's get food first, and then plan."
Fifteen minutes later, they were settled in Draco's room with a basket of food and a jug of pumpkin juice.
"This is just to keep us going, you understand," Draco said. "I expect you're exhausted from all that writhing, and Snape and I both took a potency enhancer to keep going with you, and I feel like I've been wrung out. But really, I need to extract the memory and make copies of it, and then you and I need to confront him immediately, before he decides what to report about you. To our advantage, I expect he's just as exhausted, and probably won't try to do anything before morning."
"So you do remember."
"Oh yes! And it was decidedly hot. I always thought he must have a lot of repressed lust -- like you, but with twenty years for it to build up. Every time he sees us with our heads together, he's going to need a wank, I expect."
"I could have guessed that from the interrogation."
"Mm. He was practically panting when he asked you what you'd done to me, wasn't he?"
Popping the last of a roll in his mouth, Draco headed for a large cupboard set against the wall. From the back of it, he pulled a carved soapstone bowl, and a capped urn.
"This is pretty much like a pensieve," he said. "Well, actually, it is a pensieve, but the medium I'm going to put in it is different, and will allow us to make copies of the memories. I'll be able to restore the original with most of the impact of the experience, but a little is lost from each copy made. Not that I think I'll care when that means that I get to watch it any time I like."
Harry nodded nervously. He wasn't sure he liked that thought.
"So, I'll make a copy for each of us and bottle them. When you have yours, go and hide it somewhere you think it will be safe -- from Snape and from others -- and then meet me back at the base of the stairs, and we'll go and negotiate with Snape." He paused. "Which you should let me do, obviously. Just stand there and look threatening and ... Gryffindorish."
"Okay." Harry was already thinking about where to hide the memory. In one of the collapsed tunnels, he thought. The Chamber of Secrets occurred to him -- even the passage to it. But then, if he was the only one who could reach it, wiping his memory would keep Snape safe. The secret passages would be better. He could tell Draco about one of them, as well as leaving a note to himself.
"Why do you have a pensieve, anyway?"
"Oh, Father got it for me. For precisely this use -- well, not blackmailing my professors, but for making copies of memories. I was supposed to send him ones of you and of Dumbledore."
"Did you?"
"A few. But I only had it a few months before...." Draco shrugged, and Harry nodded sympathetically.
"That was a rubbish year."
"Yeah." Draco took a long breath. "But it freed me. Expensively, but...."
"Yeah."
They headed back out into the dungeons and Draco led the way past Snape's office to a shallow alcove.
"Why are we stopping?"
For answer, Draco tapped on one of the stones with his wand. After a moment, a window appeared in it, reflecting Draco's face.
"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" It was Snape's voice, contemptuous and tight.
"I want to talk terms."
"Terms for what? I will not report your idiotic stunt, if that's what you're afraid of."
Draco smirked. "I have protections against memory charms, Professor. There are already copies in two locations. Let us in."
The arch turned into a door, which slid to the side. Professor Snape greeted them with a silent sneer, holding his words until the door was back in place.
"Mr. Malfoy, you are trying my patience. There is nothing for you to remember."
"Oh? I haven't had a chance to watch it all yet, but I don't believe I imagined the way you rode him in the chair."
Snape hissed out a breath, and it was all Harry could do to keep from laughing. He wouldn't have guessed that move, and he bet Draco wouldn't have either. Smirking, he walked over to a wing chair by the wall and settled in to watch.
"First, of course," said Draco haughtily, "you are to see to it that Harry is in no way punished, including being humiliated, for acquiescing to my desires, including in the purchase and use of this potion." He smirked. "Second ... hm ... you will not punish me for anything for the rest of the year. Third --"
Though his arms stayed tight across his body, Snape sneered back at him. "I believe you overestimate how damaging this would be to me."
"Do I? I think not. Even if you escaped imprisonment--"
"I am perfectly capable of that!"
"Yes, but your position here protects you, does it not? I don't believe you wish to serve the Dark Lord full time. Confined in a large area with apparition blocks and Dumbledore watching you, you must evade many odious and humiliating duties."
Snape's face was a mask now. Draco pressed on.
"And consider Jeannette's feelings when she learns that the man who failed to protect her engaged in similar sport with a helpless boy. Her family is unaligned, you know; Potter is not natural prey in her mind. Indeed, that sentiment is on the decline throughout our house, now that Potter is occasionally present there."
"He took it willingly!" Snape protested, his eyes flicking towards Harry for a minute and then falling nervously away.
"Indeed. But for me, not for you."
"You offered him, you brat!"
"True, and that would be hard to conceal. But I will get in so much less trouble than you would that I am willing to endure it." Draco shrugged. "The scandal will be much greater when it was one of his professors. Everyone will speculate wildly as to what else you might have done in the past. And the headmaster is fond of Harry; he may not stop at firing you and bringing charges."
By now, Snape was pale, and Harry's amusement had waned. Draco was bullying Snape, and using him to do it, and it really wasn't fair. He had known what would happen, approximately. He looked anxiously at Snape, but the man wouldn't meet his eyes.
Instead, Snape was focusing entirely on Draco. "I can't," he said. "What you want just isn't possible."
"Really, professor?" Draco drawled. "I think it is."
"You forget that both Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore have Mr. Weasley's original statement -- that Potter was actively looking for a violation potion! Even if I say I am satisfied that he had nothing to do with the matter under investigation, he will need to account for himself!
"We could tell the truth," Harry suggested. Both of them looked scornfully at him. It was almost a relief, after the way Snape had been avoiding his eyes.
"The truth would still get you into considerable trouble, Harry," Draco explained patiently. "You did buy it and use it, and you broke into Slytherin to do so."
"And as you are of age, we certainly could not keep a conviction out of the news," Snape added.
"Oh. I suppose." Harry thought about it more. "Um ... it still lets on that I bought it, but what if it was a scavenger hunt?"
"What?"
"What if Draco and I had a list? A contest of who could get the most of a set of difficult things? Say ... a violation potion and some sort of Muggle drug, to start with."
"Where would I get a Muggle drug?" Draco asked scornfully.
"Exactly why I'd suggest it, after you suggested an illegal potion, right?" Harry grinned. "Not that I know how to get one either, but I could find out more easily than you."
Snape looked almost impressed. "It has potential. Both of you are that foolish in your rivalry."
"An item from Malfoy Manor," Draco said, ignoring Snape to focus on Harry.
"Oh, I can do that!" Harry crowed. Dobby would certainly do. "Something that belonged to the Marauders," he countered.
"Who?"
Snape's face twisted in a sneer. "A band of Gryffindor thugs."
"My family legacy, to balance yours," Harry clarified. "And it is possible, Draco. Snape might even point you in the right direction.
"Makeup and knickers from a girl who doesn't like you," Draco suggested.
Harry glanced around the dimly lit room, hoping to see something that would give him an idea. He didn't, but.... "Personal property stolen from your head of house. You can give it back afterwards."
Draco laughed. "Demon," he said, with a shiver of pleasure. "I think that's enough, given their level of difficulty. Oh -- but I have a bonus item!"
"Oh?"
"Get the other to apologize to you in public."
Harry laughed. "Brilliant."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and nodded sharply. "I think that will do. With an end date of the first of February?"
"So long?" Harry shrugged. "Fine."
"Well, it explains why we don't have most of them yet. Unless you want to go and nick something from the assistant Head." Draco looked sidelong at Snape. "Professor?"
"It is imbecilic." He scowled. "Which makes it all the more believable. And it may still need to go before a court, since Potter actually bought the damn brew --"
"Couldn't we just say he'd intended to, but was still researching?"
Harry snorted. "And then what if Lennox gives up his customer list? No, better say that I bought two doses and you confiscated and destroyed them."
"Evidence, Potter."
"All right, confiscated. Don't tell me you can't brew replacements."
Harry expected Snape to say that his would be better, but instead, the professor was regarding him intently.
"Lennox?"
"Oh, yeah. That was what I wanted to say before we left last time. You never asked who sold it to me."
"I had assumed," Snape said slowly, his voice dangerous, "a supplier in Hogsmeade."
"Um, no. Ninian Lennox, a Ravenclaw seventh year."
Snape swore. "Had you not considered what others might be doing with this potion?"
Shamed, Harry reddened. "I think I'd been, uh, trying not to." He swallowed. "Sorry."
"And having your little game was more important than the safety of your fellow students," Snape spat.
"I hadn't thought about it! And how could you not know? I didn't have to ask around much."
"I had no idea that someone in the school--"
"You've just been assuming--"
"I asked the first two students whom I interviewed, and both of them told me the same location in Hogsmeade." Snape's face twisted. "After that, yes, I assumed. I will have to call two others back ... and Lennox."
Draco cleared his throat. He was noticeably pink, even in the dim light. "So. Harry bought two doses and you confiscated them."
Snape waved a hand in dismissal, as if the matter was inconsequential. "Yes. Very well. He will need to be charged, and it may still make the news, but both of you will be considered to be guilty of nothing more than appalling judgment." He scowled. "Fabricate whatever evidence you wish, and we will meet in the morning, before breakfast, to coordinate tales.
"Now, you are dismissed. Both of you!"
In the corridor, Draco leaned close. "Anyone else would have said 'thank you,'" he confided, and Harry laughed.
They parted ways at the stairs, having already settled the wording of the list to fit with Harry's questioning of Ron, and Harry made the long climb up to Gryffindor by himself. He was tired, and wanted sleep -- washing, he thought, could wait until morning, even if he probably had Snape's sweat, and worse, all over him in addition to Draco's.
All thought of sleep disappeared when he stepped through the portrait hole. It was late, and the Common Room was nearly empty. There was a small group of fifth years studying at one of the tables, and -- alone by the fire -- Ron Weasley.
In a burst of indignation, Harry marched over. He stopped in front of Ron, crossing his arms over his chest as his erstwhile best friend looked up.
"I'm offended." His words came out low and harsh. Ron scowled in response.
"What, that I'd tell?" Ron challenged.
"That you think I'd DO such a thing."
"I don't know what you'd do!" Ron shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.
"I HAVEN'T CHANGED!" Startled by the force of his own shout, Harry sucked a long breath in and forced himself to let it out slowly. "I haven't," he repeated sulkily.
"You killed people."
"Because I had to! It wasn't sport, some twisted idea of pleasure."
"You certainly looked pleased."
"I was pleased you were alive! That you and Hermione and Neville were alive." Harry sank down onto the sofa. "There wasn't room for much else."
"Look," Ron said, sounding reasonable. "Six months ago you would have said you wouldn't do that."
Startled, Harry straightened on the couch. "I would not!" he retorted. Ron looked as incredulous as Harry felt, and Harry gestured at the windows. "There's a war on, in case you haven't noticed. I'd always assumed I'd have to kill someone someday. Voldemort, at least."
"You... you can't mean that!"
"I do!" Harry rubbed his forehead. "It was almost a relief to get it over with, at first, but then there was you, acting like I'm sick, and Neville treating me like a hero...." He looked away. Peripherally, he was still aware of Ron sitting across from him. For a while, both of them were silent.
"You were out late again." The comment was tentative, rather than accusing.
Harry snorted. "Yeah, but with Snape, this time. Much less fun."
"I thought he'd talked to you this morning."
"And wanted to again. Actually, he didn't believe all of what I said this morning, so I had to get Draco to back me up."
He realized what he was saying as he said it, but it was too late to stop. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up. Ron was staring, open-mouthed, at him.
"Draco?" Ron repeated weakly.
"Yeah."
"Since when are you on a first name basis with Malfoy?'
Harry shrugged. "Since I started fucking him?"
"Fuck-- Malfoy?"
"Yeah."
Another, longer silence passed before Ron managed to find his voice, and even then, it came out weakly. "Didn't know you were bent."
Harry shrugged again, the movement more forced, this time. "Not more than half. And no reason you would know -- I didn't notice till this year, and it's not like we've been talking, is it?"
"Wait a moment." Ron's eyes narrowed. "When I told you about the Slytherin girl... You were worried. I could tell."
"You just said 'pregnant.' And I have had sex with two of the Slytherin girls, but I was careful and they were careful, and anyway, it was too recently, but I did stop and figure that out, because you were acting like I should know, or something."
"So you're not always with Malfoy."
"Oh, he was there. It was, um, a group thing. They came by when we were at it, and, well...." Harry shrugged again, and laughed nervously. "Um, you want details?"
"If Malfoy was there?" Ron looked positively green. "No."
"Well, no details then. But they weren't asleep. Not in the slightest!"
"You asked for the potion," Ron said stubbornly.
"Yeah, but...." He ought to practice his story, Harry decided. He shifted in the chair. "It was a scavenger hunt."
"A what?"
"A scavenger hunt. That was one of the things Draco had added, because I'd need to figure out what it was and then find out how to get it, right? And I did, but I didn't use it. Though I'd been thinking I might, on Draco, because he might actually get off on that having been done to him -- he's sort of strange, like that." Harry shrugged. "But since Snape confiscated it...."
"You know," Ron said slowly, "if you're having Malfoy, not to mention with additions, you can't really say you haven't changed."
"I see your point," Harry admitted, "but he's changed more. Really, with me, I think it's just discovering sex -- or rather, sex with someone who likes to be ... overpowered? A little? Overpowered, but in charge, I think; he thinks he's in control. I don't, but I don't argue it."
"Don't want to hear it!" Ron said quickly, lifting his hands in front of his face, and Harry couldn't keep from laughing.
"All right. Time for bed anyway, I think." He glanced over at Ron. "Sleep, I mean."
"Stow it, Potter!"
"Okay." To Harry's delight, Ron didn't sound hostile. It was still "Potter," but maybe they'd made some progress.
They went up the stairs together, and then Harry went off to get ready for bed. Brushing his teeth, he found himself wondering what had been in his mouth that afternoon. He didn't want to speculate. He really needed to watch Draco's memory, so he would know, but there were other things to do first -- check the list that Draco had made, and sign it, and talk to Snape again, and then talk to Hermione, because she must be speculating herself in circles over his inclusion as a suspect. When he settled into bed and caught the foreign scents on his skin, he was afraid that distaste and uncertainty would keep him awake, but exhaustion was with him, and he dropped off before he could summon the will to check the clock.
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