Posted originally on the

Archive of Our Own

at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/4039174

.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:

Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter

,

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

,

Hermione

Granger/Ron Weasley

,

Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas

Character:

Harry Potter

,

Draco Malfoy

,

Hermione Granger

,

Ron Weasley

,

Seamus Finnigan

,

Dean Thomas

,

Ginny Weasley

,

Pansy Parkinson

,

Blaise Zabini

Additional Tags:

Masturbation

,

Erotic Dreams

,

Kissing

,

French Kissing

,

Arousal

,

Oral

Sex

,

Blow Job

Stats:

Published: 2015-05-30 Completed: 2015-06-20 Chapters: 4/4 Words:
10459

The Name on Your Forehead

by

Kiarawolf

Summary

The Weasley twin’s latest invention, a glitter-bomb that causes the name of your crush to

appear across your forehead, wrecks havoc among the students of Hogwarts. As usual,

Harry’s the one who bears the brunt of it.

Excerpt: Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he comes to a stop, only a few paces from Harry. ‘I

wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ he spits. ‘After all, your whole face is one big spell-

gone-wrong, isn’t it, scarhead?’

Harry ignores the insult, opting to change the topic instead. ‘So, whose name is it then,

Malfoy?’ He asks, and as soon as the question is out Malfoy’s eyes slide from his and a

glorious red blush creeps up his neck. ‘Someone embarrassing, I bet. McGonagall?

Madam Pomfrey? Your Father?’ That last one might have been going a little too far,

Harry thinks, but really, he just couldn’t resist.

He’s never been able to resist when it comes to Malfoy.

Notes

Characters belong to J.K.Rowling

No profit is being made

See the end of the work for more

notes

Chapter One: In the Potions Classroom

Harry is crouched under his desk, searching fruitlessly for a pair of dropped newt eyes, when it

happens. The potions classroom is, with a gleeful bang, suddenly filled with a cloud of sparkling

pink mist.

‘Stay down, Harry!’ Ron shouts, but Harry barely hears him over the cries of the other students as

they scramble for cover.

‘WHO DID THIS,’ bellows Snape, his distinctive voice cutting through the kafuffle. In the wake

of his anger, the class falls quiet.

No one seems inclined to answer. ‘I’ll try that again, shall I,’ Snape snarls, and then, each word

sounded out carefully, he asks: ‘Who. Did. This?’

From his sheltered position under the table, Harry’s knees are starting to hurt. While the rest of

the class continues to avoid answering Snape, Harry watches the mist settling slowly, collecting

itself in a thin coat on every surface; be that heads or desks or books.

Or caldrons. Harry winces as he hears as series of small explosions bursting from various ends of

the room, the pink glitter obviously reacting badly with the Pepper-up they’d been almost done

brewing. But there isn’t too much of a reaction from either Snape or the rest of his classmates, so

he assumes that the eruptions aren’t overly large or dangerous.

‘Fine,’ Snape finally spits out as the silence draws on and the dust continues to sparkle. ‘You can

all clean the room together, then. Detention to anyone who’s section is left… dirty.’ And he turns

with a dramatic swish of his cloak and slips into a side room. Presumably he’s gone to get the

glitter out of his hair.

Fragmented chatter immediately breaks out, but Hermione raises her voice above the panic:

‘Listen everybody, we have two minutes exactly before this glitter bomb takes effect, so if we all

pull together and work really hard, we can – ’

‘Well you heard Hermione,’ Ron interrupts in a rattled voice, ‘Let’s go people, let’s go!’

The class wastes no time in following his instructions, promptly flourishing their wands and

muttering cleaning spells in an effort to combat the pink particles coating the room.

Harry decides the newt eyes are a lost cause. ‘Do you think I can come up, Ron?’ He asks.

‘Dunno, mate,’ Ron replies over the frantic sound of books thumping shut and pink dust being

vanished. ‘I think you’d better wait until it’s all cleaned up.’

‘Good call,’ Harry agrees happily. He sits back on his heels and watches, from under the shelter of

the bench, the rest of the classroom.

As usual this year (and every other year), his eyes are pulled in one direction. Towards Draco

Malfoy. The pale, pointy git is a fluster of robes and spells in the back corner of the room. His thin

mouth is suspiciously quiet, and every so often he reaches up and smooths his fringe – usually a

glowing blond but today a sparkling rose colour, thanks to the glitter bomb – down over his

forehead. Harry watches as Malfoy finishes cleaning his section (paying no attention to detail, but

Snape will hardly punish him for it) well ahead of the rest of the room. With the bang of his

potions book being slammed shut, Malfoy gathers his things and hurries towards the door. His

eyes dart around the room as he moves, his hands still patting down his fringe obsessively and his

eyes dart around the room as he moves, his hands still patting down his fringe obsessively and his

feet walking so quickly that he seems on the verge of breaking into a run.

‘Scared of a little glitter, Malfoy?’ Harry can’t help but taunt.

Malfoy pauses on the threshold of the classroom, eyes snapping to meet Harry’s. ‘You’re the one

quivering under a desk, Potter,’ he sneers. Without giving Harry the opportunity to respond, he

flees the classroom entirely.

Git, Harry thinks.

‘Okay Harry, I think I’ve got most of it,’ Ron says nervously, ‘you can probably come up now.’

Harry crawls out from under the desk and stands, taking in the chaos that’s overrun the room.

The pink dust has largely gone, but traces of glitter remain everywhere, and a few students –

mostly Hermione – remain engaged in the cleaning battle, casting charms with one hand and using

the other to cover their foreheads. The other students are in a flurry of packing, some of them

already following Malfoy’s example and hurrying towards the exit, some of them trying to stack

their books, some of them – like Ron – still vainly trying to tackle the stubborn messes in their

caldrons.

Harry is reaching for his wand, intending to help Ron vanish the ruminates of their ruined potion,

when he sees it. Black cursive letters begin to appear on Ron’s forehead; a “H” and an “e” and a

“r” popping up above his right-hand eyebrow in rapid succession.

‘Ron,’ Harry hisses, ‘your head.’

Shrieks and cries erupt around the room as other people also discover that their two minutes of

grace are now up. Ron blushes almost as red as his hair, and his hand flies up to cover his

forehead.

‘You didn’t read it, did you?’ He asks, shuffling his feet.

‘Of course not,’ Harry lies. ‘Come on, lets grab Hermione and get out of here.’

It seems the rest of the class has the very same idea. The room is full of students attempting to

carry their books with one hand while they walk rather quickly towards the door.

By the time Harry has helped Ron gather all his things, removing stray patches of dust along the

way, Hermione has made her way over to them. ‘Honestly boys, anyone would think you’re not

wizards,’ she says. With a sweep of her wand, she adds their belongings to hers, which are

levitating obediently around the level of her blushing face.

‘Thanks, ’mione,’ Ron says, purposely avoiding her eyes.

‘No problem,’ she replies in a rather high voice, pressing her hand harder against her head.

They find themselves the last to leave the classroom, but the corridor outside is by no means

empty.

‘Harry!’ a pair of girls at the other end of the hall cry upon catching sight of him, and, as they push

through the pre-lunch crowd towards him and alert others to his presence, Harry cringes.

‘I’m going to go hide somewhere,’ he tells his friends, looking at Hermione in the hope that she

will offer some better solution than just “hiding.” For a moment it seems that she is too busy

avoiding looking at Ron to pay any attention to his plight, but then she waves her wand and

mutters something under her breath. He feels a tingle as the spell takes effect. ‘Consent charm,’

she informs him. ‘Now no-one can kiss you who you don’t want kissing you.’

‘Brilliant idea, ’mione,’ Ron says. ‘But I still think you’d better run for it, Harry,’ he adds as the

trio watch a Slytherin fourth year with Harry Potter spelt out proudly and plainly on her un-

covered forehead shooting a tripping jinx at the feet of two like-wise branded Hufflepuffs;

evidently in an effort to stop them from reaching Harry before her. ‘Looks like it wasn’t just our

grade that got bombed.’

‘See you at lunch then,’ Harry says, and leaves the pair of them to blush at each other.

He sets off at a run, dodging a group of panicked-looking first years – he’s glad to see that their

foreheads are un-marked – and heading away from the main hall.

‘It’s fourth years and up, this time,’ he hears a third year inform his friend.

‘Do you think any teachers got dusted?’ A Slytherin asks her Hufflepuff companion as Harry

pushes past her.

‘Why isn’t Harry Potter hiding his head?’ A Ravenclaw girl wonders aloud, eyes following him as

he reaches the end of the corridor.

‘HARRY, wait!’ Come the wails of the girls chasing him, but he’s turned the corner and the

corridor before him is empty and there’s a door to his left that seems familiar.

Realising what part of the castle he’s in, Harry grins. He slips inside the door and pulls it shut.

‘Hi Myrtle,’ he says as the muffled sound of running from the corridor outside moves past the

door and then out of his hearing. He’s thrown off the girls, then.

For a moment, it’s quiet in the bathroom, nothing but the glint of sun on the rusting old taps and

the slow drip of a leaking toilet somewhere further in. Compared to the rabid, squealing crowds

outside, it’s peaceful.

And then: ‘She’s not here,’ comes the exasperated reply.

‘Malfoy?’ Harry asks, somewhat baffled.

The git in question steps out from behind the grand circular sink in the middle of the room; the

entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, although Malfoy can’t possible know that.

‘What are you doing in a girl’s bathroom, Potter?’

Harry blinks. ‘Same as you, I guess. Hiding.’

‘I am not hiding,’ Malfoy bristles.

‘Why are you covering up your head, then?’

Malfoy’s lips turn up into a sneer. ‘I have a headache.’

Harry wonders if he should go. He’s successfully evaded the girls, so it wouldn’t be hard now to

slip up to his room and hide in the relative comfort of his bed.

But then Malfoy’s eyes meet his, their gazes locking with an intensity he can’t deny, and Harry

swears the way Malfoy’s lips fall open is just like something out of one of his late-night dreams.

Don’t think about those, Harry tells himself. It’s harder than he expects, though, because now

Malfoy is striding towards him. ‘Get the fuck out, Potter,’ Malfoy orders, and Harry feels the flare

of familiar anger rising in him.

‘So you can cry over your ruined appearance?’

Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he comes to a stop, only a few paces from Harry. ‘I wouldn’t expect

you to understand,’ he spits. ‘After all, your whole face is one big spell-gone-wrong, isn’t it,

scarhead?’

Harry ignores the insult, opting to change the topic instead. ‘So, whose name is it then, Malfoy?’

He asks, and as soon as the question is out Malfoy’s eyes slide from his and a glorious red blush

creeps up his neck. ‘Someone embarrassing, I bet. McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Your Father?’

That last one might have been going a little too far, Harry thinks, but really, he just couldn’t resist.

He’s never been able to resist when it comes to Malfoy.

The other boy looks positively enraged now, nostrils flared and the fingers covering his forehead

digging into the skin there like they want to rip the whole area clean of his face. ‘You really want

to know, Potter?’ He hisses, stepping closer again.

Harry lets him come, drinking in the sight of his soft hair and sharp cheekbones, his aristocratic

stance and burning gaze. ‘Sure.’

Malfoy’s lips part, but he doesn’t answer. Instead he moves forward, closing the final distance

between them. The hand on his forehead drops as he reaches with both hands for Harry’s neck,

pushing his fingers roughly into Harry’s hair and holding his head firmly in place; and then his lips

are colliding with Harry’s, pressing with a forceful warmth.

Harry, his eyes open in shock, watches as the Harry Potter that is written in black, cursive letters

above Malfoy’s eyebrows fades away.

And then Malfoy wrenches his lips away. ‘Tell anyone and I’ll make your life hell, Potter,’ He

sneers, and just like that turns and strides out of the room.

The echoing bang of the slammed door reverberates through the empty space, and Harry mutters

to himself: ‘so just my usual life, then?’

__

‘Hermione, why didn’t you warn me that the charm you did would wear off so quickly? I got

assaulted not ten minutes after you cast it.’

Hermione frowns at first, putting her book aside. Then a small smile appears. ‘By whom were

you “assaulted,” Harry?’

Harry scratches the back of his neck and feels heat crawling up into his cheeks. ‘No one,’ he

mumbles, but he can tell from Hermione’s smug expression that she doesn’t buy the lie. She lets

out a short sigh and then flicks her wrist, casting a privacy charm around them so the small group

of fourth years giggling on the other side of the common room won’t hear their conversation.

‘Look Harry, that charm is supposed to last a full twenty-four hours, and unless you’re saying

there’s something wrong with my spellwork….?’ Valuing his homework assistance, Harry makes

the wise decision to shake his head. ‘Well then,’ Hermione continues, ‘you must have secretly

wanted this person to kiss you.’

Harry blushes, wondering if Ron’s told her about those things he sometimes says in his sleep.

Ron has never understood the significance of “you like that, scarhead?” or “how does this feel,

Potter?” but Harry thinks that Hermione just might.

‘I… maybe,’ he admits, and spends the next few minutes fielding her demands to be told just who

it is.

‘Hold on Hermione,’ he interrupts at one point, ‘has the name on your head disappeared or are

you trusting your fringe to hide it?’

Hermione blushes. ‘Well, I…’

‘Are you going to tell me who you kissed to make it go away, then?’

‘N-no that’s… Well fine then, I’ll leave you alone,’ she finally concedes with a huff.

When Ron walks in, his hair wet from spying on the Hufflepuff’s Quidditch training, his eyes

dart immediately to Hermione.

Harry watches as her blush deepens in colour. ‘I think I know who it is, anyway,’ he laughs.

That night, Harry tries to starve off sleep. He knows that if he sleeps, he’ll dream, and after the

events of today… those dreams will no doubt pay a visit.

The ones in which Malfoy features.

In the Charms Classroom

Chapter Summary

Summary: The Weasley twin’s latest invention, a glitter-bomb that causes the name of

your crush to appear across your forehead, wrecks havoc among the students of

Hogwarts. As usual, Harry’s the one who bears the brunt of it.

Excerpt: Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he comes to a stop, only a few paces from Harry.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ he spits. ‘After all, your whole face is one big

spell-gone-wrong, isn’t it, scarhead?’

Harry ignores the insult, opting to change the topic instead. ‘So, whose name is it

then, Malfoy?’ He asks, and as soon as the question is out Malfoy’s eyes slide from

his and a glorious red blush creeps up his neck. ‘Someone embarrassing, I bet.

McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Your Father?’ That last one might have been going

a little too far, Harry thinks, but really, he just couldn’t resist.

He’s never been able to resist when it comes to Malfoy.

Chapter Notes

All Characters belong to J.K.Rowling

No profit is being made

See the end of the chapter for more

notes

Harry wakes in the middle of the night. Achingly aroused. Still images from his recent dream sit

behind his eyes, showing him over and over again Malfoy with his pointy nose upturned, Malfoy

with his pale lips parting, Malfoy with his rough voice groaning.

Fuck, Harry thinks as he gives into temptation, reaching his hand down into his pants. His

strokes are quick and rough, but that’s the way he imagines Malfoy would do it. That thought

alone – Malfoy sneering at him, whispering “Is this hurting you, Potter?” as his thin fingers tug

and scrape – has him tipping over the edge, and, with a whimper, he comes.

Breakfast starts off as a rather awkward affair. Ron and Hermione can’t look at each other for

two seconds without blushing, and Harry resists the urge to yell at them. Instead he occupies

himself by sneaking glances at the Slytherin table, waiting for Malfoy to arrive.

Most of years four and up are wearing their scarves or their ties around their heads like

bandannas. Evidently, they haven’t yet managed to corner their crushes. And it seems that most of

them have now lost their chance; as Ginny explains to him, Dumbledore has put a strong school-

wide Consent Charm on the students while they all slept. Several girls from various houses look

longingly at Harry, and he and Ginny have fun pulling faces at them until they turn away.

‘Come on Harry, stop mucking around,’ Hermione orders as the hall starts to empty. ‘We’ve got

to get to class.’

Harry chances a final glance at the Slytherin table; still no Malfoy. ‘By Gin,’ he says with a

smile, and she pokes her tongue out at him and crosses her eyes. Trailing behind Ron and

Hermione, he leaves the hall laughing.

__

When the second glitter bomb goes off, Harry is in the middle of trying to transfigure a flower

into a spider (quite a tricky task, especially considering the flower has only six petals, while

spiders are supposed to have eight legs). The pink dust clouds his vision, but thankfully his glasses

stop it from actually getting into his eyes. He can see the shapes of his classmates only vaguely

through the sparkly fog, groaning and cursing and calling out to each other.

‘Enough!’ Calls Mrs. McGonagall, and with a flick of her wand the room’s dust clears away.

Harry looks around, blinking, at his classmates. Hermione is checking for damage to her textbook,

Ron is picking at his ear canal, and Seamus and Dean are exchanging high-fives.

‘You got rid of it? Does this mean we won’t be effected?’ Lavender asks hopefully.

‘No,’ McGonagall relies curtly. ‘You’ll still be… effected. I’ve just cleared up the mess.’ The

groans of disappointment come from all corners of the room. ‘Oh don’t be so despairing,’

McGonagall warns, ‘it’s hardly as if this changes anything for the majority of you.’ Indeed, Harry,

Lavender, Dean, Ron and Hermione are the only ones as of yet not wearing a headband of some

description. Evidently, each of them was somehow lucky enough to be either out of range when

yesterday’s bomb was detonated, or to have managed to kiss the object of their affections in the

time since then. ‘Well now, this is no reason to disrupt lessons. Carry on,’ McGonagall orders, and

the stern look she gives them over the top of her half-moon spectacles leaves no room for

argument.

Despite her instruction “carry on”, Harry sets his wand down with a sigh. He takes off his tie

and, brushing the hair away from his eyes, ties it around his forehead. By the time he thinks to

look for his flower, it’s scuttled halfway across the desk on partially-formed, hairy petal-legs.

He spends the remainder of the lesson trying to catch his spider-flower hybrid, finally cornering it

just as McGonagall calls an end to class.

‘I’ll catch up with you guys,’ he tells Ron and Hermione as they leave the room.

‘Sure mate, see you at lunch,’ Ron replies, and Harry can visibly see his eyes brightening as he

says the word “lunch.”

Harry, bag slung over one shoulder, checks his tie is still in place. By now, a name should have

appeared across his forehead. He’s trying not to think too hard about just whose name it may be.

Lets get to a mirror first, he tells himself. Once it’s confirmed, then you can think about it.

The closest bathrooms are just around the corner, but going to them would require him to

navigate the lunch crowd. Despite the school-wide consent charm, Harry only has to remember

the girls from yesterday chasing him through the corridors before deciding that mingling with the

crowds would not be in his best interests right now.

Suddenly, an idea occurs to him; and, before he can stop to question it or examine it too closely,

he turns towards the other side of the castle and starts moving.

Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom is empty. Walking through the shards of light towards the central

sinks, Harry tries not to be disappointed. Why should he be? It’s not like he was hoping anyone

would be here.

He stops in front of a basin and looks into his own eyes. They’re rather green, lit like the glow of

an Avada Kedavra in this midday light. He reaches a hand up, pushing at where his tie is bound

tight to his forehead. He manages to see the bottom of something written in black – the scoop of

an “o,” perhaps? Or the tail of a “y”? – before the door to the bathroom is wrenched open, the

sudden noise echoing between the stalls.

Tugging the tie back down, Harry turns to face the intruder.

‘Malfoy,’ he snarls. ‘Come at me before the consent charm kicks in, have you?’

‘Don’t gall me, Potter,’ the other boy spits, striding into the room with his dark robes billowing.

‘Everyone knows old Dumble-Dumb’s charm is two-weeks strong.’ And then, changing the topic:

‘pink dust finally got you, did it? Come on then, show us who it is.’

‘Fuck off,’ Harry mutters.

For a moment the two stare at each other, guarded eyes sweeping over faces and stances and

expressions. Harry finds his gaze drawn to the slight curl of Malfoy’s lip, and the view it gives

him of Malfoy’s teeth, shiny with saliva and gleaming in the sunlight.

‘Actually,’ Harry blurts out before he can stop himself. ‘Maybe we can help each other out.’

Malfoy’s eyes immediately narrow, but Harry forges ahead. ‘I’m thinking that I should… er, get in

some practice, you know? And that you could do with getting rid of the… well, the…’ Harry

gestures with both hands to the ties that are wrapped around both their foreheads.

Malfoy regards him quietly. Then he steps forward, saying: ‘You mean to say you’ve never

kissed anyone before, Potter?’

‘Apart from yesterday? Er… there was one incident with a girl, but she was… well she was

crying, so I think I could do with some improvement, you know?’

Malfoy takes another step closer so that he’s standing right in Harry’s personal space. ‘So you

think kissing me will give you – how did you put it? – experience?’

Harry finds himself unable to look away from Malfoy’s grey gaze. ‘Yes.’

Malfoy brings his face closer, breathing hot air onto Harry’s lips. ‘I want to hear you say it,

Potter.’

‘Um. Say what?’ Harry worries he is blinking too much. He can feel heat creeping up the back of

his neck. He hopes his mumbled reply actually made sense.

Malfoy draws out every word as he whispers: ‘Tell me what you want me to do.’

‘I…’ Harry swallows. ‘I want you to kiss me.’

Malfoy’s eyes screw shut, a pained expression flirting across his face too quickly for Harry to

properly make out. And then Malfoy leans forward, and tilts his head, and presses his lips against

Harry’s.

The world falls away. The sun, the bathroom, the dripping of the taps; it’s all gone, replaced by

the warmth of Malfoy’s lips on his, the feel of Malfoy’s soft hair brushing against his neck, the

kiss of Malfoy’s eyelashes moving on his cheek.

And Harry opens his mouth and grabs Malfoy’s bottom lip between his, sucking and releasing

and holding back a groan and then Malfoy’s tongue is inside his mouth and he tilts his head back

to invite it further in and reveals in the sensations.

Malfoy places a light hand on his waist, holding him steady, and Harry feels acutely each one of

Malfoy’s long fingers as the initially hesitant grip tightens. And then Malfoy’s other hand is

suddenly in his hair, it’s purchase awkward because of the tie knotted there, and that feels amazing

too.

Everything feels amazing. Perhaps too much so; as their kisses gain confidence, Harry can feel

heat gathering in his navel, a ball of pleasure that’s sinking down…

Bloody hell, he thinks, I can’t be hard already…

Malfoy tugs at his waist, trying to pull him closer in, and Harry, thinking about what Malfoy

might be able to feel if their bodies were to be pressed against each other, flinches away. He

pushes against the other boy with both hands, sending him stumbling against the sink.

Malfoy catches himself on the basin and turns his head to grin at Harry. ‘Bit much for you,

Potter? Couldn’t handle it?’

‘Go to hell, Malfoy.’

Righting himself, Malfoy turns to the mirror. Swiftly, he tugs his Slytherin tie off from around his

forehead. The skin there is smooth and blank, not an inked initial of Harry Potter’s name to be

found.

‘I think you should know that I still hate you, Potter,’ Malfoy says, eyes continuing to admire his

own reflection in the mirror. ‘I don’t want you having any ideas about… feelings, or some such

nonsense.’

‘Uh, yeah, sure,’ Harry stutters. He tugs his robes around himself, trying to conceal his groin area

in a way that he hopes is casual.

‘Well, good then.’ Malfoy, without so much as nodding at Harry, begins to stride towards the

door. With his hand on the knob, he pauses. ‘Even though it’s probably the she-weasel, I do still

feel sorry for whichever girl you’re about to go accost, Potter. You really are a terrible kisser.’

And then he’s gone.

Harry may not have realised it yet, but he’s been watching Malfoy his entire schooling life. He’s

watched him concentrating in potions, he’s watched him picking the pulp out of his pumpkin juice

at breakfast, he’s watched him complementing his friends and sneering insults at first-years. Harry

has seen Malfoy’s quiet pride after getting a question right in class, Harry has seen Malfoy’s eyes

flushing wide with anger, Harry has seen Malfoy’s lip quivering with fear. Over the years, Harry’s

gained a gut feeling for when Malfoy is lying and when he is telling to truth. And something about

the tone of Malfoy’s parting remark makes Harry think it was a lie.

So then … does that mean he think’s I’m a good kisser?

Shaking the thought away, Harry moves over to the mirror, standing before the same basin that

Malfoy had been not very long ago. He reaches up, intending to lift his tie… but his hand freezes,

something tight twisting in his gut. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he asked to be put

in Griffindor, and wrenches the tie off of his head.

There’s nothing there. His head is as blank as Malfoy’s was.

Shit, he thinks.

__

‘So, how was lunch?’ Harry slides into a chair next to Ron and Hermione, being careful not to

scrape the chair legs too loudly and disturb the quiet of the library.

‘Terrible,’ Hermione moans, ‘we had a big group of girls asking where you were. Whoever

decided to bomb all the grades together really didn’t think it through.’

‘Did you eat, Harry?’ Ron asks.

‘Er… yeah, I grabbed something from the kitchens thanks. Hermione, who do you think is doing

this? Isn’t it a… security risk or something? I mean, we’ve had two bombs in as many days and no

one knows where they’re coming from.’

‘I don’t know Harry, maybe we should focus on our upcoming exams? You know, the ones you

haven’t even begun preparing for?’ Hermione answers with a pointed look. ‘I don’t think there’s

anything dangerous behind a bit of pink glitter, really. It’s probably just someone’s stupid idea of a

prank.’

Lavender, sitting with Zach Smith a few tables away, leans over to join the conversation: ‘I

wouldn’t know about that Hermione, didn’t you hear the requirement’s changed again? Next time

that bomb goes off, it’s bound to be something rancy, isn’t it? I mean, to start with, when Fred and

George trialed the product last year, it was funny; all those pink-coated first and second years

holding hands, and then that second time it went off, when they had to kiss each other to make the

names go away– ’

Hermione looked rather uncomfortable. ‘Yes Lavender, we all know what happened.’

‘Oh? Do you know how to cure this particular round then? The usual peck-on-the-lips doesn’t

work, you know.’

‘I expect most people will wait out the week until the dust expires,’ Hermione explains. ‘No-one’s

obliged to do anything… untoward.’

Lavender just laughs. ‘So basically you’re saying that you don’t know, then?’

‘It’s snogging,’ Harry blurts out, surprised at himself.

‘Good guess, Harry,’ Lavender smiles. ‘But wrong.’

‘Oh just tell us already,’ Hermione snaps.

Lavender leans her chair a little closer. ‘Arousal,’ she whispers, ‘you have to be aroused while

kissing them.’

Bloody hell, Harry swears to himself, fighting down his own sudden flare of arousal at the

knowledge that Malfoy must have been hard during their little encounter.

That confirmed it, then. There would be no escaping the dreams tonight.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! Comment below or send me an

ask on tumblr: kiarawolf.tumblr.com/ask

In The Great Hall

Chapter Summary

The Weasley twin’s latest invention, a glitter-bomb that causes the name of your

crush to appear across your forehead, wrecks havoc among the students of Hogwarts.

As usual, Harry’s the one who bears the brunt of it.

Excerpt: Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he comes to a stop, only a few paces from Harry.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ he spits. ‘After all, your whole face is one big

spell-gone-wrong, isn’t it, scarhead?’

Harry ignores the insult, opting to change the topic instead. ‘So, whose name is it

then, Malfoy?’ He asks, and as soon as the question is out Malfoy’s eyes slide from

his and a glorious red blush creeps up his neck. ‘Someone embarrassing, I bet.

McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Your Father?’ That last one might have been going

a little too far, Harry thinks, but really, he just couldn’t resist.

He’s never been able to resist when it comes to Malfoy.

Chapter Notes

All characters belong to J.K.Rowling

No profit is being made!

See the end of the chapter for more

notes

Harry had been right. The dreams that had been plaguing him all year – the ones featuring

Malfoy and little else – hit in full force that night.

And the git’s presence in his mind didn’t retreat when the sun came up. Over the next few days,

Harry’s every waking (and wanking) thought is full of… well, blond hair and pale lips and cocky,

arrogant smirks. The thoughts consume him in the shower, they vie for his attention during

conversations, and they distract him in class. Especially if it is a class he shares with Malfoy.

In Potions he can hide his arousal under the table… but in Care of Magical Creatures, out in the

open, feeding flobber worms and listening to Malfoy’s never ending tirade of insults against the

boring, slimy creatures… well, at one point Harry is forced to hide behind a giant pumpkin,

flushed with an undeniable heat and wishing Malfoy would just stop talking. Or at least stop

talking like that, all aristocratic “o”s and snobbish tittering, teasing Harry without even trying to.

Or is he trying? Harry has caught the blond git, once or twice, staring in his direction. He looks

away as soon as Harry spots him, of course, and Harry is left wondering if he’d just imagined it…

After several long days of such treatment, Harry becomes so wound up that he mentions it to

Hermione during class.

‘Honestly Harry?’ She says, turning to him with a surprised expression. The flower she has just

turned into a spider (Harry is still having trouble with his) takes the opportunity to scuttle away.

‘What?’ He asks defensively, trapping her spider with a wave of his wand.

‘Thanks,’ she mutters, turning it back into a dandelion with one pointed swish, ‘I just… You’re

asking if I’ve noticed that Malfoy keeps looking at you? Harry, have you seriously not noticed this

before? Malfoy’s always looking at you.’

‘He… he is?’

‘Yes, Harry. Honestly, you have the observation skills of a tree stump if you’ve only just figured

that out.’

‘Well… Maybe he only looks when I’m not looking?’

‘When you’re not looking at him, you mean?’

‘What? I don’t look at Malfoy!’

Hermione laughs. ‘Keep your voice down, Harry. And yeah, you do. Back me up here, Ron.’

Ron looks up from his flower; it has one shinny eye and some slight fur on its petals.

Considering the end goal is a spider, Harry suspects that Ron isn’t really trying. ‘Er… You do

look at Malfoy an awful lot, mate.’

‘I do not,’ Harry counters, indignant.

Ron and Hermione exchange a look. ‘Okay Harry,’ they say.

‘I don’t,’ Harry mutters to himself, scowling and nudging his dandelion with his wand.

And yet, now that he is aware of it, Harry finds that he actually does. He catches himself glaring

at Malfoy across the Great Hall at breakfast the next morning, and is startled to realise that he can

completely predict the other boy’s convoluted breakfast routine. First Malfoy will pour a precise

half-cup of pumpkin juice, then spread two spoons of jam onto the least-cooked piece of toast he

can find (a selection process that sometimes takes several minutes). After eating the toast and

drinking the juice in alternating mouthfuls, he will proceed to pour a second half-glass of juice and

(on a new plate) assemble a selection of fruits. Harry realises that he can tell the exact mood that

Malfoy is in each morning based on which fruits he choses. For the past few days, it has been

pineapple pieces and slices of green apple; sour fruit for a sour mood.

When did I learn all of this about Malfoy, Harry asks himself, how long have I been watching

him… without even realising it?

He’s learnt enough to know the route Malfoy takes to class, to know which robe is Malfoy’s

favourite (the one with silver trimming, several years old now and slightly too short from his new

height), to know from the position of Malfoy’s shoulders whether he is paying attention in class or

whether he is daydreaming, to know from the colour of his socks if he is planning on flying that

afternoon or not (black for staying in the castle, brown for Quidditch practice).

‘I think I know too much about Malfoy,’ Harry tells Hermione one rainy afternoon. They are in

the library and he’s just witnessed Pansy Parkinson’s failed attempt to make Malfoy eat a smoking

butterscotch; usually his favourite type of sweet. Harry doesn’t need to see the worried look on

Pansy’s face to know the state of Malfoy’s mood.

Hermione looks at him with what Ron (who is currently down at the greenhouse, helping

Neville) calls her “thinking face”.

‘What?’ Harry asks.

‘Harry… who was it – I mean you don’t have to tell me but – who’s the person who kissed you,

after that first bomb went off? And after the second, I’m guessing.’

Harry is still wearing his tie – as are the majority of the students in the upper levels – even though

his forehead had no name on it. Admitting that the name is gone means admitting who kissed it

away… which is not something he is willing to do yet, even to Hermione.

‘No one, I already told you,’ he mumbles, turning back to his books.

Hermione takes a deep breath. ‘I’ll tell you who I kissed,’ she offers.

‘That’s hardly much of a trade, Hermione,’ he counters with a pointed look.

She drops her voice. ‘What did Ron tell you? He promised he wouldn’t –’

‘Calm down, he didn’t say anything. It’s just pretty obvious. I mean you two haven’t been able to

look each other in the eye since then, so…’

Hermione begins blushing quite heavily. ‘Yes, well, I guess that’s true,’ she stutters.

‘Wait a minute… how come you’ve still got ties on, then?’

‘Ah… well… I kissed him, you see? And I thought that’s what made his name go away but I…

er… sort of ran away afterwards? And he could have kissed someone else between then and when

I saw him next, so I’m not sure if he likes me back, you know? And in a couple of days the

charm’s going to run out and what if I don’t see his forehead before then? How will I know for

sure, Harry?’

‘Er… you’re over thinking it, I’d say.’

Hermione just frowns.

‘Potter,’ a voice says from somewhere behind him, slick and arrogant and full of contempt.

Harry whips himself around. From the way Malfoy is tapping his forefinger against his crossed

arms, Harry can tell immediately that the other boy is spoiling for a fight.

‘Do you need help with your homework, Malfoy?’ Hermione asks in a slightly condescending,

innocent tone.

‘As if you have anything to teach me, mudblood,’ is Malfoy’s snarled reply.

Harry is out of his chair in an instant. ‘Say that again and I’ll make you eat your words, ferret.’

Malfoy takes a step closer, eyes hard and narrowed. Harry watches him open his mouth slowly,

wondering for a short moment if they are going to kiss again… he allows himself to remember the

otherworldly feeling those lips can give him… ‘Mud. Blood,’ Malfoy whispers, his eyes un-

straying from Harry’s despite the fact that the insult is apparently directed at Hermione.

‘Harry, don’t –’ He hears her say, and across the room he swear he hears Pansy shouting

something similar at “Draco,” but he doesn’t listen to either of them.

He lunges forward, fists clenched, and tackles Malfoy to the ground.

They go down in a flurry of robes, Malfoy’s head hitting upon the ground and rebounding back

up into Harry’s. Their foreheads collide violently, but even more painful are the pinching fingers

and kicking feet; Harry’s shins are smarting and Malfoy’s sides are stinging. They push against

each other, rolling into different positions as they wrestle for the upper hand. Harry works his arm

behind Malfoy’s back, and reaches up towards his head…

As his fingers wrap around the trailing length of Malfoy’s tie, Harry feels Malfoy’s position

above him shift slightly; no doubt the intent is to lock his leg in at another angle, but all Harry is

aware of is the result.

Malfoy is… aroused. And his groin area is now situated directly over Harry’s. The feel of his

rival’s hard length laying along side his own is at once exhilarating and paralyzing.

‘Please, Potter, don’t,’ Malfoy whimpers.

Harry tugs the tie somewhat, enough to cause it to slip slightly up Malfoy’s forehead. There’s

nothing there, they both know that, but Harry’s betting Malfoy hasn’t explained his blank

forehead to Pansy yet. ‘You’d do it to me, you wanker –’

He is interrupted by a binding charm that renders him completely immobile. Malfoy, similarly

frozen, is swiftly levitated away from him.

‘That’s a detention to both of you,’ Madam Pince says, releasing the spell but not lowering her

wand. ‘Shouting and fighting in the library, my goodness, the audacity of students these days.’

Harry isn’t surprised to see Hermione nodding along next to Pince.

Dusting himself off and hoping that his robes are sufficient to cover his lingering erection, Harry

stands up. He can feel Malfoy’s glare burning into him, but choses to ignore it.

__

‘Nice, Harry,’ Ron says upon learning of his fight with Malfoy in the library.

‘Ron! Harry got a detention,’ Hermione is quick to point out.

‘Uh, yeah, that was… pretty stupid, mate,’ Ron backtracks. ‘Really reckless thing to do, you

know?’

‘I’m sorry Ron,’ Harry grins. ‘I’ll try harder not to disappoint you in the future, yeah?’

Despite Hermione’s eye roll, Ron bursts into laughter.

‘You have a really embarrassing laugh, Ron,’ Ginny points out, falling into step with the trio on

their route to the Great Hall.

‘Hey Ginny,’ they all say.

‘Are you guys as keen as I am to get this stupid tie off your heads tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, I hate how much it’s mucking up my hair,’ Harry jokes, to the amusement of both

Weasleys.

‘So just the usual, then, Harry?’ Ginny teases, and expertly dodges the elbow that he pokes her

way as they enter the Great Hall.

They find seats on the Gryffindor table and settle in. Soon Dean and Seamus join them, followed

shortly by Neville, and the conversation turns to their upcoming exams.

Harry is only half-listening. He keeps his eyes on the door, waiting for the moment when Malfoy

will appear. Considering Malfoy never comes to dinner before Hufflepuff has run out of bread

rolls (Harry has no idea whether there is a causality between those two events), and Harry has just

seen a third year nab the last one, the pointy git should be turning up…

Right about now. Harry grins to himself as he watches Malfoy stride into the Great Hall, pausing

in the entrance with his nose hoisted high. Their eyes meet, and Harry feels something in his navel

twitch.

And then a gleeful bang fills his hears, and pink dust fills his vision, and the Great Hall becomes

full of shrieks and sobs and shouting.

From the high table comes a booming spell from McGonagall; the same one she performed less

than a week ago in the charms classroom. The dust clears, vanished as though it never was.

Indeed, from Harry’s perspective, the room looks exactly as it did before those few seconds of all-

consuming pink… with one notable exception.

Draco Malfoy’s face is now wearing an expression of murderous, undirected rage.

__

‘I think Dumbledore’s threat of expulsion is going a little too far,’ Hermione remarks a few

minutes later.

Ron looks up from his plate; brief exposure to the dust has caused some of the food to loose its

flavor, but that hasn’t stopped Ron from eating it. ‘Course you’d say that, Hermione, you think

dying’s better than being expelled. Personally, getting kicked out of here is the least whoever’s

setting off those bombs deserves.’

‘We should hunt them down!’ Ginny adds, ‘I’m sure if we sent and owl to Fred and George,

they’d be able to pull up a client list – ’

‘Dean,’ Hermione interrupts, turning to where Seamus and Dean are sitting, further down the

table. ‘Aren’t you going to put a tie on? The two minutes are almost up.’

Dean shrugs. ‘No need, the pink dust doesn’t affect me.’

‘Really?’ Hermione looks surprised. ‘Do you have some kind of shield charm or – ’

‘No no, nothing like that. It’s just that the dust works on romantic attraction, and I’m aromantic,

you see?’

‘Ah I see.’ Hermione nods. ‘Well, it’s getting late, I’m going to head up to bed. Coming, Ginny?’

As the girls get out of their seats and grab their books, Ron looks from them to his plate and back

again.

‘I’ll stay with you, mate,’ Harry says, half an eye on Malfoy. The git is slumped over the Slytherin

table, pushing his food about his plate and scowling at Pansy’s attempts of conversation.

When the girls leave, Harry turns to Dean. ‘Are you sure it’s romantic attraction, that the dust

works on? It’s just, I mean I don’t want to go into details but… someone got my name and told me

that there were defiantly no… uh, no feelings.’

Dean frowns. ‘I don’t know who told you that – ’

‘Yeah Harry, thanks for keeping me in the loop,’ Ron interjects.

‘ – but it’s not true. I helped Fred and George with the trails, they specifically designed it to pick

up romantic attraction and nothing else.’ He and Seamus exchange a look that Harry doesn’t want

to think too much about. ‘I promise you that sexual, aesthetic, sensual attraction… none of that

affects whose name you get. It’s all just romantic.’

Harry thinks about Dean’s answer while Ron shovels down the last of his food. Obviously Fred

and George got the calculations wrong. There’s no way this thing between me and Malfoy is…

like that.

At that same moment, Malfoy looks up. The glare he gives Harry is vicious. Definitely not like

that, Harry thinks, averting his eyes.

‘You ready to go yet, Ron?’ He asks.

As they walk through the castle back up to their dorm room, Harry finds himself experiencing a

bit of deja-vu. Ron asks relentless questions, trying to figure out who Harry had been referring to

over dinner. Just like with Hermione, however, he drops the subject as soon as Harry turns the

tables onto him.

‘Lets just go to bed, yeah Harry?’ Ron suggests. ‘Maybe tomorrow we’ll wake up and our

foreheads will be as empty as… I dunno, as empty as our potions essays.’

They have no such luck. After a fitful sleep, Harry finds himself getting out of bed far before

everyone else. He uses the privacy of the bathroom to check his forehead; the name looking back

at him is as unapologetic and as eye-catching as the person to whom it belongs.

Draco Malfoy, his forehead reads.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to comment :D

In the Dead Girl's Bathroom

Chapter Summary

The Weasley twin’s latest invention, a glitter-bomb that causes the name of your

crush to appear across your forehead, wrecks havoc among the students of Hogwarts.

As usual, Harry’s the one who bears the brunt of it.

Excerpt: Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he comes to a stop, only a few paces from Harry.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ he spits. ‘After all, your whole face is one big

spell-gone-wrong, isn’t it, scarhead?’

Harry ignores the insult, opting to change the topic instead. ‘So, whose name is it

then, Malfoy?’ He asks, and as soon as the question is out Malfoy’s eyes slide from

his and a glorious red blush creeps up his neck. ‘Someone embarrassing, I bet.

McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Your Father?’ That last one might have been going

a little too far, Harry thinks, but really, he just couldn’t resist.

He’s never been able to resist when it comes to Malfoy.

Chapter Notes

All characters belong to J.K.Rowling

No profit is being made

See the end of the chapter for more

notes

‘So mate, are you looking forward to your detention with Malfoy tonight?’ Ron asks jokingly as

they settle down for breakfast.

‘Of course not,’ Harry lies. He checks that the tie around his forehead is still in place; an

instinctive action that seems to have developed into a compulsive habit for most of the Hogwarts

students. ‘Hermione, do you know any sticking charms that won’t react with my skin?’

She raises her wand and then seems to reconsider. ‘Ah, no, sorry. Don’t know any.’

‘Well that’s a first,’ Ron remarks. ‘Can we get that in writing please? “Hermione Granger,

Doesn’t Know.” I think I’d like to frame it and put it in my living room.’

‘Oh shut up, Ron,’ Hermione bites.

Harry, as usual, is watching the Slytherin table. Malfoy’s finished his first pumpkin juice and his

obligatory slice of toast… Harry watches as both Pansy and Blaise try to stack Malfoy’s plate with

strawberries and blackberries and slices of watermelon… Malfoy pushes the plate away, grabs a

green apple, and storms out of the Great Hall.

‘Harry,’ Hermione repeats. ‘Are you okay? We’ve been trying to ask if you’re ready to go.’

‘Uh, yeah, sorry. Spaced out, I guess,’ Harry mutters, grabbing his books.

‘You’ve been really distracted lately, Harry. Is everything… is everything okay?’ Hermione asks

as they leave the Great Hall.

‘Yeah mate, this isn’t about… the mysterious girl, is it?’

Harry frowns. ‘What mysterious girl?’

Ron gives him a meaningful look. ‘You know, mate,’ he says, gesturing to Harry’s head.

‘I suspected it was about the person who kissed you,’ agrees Hermione, ‘please won’t you just tell

us who they are?’

Harry can’t help but laugh. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Yes,’ they say.

Before he can think twice about it, he ducks into an alcove. ‘It’s been weird keeping a secret

from you guys,’ he says. ‘But I think you’ll understand why I didn’t share straight away.’

It’s a bit squishy in the alcove, and dark, so Harry accidently elbows Ron in the process of

reaching up to the back of his head. As he starts to undo the knot that’s keeping his tie up, he

pauses. ‘I’ll forgive you if you freak out,’ he tells his friends, ‘because I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t

… but…’

‘Harry,’ Hermione says, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re not going to laugh at you,

whoever it is.’

‘I’m more worried that you’ll vomit,’ Harry replies, and pulls the tie away.

__

‘Well I didn’t expect you to faint on me,’ Harry says to Ron.

‘Look mate, you throw news like that at me and don’t even ask me to sit down? And then you’re

surprised that I faint?’

‘I wasn’t surprised in the slightest,’ Hermione brags. ‘I’ve always thought there might have been

something… more… to all those fights.’

Ron rolls his eyes. ‘Sure you did Hermione.’

‘I did!’

‘How come you’ve never said anything then? Huh?’

‘Because imagine if I was wrong! Harry would have been very offended.’

‘She’s right,’ Harry interjects. ‘I would even have been offended if it was true, to be honest.’

‘Whatever, lets just get to class,’ Ron sighs, shrugging off the wall and moving towards the

entrance of their little alcove.

‘Nope,’ Harry calls him back. ‘We’re not done here yet. Well, I am. But you guys still have some

confessions to make. To each other. You should probably start with taking those off,’ he adds,

pointing to their ties. ‘I’ll see you in class.’

Harry gives them both a stern look before walking ahead to History of Magic. By the time

Professor Binns has started the lecture, it’s pretty clear that neither Hermione nor Ron are going to

show up for class. They also miss lunch.

__

By the time dinner arrives, Harry’s starting to worry. Ron and Hermione have been missing an

awful long time. And Hufflepuff’s bread rolls ran out several minutes ago, but Malfoy is also a no-

show.

Ginny and Dean are joking about something, but Harry can’t seem to pay attention. It was a

stupid, impulsive thing to do, he tells himself. What if I’ve ruined their friendship? He thinks back

to sixth year, when Ron and Hermione refused to speak to each other except through him. I can’t

deal with that again, he thinks.

‘What do you think, Harry?’ Dean asks.

Shaking out of his own thoughts, Harry smiles sheepishly. ‘’Bout what?’

‘About who it is, of course. Who’s been bombing the school?’

‘I dunno. Who do you think it is?’

‘Well, I think its Snape, but miss-freckles over here thinks – ’

‘I can speak for myself, Dean,’ Ginny reminds him sharply. ‘I think it’s a student.’

‘Okay then, both of you, explain why,’ Harry orders.

Dean grins. ‘Snape’s always been a bit of a creep, hasn’t he Harry? What more proof do we

need?’

Ginny rolls her eyes. ‘That’s ridiculous, what motive does he have? And “he just seems creepy”

doesn’t count. No, a student is a far more likely. Someone who wants to find out who likes them,

for example. Or find out if the crush they have is returned.’

‘Why bomb all the grades then, why not just the class their crush is in?’

‘I dunno, maybe to avoid suspicion. If only one class keeps getting bombed it’s going to be easy

to figure out who did it, isn’t it?’

Harry scoffs. ‘Ginny, the only people who would think that hard about a dust-bomb prank are

Slytherins and Herm – ’ The name catches in Harry’s throat.

Ginny looks at him, eyes wide. ‘You think Hermione….?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘Of course not…’ But he can’t help but remember how disappointed she

was that he second bomb was going to expire… ‘Excuse me,’ he says.

As he hastens towards the Gryffindor Common room, hoping to find Ron and Hermione there,

he finds himself turning corner too tightly and almost stumbles into them.

They’re grinning and blushing and holding hands, and Harry starts smiling at them before he

remembers why he was looking for them in the first place.

He points a finger at Hermione. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You set the dust-bombs off. That’s why

you knew the exact amount of time we had before the names would appear, that’s why you knew

the exact spell I would need to avoid those girls, that’s why you were saying the person behind all

the exact spell I would need to avoid those girls, that’s why you were saying the person behind all

this didn’t deserve expulsion…’

‘Harry, come on mate,’ Ron says, looking around the empty corridor for any sign of

eavesdroppers. ‘You’re being unreasonable. Why would Hermione set them off on years four and

up, huh? She can’t be in that many places at once.’

‘I think you’re forgetting our third year, Ron,’ Harry jokes dryly. ‘She had a time machine,

remember?’

‘But that got destroyed! Hermione, tell him you didn’t do it. Herm? You didn’t, right?’

Hermione hides her head in her hands. ‘I… I…’ she whimpers.

Ron stares at her, eyes growing wider. ‘’Mione, you didn’t…’

‘I needed to find out if you liked me back,’ Hermione whispers.

‘You could have asked me! Bloody hell, do you know how much trou – ’

‘Hermione Granger, in trouble?’ Comes the shocked intrusion from Lavender.

The trio spin, Ron and Harry moving to stand in from of Hermione. ‘We were talking about

Potions homework,’ Harry offers.

Lavender rolls her eyes. ‘Sure you were. Want to talk about something far more interesting?’

Harry frowns at her. ‘What are you on about now?’

‘The new requirement,’ she giggles, ‘for getting rid of the names; it’s worse than ever.’

They all look at her pointedly, waiting.

‘Oral,’ she whispers, before running off.

Both Ron and Hermione blush deeply. ‘Blimey,’ Ron whispers. And then, turning to Harry, his

eyes grow wide and his face looks on the verge of vomiting. ‘Blimey, Harry,’ he swears.

‘Er – ’ Harry says, ‘on an unrelated note, I should probably head to my detention now…’ In fact

he should have left a while ago; he was supposed to meet Professor Trelawney outside the

divination classroom at the end of dinner, and judging by the amount of students rounding the

corner of the corridor, dinner is well over… and he’s still stuck hallway across the castle.

Ron blinks and swallows hard. ‘Okay, um, have… have fun?’

‘Bye, Harry,’ Hermione mumbles, avoiding his eyes.

Harry gives her a serious look. ‘I’ll talk to you when I get back, Hermione. But, uh – I’m not

mad at you or anything… so put that smile back on, yeah?’

Hermione’s lips tug up at the corners. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Harry races to the divination classroom, arriving sweaty and breathless.

Malfoy and Trelawney are inside already, and they barely glance at him as his head ascends from

the trapdoor. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Harry offers, clambering up into the room.

‘Nonsense dear,’ Trelawney says, continuing to stack glass globes onto a small trolley, ‘you’ve

arrived r-right when I was expecting you.’

‘Er – yeah.’

‘Now, that’s ready then,’ Trelawney proclaims, beaming at the little trolley. Looking nervously

from Harry to Malfoy, she adds: ‘I trust you two can clean these? I f-fear I’m to be… otherwise

engaged.’

‘Um – how do we – ’ Harry stutters, but Malfoy sends him a glare.

‘We’re cleaning spirit orbs Potter, it’s not hard. I’ve watched the house-elves do it often enough.’

‘Y-you’ll show him then?’ Trelawney blinks. ‘That would be for the best, I think… McGonagall

is in grave d-danger, I must warn her…’ Muttering, Trelawney pulls her shawl tighter around her

neck and drifts towards the trap door. ‘I expect I’ll be n-no more than an hour,’ she says as way of

goodbye.

When the trap door closes over her head, it causes a loud bang to echo through the room. In the

quiet aftermath, Harry avoids looking at Malfoy.

‘Come on Potter,’ Malfoy mutters, ‘you can push the trolley.’ Without looking back to make sure

that Harry is following, Malfoy stalks towards the back of the room.

Using both hands to push the (surprisingly light) trolley, Harry trails after Malfoy. They arrive at

a small door, and Malfoy pulls it open before walking inside.

‘Er – should we cast a lumos, or something?’ Harry asks. The room they’ve entered is rather

small, and rather dark.

‘Don’t you know anything, Potter? Spirit-orbs need darkness to be cleaned.’ With a flick of his

wand, Malfoy shuts the door. Harry is very glad that it’s so dark, or else Malfoy might be able to

see the warm blush that’s flooding his cheeks.

Then Malfoy whispers a spell, and Harry can see the shadowed outline of his face in the soft

yellow light starting to grow from the spirit-orb that Malfoy’s holding.

Malfoy places the glass ball on a high shelf, and picks up another. ‘Difflumino,’ he says, and the

orb starts glowing with a gently flickering, blue light.

Tentatively, Harry picks up an orb. ‘Difflumino,’ he tries, and smiles when the glass grows

warms in his hands, emitting a pastel pink light. ‘Well that’s pretty easy,’ he grins.

Malfoy shoots him a glare.

‘Hey, what’s got you in a grouchy mood,’ Harry asks. He half expects Malfoy to answer

something along the lines of: “Well, I’m stuck in detention with you, Potter,” but is pleasantly

surprised when Malfoy actually takes the question seriously.

‘Pansy’s on my back, is what,’ Malfoy snarls, stacking away a purple-tinged orb. ‘She wants to

get the bottom of my current breakfast choices, and she’s deduced it’s something to do with this

rotten tie. She’s threatening to rip the thing right off my forehead.’

‘Ah,’ Harry says, wondering if he should act confused about the breakfast thing or not. ‘If you

want, um, my help at all – ’

‘I don’t need your charity, Potter,’ Malfoy sneers.

Harry blushes, his hands fumbling on a green orb as he lifts it into place on a shelf above the

bench. ‘Actually, um, it wouldn’t be charity,’ he mumbles. ‘I mean, I’ve never… I’d really like to

know what it’s like, you know?’

Malfoy’s chin is still raised, but he’s also blushing now. ‘Ah, so you’ve heard what the new

requirement is, then. Don’t think you’ll be so lucky, Potter.’

‘Okay, uh – sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just thought, you might prefer a blank forehead to…

well…’

Malfoy meets his gaze full on, defiant. ‘To one with your name on it,’ he says, finishing Harry’s

sentence as though saying those words are a daring challenge that Harry wasn’t up to.

‘Yeah,’ Harry mumbles, reaching for another orb.

They continue cleaning and stacking the spirit-orbs in silence, working methodically through the

layers of the trolley until the room is glowing with a hundred different colours and Malfoy places

the last one (a soft sunset orange) away.

Hesitantly, Harry smooths down his robes.

‘Actually,’ Malfoy mumbles, not looking at him. ‘I might… I might want that blank forehead, if

you’re sure…?’

Harry nods quickly, staring at the other boy with wide eyes. Are they really going to…?

Malfoy raises his chin. ‘Well, I’m not getting on my knees, Potter.’

‘Er – ’ Spinning about, Harry notices that the bench is about the height of his middle. ‘If I get on

there, you could kind of bend a bit – ’

Malfoy nods, so Harry scrambles up. He undoes the button of his trousers, and then hesitates,

looking up. Malfoy, staring at Harry’s paused hand, swallows. Harry closes his eyes and lifts his

bum, sliding his trousers and pants down to his thighs in one swift movement. Settling back down,

he opens his eyes and bites his lip. Malfoy’s pale face is blushing red, but his eyes haven’t strayed

from Harry’s (now fully exposed) groin.

Harry feels himself twitching under the attention, growing harder the longer Malfoy stares.

‘Put your hands up over your head, Potter,’ Malfoy orders. ‘I don’t want you trying to mess up my

hair.’

‘I’m not going to – ’

‘Just do it.’

Harry lifts his arms and grips onto one of the shelves above his head, careful not to disturb any of

the glowing orbs as he does so.

And then Malfoy is moving forward, bracing his hands either side of Harry’s knees, and bending

at the waist so that his head is right down in front of Harry’s crotch.

Merlin, Harry thinks as Malfoy swallows him whole. Harry bangs his head against the shelf,

causing the spirit-orbs to roll precariously on their perches. He looks down with silted eyes at

Malfoy’s soft hair, it’s usual blond colour turned into a dancing array of rainbow pastels. The top

of Malfoy’s head rises and falls, and the sensations that accompany those movements have Harry

closing his eyes with a moan. ‘Fuck, Malfoy,’ he whispers, feeling a spike of heat in his lower

stomach as the name leaves his lips. ‘Malfoy,’ he says again, and enjoys the keening sound that

the other boy makes around his cock.

And then he looses all ability to speak, because Malfoy is taking him deeper than before, and

swallowing, and Merlin but that feels good. Malfoy’s tongue makes a swirling motion around his

cock, and Harry’s toes develop a tingling sensation as they curl.

But then Malfoy’s mouth is popping off him, and Harry feels at once cold and desperate. He

opens his eyes, and finds Malfoy staring at him, lips slick with spit, hair half in his eyes. ‘Keep

saying my name, Potter,’ Malfoy implores, and Harry manages to nod.

‘Malfoy,’ he whispers as the blond boy takes him back into his warm, wet, wonderful mouth, and

‘Malfoy,’ he cries as the muscles along Malfoy’s back clench under his shirt, and ‘Malfoy,’ he

sighs as a hand reaches between his legs to cup his balls, and ‘Malfoy,’ he whimpers as a tongue

presses against his leaking slit.

He lets go of the shelves above him and moves his hands down into Malfoy’s hair, reverently

gliding his fingers through the silky strands, pushing the tie off and onto the floor so he can see the

Harry Potter inked boldly across Malfoy’s forehead, brushing his thumb over the shell of

Malfoy’s ear – and Malfoy closes his eyes tight, looking like he might cry – and Harry bends over,

the heat consuming him, and whispers ‘Draco,’ and Malfoy surges forward, swallowing Harry so

deep that he gags, and Harry shakes and sobs and floats, pulsing his release into Malfoy’s mouth

and drifting on the feeling of being so warm and weightless and whole. He wonders how on earth

he’s ever going to find pleasure in solitary wanking ever again.

Abruptly, Malfoy stands, cruelly exposing Harry’s sensitive cock to the cool air. Malfoy turns to

pick up his tie, hiding his face before Harry, still reeling, has the chance to look at it. ‘The spirit-

orbs don’t need anything else done,’ Malfoy says in a detached voice as he stands up. He moves

around the trolley and opens the door. ‘I’ll see you in Potions,’ he says.

‘Wait, Malfoy – ’ Harry calls, and the other boy pauses, knuckles tightening against the door

frame.

‘I hardly think we have anything to say to each other, Potter.’

The realisation that Malfoy might never speak to him again – might never run his tongue along

his lips (or along his cock, he thinks with a shiver) ever again – makes Harry feel desperately

courageous. ‘No, Malfoy, please, look at this’ Harry pleads, ripping off his tie.

Malfoy’s previously flushed face blanches at the sight of Harry’s blank forehead. ‘I really don’t

care about your progress with the she-weasel,’ he spits, but Harry can tell from the twitch in his

eye and the tilt of his chin that he’s lying.

‘Malfoy, I’m not into Ginny – ’

‘Whoever it is then,’ Malfoy sneers, and turns to go.

‘There’s only – ’ Harry tries to say, but the blond git’s already gone.

__

‘So Hermione, how did you manage to set those bombs off at all different locations throughout the

school?’ Harry asks as they walk towards breakfast.

Hermione grins. ‘It was pretty tricky, actually. I may or may not have borrowed your invisibility

cloak for a some of it…’

Harry raises an eyebrow at her.

‘Okay, stole, but still. Then it was simply a matter of sneaking into all of the appropriate

classrooms – I have a full school schedule in the back of my diary, so it wasn’t hard to avoid the

lower grades – and planting the bombs in a quiet corner with a time-release charm over them. Oh,

and a notice-me-not charm.’

‘So, how many bombs have you got left, then,’ Harry asks conversationally.

Hermione, of course, isn’t fooled. She stops walking immediately, and looks at him with a tilted

head. ‘Harry… you’re not thinking about…?’

Harry just grins.

___

The bathroom’s tap is still leaking. Harry wonders if it will ever be fixed. The repair person was

probably been scared off by Myrtle, he thinks with a smirk.

He leans against the tall, frosted windows, enjoying the warm sun filtering through them and the

peace of the abandoned stalls.

Predictably, Malfoy arrives just as Harry’s starting to wonder if this is all a stupid idea; if he’s

guessed wrong, if he’s read Malfoy’s routine incorrectly, if the blond git isn’t going to show up

here for a piece of post-lunch peace.

‘Potter,’ Malfoy says, and the word reminds Harry of the first time Malfoy greeted him here, after

that first bomb was released on the potions class. ‘What are you doing here?’ He sounds tired.

‘Waiting for you,’ Harry grins. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ball of swirling

pink. Malfoy’s eyes widen, and he turns as if to run, but Harry’s already whispering the activation

charm, and then the room is a pink haze.

‘What the bleeding fuck, scarhead,’ Malfoy growls. ‘If you think I’m going to give you another

blow – ’

‘I was kind of hoping to give you one, actually,’ Harry interrupts.

As the dust starts to settle, Harry sees Malfoy striding towards him, glittering like a precious

stone under sun. ‘What the fuck are saying, Potter,’ Malfoy whispers.

Harry forces his eyes to stay steady, resisting the urge to look away from Malfoy’s intense,

probing gaze. He reaches his hand up to his forehead.

And pulls away his tie.

~The End~

Chapter End Notes

That's the end folks!! Hope you enjoyed the ride, please don't forget to leave a

comment! :)

End Notes

This fic is pre-written! I'll be releasing a chapter every week until it's completed :)

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