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Be warned – this fic is dire and I disown it

Chasing the Dragon, and interludes

Chapter One

“God, Harry! You’ve had some stupid ideas, but this one has to rank way up there in the
top five.”

“Oh, come on Hermione, this is Quidditch we’re talking about, after all.” Harry sat back
and grinned impishly at Hermione, knowing her well enough to read that she was going
to give in to him. “Look. Think about it as extra homework practice. Snape said that
Polyjuice potion is bound to be in the NEWT finals and when have you ever given up the
opportunity to revise?”

“It’s not that,” Hermione sighed. “I know you need the extra Potions practice, even if I
don’t,” she sniggered, before continuing more soberly, “But what you’re talking about
amounts to cheating. It’s too, well…Slytherin.” She folded her arms and looked highly
sceptical about Harry’s plan.

“You’ve heard the same rumours I have,” Harry prodded. “I seriously think they’re
planning to bewitch our brooms and I for one do not wish to spend any more time under
Madam Pomfrey’s care than is absolutely necessary. Ugghhh! That woman’s evil, the
stuff she makes you drink,” Harry finished with a shudder.

“Yes, but really. Come on. You’re just so desperate to do everything the hard way, aren’t
you? Why would you want to change yourself into Zabini and infiltrate Slytherin’s
Quidditch practice, when you could just go and talk to Madam Hooch about it? She’ll
listen to you.

Probably.”

Harry smacked his forehead with his hand in frustration before replying, “You know
what? Next time I’m in Dumbledore’s office, I’m going to have a word with the Sorting
Hat. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you should be in Hufflepuff.”

He didn’t get the chance to say anything else as a big, squashy cushion hit him squarely in
the face. Hermione launched herself onto Harry, beating him over the head with the
cushion and tickling him mercilessly.

Their loud laughter drew attention to their corner of the Gryffindor common room, and
Ron looked up from his game of wizard chess long enough to say, “Bloody hell,
Hermione. Watch his Snitch-catching arm!”
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Hermione sat back on her haunches looking up at a very rumpled, but smiling Harry. “You
are so manipulative, Mr Potter. You always know just what to say.” She looked flushed
and happy.

“Of course! It’s my silver tongue, you know,” Harry smirked.

“Yes. Well. Just watch what you do with that tongue of yours, silver or otherwise. I’ve
been watching you, you know. Oh, yes,” she sighed, eyes narrowed. “Watching you
watching Zabini. Frankly I’m a bit disturbed at the thought of what you might do with his
body while you’ve got it.”

Harry felt an uncomfortable prickling heat lick up his neck and across his face. Shit! he
thought. She can’t possibly know. Nobody knows! He looked at Hermione, still crouching
near his feet and watched the look of calculated cunning shape her face.

“I think maybe we ought to keep the Polyjuice potion to ourselves for the time being,”
she finally said. “I wouldn’t want you dragging Ron off into any more of your stupid
capers when

I’ve only just managed to get him interested in starting an early revision plan for his
NEWTS.”

Harry knew he was earning Hermione’s silence with his response. “Okay, ‘Mione. You’re
the boss.” Harry pulled himself up from his chair, avoiding Hermione’s eyes. He sloped
away, trying desperately to disappear into the room, away from her penetrating gaze.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Upstairs in his dorm, Harry lay back on his bed with the drapes closed around him,
thinking, How the hell did I ever think I could keep my motives from her?! He knew
Hermione wouldn’t expose his secret, but the look of mingled triumph and mischief he
had noted on her face gave him pause for thought. More than anything, Harry
desperately wanted Ron and Hermione’s approval, or at the very least, their
understanding about his sexuality. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Hermione’s
expression was because the object of his fantasies was male, a Slytherin, or Zabini in
particular. It could, after all, be all of the above.

As Harry turned his worries over in his mind, Neville, Dean and Seamus drifted up to bed,
talking loudly about their first week back at school after the summer holidays, and the
mundane but real worries about the coursework to get through in this, their final year at
Hogwarts.

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Ron was the last to turn in, proceeding to make the entire dorm laugh with his stories of
beating a number of first years at wizard chess over the evening, as well as feeding them
some Canary Creams for the amusement of the older pupils. Even Harry pulled back a
curtain to join in for a while.

One by one the friends drifted off to sleep, leaving Harry to toss and turn in the hot,
oppressive darkness, his mind constantly replaying every single one of today’s sightings
of Blaise in minute detail. Did he see me looking? he wondered. Did I imagine it? Merlin –
when he bent over during Potions, I swear I forgot to breathe. And that look he shot my
way when he stood up, like he knew I was- “Harry! Harry! Are you okay, mate?”

It was only when Ron’s voice cut across his reverie that Harry realised he had let out a
whimper. (A whimper for Merlin’s sake!)

“All right, Ron. Sorry. I’m obsessing about Quidditch again,” Harry lied smoothly.

“Yeah. That scum Malfoy’s got to me a bit too, with all this stuff about Slytherin’s secret
weapon. Do you really think it’s anything to do with our broomsticks? They’ve tried to
cheat every other way, and I’ve wracked my brain trying to think what else they might
do.” Harry could tell from his tone of voice that Ron was really worried. He supposed
that now Ron had made captain, he wanted Gryffindor to have every chance of success.
He was bound to get more upset than usual about things.

“I wouldn’t put anything past Malfoy, Ron. We’ll just have to sit back and wait a bit.
We’ve got a good few weeks before their match anyway. Plenty of time to investigate.”
Harry hoped his tone was calming.

“Yeah. I know you’re right. But Malfoy? Merlin! I just want to punch him so much. Have
you seen him since he came back this term? Growing his hair long like his Death Eater
father, walking around like some kind of…sex god.” The disgust was obvious in Ron’s
tone.

Harry snorted. “Ron, he’s always walked around like that. Nothing new this year.
Actually, now you come to mention it, I swear I saw McGonagall flirt with him in the
corridor the other day when he reported those fourth years for I ‘looking funny’ at him.”
Harry was chuckling by the time he finished speaking.

Ron made a loud retching noise and said “Do you reckon he’s put something in the water
at Hogwarts? I mean, every female under the roof seems to be looking at him like they
want to eat him or something. It’s disgusting.”

“What? Every female?” Harry giggled.

“Okay, not Hermione. She only has eyes for me,” Ron said smugly. “But all the others,
definitely.”

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“What about the female house elves?” Harry leered.

A choked laugh escaped Ron’s mouth before he replied, “How do you spot a female
house elf, Harry?”

Warming up to the subject, Harry sat up and said, “Well, you turn them upside down
and-”

“Jaysus H Christ, will you two give it a rest now?” Seamus interrupted loudly, sounding
much less amused than either Harry or Ron.

“Okay, okay. Goodnight all,” moaned Ron.

“Yep. See you in the morning,” yawned Harry, lying back down.

As he drifted off to sleep, Harry considered what a good friend he had in Ron, and how
Ron always managed to distract him, even without knowing when he needed it.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of lessons, homework, and Quidditch practice. Harry
marvelled at Hermione; he had to give it to her – she always managed to pull the goods
out of the bag under pressure. She had used her influence as Head Girl to procure the
more unusual Polyjuice potion ingredients without any of the professors adding up what
she needed them for. The month long brewing process was now well under way.

Harry smiled to himself as he thought of her. His best friend. He had to admit that her
brains had opened more doors for them than his brawn in recent years. What would he
do without her and Ron after Hogwarts?

“Earth to Harry. Come in, Harry.” Hermione’s voice drew his attention back to his evening
meal. She reached out across the table and lightly touched his arm, smiling gently at him
as if sharing his thoughts.

Harry drew in a breath, let it out slowly and returned her smile.

“Want to talk about it?” she whispered. He shook his head slowly. She raised an eyebrow
and looked over his shoulder, to where Harry knew Blaise would be sitting, and returned
her gaze to him.

“Later, okay? After Quidditch practice,” he said simply.

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“Sure.”

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

As had become the norm, Hermione sat in the stands while Harry and Ron and the rest of
the Gryffindor Quidditch team practiced. Harry had caught a couple of glimpses of her
studying as he shot past in hot pursuit of the Snitch. Back in the changing rooms after the
session, Harry rushed to dress so that he could spend some time talking with her. He was
glad to finally be able to talk to someone. However, Ron and Ginny got into a debate
which turned heated, before becoming an all-out slanging match. Harry was trying half-
heartedly to referee when Hermione walked in. Everyone had turned round and gone
quiet at the sound of the door opening.

“Oops! I didn’t mean to interrupt a Weasley family fight. I do know better, after all,”
Hermione grinned.

Ron, counting on his girlfriend’s support interrupted with, “Tell her, ‘Mione. I’m captain
here. I don’t want my baby sister being a Beater. She’s Chaser material and besides
which, Mum’d kill me if a Bludger broke her nose.”

“Ah. The old fight rears its ugly head once again, I see,” Hermione responded. “As you
are so fond of telling me, Ronald, I know nothing about Quidditch, therefore my opinion
means less than nothing in this debate. I really wouldn’t argue too much with Ginny,
though. Her Bat Bogey hexes are legendary, you know.”

Ginny crowed over Hermione’s words, taunting Ron that she was, after all, right. Ron
flushed a dangerous shade of purple-red, a well-known sign of his impending explosion
of temper.

“Well,” Hermione began, “Harry and I will just sneak out now, and leave you two to
settle your differences. Ron, I’ll see you before I go to bed. Bye, Ginny.” With that,
Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him forcefully out of the door after her. The
two of them shared a giggle when they were out of earshot of either Weasley.

“Whew. Thanks, ‘Mione. You’re a life saver,” Harry sighed.

“Mm. Hopefully a sanity-saver, too.” She looked meaningfully at Harry.

“Okay. Let’s sit on the wall by the herb garden while you psychoanalyse me, then. Shall
we?” Harry offered his arm and Hermione hooked hers through it. He started to talk as
they walked.

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“There are so many things to think about right now that I don’t even know what’s eating
at me the most.” He exhaled loudly. “That’s a lie. I’m just embarrassed that the least
important thing is bothering me the most.” Hermione stayed quiet, giving Harry the
space to order his thoughts as they settled themselves on the wall.

“I should be worried about Voldemort, where I’m going to live, who I’m going to live
with, what I’m going to do with my life, assuming I survive long enough to have one, and
all that other stuff. I am worrying about all of that. Quite a lot actually. Especially about
losing you and Ron. You’re my only real family, and the thought of us separating makes
me feel sick.” Harry held up a hand to stop Hermione from reassuring him. “You know
how I feel about Blaise.” It was a statement; the bluntest admission of his feelings that
Harry had ever dared show anyone. He saw Hermione nod out of the corner of his eye. “I
only figured out last year that girls didn’t do it for me. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d
never really given much thought to relationships and feelings before, other than the
family kind. Part of me is horrified that I’m so naïve about this when I’ve done so much
more than most people in other areas of my life.” Harry stopped for a moment,
gathering his thoughts and regulating his shallow breathing. He felt tense, anxious. “I’m
under so much scrutiny all the time. I’m terrified of what will happen when it gets out
that I fancy men. How stupid is that?”

Hermione reached out and took Harry’s hand in a comforting gesture.

“Does it bother you? That I’m…you know, gay?”

“No, Harry”. She smiled a gentle smile. “It won’t bother Ron, either. He loves you. Don’t
worry about us. Don’t worry about anyone. The stigma, well – it’s not the same as it used
to be. There will always be those that will disapprove. You can’t do much about them, I’m
afraid. You’ve proved your worth over and over again to the whole of the wizarding
world. For every detractor, I guarantee a hundred panting admirers, male and female.”
She squeezed his hand as she finished speaking.

“I don’t want a hundred. I only want Blaise. And the odds are so stacked against that ever
happening. What was I thinking? I can’t help myself. I’m obsessed. Morning, noon and
night. Especially night,” Harry babbled. “Shit, how do I get him out of my system?” He
felt lost at that moment, as if things would never be right again.

“Not by adding his hair to the Polyjuice potion, I think,” Hermione sighed sadly.

“How is it that I feel like the weight of the world’s on my shoulders, but all I can think
about is his mouth? And other bits of him…”

“Oh, Harry. You’re a teenager. A bit of a late developer for sure, but as hormonal and
horny as all the rest of us. Welcome to our world.” She snorted quietly.

“What do I do? How can I cope, ‘Mione?”

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Hermione looked up at Harry and gave him a tight smile. “Honestly? Masturbate a lot,
Harry. Don’t look so shocked. How do you think I coped all those years, waiting for Ron
to finally pluck up the courage to ask me out?” Hermione sniffed, although she did shoot
Harry a quick grin.

“Yes. Well,” Harry replied uncomfortably. “I’m already doing that rather a lot, actually.
And my bed’s a bit squeaky, so I’ve had to start visiting bathrooms all over the school…”

Hermione guffawed at Harry’s discomfort. “Oh Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a
joke of your pain.” She sobered somewhat before continuing. “I really have got to advise
you against using a hair of Blaise’s for the potion. Use someone else’s, please. It’s not
right, having access to his body like that. The temptation to, well, look, would be too
much and that’s just so wrong.”

“Hermione! Get your brain out of the gutter and the trousers of the man of my dreams, if
you don’t mind!” Harry choked out in shock.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” She shot Harry a sly sideward
glance.

“Okay, I have, but I won’t do it. I just want to be able to look at his face close up, in a
mirror. I mean really look at it, without having to disguise what I’m doing. I want to count
every eyelash, look at the colour of his eyes…”

“Harry. This is the path to madness. Let it go. I can’t see a way things will happen
between you. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I know it’s cruel.” Hermione looked over at Harry and
he could see the worry lines etched on her face. They were both serious now, staring out
over the welltended herbs. “Love hurts, Harry. You will find someone, but it takes time,
and they aren’t always in the places we first think to look.”

“Oh, not like Slytherin house, then?” Harry snapped, before drawing a sharp breath in.
“Look, ‘Mione. Blaise is the best choice for the Polyjuice potion. I won’t have to speak
too much, no-one will question his attendance at the Quidditch practice, and he’s always
at the centre of the Slytherin gossip.”

“I know,” she replied, sounding tired. “I just worry. I can’t bear the thought of you being
in any more pain than you already are. I wish I could help you.” There were the
beginnings of tears in Hermione’s eyes.

“Just listen to me when I need it. And give me a hug, will you?”

They stood and wrapped their arms around each other, and Harry felt so grateful for the
comfort she gave him. He rested his chin on the top of her head, smelling her hair and
thinking, Life would be so much easier if I loved a girl.

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“Aha! There you both are. Good job you’ve got the hots for Zabini, or I’d be forced to
smack you around for man-handling my girlfriend,” said Ron with humour in his voice and
a broad grin on his face.

Harry froze in Hermione’s arms, before murmuring, “You told him?”

“No,” Hermione replied. “I didn’t know he knew, actually. Well done for being so
observant, Ron.”

Shooting his girlfriend a disgusted look, Ron said, “Come on, mate. I don’t care who you
fancy. But Zabini? Shit Harry, he’s a Slytherin!. What about that nice Justin Finch-Fletchley
from Hufflepuff? Surely he’s more your type?” Ron was clutching at straws. Harry could
see it written all over his friend’s face.

Harry didn’t quite know what to say. He was flooded with relief at Ron’s easy banter
about his sexuality. This was not what he expected at all. It gave Harry a twinge of guilt
to think he’d underestimated Ron. Again.

“Well, now that that’s all in the open then...” Harry finished lamely, separating from
Hermione, with some reluctance.

“Did you and Ginny settle the Weasley family feud?” Hermione asked smoothly, diverting
attention from the uncomfortable silence spilling out from Harry.

As they started the walk back to the castle, Ron said, “She punched me! Bloody hurt too.

Great left hook. Never saw it coming. I reckon she’s got the spirit to make a Beater. Any

Bludger’d be too scared to mess with her!” They all laughed, and Hermione fussed over
Ron’s injured jaw as they entered the castle. “Come on, mate,” said Ron kindly as he
turned towards Harry. “Let’s hit the hay. Switch that brain of yours off for a while. I’ll be
up in five to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story. Just let me kiss ‘Mione
goodnight.”

“Uggh,” Harry shuddered. “Far too much detail thank you very much! And don’t be
coming near my bed, if you don’t mind. I love you, but not like that, okay?” laughed
Harry.

“’Night, Harry,” called Hermione, softly. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” he replied, walking slowly up the stairs to bed. Harry couldn’t believe how
lucky he was to have friends like Ron and Hermione. They really were always there for
him.

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*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

A week later, Hermione pulled Harry to one side and explained that the Polyjuice potion
was ready. “All we need is the hair,” she said, excitedly. “I think our best chance to get it
is after break, in Potions.”

“Great,” Harry grinned. “Thanks, Hermione. This ties in really well. The Slytherin team’s
got Quidditch practice tomorrow night, so I should be able to do the business then. How
do you want to get the hair?”

“Hmm. I’ll think of something,” she said, tapping her chin with a long finger.
*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry had finally overcome some of his discomfort in Professor Snape’s Potions class.
There was by no means any drop in hostilities between them; rather, Harry had come to
dwell on Snape’s withering criticism less and less. As the professor failed to get the
response he so loved from Harry, he had slowly stopped making the effort to be so rude.
The Gryffindor couldn’t be described as excelling at the subject – that ‘honour’ belonged
to both Malfoy, and Hermione – but he was doing well enough to be on track for the
results he needed.

When his potion had reached the mandatory ‘cooling’ phase, and he could pause in his
work, Harry shot a glance over at the Slytherin bench. Sure enough, there was Snape,
sandwiched between his two favourite boys, Malfoy and Blaise, praising their work and
awarding an obscene amount of extra house points. Harry took a moment to appreciate
the cool, dark beauty of Blaise, before Hermione spoke.

“Professor Snape, sir. I seem to be having one or two difficulties with condensing my
potion,” Hermione called, sounding utterly confused. “I’m sure the mist should be
swirling anti-clockwise, but it’s not.”

“Miss Granger,” breathed the professor, sending prickles up the spine of almost every
student in the room. “I clearly explained the process and all it’s subtle nuances at the
beginning of the lesson. I fail to see how anyone could have made an error. Unless they
weren’t listening.” A hint of threat had crept into the professor’s voice and facial
expression. “You have much to learn if you wish to pass your NEWT. Twenty points from
Gryffindor, for failing to follow my instructions correctly. Now, come here and observe
the process as it should be done.” Harry could sense Hermione’s stiffness at the loss of
house points and he intuited that she’d have a go at him about it later. But then, without
glancing at him, Hermione made her way over to the Slytherin bench where she took
Professor Snape’s place between Malfoy and Zabini. Malfoy sneered at Hermione, and
made some comment Harry couldn’t hear, before proceeding to ignore her presence.
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She’s standing so close to Blaise, Harry thought, suddenly more jealous than he cared to
admit. I wish it was me.

Harry barely contained himself for the next couple of minutes. He examined every grain
on the wooden desk to ensure he didn’t look up and give them both away. He thought
his guilty conscience would be written across his face for all to see. He felt, rather than
saw, Hermione return. Risking a glance her way, he was relieved to see her twiddle a
longish, dark hair between her fingers in triumph. “Plucked from the robes of Zabini,”
she whispered theatrically, making Harry smile. “Do you want to touch it?” she purred in
his ear, making Harry flame instantly. She chuckled quietly to herself as she deposited the
hair in an envelope and sealed it, slipping it into her Potions book, with a sideways wink
at her best friend.

At a word from Professor Snape, the class cleared away for the end of the lesson,
marking their potions with their names and submitting the vials for grading. Harry
accidentally brushed against Blaise as he deposited his potion on Snape’s desk. He
caught a sudden whiff of Blaise’s cologne and felt himself harden instantly, mortifyingly,
at this close proximity. Harry could not have blushed any more if he tried. He felt like
there must be a neon sign over his head, pulsing ‘Look at me! Homo with a hard-on.’

Harry took a second or two to compose himself, pretending to fiddle with the cap on his
vial before turning away from Snape’s desk. Blaise had moved on to pack his bag, Harry
noted as he looked up. He was completely unprepared to find himself looking straight
into Malfoy’s hard, grey eyes. Malfoy’s lips twitched at one corner. Harry felt as if he was
nailed to the wall under the strength of his enemy’s glare. In that instant, he felt himself
transparent, like Malfoy knew his secrets, his soul. It was a hateful, vulnerable feeling,
and Harry felt sick, weak at the knees. He was grateful for Snape’s dismissal of the class,
which was the catalyst that broke the stare. Harry rushed over to Hermione, taking his
bag from her shoulder and pulling them both from the dungeon room as quickly as
possible.

Hermione registered Harry’s distress and pulled him to one side, away from the slow
trickle of students exiting the Potions classroom. She urged him to tell her what had
happened. Harry wondered, uncomfortably, how you tell your female best friend you’ve
got an erection hard enough to hammer nails with? He gulped air, feeling himself slowly
relax, and his mutinous body finally calmed itself. “It’s okay, ‘Mione. Just Malfoy psyching
me out. Caught me at a vulnerable moment,” Harry stuttered.

As if the mere mention of the name conjured the person, Malfoy exited the Potions
classroom alone, spearing them each with his glare as he approached.

“Pathetic, Granger. Really pathetic. How have you managed to get this far, I wonder. I
know you can’t be performing favours for Professor Snape. He’d never lower himself to
be serviced by a filthy…Gryffindor.” Malfoy’s sneer twisted his thin, pale face. “And as
for you Potter, well. Words just aren’t enough, are they? Let’s hope your concentration’s
better on the Quidditch pitch next weekend. Or maybe I should hope it isn’t. Look at you.
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You really need to…get out more.” Malfoy smirked that intensely annoying smirk of his
and stalked off, no doubt in search of people to admire him, Harry thought, less than
charitably.

Hermione and Harry waited for Malfoy to disappear round the corner before looking at
each other and picking up their bags to move on. At that moment, Professor Snape
stepped out of his classroom and locked the door, his arms full of vials and papers. “Mr.
Potter. You look unwell. I do hope you aren’t sick?” he sneered as he swept past,
insincerity dripping from his tone. With that, Snape swept away in a flurry of ink-black
cloak.

Hermione touched Harry’s arm, gaining his attention. “Come on. I think lunch will do us
both good,” she said, coaxing him along after her. As they turned the corner in the
corridor to see Professor Snape’s receding back, a piece of folded parchment slipped
from the pile of papers he was carrying. It floated to the ground, light as a feather,
unnoticed in the professor’s rush. Despite a glare from Hermione, Harry retrieved the
parchment and opened it up. He read it walking up the stairs, before handing it to
Hermione. All the note said was,

I have to talk to you. Please meet me, second floor Transfiguration corridor. The hidden
alcove. 10pm tomorrow.

There was no signature. As she handed it back to Harry, he noticed some kind of marking
within the fabric of the parchment. A watermark. Holding it up to the light from the
window, Harry was both surprised and amused to discover the Malfoy crest picked out in
shades of cream.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next evening, Harry and Hermione slipped out of the Gryffindor common room while
Ron and Dean were discussing Quidditch tactics, and made their way to Moaning
Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry had the Marauder’s Map and his Invisibility Cloak, and
Hermione carried the Polyjuice potion and some Slytherin robes, expertly acquired from
the laundry room.

“Okay Hermione, run through your part again,” said Harry through the cubicle door as he
stripped down to his underwear.

“Once you’ve changed, I’ll head up to the library to corner Zabini, er Blaise. I’m toying
with either the Jelly Brain jinx, or maybe even the Aversatio charm, to clear everyone else
out. Then, I’m going for a Somnus charm when we’re alone. It’ll put him to sleep, so I can
keep an eye on him for a couple of hours. That should give you enough time to get in and
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out.” Harry grunted in what Hermione chose to take as approval. She continued, “After
ten ‘o’ clock, I’ll wake him up so I can close the library. I’ll leave him with just enough
energy to get back to his dorm before he crashes out for the night.”

“Right,” said Harry briskly, “I’m ready for the potion.” He was a bit nervous in truth, but
berated himself for his lack of Gryffindor bravery and managed to quickly gulp down the
beaker-full of the disgusting, sludgy potion Hermione passed him through the crack in
the door.

“Thanks for helping, Hermione. I know you don’t approve.” Harry spoke softly to his
friend, just waiting for the change to start.

“Just get back safely, okay,” she worried. “Remember not to talk too much or your
choice of words might give you away. I’ll sit up in the common room until you’re back.”

Harry started to feel the unpleasant stretching and contracting sensations associated
with the change of shape, and closed his eyes to stay focussed. Eventually, the
sensations ceased and Harry cracked his eyes open to look down at this partially clothed
body. “Shit!

Hermione! I’m not Blaise,” Harry yelped, his new, very familiar, voice full of
uncharacteristic shock and anxiety.

“Oh, no. You’re not…? Let me see!” Hermione sounded panicked.

Harry peered round the crack in the door, heart hammering, thoughts scattered, until he
could see Hermione’s face. Hermione’s mortified face, he added silently.

“Why did it have to be Snape?!” Harry almost screamed.

“Oh no, Harry!” came Hermione’s high-pitched trill.

“Shit! FUCK!”

Chapter Two

Hermione was frozen to the spot as Harry came out of the cubicle and walked towards
her, wearing Snape’s body, thanks to the Polyjuice potion. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I always
mess this up!” Hermione was almost wailing, and big, fat tears rolled down her white
cheeks.

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He stepped forward to draw her into a hug but she froze, clearly repulsed by Harry’s
physical transformation into their hated Potions professor. Resigned to the situation and
even starting to see the macabre humour in it, Harry strode past his distraught friend to
the mirror to take a look at ‘himself’. “Hm. Could do with putting on a few pounds, couldn’t
he?” Harry quipped, in Snape’s deep, rumbling voice. Hermione continued to stare, eyes
wide, mouth open. “Those Slytherin robes you brought won’t be any good for a start. And
I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to wander round the castle in my Gryffindor boxer
shorts.”

A manic giggle escaped from Hermione, and Harry turned back to look at her. They both
burst out laughing at the same instant, Harry holding the sink to stay upright, Hermione
collapsing slowly to her knees, clutching her sides and bending almost double. The two
laughed themselves breathless. After a couple of minutes, sanity returned and the
friends pulled themselves together. They both wiped their stray tears of mirth away, but
remained looking decidedly bedraggled.

“So. How long do I have again?”

Hermione calculated in her head, “At least two and a half hours, and more likely three. I
beefed the potion up a bit to overcome any unexpected changes back.”

“Can you do anything about clothes for me?” Harry was twisting from side to side, eyeing
Snape’s prominent ribcage as he spoke.

Hermione drew out her wand and whipped it through the air in front of Harry. “Vestio
Professor Severus Snape!” Instantly, Harry saw a picture of the professor in his head and
Hermione’s spell replicated the clothes from his memory.

“Nice one, ‘Mione, very nice,” Harry said, as he swooshed the inky black robes
dramatically, making her snort.

“Stop it! You look like a cross between the Grim Reaper and Dracula!”

“Nope. Doesn’t work for me. Neither of them’s anywhere near as evil as Snape,” joked
Harry, who still couldn’t get used to the sound of Snape’s voice repeating his words.
“This is just too good an opportunity to miss. I have to prowl some corridors and scare
some pupils before I change back.”

“Stop right there,” Hermione snapped in exasperation, hands held up in front of her. “I
don’t want to know. Look. It’s gone eight now. Just remember to make sure you’re
hidden by ten forty-five at the latest. And use the map so you don’t get caught!”

Harry watched her pace up and down as she spoke, as if issuing orders to a child. It made
him smile. “Yes mum,” he sighed.

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“If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll be off then. I won’t bother with Zabini. Uh, I mean
Blaise. I’ll see you later. And be careful.”

Harry grinned at Hermione’s retreating back. He pulled the Marauder’s Map out and
scanned it for movement. Slytherin Quidditch practice has started, Harry noted, seeing
the team player’s names zooming around the grounds in the vicinity of the Quidditch
pitch. Snape paced in his dungeon classroom for a few minutes before leaving and
heading to the main school. Hmm. Interesting. It looked like all the professors were
moving towards the main school. Harry watched them all file into Dumbledore’s office
and stop moving. Good. No chance of being caught by the real Snape, Harry grinned to
himself.

Eventually boring of watching the map, Harry returned to the mirror to practice flipping
his cloak like Snape did, and grimacing with Snape’s face. Satisfied that he looked entirely
as nasty as the real professor, Harry headed out of the bathroom to stalk the corridors in
search of ‘victims’. He met a few pupils and was vaguely satisfied when they all gave him
a wide berth, mumbling excuses for their presence before he could even ask. He stopped
to check the map every so often, still finding the teachers amassed in the headmaster’s
office. Must be staff meeting or something, he thought.

Some time later, Harry finally noticed the corridors were completely empty. He’d missed
curfew time because he’d been too busy enjoying the quiet freedom to roam. He’d
watched the Slytherin Quidditch team file back to their common room together and the
school seemed to be settling in for the night.

Just as he was about to return to the Gryffindor common room, (Invisibility Cloak
definitely an advantage for getting in tonight!) Harry spotted Malfoy’s lone presence
leave the Slytherin dungeon rooms. He watched Malfoy’s footprints on the map and
remembered Snape’s dropped note and grinned to himself as a plot to milk Malfoy for
information hatched in his mind.

Making his way to the meeting place, Harry watched the map for signs of Filch.
Thankfully, he was being led a merry chase by Peeves up in the north tower. Just before
turning onto the Transfiguration corridor, Harry slipped the map in his robe pocket and
hid the cloak behind a statue to collect on his way back.

He was surprised to find the corridor empty when he turned the corner. Pacing slowly
down the dark passageway, his heart thumping, Harry cursed silently and thought to turn
and go back. He didn’t trust Malfoy one little bit, and he couldn’t afford to be caught out
impersonating the Head of Slytherin house.

Suddenly, a hand shot out from behind a large tapestry and pulled him into a cosy, dimly
lit alcove with the ice prince himself. Swallowing his shock and discomfort, Harry
produced his best ‘Snape glare’ and directed it at Malfoy, who, now he thought about it,
looked very nervous indeed.

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“Oh god sir, I didn’t think you’d come. I’m so glad you did. I need to talk to you.” Malfoy
had been talking down at Snape/Harry’s chest, but now his eyes flicked up hopefully,
showing a tiny sparkle of silver in the half-light. He looks so vulnerable, Harry thought, in
something like shock. Knowing an out-of-character word could give him away, Harry kept
silent, trusting to Snape’s imposing presence to carry the charade off.

“Um. I can’t help thinking about what happened this summer,” Malfoy stuttered. He was
clearly squirming, wringing his hands and darting his eyes everywhere but up at Harry’s.
“I know we’d both had a drink, but I can remember the heat of your hands on me. It’s all I
can think about. No! Don’t say anything.” Malfoy spoke quickly as Harry shifted Snape’s
body slightly away from him. “I know you said it was a mistake and you’d never have a
relationship with a pupil, but it’s changed me. I feel awake, like my eyes are open for the
first time. I’m not ashamed of how I feel.” Malfoy lowered his face, the rush of words
momentarily over. He looked up at Harry/Snape through his eyelashes and breathed,
“You changed me. For the better.”

Harry exhaled slowly, looking Malfoy in the eye. He hoped it sounded sad. Harry’s
stomach plummeted, empathising fully with the torture of unrequited love.

“I’d always thought I despised girls because they’re weak. Now I know I just don’t fancy
them.” Draco sounded terribly sad, but sure of himself at the same time.

Silence fell, neither one looking the other in the eye. Harry could feel a droplet of nervous
sweat tracing a path down his spine. It was freezing cold. He so should not be hearing
this. It was far too personal a thing to be shared with your greatest enemy.

When Malfoy placed a hand on his chest, Harry snapped back to reality.

“I hate that you won’t touch me again, or be with me as I want you to be. But I respect
your decision.” Malfoy looked up into Harry’s eyes again. “I want to say thank-you
properly. And good-bye. I need to.”

Harry tipped his head to one side and looked down his nose through narrowed eyes at
Malfoy. Malfoy leaned in to him and whispered, “Don’t move a muscle. Just enjoy,”
before dragging his hand downwards. Shit! I can’t let him touch me. I feel sick! Horror
swept through Harry as he collapsed the last few inches backwards to rest against the
wall, gulping in air, and feeling utterly panicked. All thoughts of tricking information out
of the Slytherin fled his thoughts in the blinding glare of his panic.

Malfoy chuckled, a soft, coquettish sound, reading Harry’s body language all wrong. By
now, Malfoy was on his knees, bringing his face level with Harry’s crotch. Snape’s crotch,
Harry told himself sharply. Malfoy’s long, elegant fingers deftly undid the button fly and
ghosted warm breath into the opening. Harry made a most un-Snape-like gurgle in the
back of his throat and clamped his eyes shut as his treacherous hormones kicked into
action, pushing blood to his groin and pulsing it into his hardening cock. Oh my god! He’s
going to give me a blow job! I’ve never had one! What do I do? Do I have to do it back?
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Why does Malfoy have to be my first?! Harry cursed internally. Even though he was
completely horrified by the thought of what was about to happen, Harry tied to be calm.
Just think of it as a mouth. Not Malfoy’s mouth. Blaise’s mouth! Yes. That’s good. Mmm.
Blaise. You can do this, he told himself.

The moment Malfoy’s hands made contact with his flesh, all rational thought fled Harry’s
mind. Determined fingers crept into his waistband, lowering both trousers and
underwear to mid-thigh. Malfoy’s hot breath felt like a blowtorch to Harry, so
pleasurable it was almost painful. The fingers stroked slowly down Harry’s erection,
spreading the bead of moisture gathered at the tip and creating a delicious gliding
sensation. Malfoy’s breathing hitched and he made a wordless moan of need in the back
of his throat before moving in and flicking his tongue across the head. Oh, god! Harry
thought he’d never felt anything so fucking incredible as Malfoy’s hot, wet tongue
lapping at his flesh.

Harry desperately locked his knees, fear for his self-control setting in as the sweat poured
off him. Malfoy’s fingers stroked and circled his tightened sac and trailed patterns on his
inner thighs, whilst his tongue drew silky, wet patterns up and down the length of
Harry’s shaft. The movement was so warm, and loaded with desire.

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, desperate to do something with his
hands. When Malfoy took him fully into his eager mouth, Harry lost his restraint and
plunged his fingers into Malfoy’s platinum locks, kneading the scalp and brushing the
regal forehead with his thumbs. I can’t look down. I must not look down, Harry chanted
over and over again, barely sentient amid the unbelievable wash of sensations flooding
his body. Malfoy’s mouth sucked gently, creating a tight seal with his pursed lips and
forcing Harry to experience in minute detail every subtle change of pressure against his
painfully hard cock.

As Malfoy developed a rhythm with his mouth and hands, Harry thought he might lose
his sanity. His breathing had become ragged and laboured in his desperation not to shout
out encouragement, and the overwhelming pleasure of the feeling. The constricting
pressure around his shaft as Malfoy sucked him in, hollowing his cheeks again and again
was both the best and the worst of tortures Harry could imagine.

After a short while, Harry gave in and gripped Malfoy’s head, pumping his hips forward,
and fucking his mouth as gently as he could, despite the desire to ram himself in to the
hilt. The irregular graze of Malfoy’s teeth over his foreskin was the perfect complement
to the soft stroke of his tongue. Both of them were gasping and groaning as the pace
picked up and Harry’s orgasm grew closer. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Harry thought, with every
thrust of his hips. It became his silent mantra as he moved closer and closer to the edge.
God, I have to see what it looks like, Harry thought. My cock in his mouth! I have to!

Harry looked down out of Snape’s eyes, taking in the wanton abandon in which Malfoy
worked his body to bring his ‘professor’ to orgasm. The sight of his stiff flesh pumping
into Malfoy’s mouth, shiny with saliva, wrenched the orgasm up through Harry from the
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sole of Snape’s feet. Malfoy’s eyes flew up to lock with Harry’s as the first jet of come hit
the back of his throat. Harry heard himself make a noise that sounded suspiciously like
“Grp,” to his own ears, before closing his eyes and emptying the rest of his load down
Malfoy’s greedy, moaning throat.

Harry’s recovering gasps seemed deafening to his own ears, drowning out the sound of
Malfoy’s own struggle for calm.

Still on his knees, Malfoy moaned quietly, “Thank you sir. I’ll never forget this.”

The reality of the situation suddenly punched Harry in the stomach, pushing the air from
his still-recovering lungs with a ‘whoosh’. He lurched away from the wall, stumbling past
Malfoy as he raised his trousers, tucking the slackening penis back inside and fumbling
with the button fly. If Malfoy said anything else, Harry never heard it as he ran down the
corridor, swiping the Invisibility Cloak from its hiding place and swinging it round him for
the journey back to the safety of his own common room.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room still enveloped in the cloak, to find Hermione
alone, reading. He slumped into the seat opposite her, revealing only Snape’s face as he
peeled the cloak back.

“Well? Did you have fun, Professor?” she smirked at him.

“Um. Not much happened, to tell the truth,” Harry mumbled. “I just wandered about a
bit, scaring first years. I forgot the time and had to run back here from the tower,” Harry
finished, hoping the fib would cover any lasting indications of his breathlessness.

“Hmph. All that work wasted.” Hermione grumbled. “Never mind. Bed for me, now that I
know you’re back safely. ‘Night Harry.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Harry remained in his seat, covered by the cloak until his body returned back to the one
he knew and loved best of all before making his way to the dorm. He climbed into bed,
thankful that his friends all seemed to be asleep, his mind churning with what he had
discovered. Okay, so Malfoy’s gay. So what? But Malfoy and Snape? What’s that about?
Bet old Lucius’d have a fit if he knew! Wow! So that’s what a blow job feels like.
Awesome! But Malfoy? Shit! I feel sick. I just had the most amazing experience of my life
and it was with him.

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As Harry rolled over to settle in for sleep, a last thought tricked through his mind.
Hmmm. And I thought I’d be the one milking him, not the other way round! Smirking to
himself, he fell asleep.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

“Harry! Wake up!”

Harry bolted awake at Ron’s insistent shaking. He shot up into a sitting position, flushing
as his eyes met Ron’s bemused expression. It was only then that Harry looked down and
noticed his erection tenting the sheets.

“Your moaning was getting a bit loud mate. Didn’t want the others to notice,” Ron
whispered through a smile. “I suggest a cold shower before you get dressed.” After a
pause, Ron added in an even quieter whisper, “Bet I know who you were thinking
about,” and he gave Harry a big, knowing wink before lowering the curtain and returning
to his own bed.

Harry lay back down on the mattress, drawing his knees up and recalling his rather vivid
dream. His hand crept under the sheet and down his body, towards his groin as he
thought about Blaise’s white blond head moving rhythmically in his lap, devouring him
skilfully. Harry’s eyes slid shut and he clasped himself firmly, tugging and rolling his
erection as he fought to recapture the fantasy. Blaise…don’t stop. You’re so good… he
heard himself say in his head. Storm grey eyes flicked up to meet his own-

What? Harry’s eyes snapped open and he released his erection instantaneously, as if it
was something dirty or disgusting. The nausea was back in full force as Harry tried
desperately to justify to myself why he was picturing Malfoy as he wanked himself off
when he wanted to be picturing Blaise.

But his stubborn erection didn’t seem to care who he was thinking about. It continued to
demand relief as Harry threw a hand over his eyes, shaking and distressed at his error.
Calm down. Just calm down! he told himself sternly. After all, this was bound to happen.
Malfoy was Harry’s only real sexual experience to date, and perhaps his tiredness had
confused his mind more than he had realised. Harry tried to settle down and console
himself by picturing Blaise’s beautiful features in his mind’s eye and superimposing them
over the previous, revolting image of Malfoy.

In the end, he masturbated himself to completion through gritted teeth, chanting


Blaise’s name in his head over and over as if to centre his thoughts. Once he’d orgasmed,
Harry felt unsatisfied and restless, knowing he’d met his base need and nothing more. I

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really need to relax, he thought grimly, as he pulled his sleepwear on and threw the
covers back, ready to face the day.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Some days later, and following a pretty dull and uneventful mornings lessons, Harry, Ron,
and Hermione met for lunch in the Great Hall. Talk of the upcoming Quidditch game
against Slytherin dominated conversation along the length of the table. Ron and Dean
got into a heated debate about technical strategies, giving Harry and Hermione a chance
to talk unheard.

“So, are you still going to try and infiltrate the Slytherin team with only a couple of days
to go?” whispered Hermione, with concern evident on her face. “What difference can it
possibly make now?” she wondered.

“I want to do something. I hate feeling helpless,” murmured Harry, ignoring the gentle
shaking of Hermione’s head.

“Well, I don’t think you’ve got many options left. What about using the Invisibility Cloak
to get into their dorms?

“Yeah. I’d thought about that. I reckon it’s that, or nothing,” he sighed in resignation.

“If you insist on doing it, it has to be tonight,” Hermione said. “That will give us enough
time to research any counter-curses we might need.” She looked thoughtful, gaze
scanning the far side of the hall as she spoke.

“If I can get away from Quidditch practice on time, and Ron doesn’t keep us late, I should
be able to sneak in when the last of the Slytherins return to their rooms for the night,”
Harry thought out loud.

“What’s that you say, mate?” Ron interrupted, maybe responding to hearing his name
spoken.

“Nothing,” Harry shrugged slightly. “Just talking homework timetables and Quidditch
practice with Aunty ‘Mione,” Harry joked.

“Quidditch is no laughing matter, Harry,” replied Ron, mock stern.

The three friends finished up and left the table together, falling into step not far behind
Blaise and Malfoy. On noticing the focus for Harry’s desire just in front, Hermione leaned

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in to Harry and stage-whispered, “Phwoar! Nice arse, hey, Harry!” Ron and Harry snorted
together and stared at Hermione, as if in shock.

A moment later:

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, Potter.” Harry had walked straight into Blaise’s back,
having been too busy glaring at Hermione. He found himself staring into Blaise’s face
from a foot away, as the two stood almost toe to toe. Harry’s mouth went
unaccountably dry.

“Er. Um. Sorry about that, Blaise. I mean, Zabini. I didn’t mean…”

“No Potter, you’re just a naturally clumsy oaf, aren’t you?” sneered Malfoy, standing at
Blaise’s side, a step behind.

Harry, still focused on Blaise, couldn’t help flicking his eyes down to that luscious mouth
and instantly felt a hot blush stain his cheeks. He winced slightly, looking away and
unintentionally finding Malfoy’s eyes, which looked triumphant. And calculating.

“Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it,” Malfoy murmured menacingly, leaning into
Blaise and placing a hand on his shoulder. A malicious grin spread across his cold,
haughty face as he rested his chin on top of the hand, putting his head next to Blaise’s,
and pushed his nose into the neck and inhaled.

“Back off, Malfoy,” snapped Ron, breaking the heavy silence with the challenge.

“Ah, Potter. Your virtue has a champion in the unlikely form of a weasel.” Malfoy’s
sneering voice was a breeze that barely travelled, sending shivers of discomfort up
Harry’s spine. Malfoy nuzzled Blaise’s ear with his nose, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face.

Harry saw the tongue dart out and lick Blaise’s neck. He felt powerless. Empty. Beaten.
Malfoy had him, and the bastard knew it.

“Merlin, Draco!” snapped Blaise, pulling sharply out of Malfoy’s grip and walking away
from the group in a huff. Malfoy stepped closer to Harry, bringing them face-to-face.
Harry was aware of Hermione gripping his forearm, but everything else disappeared,
until the universe consisted only of himself and Slytherin’s brat prince.

“Oh dear, Potter,” Malfoy murmured, mock innocence colouring his tone. “I don’t think
Blaise likes boys. But you do. Don’t you?” The words were spoken quietly but they sliced
the air and carved straight into Harry.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” It was the best Harry could manage, and he cursed himself for
feeling so off-kilter.

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“You wish, Potter. Sadly for you I’m more of a tits man, if you get my meaning.” Malfoy’s
eyes narrowed as he spat the words out.

Harry saw an opening and took it, stepping forward, right into Malfoy’s face.

“Oh no, Malfoy. I think you’re definitely an arse man, if you get my meaning. Ancient,
greasy, black-haired arse at that, I’ll bet.”

Malfoy’s eyes hardened into cold, grey flint. His whole expression shut down. “In your
dreams, Potter. Don’t go making any designs on my arse. I’m way out of your league. And
it is completely impossible that your no doubt pathetic fumblings could ever inspire an
orgasm out of me.” The evil smile returned and Malfoy turned on his heel and walked
away, leaving Hermione and Ron to shepherd the rather shell-shocked Harry away.

“What on earth was that about? Is Malfoy gay?” whispered Hermione, voicing dripping
with anxiety.

“I was just trying to needle him, ‘Mione. Get the upper hand back,” sighed Harry in
resignation, as they all headed towards their Herbology lesson.

Harry couldn’t help it. He sensed a perverse challenge in Malfoy’s words.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry spent the whole afternoon replaying and dissecting the incident. Was Blaise
repelled by the touch of a male? Harry’s heart felt heavy with the weight of hopeless
love. But Malfoy? Merlin! What was going on with him? Harry had let Malfoy get to him in
the past, but this felt like a whole different game altogether. Less public. More sinister.
Was it a lucky guess, or can he see right through me? he worried.

Harry tortured himself over every word, and every facial expression, looking for clues,
even making them up subconsciously when he couldn’t find anything. Ron and Hermione
covered for Harry’s inattentiveness and clumsiness during afternoon classes, and he was
grateful they had been with him at the time of the incident so he hadn’t had to try and
explain why he was so out of sorts. He knew his friends were worried, but he couldn’t
find the will to comfort them.

After dinner, Hermione cornered Harry. “I think you should leave your little trip to
Slytherin for today. You’re too preoccupied,” she told him. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”

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“No. It’s the last real chance we’ve got to find out what they’re up to. I’m going. Don’t
look at me like that.” Hermione’s face had fallen into a deep frown, and she chewed the
inside of her mouth as she stared up at Harry.

“You really have to learn when to let sleeping dragons lie, Harry,” she eventually said.

“Not tonight,” he snapped back, heading out of the door towards Quidditch practice.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The practice went well for Harry. Flying always went a long way to blowing the cobwebs
from his mind, and tonight was no exception. Ron seemed impressed with Harry’s
concentration, and offered the praise a captain should. Ron let Harry slip away by himself
once they’d finished for the evening. Harry was relieved that his friend seemed to know
when to leave him by himself to think.

Having left his Quidditch robes in the changing room, Harry headed off with his Invisibility
Cloak stuffed under his robes, towards the library, where Malfoy could often be found.
He caught sight of the blond head long before he got there however, heading down
towards the dungeons. Harry lost sight of him for a while in the general crush of other
students, and sighed in frustration as he reached the Slytherin corridor to find that was
Malfoy already gone.

Harry slipped into an unlocked room and surrounded himself with the Invisibility Cloak,
before checking the Marauder’s Map and letting himself out again. He waited for a few
minutes, hoping to sneak in to the Slytherin rooms with some other students, but none
came along. Huddling over the map, he noted with satisfaction that Malfoy and Blaise
were heading back out again, and sure enough, the enchanted wall shimmered and the
pair stepped through. With towels and toiletry bags in arms, they seemed to be heading
for a bath. Harry stepped in silently behind them, listening to their idle chat as they made
their way towards what Harry knew to be the prefect’s lower bathroom.

As the heavy door slowly swung shut behind the pair, Harry crept in, pressing himself into
a corner, well out of the way. The bathroom was spectacular; all granite, marble and
chrome fittings. The sunken bath centred the room, with a large swan’s neck and head
tap spouting a stream of perfumed water at a spoken command from Blaise. The bath
filled more quickly than Harry would have thought possible and soon enough, it was full
of blue-tinged water, and thick swirls of steam filled the room. The boys shrugged off
their robes and stepped in to opposite ends of the bath, each settling himself on the

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underwater ledge running the circumference of the round bath and leaning back, to
bring the water up to chest height.

Harry hadn’t been able to help appraising the naked forms of Malfoy and Blaise. Both
were lean and tall, but Malfoy had an understated definition of form, due in no small part
Harry knew, to hours of Quidditch practice and the weight training exercises that went
hand in hand with team membership. Blaise wasn’t a sportsman and his body, while slim
and attractive, wasn’t muscular. Blaise’s limbs seemed shorter than Malfoy’s somehow,
and his body was more angular. Harry imagined how it would feel lying naked beneath
his own. At the first twitch if his groin, Harry stamped the reverie down, knowing he
really didn’t need to invite trouble for himself right at the moment.

After several minutes of stillness and silence, Blaise broke in. “What was that about with

Potter in the hallway today, Draco?”

Malfoy sank a little deeper into the water, and ran his hands through his hair slowly
before answering. “I’m not entirely sure. Just winding him up, to be honest. He seems to
have been on edge lately and I want to play on it. See if I can distract him before the
match on Saturday.” Malfoy let out a small snort as he finished.

“I thought the rumours we started about sabotaging their brooms should have seen to
that,” Blaise grinned, as he rolled his shoulders and neck, dipping deeper into the water
to wet himself down.

“I know,” Malfoy sniggered. “Have you seen the Weasel lately? He looks like a candidate
for an early heart attack. Either that or a miniature Mad-Eye Moody, seeing plots
everywhere!” Malfoy laughed aloud at that. “You have to admit, it was a master stroke,
to undermine them with words when they expected something much less subtle from
us,” he added.

“In truth, I never thought it would work,” Blaise replied, looking, Harry thought, as if he
didn’t much care one way or the other.

“Never underestimate the sense of Gryffindor fair-play, my dear Blaise. Any whiff of a
plot would be enough to distract the Weasel from a vault full of free Galleons!” barked
Malfoy through his laughter.

Harry took all this in, realising that he had neglected Ron lately because he’d been so tied
up in his own thoughts. He’d never noticed how much pressure his friend was feeling.
Poor Ron, doing all the worrying for the both of them. But at least now, Harry knew that
the match on Saturday would be on the level. Well, as much as they can play fair, anyway,
he corrected himself.

“So. Do you want me to arrange you some post-match ‘entertainment’ then?” Blaise
leered.
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Harry noticed in that moment how mean and drawn Blaise’s face looked.

“What do you have in mind?” Malfoy asked, in a voice that suggested he wasn’t really
interested.

“I’ve been softening up the Patil twins. Thought they might be good for a one-off,”
offered Blaise, with a sly wink.

“Been there, done that, as you well know. Won’t be getting the t-shirt either. Neither one
was worth remembering,” sighed Malfoy disgustedly. “I’m starting to think there’s no-
one left worth shagging in this forsaken pit,” he added, the bitterness evident in his
voice.

Blaise laughed. “Well, you have rather gone through them all, haven’t you? How many
virgins did you deflower last year?!”

Both boys laughed. Harry was relieved that they didn’t go into numbers. He dreaded to
think what these two got up to. Well, he didn’t care what Malfoy got up to, but Blaise
was a different matter altogether.

“Well, I might keep the twins for myself then. See if I can get them both at the same
time, if you know what I mean,” Blaise smirked and preened at the same time. Harry’s
heart plummeted.

“Be my guest. Frankly I imagine they’ll be as uninspiring together as they are apart,”
Malfoy commented, clearly losing interest in the topic. He lay back in the water then,
head resting against the rim of the pool with his eyes closed, soaking in the silence.

Some minutes later, Blaise raised himself up and pulled out of the bath, drying himself
quickly on his towel before throwing his robes on. Harry couldn’t help but watch the
brisk journey of Blaise’s hands over his gorgeous, dark skin and was sorry when he finally
covered all that delectable flesh up.

Malfoy didn’t open his eyes and didn’t move. “I’ll leave you to soak yourself into hideous
wrinkles then,” Blaise said, before exiting the room without a backward glance.

Harry wished he could have left himself. He had learned what he needed to know and the
thought of spending any more time in a room with a naked Malfoy repeatedly led his
thoughts back to their recent ‘liaison’. And Harry most definitely did not need that.
However, there was no way to leave before Malfoy without drawing attention to his
presence, so he focussed his hopes on the rest of the bath being a brief affair.

What seemed like an eternity later, Malfoy opened his eyes briefly before slipping under
the water and re-surfacing, hair wet through. As he smoothed the long strands back from
his face, he Accio’d his toiletry bag, and grabbing shampoo and a comb, washed his hair
quickly. Sitting higher in the bath now, Malfoy leaned back again, with his eyes closed
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and let his hands wander across his chest. Two fingers briefly plucked a nipple before
continuing a meandering path across his body.

Harry groaned inwardly, intuiting the signs of Malfoy’s building arousal. He turned his
head to the wall, focussing on a gold vein in the marble, tracing its’ pattern across the
wall, to occupy himself. A slow ripple in the water snapped his attention back however,
and he saw Malfoy raise himself out of the bath to sit on the floor, legs still in the water,
feet trailing circles on the surface and creating ripples. It was impossible for Harry not to
notice the growing erection. Malfoy lay back on the floor and his hands continued their
slow tour, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips as he brushed his side with gentle
fingertips.

By now, Harry had given up convincing himself not to look; he was transfixed. He tried to
imagine how Malfoy would be feeling. Harry’s own methods of exciting himself differed
vastly from what he was witnessing. His own pleasure was always rushed, abrupt – a full-
on assault of his own body. Malfoy’s was a seduction. Casual, teasing, unhurried.

When Malfoy finally touched his twitching erection, Harry watched a sharp intake of
breath rippled through his torso. Harry thought he might die of frustration, with his own
lust now awoken and pounding insistently under his clothing. He watched Malfoy touch
himself, light strokes, like a feather. He drew patterns on his thighs and parted his legs
slightly to cup his sac and reach for the sensitive skin behind, combing through the
sparse hairs with his fingers. The stroking continued at a maddeningly slow pace, one
hand circling his length, the other cupping and rolling his balls. His sighs were quiet, but
heartfelt. Harry’s heart was in his mouth, his pulse as loud as thunder in his ears.

Releasing himself and reaching for his toiletry bag, Harry watched Malfoy produce a small
bottle of oil and pour a puddle into his right palm, letting the oil slide down his fingers
until his whole hand shone, before setting the bottle aside. Sitting up, Malfoy raised one
leg to rest his heel on the floor and spread his legs wider, displaying himself unknowingly
to Harry. Leaning back on one arm, he stroked the oiled hand over his erection and right
down between his legs, watching himself intently as he did so. Harry stopped breathing
as he saw one finger quest downward to tease the mostly hidden anus, circling it,
working the oil into the skin. That finger pushed slowly inwards, gently twisting and
probing as it was swallowed up fully inside Malfoy’s body. A sigh, sounding like relief,
escaped Malfoy’s parted lips. Harry thought it was the most erotic sound he had ever
heard. His own erection was threatening to explode any second and his mouth was as
dry as he had ever known it.

He watched Malfoy in utter fascination. The pumping of the finger and the gentle jerks
that the movement caused his cock to make were hypnotic. Malfoy’s eyes were closed
now, centred inside, perhaps on the sensations washing through him. A second finger
sought entrance and was granted it, causing Malfoy to moan out low and loud. His body
fluctuated between utter relaxation and tight tension as the fingers reached as far inside
as they could go, twisting and pumping in tandem. Harry almost gasped aloud as a third
finger penetrated the tight hole and Malfoy lifted his buttocks off the floor to give
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himself better access to thrust into himself. He worked his hips, fucking the fingers
slowly, pushing his body onto them, and pulling it off. Over and over again. So languid,
and utterly uninhibited. Malfoy’s moans rose in volume, his cock twitching with imminent
release. Harry’s pulse thudded in his throat and his groin, and silent breathing was
becoming incredibly difficult. He clamped a hand over his mouth in a feeble effort to
disguise the harsh gasps of his breath, and he dug the fingers of his other hand into his
bulging groin, desperate to dull the fevered excitement waiting to find release.

When Harry was convinced Malfoy would be able to bear no more, he saw the fingers
slide free and Malfoy relax himself once again into a sitting position.

Looking down at himself through glazed eyes, Malfoy placed both hands on his
neglected organ. He stroked himself, hand over hand from the base upwards several
times, finally running a firm hand down the shaft, and pulling his foreskin right down,
fully revealing the domed head and grasping his tightly drawn testicles in one hand. With
his oiled hand, he stroked his shaft tentatively, the lightest of touches. Malfoy explored
the sensitive ridge encircling the head with his fingertips, and rubbed the moisture
seeping from his slit into his rosy red flesh. He circled his length with his slick palm and
pumped himself slowly, shuddering each time his fingers brushed the exposed and
sensitive flesh. Harry was in such a state, he swore he could feel every tickle of Malfoy’s
fingers against his own erection.

The hot flush from Malfoy’s face spread across his upper body, enhancing rather than
marring the perfection of his skin. Harry saw the tense set of Malfoy’s shoulder a fraction
of a second before he came, with a long exhalation of breath. His ejaculation was as slow
as his masturbation, oozing thick white cream onto the circling hand. His body shaking
with exertion, Malfoy lay back down on the marble floor, breathing deeply, pacing his
breaths until normality returned. His fingers dipped idly into the semen pooling on his
stomach and drew patterns on his lower body, until only a faint sheen was visible to
Harry.

Watching Malfoy’s orgasm and following relaxation did nothing to calm Harry. His whole
body thudded with a need so great he wondered how he was keeping it bottled inside.

After a few minutes, Malfoy slid back into the bath and washed the remnants of his
passion away before climbing out and half-heartedly drying himself and draining the
water. A quick Scourgify cleaned the bath for its next occupant, and Malfoy collected his
bits and pieces with a languorous sigh and exited the room.

Harry, unable to contain himself any longer, jumped up and ripped the cloak off before
fighting for entrance to his fly. His hands almost tore the cloth in his desperation to
come. Taking his cock in hand, he pumped it furiously three or four times before shouting
out his release, which shot in heavy, violent jets across the marble floor. Shaking and
drained, Harry sank to sit propped in the corner again, clothing still in disarray.

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Harry had never witnessed or even imagined the kind of self-pleasure Malfoy had
indulged in. It went far beyond anything Harry had ever thought possible. As a man
attracted to other men, he had thought about anal sex, but only in an abstract way,
never dissecting it in graphic detail. He realised he had so much to learn! His body and
mind burned with the need to experience those sensations, both under his own hand and
with others. It certainly made him think about his enemy differently. Not as an object of
love, but definitely as one of lust. Just imagine what Malfoy could teach him! Harry could
not deny that his most bitter rival was streets ahead of him in the realms of pleasure.

Thinking back on the incident in the hallway earlier in the day, a wicked little thought
popped into Harry’s mind. So, he reckons I couldn’t make him orgasm, huh? I think I’ve
seen quite enough to know exactly what to do! Harry let the idea grow of its own
volition. This could be an excellent way to mess with the Slytherin seeker. Teasing and
sexual tension, anonymous touching and tortuous fantasies. Oh yes. That would do
nicely! How to outSlytherin a Slytherin, Harry thought to himself with amusement, as he
sorted his clothes into order, cleaned up and left the room.

Chapter Three

After updating Ron gleefully of the good news about Saturday’s Quidditch game, Harry
spent the rest of breakfast silently plotting his strategy against Malfoy. With only two
days left before the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match, there wasn’t much time for
planning anything elaborate. How he would love to see Malfoy sweat – the very idea of
breaking through his cold exterior made Harry smile.

Considering what he knew of the subjects the Slytherin had opted for at NEWT level,
Harry noted that Malfoy had History of Magic with Hermione last thing that afternoon,
which he himself had dropped. Hmm. Could that be an opportunity to mess with him? It
certainly had potential…

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Later that afternoon, Ron went off to give the team broomsticks a final service before
the game. Harry quickly donned the Invisibility Cloak and stealthily followed Hermione
out of the Gryffindor common room and down to Professor Binns’ classroom for History
of Magic. Unsurprisingly, few students had continued the course, and Harry counted only
seven people as the class took their seats. He watched Hermione snag her usual pew at
the front, blissfully unaware that he was joining the group for today’s lesson. Malfoy
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settled himself at the rearmost pew, just behind Blaise, retrieving quill, ink and
parchment from his bag. Harry knew that Malfoy was second top in every subject, just
behind Hermione, apart from DADA, where he was second to Harry himself. God – he
must hate us Gryffindors. Can’t beat us in the classroom or on the Quidditch pitch, Harry
thought with a smirk.

Binns had already commenced his drone on the Import of Magical Artefacts legislation,
1724, and appeared unaware that there were any students present. Harry would have
used the lesson to catch forty winks, or pass messages to Ron, so he was faintly shocked
to see all seven heads down, scribbling notes furiously. Leaning carefully over Malfoy’s
shoulder, he scanned the beautifully formed copperplate script, recognising it from
Snape’s note. He jumped back as Malfoy snapped to awareness and looked over his
shoulder. Must have set his spider-senses tingling, thought Harry.

Realising that close proximity would lead to his discovery, Harry moved to a stretch of
wall just to the left and in front of Malfoy. He drew his wand, pointed it at Malfoy’s desk,
and whispered almost inaudibly, “Calligra Reverso”. A faint breeze lifted the edges of
Malfoy’s parchment and he raised his head momentarily, scanning his surroundings
before smoothing it out and returning his focus to his work.

Harry withdrew a small rectangle of slate and a wooden stylus from his trouser pocket.
He had come across them amongst Sirius’ personal things during the summer, and been
told by Mr. Weasley that in conjunction with one of the Calligra charms, the slate could
be used to see words written elsewhere and the stylus could make your writing appear
on a chosen surface. Harry had taken a few of Sirius’ personal effects for himself, mostly
jewellery-type items and two small books. One of the books was Sirius’ last diary and the
other was a well thumbed ‘cook book’ of spells and charms – what looked to be work-in-
progress ideas – with lots of humorous comments on effects, and lots of crossings-out.

Harry wondered what to write on the slate. He spent a couple of minutes gazing lovingly
at Blaise while his brain ticked over, considering how best to start.

~Are you writing history notes, or something a little more colourful? You’re concentrating
so hard. Much more than Binns deserves,~, Harry wrote. He knew that his words would
bleed up through Malfoy’s parchment for a few seconds before disappearing. Malfoy’s
head jerked up, his eyes wide, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ in surprise. He scanned the
classroom carefully, noting all the other students before looking down again. He sighed
and brought a hand up to rub his eyes. Gathering himself, he tried to pick up the thread
of the lesson and continue. Harry could see the shadow of Malfoy’s writing appearing
briefly on his slate.

~I’d much prefer to read all about what you got up to last night.~ Harry grinned to
himself as he wrote that. There was an audible gasp from Malfoy, loud enough that

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Blaise looked round at his friend. He looked questioningly at Malfoy, who waved his
attention aside impatiently.

~You know. In the prefect’s bathroom.~ Malfoy looked fit to burst now, Harry thought. A
mixture of fear and anger contorted his features. He knew that look from Malfoy quite
well. I could definitely get used to yanking his chain! Harry chuckled, evilly.

~Who are you?~ Malfoy scribbled. Less than perfect handwriting now, Harry noted with
amusement.

~A voyeur, with a penchant for naughty blond boys.~ Harry could barely contain his
amusement as he watched the look of horror sweep across those rigid Malfoy features.

~Fuck off, you pervert. I have no idea what you are talking about.~ Malfoy’s entire body
shook with the force of writing the statement.

~Oh, I think you do. Why else would you think me a pervert?~ Ooh – this was too good.
Malfoy was as rattled as Harry had ever seen him. So rattled, he just stared down at his
parchment, hands shaking.

~I bet you have no idea how spectacular you looked. Have you ever done it in front of a
mirror? You should. I almost came just watching you.~ At that, Malfoy dropped his quill
and grabbed two big handfuls of his own hair, twisting them painfully. His chest was
rising and falling rapidly. Harry thought he might be hyperventilating.

Quickly retrieving his quill, Malfoy wrote ~Stop it. What have I ever done to you?~

~What have you done to me? Hmm. Well, I had the most intense wank of my life right
after you left the bathroom. You caused that. And I’m hard again right now, just thinking
about watching you.~ Harry was slightly disturbed to register that all of this was actually
true. He had to reach down and adjust himself to regain his comfort.

Malfoy covered his face with shaking hands. He rubbed the sweat from his face and laid
his palms flat on the desk momentarily, fearfully anticipating the next phantom sentence.
He looked up briefly, scanning the room, then reached down into his lap, very obviously
adjusting himself too, before picking up his quill.

~Do you like the idea of me watching you?~ Harry wrote.

~No! How dare you violate me like that!~ The once-perfect copperplate writing was now
an almost illegible.

~Liar,~ Harry taunted.

~No! I’m not some fucking whore, performing for your entertainment, you know. That
was private!~
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~Oh, yes. Private and utterly, wantonly, fucking horny. You’re hard, aren’t you?~ Harry
wasn’t smiling now. He was intent on Malfoy – his body language, his written responses.

~No. You’re sick, do you know that?~

~You’re hard.~ Not a question this time, but a statement. Harry’s eyes were glued to
Malfoy’s face. What was that? Resignation? Defeat? A warm rush of victory filled Harry’s
belly.

~No. I’m not.~ But Malfoy looked lost.

~Tell me the truth. I want you to write it down.~

~Never.~

~Tell me. You are.~ Harry’s own cock was throbbing in anticipation of Malfoy’s response.

~Shit. Why are you doing this to me?~

~Tell me.~

~Stop it, please!~

~I will if you tell me.~

After a pause of some seconds,

~Yes! All right? Yes, I am! Fucking satisfied now?~

~Undo your robes. Wank yourself off for me right now. I want to watch you again.~
Harry’s focus wandered. His erection was so hard now, he wondered how he was going
to walk out of the classroom, Invisibility Cloak notwithstanding.

Harry’s attention jumped back to Malfoy. He looked shaken. He watched the Slytherin
snatch his study materials off the desk and swipe them noisily into his bag, causing the
whole class, except Binns, to swing round and look at him. He jumped up from his pew,
clutched his robes around him and lurched out of the classroom, ignoring Blaise’s quietly
spoken concern. Binns barely registered the door slamming before continuing his
monologue.

Malfoy’s right. I am a pervert, Harry sighed to himself in frustration. I’m about fit to
explode again. At this rate, my right arm will be so tired, I’ll never catch the Snitch. He
toyed with the idea of relieving himself right there and then, but caught sight of
Hermione and felt the pressure in his trousers lessen a little.

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He spent the rest of the lesson savouring his resounding defeat of Malfoy and wondering
when the opportunity for his next move would present itself.

As the classroom emptied to murmured comments about Malfoy’s odd behaviour, Harry
slipped away to one of his favourite bathrooms – one he knew was pretty much always
deserted. Once secure in a cubicle, he removed the Invisibility Cloak, undid his trousers
and stroked himself back to full arousal. He paced himself, remembering how Malfoy had
touched himself in the prefect’s bathroom, mimicking the movements of Malfoy’s hand.
He explored the sensitive ridge around the head and shuddered at the stab of bliss the
touch elicited. Focussing only on Malfoy, Harry gave himself over to satisfying himself.
When he came, it felt like shooting liquid gold, molten and charged and completely
cleansing.

Relaxed once more, he headed back to the Gryffindor tower to catch up with Ron and
Hermione.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

At dinner that evening, Harry placed himself facing the Slytherin table. He noticed Ron
and Hermione smirk at each other, obviously thinking Harry wanted to catch a glimpse of
Blaise.

But Harry’s eyes were for Malfoy alone. He slunk into his usual seat, flanked by Crabbe
and Goyle, appearing listless and unfocussed. Harry noted how he picked at the small
amount of food he selected for his plate, and how he appeared oblivious to the
conversations going on around him. He shook Parkinson’s hand off his arm at one point,
snapping something at her, before returning his thoughts inward.

Harry smiled to himself, pleased at his small but meaningful victory. His gaze followed
Malfoy as he abruptly left the table, heading out of the hall. Crabbe and Goyle barely had
time to snatch some portable snacks before jogging after him.

Harry came back to himself, spearing a roast potato on his fork, before noticing Ron and
Hermione openly watching him.

“What?” he said, as he chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

“Malfoy stormed out of History of Magic today,” stated Hermione, her gaze never
wavering from Harry.

“Fantastic! Maybe the pressure’s getting to him,” gloated Ron. It was notable that his
sense of humour had returned since Harry had told him about Slytherin’s ‘plot’.
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“Oh. Can’t say I’d noticed,” shrugged Harry. Hermione’s laser gaze was cutting so deeply,
Harry expected marks on his skin.

“Harry? Did you do something to him?” she asked.

“No. He did something to himself,” Harry replied.

“What exactly does that mean?” she snapped.

“I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be sporting,” he smirked, knowing Hermione was heading
into those waters again. Ron snorted, drawing Hermione’s stern look to him.

“Oh come on, ‘Mione. Don’t say you don’t enjoy watching him suffer a bit!” Ron choked
out through a snigger.

“You two are unbelievable. I’m going elsewhere to find some adult conversation!” With
that, she stalked out.

Harry and Ron shrugged at each other and carried on with the important business of
filling their faces.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Frustratingly, Friday afforded Harry no further opportunities for baiting Malfoy - too
many classes, and too much one-to-one attention from Hermione. Friday evening was
spent in a team huddle, running through set plays and strategies. Ron was really in his
element, Harry was happy to see. He had fancied the captaincy for himself for a while,
but came to realise that a Seeker should only really have one task – spotting and catching
the Snitch. Harry didn’t want to have to concern himself with challenging fouls and
directing the team.

Saturday came speeding around, tension and excitement palpable across the whole
school, not just Slytherin and Gryffindor. This match was always the most hotly contested
of the Quidditch calendar, with house rivalries running the deepest here. Harry thought
that his own personal rivalry with Malfoy stepped the intensity up a level for the whole
school, though. He loved playing Slytherin. It was the most pressure – the biggest game.
He always tried harder, applied himself more cunningly to these games. He loved beating
Malfoy to the Snitch. The pleasure he got from doing it was almost…sexual. The most
fun you can have with your clothes on. Almost. Harry amended himself, with a chuckle.

The game was dirty. It always was, but Malfoy, as captain, had clearly psyched his team
up to fever pitch. Bludgers were flying dangerously close to heads, and the Gryffindor
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Chasers were barged and manhandled at almost every pass. Harry himself had to watch
out for stray feet kicking him and Malfoy circling him, sneering menacingly as he
repeatedly knocked Harry off balance. Madam Hooch was kept on her toes – it was
impossible for her to keep an eye on all the players and consequently some nasty scrapes
and bruises were picked up by most of the Gryffindors. The only amusing diversion in the
first half hour of play was the pathetic attempts made by the Slytherin team at taunting
the Gryffindors about their broomsticks. He even noticed Crabbe and Goyle shake their
heads at each other and shrug when Ginny just laughed at their efforts.

Malfoy seemed to sense that the planned Slytherin psychological advantage was lost,
and was clearly attempting to make up for it by behaving even more viciously, towards
both his own team and the Gryffindors. Forty minutes into play, Madam Hooch called for
a time out, summoning both captains to her while the other players landed, catching
their breath. Her yelling at Malfoy about his teams’ appalling sportsmanship echoed
around the pitch, causing cheers to erupt from about three quarters of the spectators.

Play resumed, with the score at one-ninety to one-seventy, in Slytherin’s favour. Harry’s
own frustration level was soaring as he had yet to catch a single sighting of the Snitch.
The day was overcast, but there was no rain, and no other reason for his lack of success.
He had spent most of his time either shadowing Malfoy, or drawing him away from play
with feinted dives and swift direction changes. Between dodging Bludgers, he had an
opportunity to observe Malfoy – he appeared almost mad. Totally focussed, and totally
without mercy.

Some time later, with Gryffindor trailing by only ten points now, Demelza Robins took a
Bludger full in the face, followed by a hefty dose of Goyle’s bat, forcing her to lurch to
the ground for medical attention. Gryffindor could well do without losing a Chaser at this
point. Malfoy couldn’t have looked more gleeful if he tried, taunting Ron from a distance,
drawing a finger across his throat and howling with laughter.

Slytherin really applied the pressure now, and stretched their lead to one hundred and
ten points, making the most of Gryffindor’s front-line weakness. Ron looked
beseechingly at Harry, pleading with his eyes for Harry to catch the Snitch and end it.
Malfoy, obviously content with his team’s ill-gotten lead, diverted his attentions to Harry
full time. He kept swooping down to hover just behind Harry’s shoulder, whispering
threats, and laughing as Gryffindor players continued to stack up injuries. Harry spent
rather too much time swerving to bring Malfoy back into his line of sight. He only knew
the Snitch had been spotted when Malfoy shot off and the commentator shrieked out.

Harry launched himself into pursuit, rocketing up into the sky high above the stands. The
flicker of gold was just visible up ahead of Malfoy, carving a sweeping path that
mimicked the boundary of the stadium. Harry’s heart pounded and his focus shut down
to Malfoy and the Snitch. When the Snitch started a decaying orbit back towards the rest
of the players, Harry was almost level with Malfoy. They each sensed rather than saw
their close proximity, but were both robbed of speech in their utter concentration. The
Snitch set a course directly for one of the Slytherin goals, causing both Harry and Malfoy
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to swerve at the last minute to avoid a collision with the post. Harry overcorrected his
flight path slightly, bumping into Malfoy, causing a breathless fraction of a second for
both of them as they each separated from their brooms before crashing back onto them.
The distraction was enough. The Snitch had disappeared again.

Malfoy whipped his broom round to face Harry, fury etched deeply into his features.

“You stupid idiot!” Malfoy was almost screaming. “It was mine! I almost had it!”

“Almost isn’t close enough, Malfoy. You, of all people, should know that,” snarled Harry
in response, his lips set in a tight smile.

“I thought I couldn’t possibly hate you more. But I can. I despise everything about you,
Potter,” he spat.

Drawing his broom closer, Harry leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Oh, not
everything, I’m sure. In fact, I rather think you-”.

At that split second, the Snitch launched itself vertically between Harry and Malfoy, its
delicate wings whistling in the breeze. Harry, his reactions just that tiny bit faster, shot
off in pursuit with the advantage. As Malfoy caught up, he shouted across at Harry, “Still
want to fuck Zabini? He wouldn’t touch you with someone else’s. I wouldn’t touch you
with someone else’s, you ugly faggot!”

Harry shot back a response, barely registering his own words.

“ Rather Zabini than Snape. Shit! Rather you than Snape! What do you see in him?” Harry
laughed evilly. To himself, it sounded maniacal. Just eighteen more inches – twelve more
inches – nearly. Nearly.

Two hands reached forward, both hoping to grab the Snitch. Harry could feel the air
displacement on his palm caused by the flutter of the wings. Malfoy was screeching. A
thump landed heavily into Harry’s side. He had a split second to register it was Malfoy as
his hand closed around the golden ball and Malfoy dropped away. Harry lifted his arm up,
the universal sign of victory and the crowd below erupted into cheers. Harry found
himself surrounded by team-mates, all clutching at him, hugging him, and yelling their
happiness.

Ron had tears running down his cheeks as he held onto Harry.

“So close! So bloody close!” Ron was shouting.

“I know!” yelled back Harry. “But I got there first! Again!”

“No, no – not the Snitch – the score! The Bludger!” cried Ron.

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It was only then than Harry noticed Malfoy on the ground, receiving medical attention.

“What happened?” Harry managed, between hugs and kisses from his teammates.

“Crabbe smashed a blistering Bludger right at you. It hit Malfoy!” Ron was clearly
overjoyed by this turn of events. “But Merlin, mate. The score! Talk about cutting it fine!”

By now, they were on the ground, surrounded by Gryffindor fans who were cheering at
an almost deafening level. Looking up at the scoreboard, Harry noticed they had won by
ten points. Crap! I never even thought about checking the score before I caught the
Snitch. Talk about a lucky escape! he thought to himself, as he fought his way back to the
dressing rooms for a well earned shower.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Madam Hooch insisted that both teams had to visit the infirmary for full medical check-
ups. The rest of Gryffindor decided not to postpone the celebrations and headed up to
the tower to start the Butterbeer flowing. Those with the most serious injuries were
attended to first, meaning Harry had to wait until last. One of the benefits of playing a
solitary position. And being fast! he thought, as he waited.

Harry waited patiently, watching his teammates file out one by one, and grinning in
amusement as Madam Pomfrey ordered the Slytherins from the infirmary with the
words, “Mr. Malfoy needs rest, not to hold court with you lot! Out you go!”

Eventually, Harry was left in the room with Robins, who looked to be out cold, and
Malfoy, who was padded and strapped in criss-crosses on his torso and neck,
incapacitated as a result of the Bludger hitting him between his shoulder blades. Malfoy
was conscious, but lay with his eyes closed, a look of utter disgust on his face. Harry
allowed Madam Pomfrey to prod and poke him until she was satisfied his only real
injuries were a few shallow cuts and some corking bruises. After telling him he could go,
she strode into her office to Floo her report to Professor Dumbledore.

On the spur of the moment, Harry walked to the foot of Malfoy’s bed and stared down at
him. Malfoy’s eyes flicked open and met Harry’s challengingly. “What the fuck are you
looking at?” he hissed, between thinned lips.

Harry allowed his mouth to twist into a tiny smile and let his gaze wander down Malfoy’s
stretched-out body. He moved his gaze over Malfoy’s torso, noting the dusky pink of the
nipples and watching them harden into stiff little peaks. He allowed his smile to widen as
he looked over the rest of what was visible of the Slytherin above the sheet, before
returning his gaze to that scowling face.
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“Had a good enough look, Potter?” he snapped.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered, seductive and low.

“What?” he spat back.

“Why did your nipples just go hard? I was only looking. It’s not like I was offering to
touch…” Harry’s smile spread into a broad smirk as he took in the apoplectic expression
on Malfoy’s face. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the infirmary, laughing to himself.
I think I might come back and have some fun with you later.

Yes. Why not?

Chapter Four

After the Quidditch match, the rest of the day disappeared in the blink of an eye for
Harry. He was plied with drinks and sweets from every angle, and listened patiently to
Ron’s over enthusiastic retelling of the match’s high points for several hours. The
Gryffindor celebrations overflowed into the rest of the school, with lions-head flags in
red and gold draped around every statue and raucous singing on every corridor. This was
excessive for a regular game, but seemed to be a release-valve for the tension created by
the violence on the pitch. Ginny swore to a packed common room that she had heard
Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout about it being the most aggressive,
dirtiest game she had seen in twenty years of teaching at Hogwarts, and probably in the
history of Hogwarts.

Harry, by now very used to being the centre of attention, took great pleasure in moving
the focus onto their victorious captain, Ron. He’d never seen his best friend so happy. Or
loud! Harry also noticed a few covert looks and gestures between Ron and Hermione,
and figured his two friends might be having their own, more private, celebration later
that night. He was grateful to Ron for his nicely subtle efforts at disengaging an
obviously ‘interested’ Ginny from clinging to Harry, and moving her tactfully off in Dean’s
direction. Harry and Ron shared a grin, giving and acknowledging thanks.

Well into the evening, the party was showing signs of slowing down, and there were
even a few new canoodling couples collapsed in chairs and alcoves, Harry noted with
amusement. No same sex couples, though, he couldn’t help but notice. That thought
immediately made him think of Blaise. Which, of course, instantly made him think of
Malfoy. I wish I had one of Fred and George’s Patented Daydream potions. One of them
would be perfect for messing with Malfoy he thought wickedly. He decided to send the
twins an owl the next day, asking them about the ‘flexibility’ of the Daydream potions,
thinking he might be able to tailor one to his, or rather, Malfoy’s specific needs. He
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grinned to himself as he thought of several cracking possibilities, and then stopped


grinning at the realisation that he might need to tell Fred and George he was gay.

Harry wondered idly to himself whether Malfoy had any company right at that moment.
It was past nine ‘o’ clock at night, and he knew that Madam Pomfrey usually chased
visitors off by eight-thirty. With the Invisibility Cloak, it would be possible for him to enter
the infirmary unseen, but what on earth could he do to the captive Malfoy that wouldn’t
require getting too close? Maybe there was something in Sirius’ dog-eared charm book
that might fit the bill. Some of the charm and spell descriptions scribbled in the book
showed quite graphically that the teenaged Sirius had a particularly active interest in
physical pleasure. Some of his notes were downright pornographic!

Sloping off to the dorm, Harry lay on his bed, flipping the pages of the worn black book,
stopping to scan the writing every so often. He considered a few possibilities, including
charms to make objects vibrate, potions to make the skin alternately hot and cold, and
one that bound your intended victim with satin or velvet ties, depending on your
pronunciation.

Harry found the perfect thing almost at the end of the written pages. It was a delicate
charm that caused its recipient to experience the sensation of hands stroking all over his
or her body simultaneously, without actually being touched at all. He was, however,
slightly disturbed to note that Sirius had jotted some notes about testing it out on his
own father! Apparently, James has been the guinea pig, letting Sirius know when the
intensity was ‘just maddening enough’. There were a whole host of thoughts relating to
that tiny revelation which Harry decided not to spend to much time on just then.

Stowing the trusty Invisibility Cloak inside his baggy top, Harry made his way back
through the common room, carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes, and thereby avoiding
questions about what he was up to. He needn’t have worried too much. The common
room resembled the back row of a cinema, full of couples all tied up in each other. Once
outside, he slipped the cloak on to descend the stairs, and walked to the infirmary. He
almost stepped on Mrs. Norris, who was keeping company with the repellent Filch as he
stripped Gryffindor flags from along the hallways. Mrs. Norris shot her usual hiss in
Harry’s direction, before showing him the underside of her tail and darting off.

All was tranquil in the infirmary itself. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, probably
having turned in for the night. Demelza’s bed was curtained off from view, ensuring her
privacy from any prying eyes. Harry popped his head in, just to check up on her. She was
fast asleep, her mouth slightly open. She looked peaceful, which pleased Harry, as her
face had looked a terrible mess earlier. It seemed to be healing nicely, but she would
probably have some bruises left for a few days.

Malfoy’s bed was also curtained off on two sides, so that Demelza, or visitors to the
infirmary couldn’t see him. Harry moved forward until he was several feet from the open
side of Malfoy’s bed. Looking down at him, Harry thought how uncomfortable Malfoy
must be, arms held in place slightly out from his sides, neck rigidly straight. His brows
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were furrowed over closed eyes and his breathing was shallow and uneven. Harry
noticed Malfoy’s body tensing and relaxing almost imperceptibly – if he was asleep, his
dream probably wasn’t pleasant, but Harry thought there was a possibility he could still
be awake.

Momentarily, Harry felt compassion for his enemy. He shoved it aside with memories of
the Quidditch game earlier and fixed his expression into grim determination, before
withdrawing his wand slowly, fingers relaxed around its shaft. Holding the Invisibility
Cloak away from his body, Harry raised the wand to chest height, before drawing it lazily
down in a curvy line and murmuring ”Satinsensua”. The word left his lips on the lightest
of breezes, causing a ripple to flow through the sheer material of his Invisibility Cloak,
and seeming to hang invisibly for a moment before dispersing in a subtle burst of
warmth.

For a short time, it appeared as if nothing was happening, other than a soft movement in
the air around Malfoy’s bed.

Harry knew the exact moment Malfoy’s body registered the touch, as his breathing
caught, expanding the pale chest upwards and outwards. The blond head tilted back into
the mound of pillows, raising its pointed chin slightly. The gentle stretching of Malfoy’s
delicate neck, his translucent skin so soft and begging to be touched, transfixed Harry for
long moments. Malfoy’s lips parted slightly, exhaling slowly but deeply, until his chest
lowered back down to the bed, sated for the moment.

Watching Malfoy’s face intently, Harry saw that the tension on his brow had smoothed
away, but his eyes were flickering behind their closed lids. A lock of white blond hair
curled down onto his forehead, making him appear a little mussed, but much more
relaxed. The temptation for Harry to reach out and run the hair through his fingers
before pushing it aside was immense. He remembered the silken feel of the hair as he
had gripped that head while it pleasured him in the dim alcove, what seemed like forever
ago. He wondered how those fine strands would feel stroking across his naked skin, and
his body prickled instantly as goose pimples tickled across his whole body.

Malfoy’s entire torso stretched and curved gently, causing Harry to widen his focus.
Under the folded down sheet, right at the bottom of the bed, Harry could see the shape
of Malfoy’s toes curling slowly, digging in to the mattress below, and then uncurling just
as slowly, stretching out and curving upwards gently. He repeated the movement several
times, each time taking longer to complete the cycle, until the need to move slid up
higher into his calves, which tensed and relaxed in the same languid pattern.

The sound of breathing was now perceptible. With each breath in and each breath out,
Malfoy’s body seemed to multiply its desire to flex, and Harry suspected the sensation of
the sheet against his naked skin must feel like feathers, or fingertips; something almost
unbearably arousing.

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Harry could not fail to notice when Malfoy started to harden. The thin sheet, and his
obvious lack of sleepwear, meant that it was impossible to disguise the change in shape
and texture of his shaft. The sheet rose briefly, as the engorged penis moved to lie
against Malfoy’s stomach. The first whispered moan escaped Malfoy’s lips as the sheet
rubbed across his sensitive tip, marking the white fabric with a tiny dot of moisture.

Malfoy’s body was in constant, erotically slow, movement. His hands circled gently on his
slim wrists, as if reaching out for something insubstantial, fingertips stroking each other
softly in their need to touch something, anything. His chest rose and fell in time with his
sighs, twisting slightly each time, perhaps in an effort to create friction on his back and
buttocks. His tiny nipples were puckered - tight and angry looking, purple-pink replacing
their paler, resting colour. Harry wondered how their texture would feel on his tongue, if
they would taste of anything. Would the skin be forgiving between his teeth?

Rhythmically slow thrusting movements distracted Harry from contemplating Malfoy’s


chest. His hips were moving in a lazy, circular motion, catching the sheet taut on the
upward thrust. The tiny wet dot had grown into a slightly transparent patch, through
which Harry could just make out the darkened contact point between the linen and the
Slytherin’s oozing erection.

Harry the spectator stood, utterly hypnotised by the sight before him. Malfoy’s bodily
movements were small, barely enough to tease. Harry could only guess how the
sensations were amplified by the charm. The deep sighs and quiet moans set Harry’s skin
burning with desire. His own inevitable erection strained inside his trousers untouched,
disregarded. Nothing else existed except the utterly sensuous tableau playing out before
him.

He lost track of time, having no idea how long he watched the flush spread across
Malfoy’s sculpted cheekbones, crawl down his neck and onto his chest, the lightest of
blushes.

The depth of Malfoy’s breathing first alerted Harry to the height of his arousal. Each long
exhalation was accompanied by a drawn-out moan, uttered so softly, as if confidentially-
for no one else’s pleasure but his own.

Harry watched as the tip of a moist pink tongue slid out of Malfoy’s mouth to travel
around his too-dry lips, and felt his own chest constrict sharply as his heartbeat pounded
against his ribcage in response to the stimulus. He had never noticed before how full
Malfoy’s lower lip was. It was plump; suckable. His upper lip, now quivering slightly, was
less plump, but had a beautiful bow. Harry watched the lips form subtle pouts around the
now insistent moans.

Watching almost without breathing now, Harry followed the gentle undulation in
Malfoy’s spine down to his rocking groin. The wet patch on the thin sheet was now large
and noticeable. Harry knew Malfoy would come in moments. He was torn between
watching the wet patch spread and watching his victim’s face in those final seconds.
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In the end, the choice was made for him. Harry watched a crease form momentarily
between Malfoy’s blond brows and his face froze, as if in concentration, or in pain. It
relaxed almost instantly into an expression of utter relief, accompanied by a raspy moan,
the last of the air leaving Malfoy’s lungs. His body continued to undulate slowly for some
seconds, before settling into a boneless repose.

As Malfoy’s breathing returned to normal, Harry felt a warm breeze draw back from the
bed and into his own body, filling him momentarily with a post-orgasmic glow, before it
evaporated.

He took the time to watch the pools of come soak into the sheet, forming patterns that
eventually blurred into one large, wet stain. Harry felt a rush of power, strong and
undeniable, at the thought that he had aroused Malfoy’s body so. He could not deny the
surge of sexual gratification that burned through him as he had witnessed Malfoy’s
undoing at a whispered word.

He was already stepping backwards away from the bed when Malfoy opened his eyes.
Harry froze briefly, before reassuring himself that he was unseen. He watched the
perplexed expression spread across Malfoy’s face as he looked down his body and
confirmed that no, he hadn’t imagined that part. Malfoy’s head fell back against the
pillow. He looked thoroughly disgusted with himself. It had clearly occurred to him
immediately that he was not going to be able to clean himself up, strapped up as he was.
Harry smiled inwardly, imagining the conversation tomorrow with Madam Pomfrey. How
he would love to be a fly on the wall for that one!

Harry had now stepped silently out of view behind the curtain, and was about to head for
the door when Malfoy spoke quietly, hesitantly.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

Harry was silent.

“How did you do it? I know you didn’t touch me.”

Another silence, strained and painful for Harry.

“Who are you?”

No answer.

“At least clean me up.”

At last, Harry whispered,

“No.”

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“Please.”

“Are you begging me?” Harry was fighting to keep his voice rough and whispered,
unrecognisable.

“Never.”

“Really? Shame.” Harry paused, then, “Did it feel good?” He couldn’t help himself. He had
to ask.

“Don’t you know?” He could hear from Malfoy’s voice that he was smiling.

Silence, stretching out, until,

“Incredible. It felt absolutely incredible.”

Harry was filled with conflicting emotions – elated that Sirius’ charm worked so well, but
faintly irritated that Malfoy should have enjoyed it so much, when this was, after all, only
a game. He wanted Malfoy on edge. Now he was too relaxed by far. He’d have to change
that. Harry began to walk towards the door, not bothering to stifle his footfalls.

“Will you be back again?” Harry perked up, at the hint of a tremor in Malfoy’s voice. He
decided his next move instantaneously.

“No.”

Harry thought he heard Malfoy say “Oh”, but he couldn’t be sure, as he swung the door
open and shut it gently behind him.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Most of Gryffindor house got up late the next day, missing breakfast altogether after a
long night of celebrations. Harry, having noted Ron’s empty bed this morning, went in
search of his friends in the common room. When they weren’t there, he decided to head
to the kitchens to see if Dobby would sort him out a snack. At the head of the stairs, he
spotted Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, walking towards him, looking flushed and
happy.

“Have a good night?” Harry asked, smiling broadly at them. They both grinned and
blushed fetchingly in response, sharing a look.

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“So come on, where did you go? I know it wasn’t our dorm, and Ron can’t get into the
girls dorm.”

Following another shared sheepish expression, Hermione stuttered, “Room of


Requirement,” then looked at her feet.

Harry narrowed his eyes and gave them a sly grin, before bounding over to them and
pulling them into a big hug. After a moment’s hesitation, they both hugged him back,
and they all laughed. As they broke apart, Harry said, “I picked up this great charm book
at Grimmauld Place, out of Sirius’ room. It’s full of ideas for the bedroom! I think you
could be my testers!”

Hermione puffed up in mock indignation, but Ron muttered something about borrowing
the book later, making them all laugh again.

It didn’t take much to persuade them to accompany him to the kitchen for food, so the
three friends set off in search of Dobby.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Later that afternoon, while Hermione was finishing up her Arithmancy homework, Harry
got

Ron on his own for a chat about Fred and George. He wanted to get some assurances
from Ron about their trustworthiness in relation to his ‘big secret’. Ron understood
Harry’s concern, but eased his fears, reminding Harry how much Fred and George owed
him after the financing of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and how he was part of the family
as far as they were all concerned. Harry felt better, but declined to explain to Ron quite
why the need to tell the twins might arise at just this moment in time.

Some time later, Ron went to track Hermione down, and Harry sat to write a note to the
twins. He screwed up at least six pieces of parchment before settling on the final version.
In it, he told the twins how important their discretion was, but that he needed their help
to ‘discover’ himself. (A bit flowery, he knew, but Harry hoped to get their sympathy and
discourage them from asking any questions.) He asked them about the Patented
Daydream potion, and whether they had any gay versions for trial. He also wanted to
know if the characters appearing in the daydream could be pre-selected and if the potion
could be directed at someone without their knowledge. On reading it back, Harry knew
there was no way to make his questions sound innocent – Fred and George would no
doubt see exactly what he was up to. He just hoped they wouldn’t tease him too much.
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Having petted Hedwig for a while before sending her off with the note, Harry spent the
rest of the day trying to complete his Transfiguration homework as well as worrying about
the Daily Prophet intercepting Hedwig, and forcing the note from her, outing him to the
entire wizarding world. After dinner, he stood on the tower turret for quite some time in
the freezing wind, just collecting his thoughts.

Thinking about Blaise, Harry was surprised to note that while still attracted to him, he
wasn’t filled with a burning desire to touch him any more, or to find out what he smelled
like. His feelings were there, they were just less. When he considered Malfoy, Harry
couldn’t deny the physical attraction that was there, but there was no acceptance of his
rival’s irritating personality. It was hard to deny to himself however, that flashes of that
pale, naked body at various stages of arousal now accompanied most of his
masturbatory fantasies.

Heading off for bed, Harry wondered how long it would take Fred and George to reply to
him.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Two days later, Hedwig soared over the breakfast table, carrying a package far bulkier
than she herself was. She ended up landing half on Harry’s plate of scrambled eggs, as
there just wasn’t enough empty space anywhere else close to Harry. Ignoring the
interested looks his friends gave him, Harry detached the parcel and spent a few minutes
fussing Hedwig and feeding her bread crusts with marmalade. He left the table as soon
as he could, arranging to meet Ron at their first lesson.

Up on his bed, curtains tightly closed, Harry tore the brown paper packaging open and
found lots of smaller wrapped packages inside. He grabbed the magenta-edged envelope
and ripped the letter out of it. It said:

Dear Harry, good friend and benefactor of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,

Hello from your favourite troublesome twins!

Your secret’s safe with us (George says “Welcome to the club!”). Don’t give it another
thought, mate.

Glad to hear you taking an active interest in the business and offering to do some testing
for us! We have sent you a couple of charms and potions, mostly tested (on ourselves, of
course), but market trials are vital to our business plan, so test away. Just let us know
what happens. (George says, “In great detail, please”).

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The package erroneously marked ‘Bubble-bath Bomb’ will be the one you are most
interested in, as it’s actually one of our new Patented Erotic Daydream Potions. For your
authenticity, the setting is our very own, beloved Hogwarts, and if you follow the extra
instructions we have noted, you can pick exactly who you want as your ‘participants’. For
legal reasons, the daydream will only go as far as the ‘recipient’ wants it to go, so if
you’ve got yourself lined up with a bit of a mummy’s boy, forget any heavy action.
(George says it’s a shame Oliver Wood has left, because he was as well ridden as one of
the school broomsticks and would have been great for a first-timer like your good self.)

We’ve also sent you a vial of Daydream Master (patent pending). It’s a little something
we’ve been working on for our marital aid line. Basically, we plan to sell it as an add-on,
as it allows one partner to guide the erotic daydream of the other. BE WARNED though!
This version works both ways, so if you decide to use it, you might want some privacy.
We haven’t figured out a one-way potion yet. (George says he had a nasty shock when
his unwitting recipient showed a bit of a flair for spanking – he still has a pink bum now).

We’ve sent you some other bits and pieces that might come in useful and we hope you
have some fun with them. Let your hair down, mate. You deserve it. Write back soon,
with all the details.

Fred (and George).

Harry smiled to himself, full of relief and also anticipation. He threw the packages into his
trunk for perusal later and headed off for his first lesson, full of uncharacteristic
enthusiasm.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry spent a bit of time over the next couple of weeks just watching Malfoy. There were
few, if any, obvious changes to his behaviour and Harry wondered if he was really up to
keeping the game going. Maybe I’m just not Slytherin enough, he thought to himself
from time to time. He knew he had to back off for a while, leaving Malfoy to wonder
about his ‘phantom stranger’, and really pique his interest. Harry hoped to spot some
signs of longing or tension in the ice prince, but he seemed to be out of luck.

The best times he had to really scrutinise Malfoy were during lessons. Harry found
himself noting his mannerisms: which ‘looks’ went with which gestures, that sort of
thing. He thought he was getting a pretty good idea of what was really going on under
the surface. He noticed a little nervous tic, something that happened most often when
Malfoy answered a question in the classroom. When he was unsure of having an answer
absolutely correct, Malfoy tensed his shoulders fractionally and rolled them, stretching
his neck slightly. Harry began to see it as kind of cute, a tiny chink in that oh-so-rigid pure-
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blood armour. Seeing it happen, and feeling he had correctly intuited the reason behind
it, Harry felt a tiny rush of warmth every time. One time, Ron caught him looking over at
Malfoy with what was probably a stupid grin plastered across his face. At Ron’s
concerned frown, Harry whispered that he had been daydreaming about Blaise.

During the next Hogsmeade weekend, Harry, Ron and Hermione spent a relaxed
lunchtime in the Three Broomsticks, having started their Christmas shopping. Everything
outside had a crisp coating of frost on it, shining pure and crystalline in the sunlight but
causing a bonedeep chill. When they settled at a table quite near to the roaring fire,
Harry spotted Malfoy on the opposite side of the room with a bunch of his Slytherin
cronies. He made sure he snagged the chair that would allow him to watch his prey.

The Broomsticks was pretty full and the atmosphere was lively and loud. There were lots
of comings and goings, giving Harry good cover to keep looking over at the Slytherin
table. He noted that there were many bags and packages on the floor surrounding the
table. Perhaps being rich was one thing the Sorting Hat looked for when it chose you for
Slytherin?

After a while, four of Malfoy’s company left the pub, leaving him sitting with Crabbe and
Goyle. Unsurprisingly, the conversation pretty much ceased at that point. The dopey
henchmen commenced to bicker over the right to read a comic first, causing Malfoy to
frown and snap at them. With their noses finally buried, Malfoy had to occupy himself in
other ways. Harry watched him fix his glacial eyes on one person after another, frowning
as if trying to see right inside them. He smiled to himself as he noticed that Malfoy didn’t
look away from his current ‘victim’, even if the person caught him staring. After the fifth
target, Harry realised that Malfoy was only looking at Hogwarts students. Older, male
Hogwarts students. Older, male, good-looking Hogwarts students. This was interesting!
Harry thought (hoped?) that Malfoy might be scanning for potential candidates for his
erotic torturer.

As there were relatively few people fitting that description in the pub at the time, it was
inevitable that Malfoy would eventually get to Harry. He expected a speedy dismissal,
and could not have been more surprised by the lengthy examination Malfoy undertook.
It wasn’t their usual staring match. This was much more. It was an almost clinical
examination of every physical feature of Harry’s face and body. Ron and Hermione fell
silent, confused - totally unnoticed by either Harry or Malfoy. They seemed to take the
measure of each other and, conclusion reached, look away. There were no sneers,
comments, or rolled eyes from either of them. Instead, they both stared out into space,
eyes unfocussed, deep in thought.

That night, lying in bed, Harry decided to try the Daydream Potion on Malfoy at the first
opportunity in the coming week.

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Chapter Five

As it happened, the best opportunity for subjecting Malfoy to the Daydream Potion was
once again Professor Binns’ History of Magic class. It was the only class during which it
was highly unlikely the daydream would be interrupted. Harry was torn between either
watching from the classroom, or viewing the fantasy from a safe distance. Weighing up
the advice from Fred and George, he decided to stay in his dorm, as he figured that using
the Daydream Master potion would mean he would be participating in the fantasy
somehow, and therefore too busy to be watching the real Malfoy.

Of the possible options Fred and George had listed for the daydream, Harry had decided
to use the potion to call up one of Draco’s own fantasies rather than create an artificial
one. He wanted the opportunity to see for himself exactly what really did it for the
Slytherin, thinking there might be some future advantage in it for him. All Harry planned
to control was the masking of his own identity.

It hadn’t been hard to get Dobby to pour some of the Daydream potion into Malfoy’s
lunchtime juice, so with that accomplished, Harry retired to his bed, shut the drapes and
waited nervously for some sign that the daydream was starting.

Fred and George had neglected to mention how it all worked…

Wondering if he needed to be thinking about his prey, Harry called up a picture of Malfoy
in his mind, (not hard to do that lately) and replayed some of their recent encounters, to
get himself in the mood, as it were.

Maybe ten minutes later, Harry inexplicably pictured the Quidditch changing room
showers in frightening clarity. The shower stalls were empty and quiet, except for the
pounding of one of the large showerheads as it pelted jets of steamy water onto the tile
floor. The room was hot and clammy, and Harry noted with amusement that he was
naked and concealed behind some sort of shower curtain. Certainly, there weren’t
usually any shower curtains in front of the stalls.

With baited breath, he watched Malfoy walk into the shower room, still clad in his
Quidditch kit, his arms loaded with fluffy towels and toiletry bottles. He never glanced in
Harry’s direction, but laid his materials out and began to strip off. Stepping into the
steaming shower, Malfoy sighed out loud and let the water pound onto his head,
stretching his shoulders, neck, and finally his arms, reaching up high to grasp the metal
showerhead, hanging on it for a second, then slowly letting go.

Starting with his hair, Malfoy washed himself thoroughly, rubbing sandalwood-
fragranced bubbles over and into his skin until he had completed his whole body. Harry
watched as the Slytherin leaned into the wall, hands at chest height for balance, and let

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the powerful jet of water hit his back between the shoulder blades, raising a pink tinge to
his pale skin.

Without warning, Harry’s body began to move out from behind his curtain and across the
room towards the occupied cubicle. His heart was pounding, overflowing with anxiety
that Malfoy would turn and see him. At the threshold of the cubicle, Harry stood still
momentarily and drank in the sight of the slim, toned body before him. God, Malfoy had
a great arse. His buttocks were high but gently rounded; touchable and enticing. The dip
in the small of his back was made more pronounced by the swelling of his delicious rump.
Harry could make out tiny, fine white gold hairs glinting in that dip. He wanted so much
to touch them.

Before he could move, he heard himself murmur a charm he didn’t know. Malfoy gasped
aloud and Harry looked up to see Malfoy’s head had been bound round with a wide black
ribbon. It was clear that his eyes were covered. The flow of water ceased suddenly.

Harry had a moment to register his own sudden relaxation before he heard himself
whisper, as if scripted, “Do not turn around. And keep your hands exactly where they
are. I will leave if you disobey. Nod once if you understand.”

Malfoy bobbed his head once, remaining still. Looking back down at that magnificent
backside, Harry smiled to himself as he watched it tense and relax, tense and relax, over
and over, as he stood, listening to the harsh rasp that was Malfoy’s breathing. Harry
found himself stepping forward, the tip of his erection pressing lightly into Malfoy’s back,
the first moment of contact, before the rest of his front met Malfoy’s body. The Slytherin
could not contain his shudder, or the heated whimper that escaped his lips. Harry moved
his hips side to side gently, rubbing his leaking head into that pale back, and dipping into
that inviting crease. His own breathing felt ragged in his throat, forced and painful.

Harry registered one of his hands moving upwards until it found the wet, heavy ends of
Malfoy’s platinum hair. He grasped the hair roughly and twisted it upwards, exposing the
back of his elegantly shaped neck. Leaning his head in, Harry sank his teeth slowly into
the skin, surrounding the knobbly bone and sucked at it greedily, pulling away eventually
when Malfoy thrust himself back onto Harry’s groin firmly, panting loudly and
whispering, “Please…”. A dark red patch, mouth-shaped and with purple teeth marks
circling it was clearly visible against the pink skin and Harry could not help leaning in
again and licking it quickly with the flat of his tongue. Malfoy tipped his head forward
until his forehead rested against the tile wall and groaned aloud. That one sound tore
into Harry’s self-restraint and he felt his body demand an end to its torture of denial.

Harry found that he had begun to thrust his hips into Malfoy’s back. His hard length had
found a home, riding the channel of Malfoy’s pert bottom. The dampness of their skins
and the leaking lubricant from Harry’s erection lubricated its path, and Malfoy began to
return the thrusts in earnest. Looking down, Harry could see his foreskin roll back at the
peak of each thrust, gripped by the tightness of the tautly fleshy cheeks. Harry placed his
hands over Malfoy’s on the wall, and their fingers intertwining automatically, gripping at
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each other painfully in their growing need. He bit down sharply on a shoulder blade and
gave himself over to humping Malfoy’s crack.

Harry’s body felt on fire, electrified. The sensations were so unbelievably real; he could
easily fool himself that it was actually happening, instead of a mere fantasy. He also
couldn’t imagine that actual, penetrative sex could possibly feel any better than this.
Their bodies and reactions were perfectly in tune, and there was no fumbling and no
uncertainty from either side.

Harry was drawn back from his inner thoughts when he felt Malfoy drag one of his hands
from underneath his own. Malfoy’s breathing hitched loudly as he took his own cock in
hand and wanked himself forcefully in time with Harry’s thrusts. Just sensing the
movement of Malfoy’s arm was nearly enough to make Harry empty himself over his
back.

Finally making a decision for himself, Harry dropped his own hand and placed it over
Malfoy’s, squeezing and working the fat, hard length underneath. Malfoy’s head tipped
back onto Harry’s shoulder and the flatteringly loud sound of his imminent orgasm was
unmistakeable. Through gritted teeth, Harry ploughed relentlessly through Malfoy’s
sticky furrow, shouting aloud as the first spurt of come left his body to decorate
Malfoy’s. Almost instantly, Malfoy’s shout echoed Harry’s and he found his own release,
the creamy semen hitting the tile wall in great gouts. Leaning into one another for
support, they both shook with exertion and laughed quietly in shared understanding,
perhaps almost sympathy.

Some moments later, Malfoy broke the silence. “This is no good. I have to know who you
are. You haunt my days and my nights.”

When Harry made no reply, he continued, “I want you. I don’t care. I just want you.”

“No,” Harry whispered, breathing almost normal now.

“How can I make you come to me for real?”

“Beg,” Harry laughed, his voice muffled in Malfoy’s shoulder.

“I don’t beg. Not for anyone,” was the amused response.

“Oh, but you will before I’m done with you.” Harry trailed the words across Malfoy’s neck
and shoulders, in between light kisses, before stepping back and out of the cubicle. He
watched Malfoy bring his head up straight, then tilt it to one side, before rapidly turning
towards Harry and reaching to snatch the blindfold away. Harry panicked. He stumbled.
And fell.

Then he was lying on his back, panting, looking up at the fabric tented ceiling of his bed,
fully in his own body again. That had been close. Too close.He laughed nervously to
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himself as he reached down to undo his trousers and conclude the fantasy in reality. He
swallowed an exasperated moan as he felt a cooling dampness in the region of his
crotch, and withdrew his hand. Placing an arm over his eyes, he laughed to himself for
some minutes, before seeing to a change of clothes.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

When Malfoy arrived some ten minutes late for the Potions lesson following History of
Magic, it was all Harry could do to keep his smug grin to himself. He had to bite the back
of his hand to contain his laugh as he heard Malfoy telling Snape he had spilt something
down himself and had to return to his room to change…

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

It took Harry over a week to recover from Malfoy’s fantasy, or rather, the close shave
with discovery. Mulling it over from time to time between homework and researching
some of the charms and potions in Sirius’ book, Harry felt that his game plan might be in
danger of veering off course. He kept having to remind himself that he was supposed to
be needling the Slytherin, not seducing him with the tall, dark stranger routine.
Admittedly, he did like holding the power – he had always felt lesser to Malfoy, for a lot
of reasons. The thought of Malfoy begging him for anything brought a smile to his face,
and the surfacing of that smile usually led, rather inevitably, to yet another Malfoy-
induced erection.

Continuing his distant scrutiny, Harry picked over his sightings of Malfoy, looking for
clues to suggest he was not himself. Although he could be imagining it, Harry thought
that Malfoy allowed much less bodily contact with other people these days. Over the last
three years, he had almost constantly had one student or another on his arm, whether it
was a pretty girl fluttering her eyelashes, or a male friend attempting to win his haughty
attention. Lately, his only companions were Crabbe and Goyle, and occasionally Blaise,
although Harry thought he had noted a distinct cooling towards the dark-skinned
Slytherin.

But, if he was honest with himself, Harry really thought that Malfoy had lost interest in
everyone but his phantom stranger. In one recent Potions lesson, Snape had berated his
star pupil for wool-gathering and ruining the potion he was mixing. This was unheard of,
and received no small amount of attention from the other pupils.

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Ron and Hermione continued to think that Zabini was the centre of Harry’s attentions. He
got away with this as the two Slytherins were often together at the dining table, or
walking to lessons. He had no intention of enlightening them any time soon, either. Harry
had long ago overcome his fear of their thoughts on his sexuality, but the fact that he
had become so fascinated with the one student in the whole school who represented
everything they despised, mixed with the fact that they would undoubtedly feel that
Harry’s behaviour was reprehensible, meant that he wanted to keep quiet. Truthfully, he
also liked having it just for himself.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

With only a fortnight to go until the Christmas break, Harry found himself considering
buying Malfoy a present – something wicked that would continue to tease him during
their separation – but he couldn’t think what. Harry sighed and mused to himself that he
needed far more practice at scheming.

The solution presented itself quite by chance, one freezing night in the Gryffindor boys’
dorm.

Sirius’ charm book had become the talk of the Gryffindor tower, with quite a few of the
older male students approaching Harry to borrow it, usually accompanied by furtive
glances and warm blushes. If only Ron would have spoken more quietly occasionally,
Harry wouldn’t have had to deal with refusing the requests. The upshot of the refusals
was that often, after turning in, Neville, Dean, and Seamus would badger Harry for tips
from the book. The five of them had begun to sit up into the early hours, poring over the
scribbles, covertly springing the charms on each other, usually causing raucous laughter
and the acute embarrassment of at least one of them. Harry was able to add quite a few
of his own notes to those already made, especially about the more risqué charms.

On the night in question, the five of them sat on the floor around the fireplace, soaking
up the heat, with Ron turning the pages in the hope of finding something to try on
Hermione. His loud “Oh, yes!” caught the attention of the gathered group.

“Listen to this! Sirius made a three dimensional copy of his most favourite body part, in
full glory, and sent it, wrapped in pink tissue paper, to Snape on Valentine’s Day!”

The five of them were hysterical with laughter, even as Ron continued to speak, tears
running down his red cheeks.

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“No, wait – that’s not the best bit!” he gasped. “The Magic Dildo – yeah, really! – that’s
what it says! – was enchanted, so if it was, uh, used, Sirius would know! The notebook
says he would be able to “feel a certain tightness in the trouser department” if it was
being used! And guess what? SNAPE USED IT!”

The laughter from the group was surely loud enough to wake not just the entire
Gryffindor tower, but half of the rest of the school as well. It was at least five minutes
before the laughter stopped enough for anyone to sit up, or take a proper breath.

Harry said, “Merlin! If Snape found out it was from Sirius, then no wonder he hated him!

Especially since I doubt very much that Sirius could keep his gob shut about it for long!”

After much jeering and mirth-making, (all at Snape’s expense,) Seamus eventually asked,

“Does Sirius give us the instructions as to how we make this Magic Dildo, then? I bet
Hermione would appreciate her very own Magic Ron to keep her warm over the
Christmas holiday!”

There was more general laughter until Ron eventually calmed them down and
humorously berated them all for their disrespect of his beloved. He looked down the list
of ingredients listed and verified them all as easily obtainable from the kitchens and the
herb garden, before extracting an agreement from the gathering that they would make
one the following night.

So, the five of them met in their dorm the next night, having put some Locking and
Silencing charms on the door, (Just in case). Each using their own cauldron, they mixed
and cooked the ingredients until they formed a pure and transparent jelly, and then
selected decorative ingredients (an optional extra, according to Sirius, or ‘The
Godfather’, as they had begun to think of him), for that personal touch.

Ron threw a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans into his, with the reasoning that
he had heard that a knobbly texture might prove a bit more fun. Seamus added a four-
leafed clover into his cauldron; Dean, rather disturbingly, they all thought, put a
miniature West Ham scarf into his cauldron. (“Wow mate, they must be a really good
team,” were Ron’s words), and Neville had plucked some delicate Mimbulus Mimbletona
flowers to add to his, leaving everyone to wonder about Harry’s choice.

Having given it an awful lot of thought, Harry had transfigured a handful of paperclips
into a silvery snake, which writhed in constant motion, and as an afterthought, placed a
sprinkling of emerald green glitter into the cauldron, just as the clear mixture was
setting. Of course, this choice of decoration caused something of a stir in the room.
There were more than a couple of raised eyebrows, and Harry eventually had to admit
that he was sending his to someone secretly, and that he wanted to hide his identity. This
seemed to satisfy Dean, Neville, and Seamus. Of course, Ron still thought Harry was

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sending it to Zabini, so his accepting look was for an entirely different reason. In fact it
was rather more like a smug, knowing leer.

For the next part of the spell, the formation of the dildo into a shape identical to its
maker, they all went to their beds and drew the drapes shut. Sirius had been clear that it
was a Transfiguring technique that was required to perform the moulding. They each
needed to masturbate until fully aroused, and then basically map every contour of their
erections, willing the contents of the cauldron to take the same shape. They had all
agreed this part was best done in privacy. Thankfully. ‘Soggy biscuit’ was not a game
played in their dorm.

It wasn’t hard for Harry to become turned on, even in the slightly odd circumstances,
knowing all his friends were tossing off around him. The Transfiguring itself was a piece
of cake and in less than ten minutes, Harry was holding his hard cock in one hand, and
the transparent, sparkly imitation in the other. He marvelled that every ripple was
identical, even down to the raised, firm sac sitting beneath the broad, heavy shaft. The
dildo itself felt warm and pliable, not unlike the texture of the real thing, Harry was
pleased to note. And the snake twisting inside the core of the dildo was perfect. Harry
thought Malfoy would appreciate it.

He seriously considered finishing himself off while he waited for his friends to finish up,
but was then disturbed by Dean’s whoop of laughter and call to the others, and decided
against it.

Once they had all collected again in front of the fire, the five friends fidgeted nervously,
unsure of quite how to show what amounted to their most personal asset to the whole
group. In the end, they all agreed to put them on the floor in front of them on a count of
three.

The completion of this part produced gales of laughter and lots of blushes. No one
actually touched anyone else’s though, Harry noted. They all “Oooh’d” and “Aahh’d”
over the five dildoes, but it was impossible not to be drawn to Neville’s. Frankly, it was
huge. There were many jokes about Neville being in the wrong house, as it looked
suspiciously like a snake had “slithered into” his trousers and attached itself between his
legs. Neville flushed with embarrassment, but also glowed quietly, in the limelight for
once. It was, of course, completely impossible not to mentally compare their own to
everyone else’s. Harry was pleased to note his was the broadest, and the second longest,
after Neville’s. I reckon that should do for Malfoy. It’s bigger than Snape’s, anyway, he
thought, with a smug grin.

Eventually, the five decided to turn in. They were all exhausted from the laughing, and
well pleased with their efforts. Harry took his dildo to bed with him, using the light from
his wand to watch the glitter sparkle and admire his handiwork undisturbed. Away from
prying eyes now, he touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the shaft and
Transfigured the snake into a tiny but perfectly formed dragon. There was no way he
wanted any of his friends to see that. It would be far too much of a giveaway.
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It occurred to Harry to have a go with it, but he concluded that tonight might be a bit
obvious for that kind of activity. Also, he had so far only experimented with one finger
inside himself, and thought he might need a bit more preparation before attempting
anything larger. He also wasn’t quite sure about the thought of putting what amounted
to his own cock up his arse. Wasn’t that a bit pervy? Hell, he didn’t know! After placing it
reverently under his pillow, Harry settled down to sleep, deciding to make up his mind
the next day.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Allowing himself some time to consider his options through the day, Harry decided he
definitely wanted to try Malfoy’s gift out on himself before wrapping it up. If nothing
else, he was a more than a bit turned on by the thought of putting something inside
himself that was hopefully going to go inside Malfoy. In fact, it was a very arousing
thought.

So, having ensconced himself in his bed that night, curtains drawn, Silencing charm in
place, Harry laid out the dildo, some massage oil, (borrowed from Hermione) and a small
towel. Being inexperienced at this kind of thing, Harry wasn’t sure of the potential for
‘accidents’ with his bodily secretions, hence the towel.

His initial attempt was a total disaster, treating it as more of a medical experiment than a
sexual experience. Harry found it impossible to relax.

After several minutes of deep breathing and taking another approach, he thought back
to Malfoy’s performance in the prefect’s bathroom. Pouring some oil into his palms, he
lay back naked on his coverlet and replayed in his mind what he had seen there. He could
feel the blood start to collect in his groin, and stroked his hard-on lightly, until it was
completely, deliciously engorged. Continuing to touch himself gently, Harry let one hand
fall between his legs, to cup his testicles, and wander to the softer skin behind them. He
had raised his knees when he started to touch himself, but as his caresses became more
relaxed, so did his legs. They parted into a widely spread position, heels together, knees
apart.

Harry found the sensations on his skin almost hypnotic. His whole awareness narrowed
down to the exposed skin under gentle assault. When he reached back and slipped the
first finger into his anus, there was no resistance at all. There was just intense heat and
an amazing constriction around the finger. The newness and intensity of the sensation
was such that when he finally thought about it, Harry realised he had forgotten about his
penis altogether for long moments.

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He lay there for quite a while, testing the effects of moving his finger in certain ways, and
memorising the unique texture of his passage. It was an almost subconscious decision to
add a second finger. That took a little work, and Harry could definitely feel his body
stretching reluctantly to accommodate the invasion. The was no pain, rather a very
intense and localised heat emanating outwards; he thought it wouldn’t be difficult to find
the pleasure in someone else doing this to him. Once his fingers were moving together,
gently in and out, a tiny sucking sound audible at each extraction, he tried flexing the
fingers and bending them slightly in an effort to stretch himself even wider.
Momentarily, he experienced a sharp sensation. Sharp enough to snap his eyes open and
lift his bottom off the bed. Wow! What was that? Was it good? I’m not sure I want to try
that again just yet.

It took Harry a few seconds to calm down and continue his exploration. He noted with
amusement however, that his cock seemed to have enjoyed the stab of sensation – there
was a rope of clear fluid joining the head of his penis to his stomach.

Once he was accustomed to the invasion of two fingers, Harry attempted a third. The tip
of the finger entered easily, gliding in the channel between his other two, but moving the
three fingers together seemed to require a level of dexterity he hadn’t developed. et. He
decided his body was ready for the Magic Dildo now – surely it would be easier to
manoeuvre!

Withdrawing his sticky fingers and coating the dildo in oil, Harry positioned its head at his
entrance and exhaled, fantasizing about breaching Malfoy’s body. His body quickly
accommodated the curving head of the dildo, up to the ridge of the retracted foreskin.
Listening to his inner self, Harry registered a new, insistent pulse in his sac, like a second
heartbeat. His cock continued to leak clear lubricating fluid, and he couldn’t help but take
himself with his free hand and work the moisture up and down his length. As his fingers
caught on the highly sensitive ridge, he felt the muscles in his passage relax, and he
pushed gently on the dildo, to slide more inside himself. His surprise, and his maddening
arousal at the thought that he had a cock in his arse, acted like a potent aphrodisiac on
Harry’s senses. As his body pulsed and relaxed around the dildo, he made a second
assault on himself. He gasped out loud as he felt the imitation balls slap gently against his
body. Merlin! It’s all the way in! I can’t believe it! He was panting his desire now, thankful
of the thoughtfully erected Silencing charm.

Holding it all the way in, right up against his flesh, Harry gripped his erection and gave it
some of the attention it desperately craved. As he wanked himself, he applied pressure
with his fingertips to the base of the dildo, rocking it gently inside his body. It didn’t take
him long to brush against that extra-sensitive spot again, although the sensation of
applying pressure rather than stroking it made the flash of pleasure less intense,
probably more bearable right at that moment.

Finally, the need to feel the dildo fuck him hard pushed Harry to concentrate on it alone.
With one hand stretched across his perineum until his fingers gently pulled his opening
wider, Harry gripped the sparkling testicles of the dildo and pulled it slowly out. Hot
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waves of desire flooded through him until he could feel it even in his toes. He slid the
dildo gently back in all the way before building up to more aggressive strokes. Harry
found that if he withdrew the toy quite far, he caught his ‘hot spot’ with every return
thrust. Once used to the sensation and its intensity, he knew he had to have more of it.
He continued to work the length inside himself, twisting it slightly and experimenting
with the angle, all the while forcing him hole to accept the invasion and yearn for it.

Harry broke out into a sweat. He could feel the prickles of heat on his face and chest, and
registered vaguely that his breathing was labouring heavily. It was as much the thought
of what he was doing to himself as the actual pleasure that aroused Harry so much. He
knew he was on the edge of completion as he continued to stroke in and out of his tight
anus.

When the orgasm came, it was impossible to keep his hips on the bed. His body arched
up, buttocks clutching the sparkling length deep inside him as he pulsed hot semen on
thick stripes across his chest and stomach. Exhaustion was instantaneous. Harry flopped
back onto his bed, legs like jelly, shaking in the after-glow of the experience. He lay there
for some time, feeling the dildo sliding slowly out of him of its own accord. It was only
when he reached to withdraw it altogether that he registered the fact that he had come
without actually masturbating himself at all. He chuckled to himself, almost in disbelief at
what he had discovered about his body and its preferences.

Wiping himself off with the towel, and quickly “Scourgify”ing the dildo, he placed it back
under his pillow and basked in the aftermath as he drifted off to sleep, silly grin firmly in
place.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry paid a visit to Hagrid after classes the next day, to scrounge a suitable wooden box
in which to present his gift to Malfoy, from the pile of bric-a-brac in the hut. He found just
the thing. It had previously housed a tool of some description, and was a bit tatty, but
the dimensions were perfect. It was about a foot long, and just less than half that square,
with tiny brass hinges on one long edge, and a magnetic catch on the other. Harry knew
he could polish it up with a simple Reparo charm, and pad and line the box with the
Ornamentato charm. He had picked that one up from Ginny, who used it most effectively
to modify her dress robes with ribbons and velvet.

Later that evening, making sure the dorm was deserted, Harry placed his work of art
inside the newly renovated box. It sparkled and shone on its black velvet padding and the
languid movements of the silver dragon were picked out in stark contrast. Closing the
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box, Harry smiled to himself and whispered a simple Locking charm against the hidden
magnetic clasp. Malfoy would only be able to open the box by speaking the correct
words.

And Harry had no intention of telling him what the words were.

Wrapping the box in silver paper, Harry sat to compose the note he would send with it.
After some thought, he wrote,

I enclose a gift made especially for you. I trust you will find much pleasure in its use. The
box will only open when you speak the correct three words. Our previous conversations
should give you a clue.

I wish you a Happy Christmas.

Hiding the letter and package in his trunk, Harry went to join his friends in the common
room.

Chapter Six

Harry sat in the Great Hall on the last day of the winter term with Hermione and Ron,
eating a leisurely breakfast, waiting for the carriages to arrive to transport them to the
Hogwarts Express for the journey home for Christmas. Harry was going to the Burrow
with Ron at the insistence of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He was actually really looking
forward to getting away from the castle for a break, and the Weasleys felt like his real
family. Hermione wouldn’t be joining them until New Year’s Eve, and secretly, Harry and
Ron had both been looking forward to a week’s peace without homework and revision.

Before going down for breakfast, Harry had commandeered a school owl to deliver his
gift to Malfoy, as Hedwig was far too noticeable, being the only white bird in the owlery.
This had upset Hedwig no end. She showed her displeasure by alighting on his shoulder
and nipping his ear sharply. Harry apologised profusely, but she flew off in a huff,
wiggling her backside most unbecomingly.

He nervously watched the tawny owl swoop in through the window, laden down with his
carefully wrapped gift, heading for the Slytherin table. There were few owls today as
most of the pupils would soon be at home with their families. He watched Malfoy frown
as the bird landed in front of him. He removed the package efficiently before stroking the
owl and shooing it away. Harry wacthed Malfoy unwrap the brown paper to find the
silver package and letter inside. Leaving the gift untouched, he tore open the envelope
and scanned the contents, with raised eyebrows. Malfoy’s eyes darted round the hall
quickly, making Harry look away for fear of being caught.
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Ron and Hermione rose to leave at that moment, leaving Harry little option but to join
them. Without a backwards glance, he left the hall to gather his possessions for the
journey to the Burrow.

Harry didn’t see Malfoy again until they got off the train in London. He managed to peer
at him over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, whilst being held in a fierce and somewhat maternal
hug. He felt sorry for Malfoy, witnessing the formal way in which his parents greeted
him, before quickly turning and marching out of the station, leaving him to follow in their
wake. It was in stark contrast to the warm and loving greeting he himself received, from
people who weren’t even his own family. God – I’m getting a soft spot for the Junior
Death Eater! he thought, as he jogged after the Weasley clan to the waiting car.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry and Ron had great fun over the next couple of days, sleeping in late, eating vast
amounts of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent cooking, and catching up with the older Weasley
siblings. They spent half a day with Fred and George at the shop in Diagon Alley, and
were staggered at the volume of customers and the amount of money changing hands.
Harry felt a bit sorry for Ron, whose eyes were as wide as saucers most of the time.
Things were still difficult for the Weasley family, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that
Fred and George would share what they made, especially with their mum and dad.

While they were at the joke shop, George pulled Harry to one side during a quieter
moment, to ask him some rather pointed questions about the packages they had sent
him and exactly how he had used their contents. Harry squirmed uncomfortably under
George’s scrutiny, and couldn’t stop from blushing furiously. George rubbed his hands
together gleefully and started making mention of Veritaserum in the egg-nog until Harry
skilfully diverted him with mention of Sirius’ little black book. Fred’s hearing must have
been tuned in to any mention of mischief, because he was over like a shot. Between
them, Fred and George grilled Harry and Ron about the contents of the book and
extracted a promise that they could get their hands on it when they arrived to stay at the
Burrow. When Harry and Ron finally left Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, it was to the sounds
of the twins plotting a second retail chain, devoted solely to pleasures of the flesh. They
snorted at the prospect of the twins spearheading what amounted to a porn empire, and
exactly what Mrs. Weasley might have to say on the subject.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

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Now that Ginny was older, Christmas mornings started at a civilised time for everyone
staying at the Burrow. Harry and Ron, who were bunking together in Ron’s room, were
woken at eighty thirty by Mr. Weasley, with a tray of tea and bacon sandwiches. He told
them to take their time opening the presents in their stockings, as there was a rota for
getting into the bathroom, and they were at the end of it.

Sandwiches devoured, and surrounded by flurries of shredded paper, they both laid back
and took the time to look properly at their little gifts. They were mostly jokey items,
including Pants-on-fire Pants, which burst into flames if the wearer told a lie (from
Ginny), and sweets.

All of a sudden, Ron wrenched his blanket over his head, hiding his face and groaning in
embarrassment. Concerned, Harry asked what was wrong.

“Uh. I think Hermione opened her special, ‘private’ present, if you know what I mean.”

Harry looked blankly at his friend’s quivering outline before the Sickle dropped. He let out
the loudest laugh when he realised Ron was referring to ‘The Bean Flicker’ (as Ron’s dildo
had been nicknamed). Through his tears, Harry managed to choke out, “I think you
should tell me exactly what it feels like. You know, for research purposes.” Harry was
struggling to breathe, he was laughing so hard.

Ron managed to mumble something that sounded like “Later,” before rolling on his side
to face away from Harry. Feeling generous, Harry decided it was time for him to jump the
bathroom queue, and give Ron a bit of peace in which to enjoy this, his favourite
Christmas gift. When Harry returned to the bedroom, Ron was up and moving about,
although blushing furiously. Harry slapped him on the back and congratulated him on his
handiwork, setting himself off again into hysterics. Ron eventually joined in, and the two
of them made their way downstairs to join the rest of the family round the tree.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The kitchen table was crowded at dinnertime, with the entire Weasley family, plus Harry
and

Remus Lupin squeezed round it. Spirits were high. Percy managed to pull a cracker with
George. He even grinned when the pulled cracker smashed an egg over his hair, quietly
cleaning himself up with a wave of his wand instead of reeling off his usual litany of
complaints.

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Harry sat back, looking round the table, at this wonderful group of people who had
become his lifeline into a happier existence. If it weren’t for them, he would never have
experienced the joy of sharing and belonging. And also the feeling of being fit to burst
with the best food he had ever tasted.

Mrs. Weasley was insistently serving up an enormous portion of homemade Christmas


pudding and brandy butter for Harry when he first felt it.

There was absolutely no doubt about it. Malfoy was using Harry’s gift. Harry spent a brief
second marvelling that his prey had managed to work out the words to unlock the box
quite so quickly, before concentrating on the problem at hand. It was not as easy as you
might think, managing a raging erection and holding a conversation with your adopted
family simultaneously, Harry thought. He felt himself slip down in his chair, and pull it
more closely into the table, ensuring neither Ron on the one side, or Bill on the other,
could catch sight of the large bulge in his lap.

A bit of panic set in as Harry realised he was completely trapped. He couldn’t move away
from the table, as his clothes could not hide his current condition. Besides which, the
door was on the farthest wall away from Harry. The only option was to sit it out and hope
no one noticed.

The harder Harry tried to ignore the pulsing sensation in his lap, the more he felt it. It was
as if some ghostly hand was wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking and tugging it. The
feeling was absolutely maddening, and completely delicious. Harry had to look down at
his bowl to hide the fluttering of his eyelids and the flush spreading across his face and
neck. The rest of his body was set rigid, one hand gripping his spoon, the other grasping
the edge of the table. Realising his knuckles were white, Harry tried his level best to
relax. To his abject horror, a tiny whimper escaped him as he let his muscles unclench.
Ron turned slightly, to look at Harry. A small frown settled on his brow momentarily,
before he shook it off and looked away. No one else seemed to have noticed, Harry
thought gratefully, still losing the battle to drown out the wicked sensations in his lap.
However, the worst was yet to come.

Finally noticing that Harry was not eating, Mrs. Weasley called, “Come on dear, eat it up
while it’s still hot.”

This, of course, drew everyone’s attention to Harry briefly, so the only course of action
was to attempt to raise the loaded spoon gracefully to his lips.

What actually happened was that his arm, stiff and tense from his efforts at self-control,
jerked up far too quickly, elbowing Ron in the face on the way, and jabbing the spoon
into his own cheek. At least I’ve got a good excuse for being red, now, he thought to
himself, before the utter fear of his impending discovery set in. He could just imagine
Fred saying,

“No need to get that worked up about the pudding, Harry.”


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He was somewhat surprised, and very relieved, that George jumped to his rescue by
blaming Fred for Confunding him. Fred, cottoning on that something was afoot, instantly
made a huge show of apologising and fussing round the table, drawing every eye from
Harry except George’s. George let a slow, evil grin spread over his face, before looking
away.

Harry finally lost the battle and came right there, silently, shaking with restraint, at the
Weasley’s Christmas table, while the rest of the family started clearing away. The sweat
glazing his face was quickly wiped away on a shirtsleeve as Harry tried to recover some
semblance of nonchalance about his behaviour.

Maybe it was the circumstances of his ‘torture’, but Harry found that his erection did not
want to go down quite as quickly as he thought it should. While the rest of the family
stacked bowls, cleared glasses and wiped the table, Harry sat motionless, praying for an
end to his ordeal.

Eventually, after an appraising glance down at himself, and a whispered Scourgify, Harry
felt ready to leave the table. Just as he was following Percy and Mr. Weasley through to
the family room, Fred and George grabbed an elbow each and steered Harry back
towards Ron, who was finishing the washing up.

“Come on. Out with it,” prodded Fred.

“What?” Harry protested, weakly.

“What did we cover up for back there?” George pressed.

“Harry?” Ron was completely clueless, having been satisfied with Fred and George’s
excuse.

Looking out of the window and sighing heavily, he finally spoke. “Um. You know that
thing that happened to you this morning?” Harry looked at Ron as he said it.

“Oh. OH!” Ron’s face broke into a huge smile before he guffawed loudly.

Harry was far too embarrassed now. He couldn’t look at Ron, and Fred and George were
peering quizzically from one to the other of them, clearly highly intrigued. He finally
offered, “I think we should have this conversation in the garden. Away from flapping
ears.”

Fred and George agreed eagerly. So eagerly in fact, that they ran to fetch both Harry and
Ron’s coats for them.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*
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Perched on the crumbling garden wall, Harry and Ron took turns in enlightening Fred and
George about the discovery of the Magic Dildo spell, and their collective efforts at
making them. Ron was clapped stoutly on both shoulders by the twins as he recounted
his own experience from that morning.

“Thought we were going to have to hex you before you’d make the move to get into the
gorgeous Granger’s knickers,” said Fred, almost glowing with pride at his baby brother’s
antics.

Ron flushed beautifully, but soaked up his brothers’ praise.

All eyes then turned to Harry for his explanation. Haltingly at first, Harry began by telling
Fred and George how the charm worked and the notes Sirius had made in his book. He
skimmed over the decorative contents of his own dildo. Feeling that the hardest part was
probably over, he started to speak with more ease about it. He described in quite graphic
detail exactly what he felt like at the dinner table, to much laughter from his companions.
The more they laughed, the easier it got to tell them.

Harry was still laughing when Fred asked, “So, who did you sent it to then, Harry?”

He froze inside, hating the thought of lying, but hating even more the thought of telling
the truth. He was saved from doing either, as Ron proceeded to tell the twins all about
Harry’s crush on Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin pure-blood.

While Fred chuckled and slated Harry’s taste in men, George smirked slyly and said, “Yeah
- I can see that. He’s got a nice arse. Didn’t have him pegged as batting for our team,
though.”

Harry found himself mumbling something non-committal at the ground, hoping


desperately that Ron would come to his rescue. It was actually Fred who changed the
subject. He started to talk to Harry about the possible business plan him and George had
worked up around their idea for a marital aid shop. They’d even thought of a name:

“Pandora’s Box. You know, to give hope to the terminally monogamous.”

Harry was surprised at the twins’ knowledge of Muggle ancient classical literature, and
he told them so. Fred just shrugged and said, “Used to go out with a girl who worked in a
Muggle library. Pandora wasn’t the only one with a fascinating box, let me tell you.” The
other three made retching noises and other sounds of disgust at Fred’s crudity. He just
shrugged and grinned at them.

The twins really had thought their plans through, Harry was amused to note. They said
that as Sirius’ heir, the book and its contents were his property, so therefore any profit

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made on selling the charms would automatically go to Harry. When he told them gently
that he really didn’t want to run a retail business, they had an answer for that, too.

“You’ll be a sleeping partner, just like you are with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. You put
up the capital to start the business off, and then pay us an agreed percentage to manage
the business, including the day to day running.”

It was obvious that they were true entrepreneurs. Harry didn’t doubt that if anyone could
make it work, it would be Fred and George. He did still have one major concern, though,
“I wonder exactly what the whole of the wizarding world might think if it became public
knowledge that I owned Diagon Alley’s first sex shop. Someone would be bound to find
out.”

Fred and George nodded. They agreed that it would be impossible to prevent someone
from digging around if they decided to do so, but did suggest a couple of nasty curses
that might prevent people from revealing his name to anyone else. Harry knew that such
curses did exist, and although their use in this way was a bit excessive, it did make him
think it might be possible.

“Oh go on, Harry. Please!” begged George. “I’ve already designed all the packaging for a
silently vibrating anal plug. It’s called The Chosen One and I reckon it-”

“You have GOT to be KIDDING!” Harry shouted at him, but in amused disbelief rather
than outrage.

His shout brought Ginny and Charlie out into the garden, coats on, challenging them all to
a game of Quidditch. Harry smiled to himself and ran for the broom shed, looking
forward to the exercise and letting off a bit of steam.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

About half an hour later, it became obvious to everyone that Harry was having a bit of a
problem. He was puffing uncontrollably, and gripping the broom handle like it was the
last solid thing on the planet. Even though the Snitch flew circles round his head, Harry
could not take his hands off the broomstick to catch it. His team-mates jeered and cat-
called at him, saying he had eaten too much brandy butter. It was only when he finally
lurched completely off-course and crashed into an oak tree that everyone stopped
playing to find out what was the matter.

Crowding round Harry, who was lying in a foetal position on the ground, Mr. Weasley
bent down to talk to him and check nothing was broken. Harry’s eyes shot wide open at
the close proximity. He shouted out, “NO! It’s okay, honestly! I’ve just got a bit of a
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stomachache. I haven’t hurt anything, honest, Mr. Weasley. Just leave me here for a few
minutes and I’ll be fine.” He was almost purple in the face now.

Mr. Weasley hurried off to get Mrs. Weasley from the house, to administer some of her
special indigestion potion. The others remained standing looking down at Harry. Fred
finally spoke.

“Do you want us to bugger off for a minute? Two minutes? Any idea how long?” He
looked totally innocent.

“Yes, thanks. That would be good. Please.”

George and Ron cleared everyone else back leaving Fred, who kneeled down next to
Harry and said, “So. Lover boy’s having a busy day, is he?”

Harry nodded mutely as Fred laughed and walked back to the others. A moment later,
Harry heard the sound of Ron and the twins laughing hysterically. Merlin! Malfoy’s horny
today. Maybe I didn’t think this through too well.

Harry’s orgasm exploded just as Mrs. Weasley, Percy and Remus dashed out of the house
in his direction. He had never been so grateful for a release in his life.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The evening was spent round the fire, playing exploding snap and wizard chess. Bill,
Charlie and Remus traded stories of their exploits (only the clean ones, as Mrs. Weasley
was still up), causing much hilarity. Harry wanted the day to last forever.

As the clock ticked round, people started to wander off to bed. Percy had some work he
wanted to do before Bill and Charlie turned in, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slipped off,
yawning, smiling sweetly at one another. Harry noticed that all of the Weasley children
tried very hard not to notice the looks passing between their parents.

When it became clear that Ginny was not going to stop pestering Harry unless someone
stepped in, Bill scooped her up and took her off upstairs, telling her she wasn’t too old
for a story and to be tucked in. When he finally came down, he, Charlie and Remus Floo’d
off to a club they knew, for a late drink. They told the remaining group of four not to wait
up for them.

Of course, as soon as everyone else had gone, the conversation turned immediately to
the sexual prowess of Blaise Zabini, and therefore by default, Harry. George in particular
told some extremely graphic stories about his own romantic encounters, to the point
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where Ron looked positively green. Harry tried hard not to look too interested in
George’s tales, but couldn’t deny that they were very informative, and gave him some
good ideas about things he would like to try himself. He discovered that his little ‘hot-
spot’ had a name – his prostate – and that all men had one. They just had to know where
to look. Or touch, as the case may be.

Past midnight, the four were still ensconced in front of the fire, plying themselves with
the remains of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent sherry trifle. God knew, they had eaten enough
today, but hey, it was Christmas, right? The sex shop idea was becoming more and more
appealing as the hours rolled by. Harry convinced himself that no one need ever know he
was involved. And Sirius did have some excellent charms that were definitely worth
sharing.

Nearing the bottom of his pudding bowl, Harry felt an all too familiar warmth spread
across his lower body. He groaned out loud and put the bowl down. Ron immediately
said, “You have got to be JOKING!”

Already laughing himself, Harry shook his head that no, he wasn’t joking. The friends lay
on the floor, surrounding the dying fire, laughing affectionately at Harry’s discomfort.

Finally, Harry stretched himself out on the floor, alongside them, shoving his
embarrassment to one side, thinking, What the hell. He was grateful that they didn’t
actually watch him, though. He was honestly too tired to fight it anyway, so he just lay
there, letting the feelings wash over him. Ron couldn’t stand more than a couple of
minutes of his best friend sighing in ecstasy, and hauled himself up and off to bed.

The twins though it was a great opportunity to get Harry at his most vulnerable and
extract his agreement about taking the shop idea forward. He gasped a quick “Yes,”
between faint convulsions. After that, they too wandered off and left him to watch the
red embers in the fire and surrender his body to Malfoy’s insistent attentions.

This time when he came, it was languid, and calming. Lying there by himself, feeling his
pulse slow, he couldn’t help the flash of amusement at the thought of Malfoy saying “I
beg you”, every time he opened the box.

Interlude: Money can’t buy the best Christmas presents.

I’ve got a secret admirer! Or a stalker. Can’t quite make up my mind which. I suppose I
should worry about it rather more than I am, but it’s the most interesting thing that’s
happened in a long time. And it takes my mind off, well, having to join Him.

When the gift arrived at breakfast that morning right before the Christmas break, I knew
before the owl even landed that it would be from my stalker. Call it Malfoy Intuition, if
you like. It was quite large, and quite heavy. What on earth could it be? Of course, the
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others were all dying to know, trying desperately to read the note over my shoulder. I
always knew it was the right decision not to tell them about him. Pansy would have been
squawking about hexes and curses contained within if she had had the slightest inkling
that I didn’t know the sender. As it is, I think I’m doing very well at handling my friends’
questions. They think I’m being moody and unpredictable lately. If only they knew! But I
don’t want to share. No. This is just for me.

I remember the train journey back to London, feeling the lead weight in my stomach
grow heavier the closer the train moved towards our destination. I recall my frustration
at having to listen to the dull ramblings of my companions, feigning interest every so
often when all I wanted to do was hold the gift. Weigh it in my hands, examine the
wrapping, and savour the desire to tear the paper off like a small child with their first
Christmas present.

The note had said,

The box will only open when you speak the correct three words. Our previous
conversations should give you a clue.

What the bloody hell did that mean? I remember turning the puzzle over and over in my
mind, replaying the few words, both written and spoken that had passed between us
since all this started. Snippets came back to me, repeated many times, wringing the
smallest meaning from each word:

Have you ever done it in front of a mirror? You should. I almost came just watching you. And
Do you like the idea of me watching you? And Undo your robes. Wank yourself off for me
right now. I want to watch you again.

Definitely a theme going on there! But not the only theme, I recalled:

“Are you begging me?” “Never,” I’d said. “Really? Shame.” And “Beg,” he had laughed.
And I’d said, “I don’t beg. Not for anyone.” “Oh, but you will before I’m done with you,”
he’d replied, sending hot shivers down my spine.

And that was the start of two solid days of compiling lists of three-word phrases in my
head to try on Christmas Day. There was plenty of time to think as per usual. The Parents,
as always, were fully occupied with making sure final preparations and contingency plans
were in place for their annual festive soirees. Christmas is not a time for family for them,
but a time to extend their social and political influence. I spent half my time standing
around having dress robes pinned, pulled and primped, at the insistence of My Mother
whose sole desire, it would seem, is to ensure her progeny cannot fail to impress. The
hair salon was particularly problematic. Mother asserted her opinion that my hair needed
at least two inches off, as long hair on someone my age is, apparently, ‘vulgar’. Stupid
bloody woman. Most surprisingly, Father came to the rescue and the hair remains intact.
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One is thankful for such small mercies. I feel it is the very least he can do, having ruined
my life already with poorly considered plans to ‘give’ me to Him. Where the fuck else did
he think he was going to get any other Malfoy heirs from?

And so to this morning. Christmas Day. Lying in, fantasising about my mystery man was
out of the question, with the first raft of visitors due for Christmas breakfast at nine
thirty. I removed the silver-wrapped parcel again, as I had done whenever the
opportunity arose, from it’s hiding place and laid it on my bed. I dressed looking at it,
with a longing that almost wrenched the breath from my lungs. Once dressed, my pulse
rate tripled as I gave myself permission, finally, to open it. I carried the box gently and
with much care to the window seat, running my fingertips along each seam in the
wrapping paper, deciding where to start. I peeled each end open with shaking hands,
tearing the paper as little as possible,

<I>refusing</I> to give in to the child inside. I didn’t peek. Not once. I lifted the heavy
paper away and cast it aside to reveal a beautifully polished dark, plain, wooden box. It
might have been walnut; I wasn’t sure.

I stroked the surface with tense fingers, pulse thudding away in my throat so hard I
almost couldn’t draw a breath. I examined every surface, each side individually without
attempting to open it. I raised it to my face, inhaling the sweet scent of the polish even as
I rubbed my cheek along the wood grain. I know I sighed as I did so. I remember growing
hard as I held the box, smiling inwardly at the strong associations instantly recalled with
my erotic torturer. My arousal fell away quickly at the sound of footsteps in the hallway,
knowing My Mother was coming to escort me downstairs. I shoved the box behind two
cushions and rose to greet her at the door.

The next three and a half hours were pure torture. Playing at being the cultured host,
remembering spouse’s names, flattering the undeserving, and so forth. All part of life as
The Heir To The Malfoy Estate. How mind-numbingly dull. The better part of my self
remained upstairs with my coveted gift. I counted the minutes until I could escape, half
hard at least some of the morning with wanting. My Parents didn’t notice. Hardly a
surprise there, then. They are so proper. Do they ever relax, I wonder often to myself.
When the time came that I was excused, with five whole hours to myself before the
dinner session was due to commence, I made myself walk as slowly as I possibly could,
just tasting the desire on the tip of my tongue.

I took the time to remove my dress robes and hang them properly, and set both Silencing
and Locking charms before I allowed myself to retrieve my gift. I carried it back to my
bed, making a throne for myself amongst the piles of pillows and cushions. I touched the
box again as I had earlier, rolling through the words I had selected in my mind that might
unlock it. In truth, I had few guesses and decided on the one that elicited the strongest
response from my mutinous body. Holding the box in both hands at arms length, I
whispered, “I beg you.”

And the clasp popped open.


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I laughed then, like a child or a mad thing, I’m not sure which, but I laughed all the same,
falling a little more in love with my stranger and his perverse sense of humour. I ran a
fingertip along the cracked edge of the opening, trying to push my awareness into the
box to sense its contents before allowing myself to open the lid wide.

Having teased myself enough, I opened the lid.

And gasped. Loudly.

I felt my face burn long before I registered any conscious thoughts. I knew I was shaking
even as I reached a hand forward to touch it. It was too beautiful for words, my gift. My
erection was causing me much discomfort, screaming to be freed, as it was.

The black lining in the box allowed every sparkle of emerald green glitter, every twist of
the tiny silver dragon to be seen in exquisite detail. I ran a finger along its length,
shuddering both inside and out. I knew with absolute certainty that this was his. Part of
him. Or rather, the part of him about which I had fantasised the most.

I allowed myself to reach into the box and remove it, weighing it with both hand and eye.
I cast the box aside and held the dildo in both hands, one cupping the firm testicles, the
other circling the quite frighteningly broad shaft. It was heavy and warm and soft to the
touch, just as I knew the real thing would be. The crystalline material out of which the
dildo was formed sparkled in the sunlight, the highly reflective surface sometimes hiding
the inner ornaments as it reflected back white light. Bringing it close to my face I
examined, for the first of a thousand times, the tiny silver dragon, twisting and stretching
slowly inside its transparent prison. The sparkling glitter seemed to swim slowly, rising
and falling within the space not unlike a snow globe I once saw in one of the dorms at
school.

I gripped it then, hanging onto it for fear that it might cruelly disappear if I let go. I
smelled it and stroked every ripple, every clear vein with my fingers before I raised it to
my mouth. The curvy, domed head felt as soft as rose petals under my tongue, the tiny
slit at the end dipping in slightly, just enough to push the tip of my tongue inside. I took it
into my mouth then, feeling the ridge of flesh that was the foreskin rub past my lips and I
groaned aloud as I tasted it, disappointed that it was not the taste of flesh but something
inanimate, a forgery. I pushed it in further until the broad head hit the back of my throat.
I gagged just a little and pushed some more, wanting to swallow it all, have it all in my
mouth, but not managing the feat. I withdrew it then, refusing to let it happen easily,
sucking hard to create resistance. My cheeks were hollow with the effort, my jaw aching
with strain, I sucked so hard. When I felt the foreskin against my lips again, I fed it slowly
back inside. That’s when I came. I couldn’t help myself. The pounding in my lap had been
insistent the entire time since I had picked the box up. It was inevitable, I suppose, but
still a surprise, that I had not had to touch myself to find my release. I gasped and panted
for long moments, around this beautiful cock in my mouth, before I let it go and slipped
down the sheets to lie and recover myself.

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As I lay catching my breath and restoring my inner calm I turned my gift over and over in
my hands, endeavouring to comprehend the path my torturer had travelled to arrive at
this point, gratitude swallowing me whole. I wondered again who he might be. So few
candidates. Even fewer motives. I had undone my trousers before even registering that I
intended to use the dildo on myself. It was all there though, in my subconscious
thoughts, just waiting to surface with the correct incentive. Laying it aside finally, but
close so I could still see it, I removed all my lower clothing before lying flat and undoing
my shirt buttons with trembling fingers. I kept the shirt on though, loving the feel of silk
against my naked skin. I ran fingertips through the sticky deposit that coated my still
aroused shaft, swirling the moisture until it had soaked into my skin, leaving nothing
more than a faint sheen.

I did not have far to reach to grasp the bottle of oil I keep by my bed for my private
pleasures. I coated my hand from the fingers to the palm as is my habit, before discarding
it again. Eyes locked on my sparkling treasure, I slid the oily hand between my open legs
and stroked the skin there, teasing myself just a little, imagining the whole time how it
would feel inside me. I felt short of breath again and warm all over, the feeling of acute
anticipation. The first finger was inside me before I knew it, no resistance, only heat and
tightness and pounding desire. I fed the second finger in only a moment later, crooking
them gently together to touch myself inside and find that little bundle of nerves that
would blur my vision. I found it easily as I always do and rubbed myself tenderly, no
longer bothering to contain my moans. No one would hear me through my Silencing
charm. No one here cares enough to listen. And all the time I still looked at it – my dildo –
waiting so patiently for entrance. Watching it, I stretched myself wider with a third
finger, so eager to replace my fumbling digits with this work of art. I made myself wait,
working my hole patiently and ignoring my own pleas to end this mockery and take it
into me now. It would be my first time other than my own fingers, and I wanted to
savour every single second, knowing I would remember it forever. Finally I gave in and
reached for the dildo, spreading my legs wider, moaning aloud in need.

Transferring some of the oil from my hand onto its fearsome shaft, I rubbed myself all
over with it. I pressed it against my nipples, feeling them sink slightly into the giving
surface of the toy. I sighed. I traced it down my chest and over my stomach, rubbing its
head against my cock, now wet with my body’s own lubricant. I traced my testicles with
it, feeling the shaft slide against my own, pulling moans from deep inside of me. And
then I began the inexorable journey to my tight little anus, pulsing as it was with hunger.

I cannot find the words to describe the intensity of the penetration. I teased the
puckered flesh of my hole with just the head, pressing it in lightly and then withdrawing
again, taking just a little more into myself each time. My body was begging me to have
done with it and ram it up inside me but I would not give in. The perspiration that had
sprung forth all over my body made me lose my grip of the testicle base for just a second,
and it slipped inside me to the flare of the head. I felt the ridge of foreskin stretch me
open and I could hold back no longer.
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Between my gasps and the pulsing of my body I pushed it into me, swallowing many
inches with a scream of pleasure. I lay still for a while, feeling my hole contract and pulse
around the beautiful, invading dildo before completing its journey. I stopped only when I
felt the swell of the testicles slap against my buttocks. I was convulsing on the bed by
then, unable to keep my body still. My pent up frustrations and my passions boiled over
and I worked myself mercilessly on its fat length. I contracted my passage as tightly as I
could, wanting to read every bump and ripple of it with my body. I took my time but I
was vigorous. I pulled it almost out, my insides screaming to reclaim it, before shoving it
back up inside me as far as I could drive it. It was as if I could taste it in the back of my
throat, I was breached so far. My chest heaved uncontrollably and my cock jumped a
little at each pulse of my passage. I couldn’t wank myself, not even a touch. I knew I
would come and I didn’t want to. Not yet.

I worked the soft, domed head of the dildo over and over my prostate persistently until I
begged myself to stop. But I wasn’t listening. I was feeling, just feeling, and imagining it
was him, my stranger, my mystery lover, inside me. Playing with me, punishing me,
making me scream. Over and over, in and out, tensing the ring of muscle up inside me, I
worked it so slowly, so carefully. I memorised every moment of sensation as my hole
gripped its invading mate, pleading to keep it forever.

But I couldn’t last however hard I tried. I felt the inevitable struggle of my orgasm to tear
free of my control and then it pulsed strong and unmistakeable, a river of white,
pumping in jets across my belly, over my chest. I was screaming and I was helpless to
stop. I rode it out, pumping my hips hard up off the mattress, trying to ram it all the way
inside me until there was nothing left outside. Then I collapsed, no energy left, legs
unable to work on spasming muscles. I held it deep inside me for a while as my body
cooled once again, learning to accommodate the mass of the dildo, knowing I wanted its
maker to master me as thoroughly as I had done myself.

My shirt was wet through with perspiration as I peeled it from me and balled it up,
smelling myself and my desire on it. I held the dildo to my chest, sticky as it was, pulled
the sheet over me, and slept a while finally, the sleep of the sated.

It was some hours later when I roused, fingers dead from the tight grip I had retained
around my treasure in my sleep. I stretched my body languorously, enjoying the
sensation of heat in my anus, hard again at the memory of my own assault. I want you, I
thought for the hundredth time. I want you and I don’t care who you are. I’m yours.

When I rose to shower and prepare to dress for the evening I took the dildo with me. I
told myself I needed to wash it, but deep down inside where the unacknowledged
feelings live, I knew I couldn’t let it go. It was mine. I was his. I wanted it with me, wanted
to touch it.

We showered together, the dildo and me. I washed it more lovingly than I washed
myself. I laughed aloud at the sight of the bubbles decorating its surface, knowing that
nothing could make it more beautiful to me than it already was. As I leaned back against
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the cold tiles of my shower, I slid its slick surface up inside my body again, my passage
allowing free access, knowing the dildo had found its rightful home. There was no
question of ever refusing its call to me. I was its slave.

I had to kneel after a while; my legs became so weak. I twisted the shaft inside me on
each insertion, working the imitation foreskin against my prostate, groaning at the
intensity of the feeling. The loss of each withdrawal was devastating and only soothed by
the return journey, rubbing my muscled walls intimately on each and every stroke. I gave
in eventually to frantic pounding, needing the violence, the tinge of pain to centre myself
again, so fast was I losing my sense of identity. I fucked myself with his cock, wishing it
was him, but fucking myself all the same, in desperation, in need, in total submission of
everything I was raised to be. I fucked myself and I loved it.

When I came, my vision blacked out just for a second. I fell against the wall, needing the
support because I was so drained. My semen washed away under the jet of the water
until there were no visible remains of my orgasm. But I didn’t need any. I held it all inside
me. My best Christmas present. My best Christmas. When I pulled the dildo from my
body I was bereft. But I was happy too, and that’s an emotion I feel little enough. I let
myself roll the taste of happiness over my tongue before I completed my shower and
went to dress.

And now it is late. I have one hour to go until our frightfully dull guests make their way
back to their own homes and I can return to my sanctuary. Not my room. That hasn’t
been a sanctuary for many years now. No, my other sanctuary. The one in my head where
my phantom lover takes me, as I take myself with his gift. I will beg him to allow me to go
there again tonight, as soon as I can. Just one more hour to go.

Chapter Seven

The next couple of days of the Christmas holiday passed too quickly for Harry’s liking. He
loved being surrounded by his friends, and being part of a family. He spent a lot of time
outside in the bracing cold, playing Quidditch with the others and feeling finally like he
was part of something.

After tea on the twenty-seventh, Fred and George packed to return to the shop, and to
ready it for opening the next day. Harry was sorry to see them go. Especially George,
who had made it his purpose in life to instruct Harry in all those rather more private
lessons that you couldn’t learn at Hogwarts. The four of them had spent a few raucous
hours, crowded over Sirius’ book, making adjustments and inventing some new charms
for themselves, in the same vein, of course!

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Fred said his goodbyes to Harry first, so that George could talk to him, whilst Fred
occupied the rest of the Weasley clan. Harry was not prepared for the conversation that
followed, out on the icy front porch.

“Fred and I have talked it over, Harry, and we both agree that you need to tell someone.
Namely us,” George started, very matter-of-fact.

“Dunno what you mean,” Harry shrugged, genuinely confused.

“Okay. Make me spell it out then, why don’t you.” George looked out over the frost-
crusted garden, then continued, “You might be fooling Ronnikins with the Zabini thing,
but it doesn’t wash with either of us. We think it’s someone else. Someone you think is so
bad, you’d prefer to let us all think that you’ve got the hots for this Slytherin.”

By now, George was pinning Harry with his stare, and it was Harry’s turn to look away,
feeling more cold on the inside than outside for a split second.

“Why would you think that?” Harry asked, somewhat feebly.

“When we were all talking the other day, you just didn’t get that ‘look’, when you talked
about him. You also slipped up. Ron has clearly learned at some point to refer to him as
‘Blaise’, but you called him Zabini a couple of times. That doesn’t sit right with us.” Harry
winced. He knew he was caught.

“I did used to fancy him, back at the start of the year…” he tailed off pathetically.

“But not any more, right?”

Harry gave a half-nod, just a quick dip of the head.

“Thing is, me and Fred have been having a talk about who could be so bad that you’d feel
you had to hide it. We’ve come up with a couple of options.”

Harry met George’s eyes then, looking both horrified and discomforted.

“I don’t fancy him, exactly, I swear! It’s like a game. One I’ve been playing a while. Just to
get back at him,” Harry knew how lame he sounded, and that George would never
believe he was telling the truth.

“Okay, based on that, I think we can cross Hagrid off the list,” grinned George, as Harry
shot him a look of pure disgust.

“However, our other two options both fit the bill perfectly.” George now looked very
pleased with himself. “Who really needles you, so much so that you’d think messing
them around was what they deserved?” He held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to
speak.
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“If there’s anyone outside Slytherin who has that effect on you, we don’t know about it.
Yes, Harry, you’re messing around with a potential Death Eater. We just don’t know for
sure whether it’s a senior one or a junior one.”

Harry’s mouth was now wide open, a denial on the tip of his tongue, but just unable to
roll out of his mouth.

“Much as I’d love to milk this moment for all it’s worth, I think you might have a heart
attack at any second, so I’ll put you out of your misery.”

There was a short pause, during which Harry looked pleadingly at George, wishing he
wouldn’t ruin everything by speaking.

“Snape or Malfoy, Harry. Which one?” George finished, smug little smile firmly in place.

“Please speak now, Harry. You look like a goldfish.”

“God, George! Snape?. You’re sick!”

George laughed, then, “We have a winner! Malfoy it is!”

Harry just let out the most agonised groan, and nodded his head, staring at the doorstep
below his feet.

“Like a bit of a challenge, then?” George offered, smiling more gently at Harry now,
placing a comforting hand on his shoulder briefly.

“It’s not like that, honestly, George. It’d take more time than you’ve got to explain.”

“An explanation I so desperately want to hear let me tell you!” he laughed. “Look, we
won’t say a word, and now that we know the victim, we should be able to suggest some
cool tricks to play on him. Something uniquely Slytherin!” George looked positively happy
now, brain already ticking over with wicked little ideas.

George turned to head back indoors, but Harry quickly grabbed his arm, holding him still
before speaking. “Firstly, I do not feel better that you know. There’s nothing to know,
just so we’re clear on that point! Secondly, can you give me a minute to write a note, and
will you post it from Diagon Alley when you get back?” he looked hopefully at George.

“Course we can! Off you trot then, before anyone notices,” George was grinning again at
Harry’s tense figure darting back indoors, and up to his room for paper. When he was sat
at Ron’s desk with quill and parchment, Harry quickly wrote,

I forgot to tell you. I used it on myself before I wrapped it up.

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Shoving the parchment into an envelope and quickly scrawling Malfoy’s name on the
front, Harry shot back downstairs at speed, stumbling right into George at the bottom of
the stairs, who palmed the envelope like a Muggle magician.

Turning to Harry to give him a quick wink, George stepped into the fireplace and said,
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” before disappearing in a flash of green flames. Fred then
took his turn, leaving the Burrow less vibrant, but certainly safer, in Harry’s humble
opinion.

Tucked up in bed a couple of hours later, Harry could not help thinking about Malfoy. His
Christmas gift had certainly received some use over the last few days, he mused to
himself, although nothing like the level of that first day. Just as he was dropping off to
sleep, Harry felt himself harden unaccountably, and shifted his body to a more
comfortable position. Looks like he got the letter then, he thought, with a wash of
humour.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

A week later, back at Hogwarts, Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy on his way to the Great
Hall for dinner. He grinned to himself as he marvelled at the fact that Malfoy appeared to
be walking normally. Harry expected him to need support after the amount he’d
buggered himself over the holidays. Ron and Hermione commented on Harry’s high
spirits, but put it down to being back at the castle. He wondered to himself how long
he’d be able to torture Malfoy by staying away from him. The stab of disappointment
Harry felt at that thought told him it probably wouldn’t be very long at all.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next Quidditch match was Slytherin against Ravenclaw, followed a few of weeks
later, by the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff fixture. As training and team strategy sessions started
again, Harry remembered back to his initial reason for starting his ‘game’ with the
unsuspecting Slytherin. If he was going to be equitable about it, he should really try to
undermine Malfoy for all the games. He reasoned that the Slytherin team would play
dirty anyway, whoever their opponent, so it was only levelling the playing field if he
continued to interfere with their Seeker’s concentration.

Decision made, Harry set to working out his next steps, so that they coincided with
Slytherin’s next Quidditch fixture.
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A few days before the match, Harry retrieved the slate and stylus from his trunk and
headed off to the library. He had Transfiguration homework to complete, so he had a
clear reason for going. He knew that Malfoy would be there, probably flanked by his two
henchmen and a selection of his closest cronies, doing his best to submit an assignment
that exceeded Hermione’s, but no doubt failing anyway.

Finding his prey exactly where he had anticipated, Harry set himself up in a single-person
alcove within sight of the group of Slytherin students. He gathered some study materials
around him and completed at least part of his homework whilst building himself up to
sending his first message. When he could stand it no longer, Harry raised the stylus,
whispering the Calligra charm and sending it out on a puff of breeze to Malfoy’s
parchment.

~You were very busy with my gift over the holidays. I’m so pleased you liked it.~ Harry sat
back, frowning over his opener, unsure if Malfoy would understand what he was saying.
Then, watching through a space in the shelves, Harry saw Malfoy almost fall backwards
off his chair in surprise. He jumped up from his table, scrunching his parchment up into a
ball and making a hurried excuse to his friends that he needed to check a reference. He
took the parchment ball and a quill with him, Harry noticed. Giving Malfoy a minute or
two to settle at a different desk, he waited. Almost patiently. Then,

~And exactly how would you know if I liked it or not?~

Harry merely replied, ~A rather cunning charm.~

~I see. I expect you think that Locking charm was funny, do you?~

~I told you before – I like to think of you begging me,~ Harry wrote, grinning to himself
and realising that yes, that statement was actually very true..

~You are a pervert.~

~Yes. And you like it,~ Harry wrote back, forming his letters with infinite care.

~Who are you?~ Malfoy’s writing was once again degenerating into a less than perfect
scrawl.

Ignoring Malfoy’s question, Harry wrote, ~How easily did it fit inside you? Did you have to
stretch yourself slowly, like you did in the prefect’s bathroom?~

~STOP IT!~

~Did you like the feel of it?~ Harry taunted. ~ It’s mine, you know. An exact copy. Would
you like the real thing inside you, I wonder? Or perhaps you like it better rubbing up and
down in the crease of your pert little arse? Just like that fantasy in the shower room…~

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Harry had to wait some minutes for Malfoy’s response. That hint about the daydream
seemed to have really hit home, he thought gleefully to himself.

Eventually, Malfoy replied. ~How could you possibly know about that?~

~I do my research well. And I enjoy every second of it.~ Harry was pleased no one could
see him at that moment. He knew his smirk was decidedly evil.

~I’ll just bet you do.~

~Would you like to suck my cock? Just like you did to Snape, in that tiny alcove? I think
you’d look perfect, with that pretty mouth of yours clamped around me.~ Harry
wondered in the back of his mind if he’d be disgusted with himself later on for being so
cruel. No. Slytherin, he mentally corrected.

~You are a coward and a liar. If you were brave, you’d show yourself, but you know
you’re no match for me. You’re pathetic.~ Malfoy’s writing was shaky and uneven as it
dashed across the slate at incredible speed.

Harry sighed happily to himself. Yep, Malfoy was definitely as rattled as he could get.
~Goodnight,~ he wrote.

~Don’t go yet! I haven’t finished!~ Harry felt that rush of power course through him again
at Malfoy’s words. He had him. Right in the palm of his hand.

The only question was, what exactly would he do with him?

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The night before the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw Quidditch game, Harry stayed up late.
He watched all the other pupils trickle up to bed, hoping desperately that Ron would turn
in when Hermione did. He was disappointed. Ron sat up until well past midnight,
continuing to ask for Harry’s opinion on Gryffindor’s chance of winning the cup this year.
Even through his yawns, Ron stayed by the fire with Harry. Deciding he was going to
have to change his plan of escape, Harry stood to go to the dorm and Ron stood
immediately with him.

The two made it upstairs and Ron undressed quickly for bed. Harry took his time,
pretending to sort something out of his trunk. When Ron wished Harry goodnight and
drew the curtains on his bed, Harry cast a silent Muffliato on Ron, just to hide the sounds
of his exiting the dorm.

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Collecting his indispensable Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map from their hiding
place, along with his warm coat and scarf, Harry covered himself over and headed down
to the dungeons to the Slytherin dorms. There was no sign of Filch anywhere in the
freezing corridors. Harry mused that the caretaker must indeed sleep at some point.
Although Snape, who was well known for stalking the corridors, itching to hand out
unreasonable detentions, seemed to need precious little rest.

Once he had reached the entrance to Slytherin’s dorms, Harry took a moment to check
around him for movements. What he was about to attempt was by far the most extreme
thing he had considered doing. The thought of what would happen to him if he were
caught hardly bore thinking about. He would be in a shitload of trouble. And he doubted
Ron and Hermione would understand his motives at all.

Satisfied that he was as safe as he could reasonably expect to be, he approached the
wall. He spoke the password, ”Fly Agaric,” with confidence, having heard it earlier in the
evening when he had been out for a stroll in this very vicinity, once again covered in his
handy cloak. The wall shimmered and disappeared, granting Harry access.

He was now at a dangerous part of his adventure. If there were any Slytherins still up, it
would be very difficult for him to reach the doors to the dorms undiscovered. Twisting
his invisible neck round the bend in the corridor, Harry could clearly see that the fire was
still lit, and there were noises coming from the vicinity of the hearth. Without getting too
much closer, Harry was able to establish that it was in fact, two sixth year students,
rolling on the rug naked, in the throes of some very energetic lovemaking. Grinning
internally, Harry thought it would be pretty easy to go unnoticed by these two.

Now came the really hard part – guessing which dorm was Malfoy’s. He hit success on his
third attempt. Even in pitch darkness, with all the curtains closed, it was not hard to
identify Malfoy’s room or his bed. Using just the shaded light from his wand tip, Harry
was able to see that the décor in the third room was different. It was more opulent by far
than the other rooms. The easy chairs and the fireguard were highly ornamented and
very expensivelooking, with intertwined dragons and snakes decorating many surfaces.
Malfoy’s trunk, placed at the foot of his large four-poster bed, was also expensive-
looking. However, the give-away was the large Malfoy crest, often glimpsed by Harry at
Hogsmeade station, when the luggage was moved up to the school.

Listening carefully for any indications that anyone was awake, and satisfying himself that
there wasn’t, Harry peered nervously inside the curtains around Malfoy’s bed. He was
only slightly relieved to see that this was, indeed, the correct bed, and that his intended
victim was fast asleep. Letting the curtains drop closed again, Harry spoke the Silencing
charm in his head, cutting Malfoy’s bed off from the rest of the room by creating a
cushioning zone around its perimeter through which sound would not travel.

At the last moment, Harry thought to disguise his voice. He murmured Dissonorous, to
alter his vocal chords slightly, and stepped up to the bed, hand shaking with trepidation,
as he reached out to part the curtains and enter Malfoy’s space. Using his other hand, he
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pulled a tiny box from his coat pocket and flipped the lid, pouring a generous pinch of
dust into his palm. Pocketing the box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Thanks, Fred
and George,, Harry raised his palm and blew the dust into the enclosed space. Instantly, a
darkness so thick it was blacker than black, permeated the space. Taking a fortifying,
deep breath, Harry raised a leg and knelt on the mattress.

Malfoy shifted, but didn’t wake. Not until the curtains had dropped shut behind Harry, at
any rate. There was no gentle slide out of sleep for the Slytherin. He was instantly alert,
pushing himself upward towards the head of the bed. He half-shouted, “Who’s there?”
voice dripping with tension, body already engaged into fight or flight scenarios. Harry
could sense, even through the pitch darkness, that Malfoy had moved his feet and legs
up towards his body, making himself a smaller target. The air was alive with electricity;
they were both incredibly tense.

Harry spoke then, unrecognisable even to himself.

“Relax. It’s only me. I thought it was time.” Harry spoke without inflection, completely
calm, belying his internal fear that this whole situation could go horribly wrong at any
moment.

“Time for what?” Malfoy sounded shaky, but no longer quite as scared.

“Time to suck me off, with that beautiful, dirty, mouth of yours.” Harry could not believe
those words came out of his mouth. None of this was like him at all! Had he taken leave
of his senses? He hadn’t planned what to say, and it certainly hadn’t been that! Clearly,
George’s stories and exploits had had a greater impact on him than he’d realised.

He followed the words almost immediately with, “Incarcero.”

There was a sudden shifting on the bed, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath, and
Harry knew that Malfoy’s arms had been restrained in soft, satin ties, drawn back to the
headboard, most probably. He would only know for sure when he reached out to touch
him.

Giving in to his nagging feeling of anxiety, Harry asked, “Are you okay?” He let his voice
fill with the concern he genuinely felt.

“Yes.” A pause, then, “Just surprised that you’re actually here. I started to think I was
imagining everything,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry held in a sigh of relief. While he wanted to mess with the Slytherin, he didn’t want
to scare him, or make him do anything against his will. This was just supposed to be
about unsettling him a little. Harry spoke again, reassuringly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I
would never do that.”

After only a moment, Malfoy replied, “I know.”


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That unsettled Harry slightly. Such confidence in a total stranger! Harry thought for a
moment, then, “Do you want this?”

“God, yes,” Malfoy breathed, making prickles shoot up Harry’s spine. He was filled with a
hot flush of excitement, hard in an instant.

Harry sat back on his heels and started to remove his outer clothing. He took off his coat
and scarf and threw them in a pile behind him, before pulling his jumper and shirt over his
head, baring his chest. Moving up the bed now, he straddled Malfoy’s legs, which were
once again flat on the bed. Using his hands, he stroked up Malfoy’s sheet-covered legs,
onto his body, exposing his chest and stomach by pulling the sheet down, thereby
mimicking his own state of undress. Malfoy was uttering quiet whimpering noises,
making Harry wish desperately that he could see his face. As it was, touch and sound
would be their primary senses for the duration of this encounter. Touch was almost
enough. Malfoy’s body was fever-hot, softer than anything Harry could ever remember
touching. The skin was so firm under his palms, and so fragrant. Malfoy smelled delicious
to Harry – he just wanted to push his face into his chest and fill his lungs with the
perfume of warm flesh.

Leaning his body closer to the radiating heat of his captive, Harry allowed his fingertips to
wander across the up-tilted, firm expanse of Malfoy’s torso, stopping to pluck gently at
the tight little nipples. Harry gave in instantly to his desire to lean in and taste them.
Malfoy’s whole body arched into Harry’s mouth, desperate to increase the contact with
the hot, wet, tongue. He moaned aloud, hissing when Harry used his teeth to nip the tiny
button of erect tissue at the peak of one nipple. Sitting back up briefly, Harry murmured,
“Be as loud as you want. I put up a Silencing barrier round your bed.”

Malfoy chuckled at this, leaning his head forward, until his hair brushed Harry’s naked
chest. The feel of the silky softness of that hair on his body stirred Harry, and he felt his
control begin to fray. He plunged his hands into the long strands, running his fingers
through it from root to tip, repeatedly, marvelling in the sweet smell and the fine texture
of it. Malfoy rolled his head gently, sighing encouragingly and fighting to increase the
strength of the touch. With handfuls of hair, Harry stroked Malfoy’s cheeks, barely
sensing the heat of the skin against the back of his hands.

Harry froze as Malfoy’s warm lips met his chest for the first time. The kiss was tender,
almost asking permission. Harry could not contain his moan, and the mouth travelled a
little distance and laid moistened lips against another patch of skin. Harry was desperate
to bend down and kiss Malfoy. Now that he had admitted it, he realised that he had
wanted to kiss him for a while. It seemed silly, but a kiss was such an intimate act, so
personal to the two people involved. It was wrong somehow, to use this encounter for
such intimacy. So Harry held himself back, hoping that there might be a time in the future
when a kiss would happen in the right circumstances.

Moving himself back momentarily, Harry reached around Malfoy to adjust his pillows.
Malfoy leaned in towards him, brushing their bodies together, creating a warm, tingling
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feeling in every patch of joined flesh. When he had finished, Harry had positioned Malfoy
in semi-repose, not lying down but not sitting up either. He reached forwards and
brushed the hair away from Malfoy’s face, tucking it gently behind his ears. The Slytherin
was almost purring, like a petted cat, and Harry felt a warm, unfamiliar tug in his chest.

Resting his hands briefly on supple shoulders, Harry drew his palms along the bound
arms, raising all the tiny hairs, and causing Malfoy to shudder deliciously, to check the
bindings weren’t too tight. Their fingertips touched tentatively before Harry withdrew
his hands.

Malfoy spoke, breaking the sound of their erratic breathing, “I want you.”

Harry whimpered in the back of his throat, swallowing painfully before asking, “Are you
sure?”

“Please,” Malfoy whispered, barely a breath.

With shaking hands, Harry reached for his trousers and fumbled to undo the button fly.
Malfoy’s breathing hitched slightly at the sound of the buttons popping. Harry’s relief at
freeing his hardened penis was audible, in his deep sigh of satisfaction. Harry sensed
Malfoy’s body shift, trying to get closer to him. Walking his knees slightly further up the
bed, Harry held his length in one hand, and sought Malfoy’s chin with the other. He
sighed softly as Malfoy’s lips finally brushed across the slick head, opening in welcome.
Harry held himself back, manipulating his cock so that the wet head travelled around
Malfoy’s lips, baptising them with his body’s lubricant. Malfoy held back while Harry did
this, mouth open, hot breath rushing over sensitive skin.

Just as Harry was about to slide himself in to the eager mouth, Malfoy whispered, “Say
my name…”

Harry’s chest tightened instantly, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in time with the
pulsing in his cock. As he fed himself into that molten, wet, heat, Harry moaned,
“Draco…” and Draco’s body responded, pushing forward to swallow the silky length of
Harry’s tortured flesh as far as he could. Both moaned loudly, Harry collapsing forward,
so that he had to place his hands on the wall behind the headboard to support himself.
He worked his hips as slowly and gently as he possibly could, searching for the tiniest
signs that might suggest Draco’s discomfort.

“Oh, Merlin, Draco. Please... Don’t stop.” Harry couldn’t help himself. He was beyond
mere arousal, almost mad with desire to both give and receive pleasure. He brought a
hand down to caress Draco’s silky hair, and Draco’s response was to double his oral
efforts, pressing his tongue into the pulsing vein running the length of Harry, and sucking
noisily round the exposed ridge of flesh, rolling the retracted foreskin with his lips.
Harry’s thumb absently traced and re-traced the path of one of Draco’s eyebrows as he
fought to control his body.

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Harry was moaning constantly now, with every pass of Draco’s lips down his shaft.
Draco’s own moans were muffled, but intense. Their vibration penetrated Harry’s flesh,
pulling his sac tight, almost there.

“God! I want to fuck your mouth, you feel so good,” Harry groaned in a parody of agony,
knowing his release was imminent. Draco arched his neck up, trying his best to take all of
Harry into his mouth as far as it would go. His suction had increased around his moans,
and he sought to push Harry on to take him as forcefully as he wanted.

Giving in at last to his desire, Harry bucked forward, feeling the back of Draco’s throat
convulse around the invading head of his erection. They moaned in unison at the
increased pace and penetration, and Harry knew he was lost.

“Yes, Draco. God, yes! I’m going to…” And then it finally happened.

Draco seemed to milk Harry’s orgasm from him, with firmly rolled lips. He whimpered
loudly as each spurt of come hit the back of his throat. Harry whispered Draco’s name
over and over again as he felt him swallow the semen down, as if he craved more.

Harry slowed his thrusts unwillingly and pulled back to give Draco room to catch his
breath around the invasion in his mouth. Draco, however, refused to let go and leaned
forward, continuing to work the relieved flesh with his lips and tongue, although much
more gently now. Harry sighed, and a shudder rippled through the whole length of his
frame as he relaxed and stretched himself out.

“You are so good,” Harry breathed, caressing Draco’s cheek lightly, meaning it with every
fibre of his being. He heard a chuckle in reply, before he moved his body back and felt his
slackening cock finally slide free from Draco’s amazing mouth.

As he sat back on his heels, trying hard to calm his body down and tuck himself back into
his trousers, Harry heard Draco say, “You taste perfect. Absolutely perfect,” between his
gasps for air.

Bending in to Draco, Harry rubbed his nose into the sweat-slicked skin, mouthing the
fleshy juncture between shoulder and neck. Draco’s chest heaved in anticipation. Harry
kissed the skin over and over again, mouth slightly open, wet tongue lapping at the flesh.

Draco panted, “Bite me,” and Harry did. He opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth
into that perfect expanse of fragrant flesh, sucking and rolling the skin between his
teeth. Harry’s mouth was filled with a mild, coppery taste as if blood was seeping out of
Draco’s skin, although Harry knew he hadn’t broken the surface.

“Harder,” Draco moaned, pushing himself up into the heat of Harry’s body.

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Harry obeyed, no question of doing otherwise. His jaw worked and his tongue flickered
hotly over the assaulted skin, drawing longing moans from Draco. Harry lost himself in
the moment, pulling the flesh into his mouth, feeling it yield to him.

Eventually, he released the skin and moved back, planting a tender kiss on the abused
flesh. Draco’s body was writhing under Harry, begging for attention. Harry placed warm
kisses down Draco’s torso, from neck to nipple, from nipple to belly button and down.
Draco was panting and flexing into Harry’s touch, murmuring, “Please….please,” over
and over, so softly as to be almost unheard.

Harry peeled the sheet back from Draco’s lap, knowing he had exposed the ignored
erection when he heard the ragged exhalation of Draco’s breath. Sitting well down the
bed, Harry ghosted his palms up Draco’s legs, barely touching the fine hairs dusted on
their surface. Draco’s legs twitched with tension as Harry kept his movements limited,
teasing. Finally, he placed his spread hands flat against the eager flesh, thumbs meeting
in the well between Draco’s legs. Harry ran his hands firmly up until they met the
resistance of the downy sac, below his tortured erection.

Harry stroked Draco’s testicles with reverence, weighing them gently, and testing their
firmness which drew sharp moans from Draco, who murmured, “Touch me,” in agonised
arousal.

Cupping the sac in one hot palm, Harry ran his other hand upwards, travelling the
impressive length of Draco’s shaft. He couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to
have this up inside him. Draco’s sticky secretion coated him thoroughly, so much so that
Harry was nowhere near his tip when his hand met the slick moisture. He moaned lightly
as his hand oiled itself in the lubricant, rubbing it gently into the skin, lightly masturbating
his writhing captive. Remembering what he had seen in the prefect’s bathroom so long
ago, Harry drew his second hand up Draco’s shaft and pulled it back, fully retracting the
foreskin and exposing his most sensitive skin to assault. At Draco’s panted
encouragement, Harry used his most lubricated hand to clasp the length and rub over
the head and ridge, creating a friction that had Draco almost arching off the bed, failing
miserably at biting back a scream.

Leaning over Draco’s lap, Harry lowered his head, intent on swallowing the jerking length
in one go. As soon as his breath burnt into Draco’s lap, Harry heard a strangled whimper
and felt the spurt of come whip out of Draco, past his ear and upwards, onto his bare
chest. Continuing to stroke Draco’s cock languidly, the orgasm seemed endless as he
moaned and begged for the sensation never to end, twisting and stretching his body
beneath Harry to wring the very most from the amazing sensation.

Finally replete, the two leaned into each other, sharing their strength and tender
caresses as both calmed their heart rates and their passion. With a wave of his hand,
Harry performed a silent Scourgify on Draco’s body before leaning in and placing a
heartfelt kiss on the damp forehead.

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Eventually, Draco spoke. “You won’t stay the night?”

“No. You have a very important game tomorrow,” Harry chuckled. “You need your
sleep,” he added, chiding Draco.

Draco responded by exhaling in a huff. Harry folded the sheet back up over Draco’s
exposed torso and tucked it lightly around his body. When he leaned back to reach for
his jumper and coat, Draco spoke, slowly. “If I have a bruise tomorrow, I’ll know for sure
you’re real.”

“Oh, I assure you I’m real,” Harry laughed. “Real, and horny as hell.” That made Draco
laugh, too.

“I have to leave you bound, until I’ve had time to leave your room. I hope you
understand.” He sensed, rather than saw, Draco’s compliant nod. “The charm will
weaken about five minutes after I’ve gone. You should be able to work your hands loose
without any bother,” he finished.

Having half dressed himself, Harry reached back and grabbed a handful of his belongings
and moved himself to the edge of the mattress.

“Goodnight, and good luck tomorrow,” Harry whispered, shocked to find that he actually
meant it.

“Goodnight,” was the sated, whispered reply.

Stepping out into the bracingly cold air, Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself
and his bundle of clothes and exited as quickly and quietly as he could.

Lying in his own bed, Harry wondered what was happening to him now. Malfoy wasn’t
just Malfoy anymore– he was definitely Draco. Harry no longer enjoyed the idea of the
game. He found he had feelings for Draco, that he realised with no small measure of
discomfort he had been squashing for some time, labelling them as something else.
Looking back over recent months, Harry found he had felt confused about his reasoning
for continuing his game, sometimes forgetting it wasn’t a seduction. If only Draco knew
his mystery man was him. Yeah, ‘cos that would go down SO well.

He gave himself over to sleep in the early hours of the morning, worry eating at him.
Draco would never accept him as anything other than his enemy. What on earth could he
do?

Chapter Eight

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The Slytherin versus Ravenclaw Quidditch game the next day got the entire school
talking. Harry had gone to watch the game with Ron and Hermione as usual, taking good
seats on the top row. Ron had gathered the rest of the Gryffindor team around him to
point out moves during the game, and encourage some team debate on Ravenclaw’s
style of play.

Harry could almost see a difference in the way Draco walked out onto the pitch. He had
never seen the Slytherin more confident, and that was saying something. The way Draco
organised the Slytherin team for play was masterful.

From the beginning, Ravenclaw never stood a chance. Slytherin flattened them. Harry
felt himself totally to blame.

Draco’s banter with his team was light and positive, a complete change from the last
game against Gryffindor. He whipped around the pitch, egging the Chasers and Beaters
on, creating a buzz in the team. All the time, Draco was searching for the Snitch, eyes
darting everywhere, cutting out and changing direction at lightning speed. Alicia
Chambers, the

Ravenclaw Seeker, never had a chance of keeping up with him. Even Ron who, like every

Gryffindor, loved to pick fault with the arrogant Slytherin captain, was shocked to
silence. Harry was caught between admiration, jealousy and plain lust. It was almost
impossible to watch any other player on the pitch. Draco was poetry in motion.

Having scored a hundred points easily within the first fifteen minutes, the Snitch
skimmed Chambers’ broom tail and Draco sped off in a pursuit he could not lose. Harry
watched the chase intently. Every move of Draco’s body was economical, thought out;
he gave no quarter to anyone, his confidence was supreme. When his hand closed
around the Snitch right in front of the commentary box where Luna Lovegood was
waxing lyrical once again, Harry felt no surprise. Draco was even magnanimous in victory,
stopping immediately to thank Chambers for the game even as Luna’s voice could be
heard around the stadium.

“Well, there’s no doubt who won this game. Slytherin wins, two hundred and sixty points
to zero. Draco Malfoy must be quite the player, what with him obviously having been
attacked by a Vampiric Snoozlebert. That enormous purple bruise on his neck must be
really quite painful…”

A laugh rose from the audience and to universal surprise, Draco turned to Luna and gave
her a big wink and a grin, before landing to join his team-mates.

Harry snorted out loud before he could help himself. Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor
team were completely silent. In the end, Harry broke the tense atmosphere. “Well, I’m
glad we’ve already played Slytherin. I wouldn’t fancy playing against them at the
minute.”
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“Bloody Hell! Did you see Malfoy, Harry? I reckon he was as good as you out there. Maybe
even a bit better,” said Ron, voice quavering slightly, possibly from shock.

Ginny interrupted, voice scoffing. “Slytherin’ll only be as good as Malfoy’s fuck buddy.
Come on! Vampiric Snoozlebert, for Merlin’s sake! He’s in love isn’t he? What else could
explain the unexplainably sportsmanlike behaviour we’ve just seen? And the huge love
bite on his neck!”

There were murmurs of agreement from other team members, plus some rather coarse
comments about Malfoy’s love life, some of which were actually rather too close to the
mark for Harry’s comfort.

The whole of Gryffindor house, it seemed, had been made restless by the perfect display
of Slytherin supremacy. It made their own previous game against Slytherin all the more
unreal. The mood in the common room was muted for the rest of the day. No one knew
quite what to think. But none were more torn than Harry. Merlin! Could he be in love
with me? Stupid! He doesn’t even know it’s me. He’s in love with an imaginary person. He
could never love me. Could he? SHIT! What the hell do I do now?

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Valentine’s Day fell somewhere between the Slytherin game and Gryffindor’s next game,
against Hufflepuff. Most of the school celebrated Valentine’s Day even though it was a
Muggle celebration. There were so many Muggle and half-Muggle born at Hogwarts that
many of the big festivals became absorbed into wizarding culture.

Having put himself through several weeks of agonising separation from Draco, with only
his vicarious experience through the love toy to console himself, Harry really wanted to
give Draco something in recognition of his newly discovered feelings. The Magic Dildo
was still getting very regular use (at least two or three times a week), but Harry wanted
to send something subtler, or more personal, rather than remind them both that the sole
basis of their ‘relationship’ was sexual. Harry wracked his brains, and Sirius’ black book
for ideas, but came up blank.

In dire need of romantic advice, Harry finally gave in and wrote to the only people he
could: Fred and George. He confided the new state of affairs and his predicament
regarding a romantic gift. He actually didn’t hold much hope out for a sensible answer,
and was hugely surprised to receive a letter almost by return owl from the twins.

Oh dear, Harry! What a mess you have got yourself in. This just goes to prove there’s not
that much Slytherin in you at all (at least, not quite as much as you’d like…).

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We have been searching high and low for new stock for Pandora’s Box, and we agree
with you to some extent that a little bit of subtlety can go a very long way indeed. With
that in mind, we are sending you a new ‘stock line’, if you like, freshly imported from
Kerala. We thought it might appeal to your inner Slytherin. Should be with you
tomorrow. It’s more sensual than sexual, (at least, most of the time). We hope you like it.
If not, you’d better let us know sharpish, with the big day being only a couple of days off.

Keep your chin up, okay?

Fred and George.

PS – thought you’d like to know that we plan to open Pandora’s Box this summer. We
got the old Ollivander's wand shop, a couple of doors down from us. Also, we’ve sold an
awful lot of Daydream charms by owl-post to Hogwarts students. Some to Slytherins,
too, if you get our drift.

See you in Hogsmeade.

When the delivery owl finally arrived from Fred and George, it was lunchtime the
following day. Harry excused himself quickly, slipping away from Ron and Hermione
before they could ask any questions. Finding the front lawn empty due to the cutting
February air, Harry found a bench and sat to open the delivery. Inside was a small green
velvet box, which Harry stared at in trepidation for some minutes before opening.

The box held two delicate platinum rings, clearly for adorning the nipples if the tiny
parchment picture was accurate. The hoops were fine but rigid, the curve slightly
flattened in one place. Harry guessed this was the part that sat inside the pierced flesh.
For each ring, the ornament that joined the opening edges together was a sinuous snake,
perhaps an inch long, which took the hoop ends in either side of its mouth, making the
ring complete and closed. The snakes’ tails curled and flexed slowly, an almost constant
movement. The thought of feeling this cold metal against Draco’s hot flesh and on his
tongue made Harry hard in an instant. This is perfect for him. Fred and George are my
guardian angels! It was almost impossible to keep the stupid grin off his face for the rest
of the day.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Rising at about four ‘o’ clock in the morning on Valentine’s Day, a Thursday, Harry
climbed out of the portrait hole and headed for the Slytherin dungeons. Harry was
shivering with cold by the time he got there, having given up searching for his scarf and
gloves. He was grateful that the password remained the same and once again, he slipped
inside and made his way to Draco’s bed.
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Once he was there, he calmed himself for a moment before pushing back the curtain to
stare in at the object of his most intimate fantasies. With only the barest of lights, Harry
could make out Draco’s relaxed features and the soft, steady sound of his breathing as
he slept. Harry could have watched him forever. His chest felt alternately tight and filled
with butterflies.

Harry leaned in and pulled the blanket higher over Draco’s naked chest, tucking it in
gently around him to retain his body’s heat. The compulsion to wake him up with kisses
and caresses was forceful, making Harry complete his task more quickly than planned,
with the need to get away from the bed pushing at him. He removed the wrapped box
from his pocket and laid it on the unused pillow next to Draco’s head, on top of a folded
piece of parchment. The note simply said, The torturer becomes the tortured. Harry
desperately wanted Draco to know that his feelings were serious, even if they hadn’t
started quite that way. He hoped his note implied the change without being too obvious.

Taking a long, last look at the beautiful features, Harry closed the curtain and returned to
bed.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

At the breakfast table, Harry got his usual large array of Valentine’s cards. Some were
from grandmas who wanted to coddle him and wrap the ‘Chosen One’ up in a blanket.
Quite a few were from Hogwarts. Harry sighed with resignation that there wasn’t a card
he could really take seriously among them. What did you expect? A fluffy bunny card
from Draco? Harry sneered to himself. At least there wasn’t a recriminating, stab-you-in-
the-heart card from Cho Chang again this year. Harry guessed he should be thankful for
small mercies.

Looking briefly over at the Slytherin table, Harry saw that Draco also had a queue of owls
waiting to deliver their cards. Draco was barely interested in the post, although he was in
sparkling humour. It appeared that Parkinson was playing secretary by dealing with the
cards. When he rose to leave the breakfast table, the blond Slytherin did not take any of
his cards with him. Maybe he already got the only gift he really wanted, Harry hoped.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

That Saturday was nominated a Hogsmeade day, being so close to the Valentine’s Day
celebrations. Most of the students who could, used it as an opportunity to get away from
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the school grounds and let their hair down a little, meeting up with their significant
others, holding hands and generally being couples. Ron and Hermione were no exception
although they went to great lengths to include Harry, and commiserate with him over his
lack of romantic attachment. They both asked Harry some personal questions, mostly
about Blaise, and whether Harry still felt the same about him. Harry felt sure they had
both cottoned on to his apparent, and very real, lack of interest in that department.
Thankfully they didn’t seem to have picked up on his other ‘diversionary activity’.

“Have you thought any more about Justin Finch-Fletchley, then?” Ron asked, as they
took a slow walk into the village, wrapped up tightly in extra jumpers, with gloves,
scarves and hats.

“Oh, Ron! Leave it will you? Don’t you think he’s a bit, well, wet for Harry?” Hermione
replied, quite sternly.

“Maybe Harry likes them a bit wet, ‘Mione…” Ron trailed off, hopefully eyeing his friend
with a sideward glance.

Harry exhaled slowly and rather loudly making Ron wince just a bit, probably from guilt.
He had half been expecting this if he was honest.

“Look, Ron. I know it’s very nice and everything that you’re so worried about the state of
my virginity but I think I might make my own best judge of who I do it with. Don’t you?”
Harry sounded a bit sharper than he had meant but found he couldn’t be bothered to
smooth Ron’s fractionally ruffled feathers.

“I don’t think Ron meant anything by it, Harry,” Hermione interrupted swiftly, with a
stern glance at Ron.

“Yeah. I know. It’s just pointless either of you bothering about fixing me up. Let’s face it,
how are either of you going to spot any potential fags for me to shag?”

Ron and Hermione’s faces looked shocked at Harry’s softly spoken rebuke.

“Can we just leave it, now?” Harry tried his best to look hopefully at his friends.

The three of them walked mostly in silence the rest of the way. Ron and Hermione were
going off to Madam Puddifoot’s café along with most of the rest of the ‘attached’
students, while Harry was going straight to the Three Broomsticks to meet up with Fred
and George, who had been sending Harry regular updates on Pandora’s Box by owl. They
had wanted to meet face to face to discuss some of the finer details of the retail
operation.

Fred and George were waiting at a big table nearest the roaring fire, Butterbeers in hand,
with one lined up for Harry. The twins frowned noticeably at each other as they watched
Harry cross the room to greet them.
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“Wow. That’s a face for souring milk, Harry,” said Fred, conversationally.

“Yeah. Your little brother’s trying to fix me up with Justin Finch-Fletchley. He’s in
Hufflepuff,” shrugged Harry, looking into the fire rather than at the twins.

“Ah. That might explain it, then,” George chipped in, “I mean. A Hufflepuff? For our
Harry? What on earth is he thinking?! I bet they’re all perpetual bottoms. And where’s the
fun in that?”

Harry shot George a quizzical look and received a wink and a smile in return. This went
some way to thawing his snit, and he unwrapped himself, slowly heating through and
relaxing into the chair. Harry felt slightly guilty that he had confided his feelings for Draco
in the twins rather than Ron and Hermione but he had never regretted doing it. There
was just less judgement in them, like it didn’t matter one way or the other.

Fred sat forward on the edge of his seat, his eyes fixed firmly on Harry as he spoke.
“What did you think of the rings, Harry? Did you give them to him?” He was eager,
genuinely seeking Harry’s approval at their choice for Draco.

Harry couldn’t hide his growing smile as he thought of the small platinum rings in their
beautiful box, and the elegantly appropriate clasps. Breaking out into a big grin, he said,

“They were amazing. I’d never have thought of them, myself. They’re absolutely
perfect.”

After a moment he added, “I have no idea if he’ll wear them, though…”

George leaned forward slightly in his seat, gave a small bow to Harry, and grinned like a
Cheshire cat, “I knew it. I’ve got a bit of a thing about pierced nipples, so I’m afraid that’s
my preference coming through. Tell us a bit more about what’s been happening with
your ice prince then, and we’ll be the judge of whether or not he’ll wear them!”

Leaning over the table so he could speak quietly, Harry gave the twins all the gory details
to many bursts of laughter and twinkling eyes. Just talking about Draco to someone
really cheered Harry up. He hadn’t realised he had felt quite so lonely until now. He also
felt somewhat guilty that he had never expressed any interest in the twins’ love lives, so
he asked now, while there was relative peace in which to talk openly.

When Ron and Hermione joined them all later on, they found the three of them crowded
round the table, laughing uproariously at Fred’s reminiscences about his first attempts at
oral sex on a Ravenclaw girl in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Fred could just be heard
saying, “Myrtle wasn’t the only one moaning, let me tell you. The bloody scatty cow had
forgotten to warn me what time of the month it was!”

George and Harry howled out loud, holding their sides, tears unshed in their eyes. They
managed to sober marginally under Hermione’s imperious glare. She always seemed to
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know when something slightly rude was being talked about, even if she hadn’t heard the
details.

The three of them eventually pulled themselves into some semblance of sensibility, and
greeted Ron and Hermione with much good humour. They managed to scandalise
Hermione with talk of the shop, which Harry found hilarious all by itself. All in all, the
couple of hours he spent in the Three Broomsticks really brought Harry back to his
senses. At least, he mused, Draco didn’t know his secret admirer was him, meaning Harry
might be able to carry on with things as they stood. He got a serious knot in his stomach
at the thought of Draco’s rage should he discover Harry’s guilt, however.

Leaving the warmth and comfort of the pub, they all set off as a group to do their bits
and pieces of shopping. Acting the dutiful boyfriend, Ron accompanied Hermione into
the village shoe shop in search of a new pair of boots. The twins and Harry set off for a
small back street Apothecary in search of some rather interesting ingredients they
required for pepping up one of Sirius’ potions, in the hope that it would make the grade
to be stocked in Pandora’s Box eventually.

Harry had never seen the street, never mind the shop before. Mostly, the narrow cobbled
lane contained small, rickety-looking cottages, with leaded glass windows, and a leaky
roof here and there. Some way down, one of the homes had been converted into a shop
front with a beautiful, if shabby, gilded sign inviting shoppers into ‘Hubert Coral’s Herbals
– remedies and recipes for all occurrences’. Everything about the interior looked care-
worn, but it was fascinating and inspirational. They spent a few moments happily looking
around at the weird and wonderful contents of the many thousands of glass jars, bottles
and bowls. The three of them stared in awe, like children in a sweet shop, too respectful
to speak and break the comfortable silence of the shaded parlour.

Momentarily, a cheerful voice sang out, “Be with you in a moment. Please feel free to
have a poke around.”

The man’s voice drifted to them through a darkened doorway, which seemed to lead into
the residential part of the cottage. Fred and George took the man at his word and began
whispering together, pulling jars down from shelves then discarding them for another
and another, until they had gathered four or five together for closer inspection on a small
table to the side of the room. Beckoning to Harry, they explained that each of the jars
contained plants whose extracts were mild irritants, and they would need to check with
the proprietor exactly what each plant’s properties were.

Just as the twins had gathered their final selection, a chubby, jolly looking man entered
through the doorway, rubbing his hands briskly on a small cloth and saying over his
shoulder, “That should do you now, young man. Just remember – three times a day,
preferably after giving them a gentle wash in warm water.”

Looking over at his new customers, the man bowed informally, shot them a pleasant
smile and stood to one side to usher his other customer out from the back room. Harry’s
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heart jumped into his mouth when he saw Draco appear a moment later, wrapping his
school scarf tightly round his neck and shrugging his coat on. The twins raised their
eyebrows at each other in unison but said nothing, to Harry’s great relief. Draco thanked
the man, (Mr. Coral, as it happened,) and turned to leave, spying the shop’s other
inhabitants as he did so. He stood still for a split second, surveying the Weasleys before
catching sight of Harry over their shoulders. Draco’s face shut down into a hard glare,
even as the blush climbed from his hidden neck onto his face. He looked just like he’d
been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

He began to walk to the door then suddenly stumbled and shot his gaze back to Harry,
turning on the spot to scowl at him. Harry watched in fascination as a look of horror
crept into those wide, grey eyes, before being pushed aside under an arrogant glare.
Draco took a couple of steps towards Harry, bringing him closer to the twins. His lips
quivered for a second, before he spoke.

“Nice scarf, Potter.” His lips thinned to the point where they almost disappeared.

Harry looked down at himself, remembering that he was wearing Dean’s West Ham scarf,
having misplaced his Gryffindor one some time ago. He replied stiltedly, “I’ll remember to
tell Dean for you. It’s his.”

“Really? And where might your scarf be, do you think?” There was clear menace in the
words. It was like the temperature in the shop dropped several degrees, because Harry
shivered unaccountably.

“Mis-placed somewhere, I suppose,” Harry shrugged, not seeing the relevance of this
conversation. The hair on the back of his neck was starting to prickle uncomfortably.

Stepping forward and pushing between the twins now, Draco stood close to Harry
before he spoke again. “You really should be more careful with your possessions, Potter.
You never know who might find them.” This, finally, was spoken in a snarl that left no
room for doubt that Draco was seriously pissed off about something. Harry kind of
wished he knew what,

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because they was starting to cause a scene. He looked into the incensed face, and noted
the tension lines around Draco’s startling eyes and the sheen of sweat on his brow.
Before he could worry further, the Slytherin turned on his heel and marched from the
shop.

As the door closed less than gently, Harry, Fred and George all looked at each other
wonderingly. Before they could speak, the man interrupted briskly. “How may I assist
you young gentlemen today?”

Fred and George reeled off their requirements rapidly, sparking a keen interest from Mr.
Coral, and a loud and animated conversation ensued. Harry stood to one side trying to
analyse what had just happened with Draco. Suddenly, he groaned aloud, drawing
attention to himself just as his knees began to fold of their own accord. Fred jumped
forward and grabbed Harry firmly, pulling him back up straight and giving him a little
shake.

“You okay, Harry?” he asked, clearly worried.

“The scarf. That night, in his dorm. I haven’t had it since then.” Harry felt nauseous and it
must have shown, because Mr. Coral bustled over with a chair and then away again, to
fetch Harry a drink.

Fred and George looked meaningfully at each other, a bit lost for words. Silently, they
were almost certainly agreeing that Harry was caught. Red handed. Or rather, by a red
and gold stripy scarf which must have fallen somewhere in the Slytherin dungeons, if not
actually in Draco’s enclosed bed.

“Oh shit! What am I going to do? He’ll kill me!” Harry spoke, dazedly.

Eventually, George spoke. “I think you might have to play this one by ear. Who knows
what he’ll do? But I’d be prepared for the worst if I were you, Harry.”

Chapter Nine

Harry found he lost interest in pretty much everything, from the twins’ search for
ingredients to Hermione’s new boots. He was listless and unreachable. He knew his
friends were desperately concerned about him but he couldn’t summon the will to care.
It was hardest for Ron and Hermione who had no idea what had happened, kept in the
dark as they were. He was vaguely grateful that Fred and George didn’t fuss over him. It
occurred in the back of Harry’s mind that their unspoken solidarity with him was not
unlike how Draco might feel with the silent Crabbe and Goyle.
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Finally taking their leave of Fred and George and heading back to the castle, Ron and
Hermione started a bright and cheery running commentary of their day for Harry’s
benefit, but soon tailed off when it became obvious that he wasn’t paying the slightest
attention to them. Harry was falling into a vacuum. His unhappiness and all his negative
thoughts were spiralling downwards, until there was nothing left. He felt a bit like a
Dementor had attacked him, except that summoning a Patronus wouldn’t help him now.
It was truly like he’d never be happy again.

As the three of them walked into the woody clearing which was about half a mile before
the path wound up towards Hogwarts, Draco stepped out from behind a tree, facing
them off with his wand drawn and his face white with fury. His shout echoed out, high
pitched and uneven. “Weasley! Granger! Get out of the way. NOW!”

Harry merely looked at Draco, full of resignation and a mild level of distress that didn’t
really register under the weight of his emotional pain. He noticed that Ron and Hermione
had both drawn their wands and were pointing them threateningly at Draco, who was
paying them no attention whatsoever. Draco shouted again, splitting the heavy silence.
“This isn’t to do with you. It’s him. MOVE!”

Draco’s outstretched wand arm was shaking violently, so great was his distress. Harry’s
heart broke into a thousand pieces as he whispered to himself over and over, ”I told you
so.” Harry felt the first prick of hot tears well up in his eyes. He was accepting of his fate
in a totally passive way. He briefly wondered if Draco would use the Killing Curse on him.

It was only as Hermione grabbed Harry’s forearm that his thoughts came back to the
clearing. Turning his head just a little towards her, he mumbled, “It’s okay. I’ve got this
coming.”

Hermione didn’t let go. She looked horrified, really scared that Draco was going to hurt
Harry irreparably. Harry shook his arm sharply to dislodge her hand and spoke irritably.
“Get off, Hermione. Take Ron with you and go. This is between me and him.”

There was open indecision in her eyes as she wondered whether to trust Harry, or
override him.

Ron broke the tension by motioning towards Hermione and speaking soothingly to her,

“Come on, Hermione. Let it go. You’ve got to let Harry to deal with Malfoy.”

He had pocketed his own wand and moved to lower Hermione’s too, embracing her
gently and leading her away from the standoff in the centre. Harry looked at Ron briefly
as he led Hermione slowly up the path in the direction of the school. Ron nodded to
Harry, who merely looked at him, before Harry turned his focus back to the enraged
Slytherin.

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Now that they were alone in the clearing, Harry took his time absorbing every detail
about Draco – his clothes, how he was standing, what his wand was like, but most of all,
his haunted expression. Harry watched the lips part to speak.

“Legilimens.”

Oh, Harry thought, faintly. I wasn’t expecting that. He opened himself to the mental
invasion, allowing complete access to anything Draco might want to see. Harry held
nothing back.

He felt his mind being searched, like Draco was turning the pages of a book. Images
flashed in his mind. Images collected this year, of Draco. Harry watched the piercingly
stormy grey eyes stretch wide in shock as the evening in the prefect’s bathroom flashed
through his mind, lingering on the pleasure on that perfect, beautiful face as he came,
and then Harry’s own violent release immediately afterwards. Other events flashed to
prominence; memories of learning the curves and planes of Draco’s body from constant
stolen glances, the shower fantasy, Harry in his enclosed bed, Transfiguring the tiny
dragon trapped inside the sparkling dildo. Harry could see that Draco was struggling to
continue, so deep was his anxiety. The ordeal ended with Harry watching himself open
the green velvet box out in the grounds a few days previously, reaching a finger out to
stroke one of the tiny, coiling platinum snakes.

It was almost a physical wrench having Draco withdraw from his mind so quickly. Harry
closed his eyes fleetingly, inhaling shakily then slowly exhaling before looking out at his
Slytherin prince once more. The tear tracks scarring Draco’s white cheeks glittered like
liquid diamond. Draco had raised a hand almost absently to his breast, pressing it lightly
before letting it fall away again. Harry registered Draco’s despair, even as he embraced
his own. Draco stumbled as he pushed his wand into his pocket, before turning and
running up towards the school, no need for further words between them.

For the second time that afternoon Harry felt his knees weaken, and he folded to the icy
ground. He stayed there for quite some time.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Dusk had turned the sky purple before Ron and Hermione came in search of Harry. They
fussed quietly over him, pulling him to his feet, brushing the hoar frost from his clothes,
and wrapping their arms round his waist before leading him back to the school. They
never asked what had happened. Hermione fetched Harry food from the Great Hall that
evening so he could sit up in the warm safety of Gryffindor common room without the
constant prying eyes he was subjected to wherever he went. Mid-evening, Harry got up
from his armchair, leaned over Hermione in hers, and kissed her goodnight on the cheek.

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He didn’t quite manage any eye contact. Clasping Ron’s shoulder on his way past, Harry
went to bed, cast a Silencing charm, and cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Dragging himself reluctantly from the sweaty grip of disturbed sleep, Harry faced the chill
Sunday morning air with a grimace and a thumping headache. The others in his dorm
were up and tiptoeing around, murmuring their “Good Morning's" without expectation
of a response. Ron finally attempted a conversation in the shower room.

“Mate, are you up to Quidditch practice today? The pitch is still booked but I can try and
swap with Hufflepuff, if you want.” He tried to make light of it by adding, “They need
more practice than we do, anyway.”

“No. It’s okay. I’m good.” Harry answered like an automaton. The lights were on, but
there was definitely nobody home.

“Good, good,” replied Ron, struggling to find anything else to say. “We’ll head out for
eleven ‘o’ clock, then.”

“Mm. Fine. See you there.” Harry’s toneless dismissal was all the encouragement Ron
needed to leave him alone.

The first hour of Quidditch practice focussed on the defending players, with Ron
coaching the team through some complex set pieces in which Harry had little part to
play. It gave him the opportunity to fly up high above the others and sit in the bitterly
cold, blindingly bright sky, surveying the castle and its grounds. He vaguely watched
Professor Dumbledore stroll down to Hagrid’s hut, lifting his arm briefly to return a wave.

Harry managed to scrape the barrel for some motivation when it came to the attacking
player’s session. Ron teamed him with Ginny, who seemed grimly determined to give
Harry a run for his money. There was no smiling or flirting from baby Weasley today; she
was all business. Playing Seeker against him, Ginny employed some uniquely Slytherin
practices to attempt to beat Harry to the Snitch. In short, she cheated. A lot. She pushed,
barged, elbowed, and jostled Harry at every opportunity. Harry found himself oddly
stimulated and before he had realised it, he was pushing himself up to his limit and then
past it, doing his best to fly circles around her and prove his supremacy. They scrapped
like enemies to get to the Snitch. Each time Harry caught it, he would turn and narrow his
eyes at her before lobbing it away from them and starting all over again. He ploughed his
emotions into their unarmed combat, flying faster, more recklessly and employing more
tactics, including a heart-stopping Wronski Feint that stilled the rest of the team in awe.

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It was just like playing against Draco.

And that realisation stopped him in his tracks.

Flying to Ron for permission to leave the practice, Harry was aware that all eyes were
again on him. Looking into Ron’s stunned, ecstatic face as he excused him, Harry grieved
for his broken heart, his shattered illusions, and his friend, who wanted so desperately to
hold the Quidditch Cup high above his head, and who would only get it if Harry could give
him all he had. But Harry didn’t know how much he had left to give.

He didn’t notice the small group of Slytherins sitting in one of the stands observing the
Gryffindor practice, as he walked back to the castle. And because he didn’t notice them,
he certainly didn’t notice the sparkling white blond head in the middle of the group, or
see the pale grey eyes tracking his steps, held wide open, shiny with unshed tears.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

By Thursday of the following week, Harry had picked up so many detentions for
inattention, (mostly from either furtively staring at Draco, or alternatively, studiously
looking the other way,) that he had to list his available slots to each irate professor and
book them in, like a rota. The summons to the headmasters office that evening
therefore, came as no surprise really. He made his way there slowly, examining his
surroundings carefully, ensuring he didn’t arrive before he had to. Giving the password,
(”Fudge Frooble,”) Harry stood on the elevating stairs and allowed himself to be carried
to Professor Dumbledore’s office. The professor called out to Harry before he reached
the top, and Harry stepped inside the cosy, cluttered office and took the proffered comfy
chair.

“A good evening to you, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “Bertie Bott’s bean, my boy? I’ve
separated all the green ones for us, in the hope that they’re nice mint ones. I should warn
you, however. I’m sure I just had a snot flavoured one.” The professor smiled his
twinkling smile, ignoring Harry’s ambivalence.

After a quiet sigh, Harry started, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I rather think I might be the one doing something for you, Harry.” Dumbledore looked
at Harry kindly, but with concern etched into his features. It annoyed Harry.

“Why would that be, then?” Harry asked, rudely.

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“It has come to my attention-” Harry sighed loudly, and looked pointedly out of the
window. But Dumbledore continued, “It has come to my attention that I have been
somewhat remiss in updating you on the activities of the Order.”

Harry turned his attention back to his mentor quickly, a spark of interest there. He had
expected a lecture on his behaviour, if anything.

“I’m sure you must be puzzling about the lack of activity from our most egotistical
enemy.” Harry gave a small nod and allowed Dumbledore to continue.

“I have recently received highly sensitive information through a member of the Order
that all is not well in the Death Eater camp, so to speak. Trouble with the cannon fodder,
it would seem.” He paused; probably for dramatic effect, Harry thought wryly.

“How so, Professor?”

“I believe we may see some high profile defections from his camp. But I don’t have clear
candidates for the honour as of yet. It is merely whisperings at this time. But interesting
whisperings, all the same.”

Nigellus Black humphed loudly, and Harry thought he heard a snide remark about
trusting unbalanced students with confidential information, but Dumbledore drew
Harry’s attention back with a brief wave of his hand.

“I should advise you most strongly against attempting to guess who may cross to our
side.

There is little to no information available to us, and guessing games may cause
unnecessary distractions and upset.”

Harry wrinkled his brow, thinking the last statement a little odd.

“With respect, sir, what is that supposed to mean?” A flash of anger ran through him.

“Having been a teacher for many years, Harry, I have become highly proficient in the
detection of broken hearts.” He held up a placating hand to prevent Harry’s intended
interruption. “I merely offer that you hardly need anything else to concern yourself with
at present.”

Harry thumped back into his comfy chair, slumping down, arms crossed tightly across his
chest, glaring angrily at the portraits not quick enough to avert their attention from the
discourse.

“Oh,” he bit out.

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“However, as I have now managed, quite seamlessly, I believe, to broach the topic, I feel
it my duty to be a meddling old pedagogue and speak frankly with you.”

If Dumbledore was waiting for Harry’s permission to continue it wasn’t coming.


Eventually, he carried on. “Allowing yourself the luxury of public moping is quite out of
the question, I’m afraid.”

Harry shot forward to the edge of his seat, hands gripping its arms, ready to jump up in
consternation. Dumbledore continued, as if nothing was amiss.

“However unreasonable and uninvited an expectation, the reality remains that your
fellow students look to you more than any other for leadership and comfort in these
troubled times. Certainly more so than to any professor, myself included. You are the role
model for your generation, Harry. I know this is an unwanted responsibility, but it is
probably more real than you can understand.”

Harry had allowed himself to relax, slightly. He could feel the tears fighting to fall, and
willed himself to gain some control.

“I don’t want to be like this,” Harry finally spoke, voice quiet and slightly strangled.

“Then don’t be,” Dumbledore spoke soothingly, doing his best to radiate calm.

“How?” The tears were definitely welling up, now.

“Focus on the tasks at hand. Such as removing the temptation from Professor Snape to
give you a detention that, most unfortunately, just happens to coincide with your next
Quidditch game. Or supporting your friend Ron who is, as we speak, receiving herbal aid
from Madam Pomfrey to calm his nerves over the number of practices you are missing
and the effect this is having on Gryffindor team.”

The first rogue tear fell then, and Harry brushed it away roughly with the back of a hand.
The truth hurt. Ron had always been there for him. But where was he, for Ron? A swell of
resolve formed in his belly. Harry felt something positive for the first time in days. He
rose slowly to leave, but turned towards Professor Dumbledore as he stepped around his
chair.

“It hurts,” he whispered.

“Of course,” shrugged Dumbledore, with a weary smile. “Never let anyone tell you that
you will soon forget. No one ever forgets his or her first true love, Harry. It is because
they are worth remembering.”

With that, he kindly shooed Harry out of his office, leaving him to ride the stairs back
down to the corridor and think about finally pulling himself together.

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*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry made his way straight back to the Gryffindor common room in search of Ron, to try
and make amends for his selfish behaviour. He wasn’t feeling flooded with a newfound
resolve or anything quite so drastic, but he felt he might be able to get a grip on himself,
especially with Ron and Hermione’s friendship. He had neglected them a lot lately. When
he got there, neither of them were anywhere to be found. Wanting to act immediately,
Harry decided to trawl their other potential locations, so he turned and left quickly.

He found them walking back from the library hand in hand, looking peaceful and relaxed.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he watched Hermione tense minutely before smiling widely
at Harry and calling out a greeting. Drawing them off the busy thoroughfare of the
hallway to a quieter spot, Harry apologised sincerely to Ron without really explaining
what the problem had been. They had both learned not to press Harry when he chose
not to talk, and he felt warm for the first time in days, watching their faces fill with relief
as he talked. He explained that he had been feeling lonely and a bit frustrated with his
sexuality, and the problems it created when trying to find someone. They were more
than satisfied with Harry’s offering, which eased Harry’s tension even more.

Back in the common room Harry did his best to portray a happy façade for Ron,
Hermione and the rest of his fellow Gryffindors. After a while the effort became less and
he let himself engage in conversations and laughter for the first time since meeting
Draco in the clearing that day.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next day, Friday, was the day before the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff fixture. Many
students came and wished Harry good luck and he accepted their greetings with some
cheer, and used the opportunities to expound on the skills of his team-mates. It felt like
the least he could do to repay them for their patience with his petulant behaviour earlier
in the week.

At the end of the school day, Harry made his way to the Charms classroom for his
detention with Professor Flitwick. He felt okay about it, knowing the professor would use
the time to make Harry practice so at least it would be spent beneficially. Turning the

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corner onto the corridor where Professor Flitwick’s classroom was, Harry faltered at the
sight of Draco,

Crabbe, and Goyle heading towards him. Draco and Harry’s eyes met, diverting
immediately.

Harry’s steps slowed involuntarily, it seemed to him. Draco snapped something out to
Crabbe and Goyle who looked quizzically at him, then turned and headed back in the
other direction. This left the two of them walking slowly towards each other, wilfully
avoiding eye contact.

When they were quite close Harry heard Draco take a sharp intake of breath, perhaps in
preparation to speak. It made him look up at Draco who had flushed very prettily, Harry
thought. He had ground to a halt, standing looking nervously at Harry. Harry’s stomach
was clenched so tightly he wondered how he might take another breath. He came to a
halt two or three paces from his much-missed Slytherin prince, trying hard not to let the
hurt and need show in his face.

The corridor was silent with no movement anywhere to distract them. Draco opened his
mouth again, giving every impression he was going to speak, his eyes flickering around
the dimly lit corridor and landing on Harry briefly every so often. The silence stretched
out; Harry was paralysed. Eventually, Draco pulled himself up straight and said,

“Er…”

Then he huffed in exasperation, turned quickly on his heel and marched away. Harry
remained rooted to the spot watching the receding back and noting absently that
Draco’s hair, pulled back in his customary ponytail, now reached his shoulder blades.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Saturday dawned a bright, chilly day, boding well for dry conditions for the Quidditch
game. Ron had pulled his team down to the changing rooms quite early that morning for
some team building and strategy time. Time slipped by quickly and before Harry knew it,
he was dressing in his Quidditch robes, listening to the sounds of people filling the
brightly coloured stands. As Ron reminded them all that they needed a large win margin
to move ahead of Slytherin again, they picked up their brooms and headed out into the
rapidly dulling daylight.

Within ten minutes, the skies had opened and both teams were soaked to the skin almost
instantly. With their higher confidence and skill levels, Gryffindor were able to move

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ahead in points quite easily, supported by the fact that the Hufflepuff team was quite
young this year after having lost many of their best players at the end of the last school
year. And Cedric, of course, Harry thought to himself. He didn’t allow himself any time to
dwell on Cedric. Instead, he worked hard to occupy the Hufflepuff Seeker while his team-
mates did an excellent job of scoring goals.

Harry took some risks with the Snitch, sighting it on a couple of occasions but choosing
to feint away, drawing his lagging opponent with him. Ron would tell Harry that this kind
of play was good tactics but Harry couldn’t help feeling it was a bit sly, really. Then he
though of Draco and realised what sly really meant, smiled to himself and set off after
another bogus sighting.

When Gryffindor had racked up a lead of well over a hundred points, Ron gave Harry the
nod, and he commenced to look for the Snitch in earnest. Maybe five minutes later, he
spotted it almost on the ground, close to its release point. Flying nonchalantly down as if
scoping the match performance, Harry worked himself lower and lower, always keeping
the flicker of gold in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t make a straight dash for it due to
the very close proximity of one of the Hufflepuff Chasers. He had to use his ingenuity for
this one.

Steering past Robins, he motioned her to distract the opposing Chasers with a dropped
Quaffle and sat slightly back, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. As soon as the
Snitch was unguarded it circled cheekily, then sped off with Harry now very close behind.
He felt sad really, that there was no competition for reaching it. Hufflepuff must really
have had problems filling the Seeker position this year.

The Snitch however, had its own agenda, and it led Harry on a merry chase before
permitting its own capture right in front of the Ravenclaw stand. The Hufflepuff Seeker
eventually caught up almost as Harry’s Gryffindor team-mates were beginning to crowd
round him to issue congratulatory hugs between themselves. Harry went out of his way
to thank the dejected Seeker, promising himself he would offer her some tips to help her
game in the future.

It had become customary for Harry to drop back from the team when they had won
because he was conscious that praise that should be for the whole team often came only
his way. He wanted Ron to have this for himself, and for the others. As they all began to
land, Harry remained seated, hovering gently on his beloved broom, looking around the
grounds. It was a peaceful place to meditate, alone in amongst the teeming masses of his
fellow students. He scanned the stands, not looking for anyone; just looking. It was
almost inevitable, he supposed, that he would pick out Draco from the Slytherin stand
with his startlingly pale hair, contrasting sharply with his dark surroundings. He was still
seated as his companions were rising all around him, taking their leave of their seats.
Their eyes met across the width of the pitch and held for a second or two before Draco
looked down into his lap, and rose to leave.

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*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry found the team celebrations that day very wearing. He had enjoyed the first hour
or so, apart from the part where Professor Snape had summoned him from the
Gryffindor common room to change Monday’s detention to tomorrow, Sunday evening.
At least he wouldn’t have to pretend he was cheerful down in Snape’s dungeon, he
consoled himself.

With Ron being so preoccupied with the huge task of celebrating like the party animal he
so clearly was, Harry had little useful help to remove Ginny’s most unwanted attentions.
When Hermione tried to prise the ginger pest’s grip from Harry’s arm, Ron’s little sister
shot her a look that would have made a Basilisk proud. Resigned to his fate, Harry
allowed himself to be steered around the room and introduced to Ginny’s friends,
internally exasperated at the constant, pathetic giggling. When Ginny tried to sit on
Harry’s lap he bolted for the toilet – the best excuse he could think of at short notice.

He managed to make a sneaky run for freedom then, and headed for the most isolated
point in the castle that he could think of, the Astronomy tower. Climbing the many steps
occupied Harry for a while as he counted them in his head, wondering if there was any
significance to having one hundred and eighty six steps. When he reached the circular
room right at the top, Harry wandered slowly around its perimeter, taking slow looks out
of the many windows and openings. Finding his favourite view out over the lake with the
forest stretching out to the horizon, Harry sat down, leaned against the window frame,
and lost himself in thought.

Inevitably, most of his thoughts concerned Draco. He had expected some kind of
retaliation at the very least, and worried that it hadn’t come. Harry was saddened but
unsurprised that his love toy was no longer in use. He kept hoping to wake to the now
familiar sensation, or feel the illicit tightening as he was drifting off to sleep, but he had
been disappointed. Of course, Draco would no longer want anything to do with it. Harry
also worried that he had forced himself on an un-consenting target. Just how much
emotional damage had he caused?

He was so lost in himself, that Harry never heard the rasp of footsteps on stone stairs. He
never registered the other presence stand in the doorway, frozen like a statue, looking at
him for many minutes. And he never saw the blond pony tail bob back down the stairs,
melting into the gloom.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

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That night in bed, Harry had a distressing dream. In it, he felt himself roused from an
unsettled slumber by the sensation of soft movements across his feet and legs. The
movements were like dry, whispery fingers, which circled and stroked his skin, raising
delicious goose pimples up and down his body. Unable to move his arms, he had to
endure the excruciatingly pleasurable sensations rise up his legs and encircle his
lengthening penis, stroking it in a most unusual way until he was fully aroused and aching
for release. Rather than give him what he craved, the sensations drifted further up his
body, caressing the tingling skin of his stomach and chest.

He looked down slightly, as the movements neared the folded top of his bed linen, and
froze in horror as he watched a monstrous snake push its head into the open air and lift
its eyes until they were looking vacantly down at Harry. He could feel the frozen rictus of
his expression stretching his face to it’s limits, so great was the feeling of fear. Forcing his
mouth to work, he managed to whisper, ~“Don’t…”~ in what he supposed must be
Parseltongue. He swore it narrowed its eyes for a moment before continuing towards
him.

The last thing he saw before he screwed closed his dreaming eyes was the silvery sparkle
in the snake’s lifeless orbs as it lowered its jaws towards his neck, finally sinking its teeth
into Harry’s defenceless flesh.

Chapter Ten

Arriving at the Potions classroom for his Sunday evening detention with Snape, Harry
braced himself for his professor’s withering contempt before knocking on the heavy oak
door and entering. Following several minutes of Snape’s anticipated sneering comments
about Harry’s shortcomings as a student and a person, he was finally ushered over to a
workbench to sit, while his ‘jailer’ collected together the materials for Harry’s no doubt
exceptionally dull task.

Professor Snape set Harry up with a large pile of greenery to chop and strain before
bottling, for the storage cupboard. Snape told Harry that there was no way that even his
ineptitude could mess this simple operation up. Harry had set to, silver knife in hand,
while Snape sat behind his imposing desk and graded homework assignments.

No more than ten minutes after his arrival, Harry heard a rap at the door and it swung
smoothly inwards to reveal Draco. He approached Professor Snape.

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“Sir, Professor Dumbledore has requested your presence in his office. I believe Manson’s
parents are here for the transfer meeting.” Draco had yet to notice Harry’s presence.

“I thought that was tomorrow,” replied Snape, almost sharply. “I have Potter here doing
detention.” Draco’s head turned to meet Harry’s uptilted face.

Harry thought Draco looked momentarily like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car,
before he pulled his arrogant mask back in place.

“Draco, are you available to supervise the rest of Potter’s detention?” Snape asked.

“I…Yes, sir,” the clipped response.

“Very well. See that he completes the whole pile of leaves.”

With that, Snape stood quickly and swept from the room in that uniquely dramatic way
he had. Harry looked up from his bench pointedly, no longer giving any pretence of
working on his task. Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly as he paced towards Harry’s desk.

“Well, get on with it, Potter!” he snapped, before turning his back on Harry and surveying
the contents of the Potions cupboard.

Harry got back to work, chopping and feeding the greenery into the cauldron. He felt
slightly sick in the pit of his stomach. Draco’s erratic pacing could be heard echoing
throughout the room and Harry looked up once or twice to see the blond head bent to
look at the floor, brow furrowed deeply as he moved. Eventually Draco stopped, and
then headed for a stool opposite the bench where Harry was working. Harry saw from
the corner of his eye that Draco sat with his back to the desk, facing him, leaning back on
his elbows. Harry braced himself – he knew something was coming. He just had no idea
what.

“What the fucking hell were you thinking, Potter?” Draco started, snapping Harry’s
attention up from his task until their eyes met. Draco looked away immediately,
uncomfortable.

Harry remained silent. He was at a loss for words. He hadn’t expected Draco to invite an
interaction about what he had done; he had just expected the Slytherin to rage at him.

“Why would you do this to me?” Draco pressed, emotions bubbling just below the
surface, but primarily anger it seemed.

“Because you deserved it. And I wanted to do it,” Harry finally said. He had a bad feeling
about this conversation. The best he could hope was that there would be a known cure
for whatever hexes Draco decided to throw at him.

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“FUCK! Have you any idea what you did to me?” When Harry didn’t respond immediately
he added, “No. Of course you don’t.” Draco’s temper was close now.

Harry stood stock still, waiting for the inevitable tidal wave to break.

“I LIKED IT! ALL OF IT!” Draco bellowed into the empty classroom. “Do you have any idea
how humiliating this is? Finding out that it was you doing it all to me?” Harry thought
there were tears marring those steely grey eyes, but whether from anger or unhappiness
he couldn’t judge. “No one else ever took the time that you did! Teased me. Tortured me
with wanting. They always submit themselves to me. They never even ask what I might
want. What I might need!”

Harry was really nervous now. A tearful Draco could be a very complex animal to pacify.
He opted to try and take the upper hand, mimicking their ‘relationship’ so far.

“I liked having the power to control you, Draco,” Harry murmured, although it might
have been a shout for the speed with which Draco’s attention snapped onto him. “And I
really get off on watching you.” SHIT! Did I just say that out loud?” he thought. “And
touching you,” he added. “Sometimes you need to control but other times, you most
definitely need to be controlled. Preferably by me.”

Draco’s mouth was agape. He clearly couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What did you just say?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“Look. We both enjoyed it. A lot.” Harry didn’t know what else to say, but he finally
added, “I want to do it again. Repeatedly.”

“But what about…” Draco sounded unsure, worried. Harry watched him sit forward and
wring his hands painfully.

“Fuck ‘em all. I don’t care what they think.” Harry hoped he had got the correct gist of
what Draco was trying to say.

Draco jumped up from the stool and began his furious pacing again, paying Harry little
attention. His agitation increased Harry’s own sense of calm.

“Are you suggesting we go out together?” Draco’s voice held contempt, and fear as well.

“Not exactly, no,” was Harry’s careful reply. “More like a reciprocal arrangement, based
on mutual need.” At least at first, anyway, Harry thought with an internal grin.

Draco stopped pacing and glared at Harry. “You expect me to forgive you?” His voice was
shrill.

“What’s to forgive? I thought you liked it,” Harry’s voice trailed off, silky and suggestive.
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Rubbing absently at the stiff muscles in the back of his neck, Draco sighed deeply and
returned to sit on the stool facing Harry. His expression hardened. “Just because I’m
considering this, don’t think you’re off the hook,” he snapped out.

Harry fought to suppress his manic grin; the one that was threatening to split his face
with triumph.

Then Draco continued.

“You are going to pay. Starting now.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown in confusion now. He had no idea where this was going until
Draco ordered, “Stand up. Face me. Away from the stool.” Harry obeyed each request
hesitantly, expecting the hexes to fly any second.

“Unbutton your fly and get your cock out. And it had better be hard by the time it hits
the air.” Harry’s brows shot up into his hairline, his eyes questioning Draco’s. Draco
looked hard with resolve.

“Now,, Potter,” Draco sneered.

Harry opened his mouth to say who knew what. But the words froze before they had
formed under Draco’s icy stare. He reached forward with a slightly shaking hand to
fumble with the buttons of his fly. He felt intense gratitude that he was indeed getting
harder by the second. Who knew that stroppy, petulant, dominating Draco turned him
on? He hadn’t. Not until right now, anyway.

The fly now open, Harry reached inside to part his boxers and pull his erection free.
Looking up into Draco’s face again, he was surprised to see a hungry, predatory gaze
etched into the beautiful features. As he clasped himself in his sweating palm and eased
himself free of his trousers, Harry felt the first flush of embarrassment. He had seen
Draco many times but had never imagined what it was like to be on the receiving end of
such attention.

“Excellent. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Draco murmured. “Now, I want to watch
you wank yourself off, right now. And make it good.”

Harry noticed he wasn’t the only one feeling a little hot around the collar. Draco’s cheeks
had a high flush, not unlike the heat Harry could feel in his own face. Meeting the pale
grey eyes full on, Harry began to move his hand; very slowly at first, just a little
movement up and down, with a slight twist. He let his lips fall apart and a tiny sigh
escaped them, drawing Draco’s gaze momentarily to his mouth. Harry slid the tip of his
tongue between his lips and moistened them top and bottom, causing Draco to hiss
quietly.

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Bringing his other arm forward, Harry dipped the free hand into his trousers and caressed
his testicles, rolling the flesh gently between his fingers and cupping them lightly. Just
like he had done to Draco in his own bed in the Slytherin dorm that night.

Draco’s eyes were now all for Harry’s moving hands. Harry was gratified that his own
slight discomfort was producing a startling effect in his erotic quarry however, as a slim
hand slid into Draco’s lap and began to stroke the bulge there. It was just a feather-light
touch, but enough to make his eyelids flutter and to allow Harry a second to watch Draco
unhindered.

Harry masturbated slowly, revelling in the texture of the skin and the smell of himself. He
made no attempt to hold back his noises. He sighed and whimpered gently, the whole
time staring at Draco’s face, daring him to look at him; daring him to look away. The
Slytherin alternated his glances between Harry’s face and his lap, a look of pure hunger
on his face.

Harry applied a little more pressure to himself eventually, running his fingertips firmly
along the raised vein, which was throbbing warmly now. He moaned aloud at the
sensation, looking at Draco through heavy-lidded, ‘Fuck me’ eyes. When he peeled back
his foreskin and ran his fingers around the ridge of his domed end, making the flesh shiny
with sticky liquid, Harry heard Draco gasp loudly and saw him press the heel of his palm
into his crotch, perhaps attempting to restrict the sensations he was feeling.

Draco breathed, “Come for me,” and Harry stepped up the pace, wanking himself firmly.
His eyes never left Draco’s face the entire time. He panted aloud at each stroke, feeling
his body tensing in preparation for the imminent orgasm. Draco’s eyes were wild, his
own whimpers rising in volume. He called out, maybe in sympathy, as Harry groaned and
shot a heavy arc of semen onto the floor between them. The pulsing didn’t stop and
Harry continued to work himself in smaller and smaller movements until he had emptied
himself completely.

Assessing himself, Harry leaned forward from the support of the desk and stood
unassisted. As he was about to clean himself, he heard Draco murmur quietly and found
the job done for him. He shot a small look of gratitude before looking down to re-arrange
his clothing.

When he looked up again it was to see Draco still aroused, without completion of any
kind. His face was pink, his lips parted and swollen, his breath rushing in and out audibly.

Harry stepped gingerly towards Draco, his movements slow, as if trying to calm a wild
animal. He stopped less than a pace away, placing himself between Draco’s parted legs,
letting his eyes linger on the full bulge in the charcoal trousers. He raised his eyes slowly,
seductively, until he met Draco’s gaze, looking through his upper eyelashes, coyly almost.
Draco inhaled sharply, shaking slightly. The quiver of veiled anticipation was running
through his entire body.

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He raised a fluttering hand towards Harry’s face. Harry watched the thumb extend and
felt its pad press gently on his bottom lip. Draco’s eyes watched his own thumb rub along
Harry’s full lower lip, transfixed by only he knew what. Harry’s stomach was flipping as he
parted his lips slowly and darted his tongue out to taste the thumb. Draco groaned
aloud, mouth a little more open now. Harry mirrored Draco, opening his lips wider, using
his tongue to caress the thumb, to trace the nail bed and learn the texture of the skin.

Raising both of his hands slowly, Harry gently held Draco’s arm at the elbow and the
hand, feeding the thumb into his mouth. With one of his own thumbs, Harry rubbed slow
circles in the dip of Draco’s palm, gently pushing the hand further towards his mouth
until the thumb disappeared inside, right to the fleshy juncture. Draco’s breathing was
shallow and erratic, his pupils blown, face flushed dark pink across his cheeks. His eyes
were stretched wide open, watching Harry’s mouth intently, and the pursing of Harry’s
lips around his thumb. Harry allowed his tongue to enjoy every contour of the digit at
leisure, swirling around it and then nipping it gently with his teeth, grazing the flesh
lightly as he drew the thumb from his mouth between tight lips, and swallowed it again.

With his eyes firmly fixed on Draco’s, Harry began to fellate the thumb in earnest, both
wet and slow. He closed his eyes slowly, focussing purely on the feeling of the flesh
against his tongue, before slowly opening them again, looking straight into Draco’s
unnerved eyes. Harry thought Draco looked so vulnerable. He thought he could do
anything he liked with him.

Finally withdrawing the thumb fully to the sound of a tiny sob from the Slytherin, Harry
lowered Draco’s hand and placed it on his thigh, mirroring his other hand.

Harry lowered himself slowly to his knees, looking at the gorgeous, flushed face before
him all the time. He reached forward, infinitely slowly, and brushed a flat palm over the
bulge in the lap in front of him. Through the tiny contact patch, Harry could feel the
shivers wracking Draco’s body and he could certainly hear the rough gasps escaping his
lips. Working his dextrous fingers slowly, Harry undid the button fly and worked his hand
inside Draco’s silky underwear. When his fingers made contact with the burning hot
flesh, Draco groaned in encouragement and raised a hand to stroke Harry’s hair. The
need in his face was so intense it was terrifying. Harry moved in more closely to place tiny
kisses on the exposed flesh as he withdrew the firm shaft from its fabric prison. Harry
took a moment to examine the beauty of Draco’s erection before raising his eyes and
simultaneously licking a wide, wet streak from base to tip, flicking thoroughly over the
purpled end.

Draco’s head fell back and a loud moan rang from his mouth. Taking this as
encouragement and approval, Harry swallowed Draco in one long, slow, smooth
movement, exploring each little lump and bump with his lips as he did so. Tilting his face
into the lap before him, he lavished his full attention on bringing the ultimate pleasure to
Draco, sighing his own contentment around the penetrating length. Draco bucked
forward gently at each pass of Harry’s lips and signalled his gratification through his quiet
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sobs. Harry let his hands wander over Draco’s thighs, tracing patterns onto the flesh
while his mouth worked its wonders.

Moving a hand to enclose the base of Draco’s gorgeous penis, Harry drew it away from
his body towards himself, so that he could look up into Draco’s eyes as he took him.
Harry let his emotions play across his face so that Draco could not doubt how he felt.
Catching and holding the excited gaze, Harry withdrew almost all the way until he was
just sucking and licking across the very end of Draco, caressing the tiny, leaking slit with
only the tip of his tongue. Draco’s eyes were shining even more, glazed as they were with
a shimmer of tears. He seemed so needy, like a sponge seeking to soak up any love and
affection directed at him. Harry had a moment to register this thought before plunging
his mouth back down until his lips bumped up against his own circling hand.

Knowing Draco was so close, Harry lovingly masturbated him with sedate, small
movements, timed to perfection with the sucking of his mouth. He felt Draco’s hands
slide into his hair, gripping and massaging his scalp with rhythmic movements, begging
with his body for completion. As Harry looked back up and locked eyes once again, he
felt the sudden convulsion run the length of Draco’s erection, and the first wash of hot
come spurt into his mouth. Desperate to taste it all, Harry held the semen there until he
could slowly withdraw from Draco and swirl it in his mouth, testing its texture and
flavour before swallowing and sighing his approval. His eyes flickered closed as he
swallowed, a sated, relaxed expression pasted onto his face, as the corners of his mouth
rose in a satisfied smile. He heard Draco’s sharp gasp, perhaps as he registered the
expression on Harry’s face and felt fingertips stroke his cheek gently, almost in wonder.

Spending a moment to put Draco away and do up his fly, Harry stood unsteadily using
Draco’s thighs for balance until they were almost eye to eye once again. Harry smiled a
dazzlingly happy smile at Draco, stroking his hands up from the thighs, over his stomach
and up towards Draco’s chest, where he allowed his fingers to pluck gently at the hidden
nipples. His heart leapt when they touched the delicate piercings he had sent Draco for
Valentine’s Day. He had thought that when Draco knew it was he who had sent them,
that they would have been instantly discarded.

Draco recognised the flicker of emotion pass over Harry’s face, correctly intuiting its
cause. He blushed a little and looked demurely down into his lap, as if shy that his secret
had been discovered. Harry’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, so excited was he by
this small discovery.

Raising a hand to Draco’s chin, Harry leaned in and whispered, “Taste yourself.”

Their mouths travelled towards each other in slow motion, trying to prolong the moment
of their first kiss. Each had parted their lips in preparation, and Harry could feel Draco’s
hot breath washing over his own tingling mouth. For a second they were frozen, lips
barely touching, before pressing gently forward and capturing each other fully. The first
flicker of tongues between barely parted lips drew forth heartfelt moans from them
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both, and Harry placed his hands on Draco’s cheeks, holding his face covetously, like it
was the most delicate, valuable thing in the world. Leaning into each other more fully
now, Draco placed his hands on Harry’s waist, squeezing down to trace the bones
underneath.

The kiss was slow, savouring every new taste from each other, finding every responsive
spot, drawing forth sighs and moans as they basked in the warmth of each other. For
Harry, the world stopped turning right there and then. Time stood still; Draco’s mouth,
his soft, warm tongue, the only thing existing for him.

They stayed that way for a long time, just exploring slowly, each submitting to the other,
no struggle for dominance. Harry thought he could lose himself in Draco. He was
brimming over with desire. Occasionally, they would break apart just a little to look at
each other, reassuring themselves that it was really happening, before sliding back
together again.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

And that was pretty much how Blaise Zabini found them when he stepped through the
door of Professor Snape’s Potions classroom.

The St. Valentine’s Day massacre and other monologues

I’ve given it a lot of thought recently and I can unequivocally confirm that life is fucking
weird. I can barely remember the time before any of this had started, when life was sane.
When I was in control. A time when I was lonely and without hope.

Of course, it began long before the Christmas holidays, but that’s the time I really started
to apply my not insignificant brainpower to solving the delicious puzzle of my secret
lover. How wanted I felt then, with my beautiful gift; my perfect dildo, as I pleasured
myself at his whim and burned with longing to be his. To finally be someone’s. Someone
who wanted my body and not my title. Someone who paid attention to the little details,
the ones that made his seduction so perfect.

In the beginning, I made a list. The list was very short. It contained the names of those
whom I felt capable in the practical sense of performing the necessary charms to win me.
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On the list were two Slytherins, one Ravenclaw, and two Gryffindors. I know! I imagine
you’re shocked about that! Remember however, that I am talking about magical ability
here, and not my own fancies of whom I wished the person to be. When my spectacular
Christmas gift was revealed, two names dropped from the list as if they had never
existed. Pansy and Granger. Anatomically incorrect, you understand. What a bloody relief
that was too, let me tell you! The thought that either of them could intuit my most
closely guarded needs was too terrifying to contemplate.

And then there were three.

Do you know what it’s like to always be in charge? To always be the one all others look to
for leadership and strength? This is the story of my life. It could not be any other way; I
am a Malfoy. How marvellous. Although I would never admit it, I don’t always know the
answers. As My Father often says, “When in doubt, lie.” This pearl of Parental wisdom
has served me well and I do not plan to abandon it now.

Sometimes - very occasionally, you understand - I want someone else to make the
decisions. I want not to be in charge. And this is precisely what I was given by my fantasy
man. He controlled our interactions; he controlled me. And while I would not wish it all
the time, it has long been my private desire to submit to the will of another. The night
before the Quidditch game, in my bed for example, could not have better fulfilled my
needs had I planned it myself. I think back on it now and I am hard in an instant.

I remember the smell and the taste of him but most of all, I remember him calling me by
my name for the first time. If it hadn’t already happened before that time, then love
punched a hand into my chest and squeezed my heart tightly at that moment. And now
my heart is racing again, pattering its manic rhythm as it did that night. I can feel the
pulse in my throat and my groin. You will have to forgive me if I touch myself as I tell you
what he did to me that night.

I could not see a thing; the darkness was thicker by far than it should have been. A clever
trick by anyone’s standards. My panic passed as I realised it was him. I used my shaky
breaths to try and inhale the scent of him, to pull him into my lungs, and hold his breath
inside me. And then he said those words- the ones that are etched into my memory with
acid, so powerful was their effect on me.

“…suck me off with that beautiful, dirty mouth of yours.”

Can you see me shaking? God! How I wanted him. How I want him now, to possess my
mouth as he did that night. The knowledge that I was finally to taste his body pulsed the
blood straight to my groin, made me sob in the back of my throat. And then he bound
me. I knew my body was beaten, that he could take whatever he wished, but my heart
and soul soared high in the sky, free as a bird and light as a feather.

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I cannot help but touch myself now as I think of his tender care of me that night. He was
so concerned, so kind that I knew he would never, ever harm me. To him, I was a
precious thing on which to lavish love and attention. His actions spoke as loudly as his
few words. The way he checked my bonds for comfort and the delicate brush of his
fingertips against my sensitised skin. I remember with love when he asked me if I wanted
it, and I said “God, yes,” wishing I had the strength to tell him never to stop. But I was
afraid my need would scare him away, so I said nothing.

I need to feel love. Not power, which My Father thinks is the same thing, I am sure. I am
desperate for it, that previously unknown warmth enveloping me and holding me as if in
a cocoon, the feeling that I am wanted, whatever my faults. I have never known it
before, but I know it now. He wants me. He wants me to give in to him, and I will.

I remember his tentative touch on my skin that night, how his fingertips pressed coolly
into my burning body, learning my contours and stealing that heat which I would have
freely given. And then I remember his mouth on my nipple. I must stop my story for a
moment, until I can breathe again.

His tongue flicked out and lashed across it, circling the peaked flesh there, pulling it
without mercy into his mouth, and latching onto my chest as he suckled me. I wanted to
scream, it felt so good. I am stroking that same nipple now, feeling its tiny button press
into the pad of my finger, even as I continue to stroke my cock in time to the events of
my story. I am as wet under my palm as he was in my mouth that night. But I cannot taste
as good as he does; he is perfection to me.

I can still feel how he ran his fingers through my hair that night, pressing into my scalp,
and drawing handfuls of it up towards his face as if he would smell it. He murmured
softly as he did it, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him what he said and shatter the
moment for us both. I kissed him then, but on the chest and not his mouth. I knew in an
instant that he wanted to kiss me properly. I felt his hesitation as my lips touched his
bared flesh, and the deep, sad moan as he tried to pull away. I wanted the kiss so much,
but I knew why he withheld it. Our first kiss was too precious to waste. We would save it,
I believed, for a time when we knew each other.

When he grasped my chin and leaned in to me, I knew it was time. I wanted him deep
inside my beautiful, dirty mouth to taste, to lick and to suck. Especially that. The delicacy
with which he moistened my lips with his wetness brought silent tears to my eyes. I can
remember in minute detail the feeling of his silky soft end pressing gently into my lips. I
felt the contour of the dome and the tiny dip underneath where his pre-come was the
thickest, the warmest. As he stroked his rose petal flesh around my mouth, I breathed his
musky scent deep inside and tasted the first hint of him on my tongue. My breath could
have burned him, it seemed so hot to me. When he said my name I lunged forward in
desperation. I had to have him inside me as the sound of my name still rode the air
between us. I couldn’t contain my moan of joy to finally have him pulsing in my mouth.

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His arousal matched my own, as my erection twitched and pleaded for attention in my
lap.

He tried so hard to make love to my willing mouth, but I knew he wanted to fuck it. It was
what I wanted and I already knew we were completely in tune, even back then. I ate him
noisily, loving the gasps my slurping sounds drew from him, and using my tongue
forcefully on the underside of his gorgeously fat length. I pressed the vein as far as it
would go into his solid, meaty cock, feeling the pulsing and contractions of his pleasure
as I did it. He murmured my name repeatedly, pushing me on to greater and greater
efforts to complete his experience.

As I lie here now, my body mimics those wet noises again, yet I am alone. My
masturbation has become frenzied and frequent since he has been torturing me with his
attentions.

Tonight is no exception. I am pressing my fingertips into my vein on each pump of my


fist, remembering back to that night, remembering the feel of his silky flesh against my
wet tongue. If I don’t hold back, I will come before I finish my story.

When he came in my mouth, I was blessed. I have no religion, yet I was filled with light
and love. His vigorous spurts hit the back of my throat with force, flashing across my
taste buds in an instant and filling my mouth with the unique flavour of him. I could not
let him go, I was so desperate to milk every last droplet from him. As he pulled away I
smiled happily to myself, imagining his come filling my stomach and sustaining me. In
that moment, he gave me his life and I took it to myself covetously.

I laughed as he praised me, thinking blasphemously that <I>he</I> was <I>my</I> god,
not the other way around. I needed him to give me purpose, to put my existence into
perspective. He became my religion, if such a thing is possible. I would gladly worship at
his alter whenever I was allowed.

And then he showed me his sign. He bit me. When I begged him, he bit me harder. I
almost came when he did it. My body was in sensory overload with his touch, his taste,
his sounds and his smell all around me. I knew if I bore his mark, he would understand
that there was no going back from this experience for either of us. We would play it out
to the end, whatever it may be. Whoever he may be. And that would require me to
transform my long-held beliefs, especially if he turned out to be Potter.

What? You think I hadn’t considered him? He was the second name on my list, if you must
know. After Blaise. But I digress.

I knew he would touch me before he left me, and I was not wrong. His hands paid
homage to my body with the softest of touches. He held my testicles in his hand as if
they were his own – with familiarity and reverence. Feeling the press of his thumbs on my
tightening flesh was almost too maddening for words. When his hand circled my soaking

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erection I heard his gasp of surprise. He travelled the length of me so slowly, working the
moisture up and down, up and down, making me scream and wishing I knew his name, so
I could scream it for him.

My own hand is soaking now as I wank myself furiously, remembering the heat of his
breath in my lap as he lowered his head to devour me. I couldn’t wait. I could not wait for
my release, as I cannot wait any longer for it now. I am so close…just a little more…so
close…

“Harry…”

I say his name now because I know it. He was the reason for that night. He is the reason
for this night, too.

As I absorb the warm afterglow of my orgasm, I go back to that night after he had gone,
and remember the feeling of loss as the bindings slipped and released me. I gathered
their silky cloth to me and burrowed down into the covers. I pulled all the bed linen close
around me, hoping to catch a lingering scent of my dream lover so that I could fall asleep
happy.

He had wished me luck in the game the next day. I almost crossed Harry off the list right
there and then, convinced that such a thing could never be; unsure whether such a thing
should ever be.

But I had considered him, just so that you know.

When I discovered the scarf the next morning, I did not automatically decide it was Harry.
Remember, Blaise was still on the list. And being a Slytherin, I knew him to be perfectly
capable of devious behaviour. I could not rule out the possibility that the scarf was a red
herring.

It’s funny looking back on that morning now, and the odd emotions I experienced. As my
hand closed around the scarf, pulling it up from the foot of my bed, my first thought was
to smell it and see if it smelled of him. I was devastated when I could not remember,
bereft of a most precious memory. Of course, I then thought of Harry, (Potter, as he still
was at the time) and how it would be if he was the one. I tested it out in my
head. …“Draco and Harry”…“My boyfriend, Harry”… It was unimaginable. Yet really,
honestly, was it? Would it not be oddly right, that the two greatest rivals, of equal stature
and power, could be attracted to each other? Of the three candidates, I had to grudgingly
admit that he was my equal where the others were not. I could not see myself as
submissive to either Blaise or the Ravenclaw, Featherstone.

Certainly, Featherstone held the least complications should he prove to be the one. After
all, I had no previous attachment to, or relationship with him. This also meant I could
judge him the least. A sixth year student, Charles Featherstone excelled in many subjects,

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applying himself with quiet confidence to his tasks. I know, because I bribed others to
spy on him without explaining why. On the plus side, he is of a pure-blood wizarding
family. On the negative side, this could indicate some hidden involvement with the Dark
Lord; my reasoning being that the majority of pure-blood families are involved with him
in one way or another. Having already decided to leave the service of that raving lunatic, I
sensed a risk there. I had to admit, however, that he was and still is most pleasant to look
upon. But he did not seem the type. Not confident enough, for want of a better word.

And then there was Blaise.

In many ways he was the safest option, but in other ways, the worst of the three. If Blaise
was the one, it was for nefarious reasons and not for love. As my closest confidante, he
was the best placed of the candidates to intuit my secret drives and desires. I have
always been careful to hide my true self below the expected Malfoy façade and this
extends even to my closest friendships. In many ways, I have shocked myself by laying
myself open to intimate scrutiny by an unknown. It was a risk that I have not regretted.

In truth, I would have been surprised if Blaise could read me so well. He is the
archetypical Slytherin as well as the product of a self-obsessed mother – Blaise’s world
revolves around his own needs. Don’t mistake me, however; I do not judge him for this. I
merely offer that he would not be able to put himself in my shoes because he is so used
to his own. Of course, I believed that if Blaise was the one, he was doing it for Pansy. I
have known for some time that he is in love with her. He tries so hard to hide it, as does
she. Oh, yes. She returns his feelings, although she feels the weight of our parent’s
decision that we will marry, regardless of other factors, just as I do. For that reason, she
is more circumspect with him. But her eyes can’t hide her feelings any better than his
can.

Yes, if it was Blaise, then he was plotting a scheme to break the bond of our parents. That
in itself would not have been a negative thing as far as I was concerned. But, I would be
destroyed in my body and my soul if it proved to be him. He would not love me – he
could not, as he is a lover of women first and foremost. He would only ever have been
toying with me and the thought of it was too painful to bear. He would know me in a way
I could never permit. I hated to think of what I might have to do to protect myself from
him, should he use his knowledge against me. But I am a Malfoy, and I would have done
what was necessary. At least our friendship would have given me the tools to exact my
revenge. If I am honest, then the thought of my phantom lover being Blaise was the
worst of the options. Even worse that the thought of it being Potter.

So, what about Harry?

Yes – what about him indeed. If it was him, then it was love. There could be no other
explanation that I could find. Perhaps it started as something else, but I scrutinised every
encounter, every word, every action for signs and they all pointed to attraction at the
very least, if not love.
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How did it make me feel to think that Potter might be in love with me? Confused. I hate
to be outdone at anything as you know, and the thought that he could overcome barriers
and prejudices that I could not irked me somewhat. If he could do it, then so could I. But
Potter? I admit, I started off completely repulsed by the idea. I hated everything he stood
for; everything his house stood for. What is bravery without cunning and intelligence?
Fucking Gryffindors – storming in to situations shielded by their righteous indignation –
who do they think they are? But then I got to thinking, as I thought about all the
candidates.

I made myself a list (I like lists, as you may have noticed,) of the positives and negatives
of each candidate. I was surprised to find only two negatives for Harry; he was a
Gryffindor and he was not pure-blooded. His opposition to the Dark Lord and his ‘poster
boy’ status for the side of good would have been on the negative list even one year ago,
but with the current situation I could not in truthfulness pretend they were still bad. The
pure-blood issue is a little more serious, but let's be honest – it’s not like we can make
any babies, so the family tree will be safe! Then there are his eyes. The most startling
emerald green you have ever seen. I have always been jealous of their shade and depth.
They were on the positive list I can assure you, along with his leadership qualities and
natural ability with practical magic.

I knew he was good to look at, but could that ever be enough? I asked myself. Could I
overcome the obstacles whoever it proved to be? Only time would tell.

So that’s how it was. When my head wasn’t in the clouds, it was throbbing with the
pressure.

Whenever he visited me or wrote to me, he was faceless, invisible. At no point did I


overlay the faces of any of my candidates onto my lover. If I chose the wrong one, I
would have felt unfaithful. And I needed to be true to him. I am not true to anyone else.
Even myself, I fear.

I was on fire with him when I played Quidditch against Ravenclaw. We had won before
either team had even mounted a broom. My body could barely contain my heart; it was
so huge and full of love. I felt more alive than I had ever felt in my life and it was
magnificent. I was suddenly twice my normal size; I could have taken on My Father and
won – that’s how fantastic he made me feel. This is power, I thought to myself, pitying
My Father that he might not know this himself. It was an alien state of being, but oh, so
addictive. Once I had felt it, I could not give it up. I knew with unwavering certainty that
my secret lover’s path was the path I must tread.

My hand was at my throat for days after his visit. Just touching the skin where his mouth
had been was enough to make me hard and panting with desire. I took a mirror to bed
with me, and lay staring at the bruise for hours, a soft smile on my face. I stroked the skin
during lessons when I should have been concentrating. I was not myself and I knew it

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must show. I could not hide my hope. Such a strange emotion, hope. Something I was ill
acquainted with before he came along.

Blaise’s reaction to the love bite was interesting to say the least. It was a mixture of
vague disgust and veiled amusement. I could not decipher what it meant, whether he
was acting or not. He pressed me for names but bored quickly of it when I ignored him.
Hiding my smile was the hardest thing to do. If it was he, I did not want to admit so
plainly my vulnerability. I followed Featherstone surreptitiously with my eyes every
mealtime, trying to gauge if he was watching me in turn. He looked at me after the
Quidditch game but then, everyone did. And Harry always watched me, as a handler
watches a poisonous snake, so I could deduce no further information from his glances.

I wanted to thank my mystery lover for my performance that day on the Quidditch pitch,
but my housemates would not leave me alone. I tried in vain to escape their celebrations.
I wanted to celebrate by myself with my Christmas gift. I knew my lover would
understand the significance; that it would make him smile. I had to wait until way past
bedtime before I was alone. I amend that comment – I was never alone after he came
into my life.

I had become practised at hiding the wooden box from my dormitory mates, so it was
not difficult to deposit it within the confines of my bed. I stripped myself naked and lay
on top of the covers, stroking the wooden box with one hand and the bruise on my neck
with the other. I closed my eyes and imagined it has him touching me. I imagined him
caressing me with greedy hands, murmuring my name into the heated silence, taking
pleasure in my moans. I waited until the urge to writhe was upon me and I whispered,

“I beg you,” and when the box popped open, I added,

“I love you…”

And I meant it with all my heart, I realised. I oiled the dildo and rubbed it across my body,
making my nipples shine with the odourless liquid. The sensation of the firm but soft
curvy head of it pressing into my chest transfixed me. I pinched them hard between
impatient fingers, imagining his wet mouth closing over them one at a time, sucking
them, worrying them with his teeth until my flesh was raw with his abuse. My cock
throbbed wildly at the thought of it.

I brought the dildo to my lips, staring at it from close range, before closing my eyes and
imitating the darkness of the night before. I traced it around my lips, pressing and
stretching the flesh until they were swollen from the attention. My breathing hitched as I
had a sudden recollection of his smell, his glorious taste. My other hand had sought the
scarf from beneath my pillow before I had registered any desire to touch it. I balled it up
in my fist, knowing he had touched it, even if it was not his. I pursed my lips together and
pushed the familiar broad length into my mouth, trying hard to fool myself that the oil
was his body’s lubricant. I licked the vein lovingly, pressing into it all the time with the

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firm flat of my tongue. I circled his furled foreskin with the tip of my tongue, pressing
into the slit, lapping at the imagined softness of his skin. I made love to my mouth, as he
had tried so hard to do, pushing it with care to the very back of my throat and holding it
there as I masturbated myself at a steady pace, hand still wrapped in the scarf. I could
feel its woolly softness against my most sensitive skin.

When I wanted my orgasm with a burning desperation, only then did I give in and oil my
anus. I had always loved to feel myself in there, marvelling at the heat and tightness and
texture, but now I only ever touch myself enough to prepare for the entry of his dildo. To
do anything else would be a travesty. The press of the beautiful broad head against my
hole always causes my chest to rise in a gasp of anticipation. My heart beat so fast that
night, I thought I might die. I fancied I could feel his teeth once again in my neck. I arched
my body up from the bed and slid him inside me. I held his firm yet delicate sac in my fist
and pushed. I called aloud, although no one could hear me, and clenched my muscles to
make his journey more difficult. I created a resistance, but I also created more friction,
and my prostate loved me for my thought.

Keeping my hips high off the bed, resting only on my shoulders and heels, I thrust my
body onto the length of him, gyrating my hips to stroke him over and over my hidden
nerves. My cock jerked and begged to be touched, but I would not do it. My thoughts
were only on his delicious invasion. On every inward stroke, I felt the mass of him push
my breath out of my body in a tortured moan. I felt sure I could have made him come
with my display. I was wanton and shameless. God! But I am hard again as I recount this
to you. I can smell my wetness, as I could smell myself that night.

Every time I use the gift on myself, I have to fight against fucking myself from the first
thrust. I yearned that night to make love yet lost the will for a gentle completion once he
was inside me.

I cannot help but call my dildo ‘he’. It is no inanimate object, as far as my desires are
concerned. It is his avatar. He makes me come, when I pleasure myself with it. Only him.

I turned him inside me occasionally, until the press of the firm balls pushed into my
perineum. I stroked myself there, wishing it were his hand that did it. I rarely wanked
myself as his organ buggered me; I never needed to. His precious gift will make me come
every time, building an immense, explosive feeling deep inside me that expands
outwards and outwards until it encompasses my groin and makes my cock jerk.

But on that night I gave in as I always do, to working his length into me carelessly and
with force. Each entry into my body pushed me a step closer to my goal. I called for him
in my mind, wishing he could hear me, wishing I could make him see me. I thrust myself
violently onto his length, until the orgasm ripped through me and the gouts of thick
white semen covered my stomach. I screamed aloud as I came, dedicating my pleasure to
him.

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As I stilled my rapid breathing, I turned my head and looked once again at the scarf. I
raised it to my face until my forehead rested against its snuggly warmth and I smiled a
small, knowing smile, just for myself. Only once my wetness had cooled did I bother to
clean myself and climb into bed. I snapped the box shut and placed it under my covers, as
I so often do when it has known me intimately. I gave it my preferred side of the bed and
sank into the side that is usually empty. I clasped the scarf to my chest, stretching it out
until I could feel its baby soft texture against my stomach, my nipple and my cheek. And
then I fell asleep. Warm in his glow, warm and loved to the very core of me. A winner in
every sense of the word – for a change.

Have I told you about my family? Perhaps I should, as you might understand me better,
then. I am the sole heir to the Malfoy millions. I jest you not. My parents, Lucius and
Narcissa were only able to produce me, much to the disgust of the older generations. In
both My Mother’s family line (the Blacks, of course) and My Father’s, there have been
few children born either in wedlock or outside of it over the last one hundred years. It is
my personal belief that constant inbreeding between the decreasing numbers of pure-
blood lines has reduced us to this state of affairs. Soon enough we will be completely
sterile, I feel sure.

The Malfoy family line has always been pre-disposed towards standoffishness, even
amongst themselves, with the Blacks demonstrating many similar traits. I cannot
remember a single embrace or kiss on the cheek from either of my sets of Grandparents.
I remember holiday visits filled with oppressive expectations to ‘sit still’, ‘be quiet’, ‘mind
your manners’, ‘speak when you are spoken to and not before’, ‘behave like a Malfoy’
and many other such directives. There was no childhood for me. There were no other
children with whom to play.

And so I would sit in silence with the adults, invisible to them by their will and mine. If I
drew attention to myself for any reason I would be most severely chastised. I learned the
cold touch of humiliation from an early age.

Yet I was valued as well. After all, I was the destiny of my bloodline, and regardless of my
faults or perceived shortcomings, there would never be another to replace me. My
position was unassailable. My arrogance grew from this firm foundation, nurtured by my
families’ belief that a cast iron heart is a strong heart.

My failings were many despite my best efforts to excel. I believe My Parents often forgot
I was a child – they certainly treated me with the contempt they usually reserved for
particularly stupid adults. But I loved them, having no other model to compare them too.
I love them still, although the love is now a strained habit rather than unconditional or
spontaneous. As a child, I chose to see their constant fussing with my appearance and
manners as their way of loving me. When I grew older, I came to consider that they had
no space to love me; I believe their love is reserved for each other. I was the child of
expectation, and of necessity, never made to enrich their lives. I believe I am merely an
obstacle between them, to their all-encompassing desire for each other alone.
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I grew cold before I realised I had become them. Leaving the Estate to attend school, I
saw for the first time what I had missed, or rather, what had been withheld ‘for my own
good’. The happiness of others ate at me and turned to acid in my stomach. I could not
bear to witness the innocent joys of my fellow pupils; joys I would never know within my
own family. The more I hated others for their safety nets, the more I wanted it for myself.
I became increasingly cruel in response to the chasm inside me, inside my soul that
longed to be filled with someone’s love. A love I had been taught I could never hope to
earn. My future role in life would not permit such a weakness.

Of recent, I had found myself counting the months until My Father would give me up to
His> service, and laughed at the irony that all of their starchy reserve to ‘toughen me up’
would have been for nothing. There would be no surviving Malfoy to extend the family
name. We would all be dead. On the losing side, where no amount of money or influence
could buy our safety.

I could scarcely believe My Father’s announcement that he planned to leave his Dark Lord
in search of freedom and safety. It is my belief that the maniac must have threatened My
Mother. Surely nothing else could have prompted such a change to his life-long flirtation
with dark magic. I am thankful of his decision - <I>His</I> cause has never attracted me.

That decision was my first ray of hope. My secret admirer was my second. He filled holes
inside of me that I never knew were there. And now, I don’t want to die a slave to family
tradition or the slave of the Dark Lord. I want to live and be loved. I want to love. And I
desperately want to belong. He wants me; I feel it in my bones. I <I>so</I> want to
belong to him.

When I awoke that morning, I was hot from a dream of his hands on my body, his mouth
at my throat. I stretched languorously and felt the silky sheet caress my erection. I smiled
and thought to myself, ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’

My hand had already travelled far towards my groin when I saw the box. I stilled in an
instant, eyes popping out of my head. My pulse shot up to a frantic pace as I reached to
take hold of it. I collected the box and the parchment in my hand before moving to sit up.
Once I was comfortable, I laid the box in my lap in the dip between my engorged cock
and my hip and concentrated on the parchment.

I turned the simply folded piece of paper over and over in my hands, scanning for
markings, absorbing the feel of the paper through my fingertips. I raised it shakily to my
nose and sniffed at it, filling my lungs with its fresh, woody scent. I laid a soft kiss against
it before unfolding it and reading.

The torturer becomes the tortured.

I closed my eyes, leaning back into my pillows, resisting the urge to scream out loud, HE
LOVES ME! Where there was a seed of doubt before, now there was none. I must have

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read it a thousand times that first morning. I was unable to concentrate on any other
words. Up to that point, I had always thought I am his. But now I also thought, He is mine!
I don’t know what I had done to him to make him love me but in that moment I didn’t
care. I could have sang aloud and danced around the common room, stark naked and
aroused as I was, with just the note clutched to my chest.

I exhausted myself on the note before I would permit myself to consider the box. It was
perhaps four inches square and less than an inch deep and covered in darkest green
velvet. It was light and it made no noise as I gently shook it for clues. His presents bring
out the child in me. Such behaviour would never have been tolerated at home.

When I lifted the lid I knew my eyes must be as wide as cauldrons. There, nestled against
the dark interior of the box were two identical pieces of jewellery. I found I had raised a
hand to touch my nipple as I looked at them in awe. He wanted to pierce me! Were they a
metaphor

I wondered, half laughing at my overactive imagination. As I watched, the silvery snakes


came to life. At less than an inch long each, I could not believe the intricate detailing on
them. They were perfectly realistic in every sense, each biting into a silvery hoop so that
they would hang suspended from the ring by their mouths. The constant motions of their
tails would keep my little nipples hard and sensitive. They would always be ready for his
mouth, I thought, with something like a smirk.

I realised that I had forgotten to breathe. As soon as I drew a breath, I felt my insistent
erection begging me to touch it. I admit that I slid my hand there and circled my cock. I
stroked it gently as I examined my newest gift. An image came to my mind then, of his
mouth closing around my pierced nipple and his tongue battling with the coiling snake
adorning it. I could feel a stab of pleasure in both nipples, drawing them up to
instantaneous hardness as I thought of his mouth tugging my flesh into him, of the
precious metal stretching my skin. I know my eyes fluttered closed for a while as I
masturbated slowly, contemplating the pleasure and the pain I would experience in
wearing them. I would wear them as soon as I could. I knew just the place in Hogsmeade,
a quiet and discreet Apothecary who would be able to help me fulfil this newest fantasy.

My eyes never left the box as I increased the pace of my busy hand. I had to move the
sheet back though, so I could see myself in my peripheral vision as I continued to admire
my jewellery. These are permanent, I said to myself. He is telling me something with this
gift, I reasoned.

As I neared my orgasm, I dared to detach one ring from the box. I lifted it slowly towards
me, and slid out my tongue. I laid the snake against my tongue and felt its erotic
movement and the way its tail responded to any touch against it. I took it between my
lips, pursing them together slightly so that I could feel the ceaseless wriggling and
teasing of the silvery reptile. Platinum, I amended internally. Wow. Pricey.

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And then I lowered it to my nipple and held it against the flesh it would so soon come to
know intimately. The moment I felt it flicker against me, my orgasm came. I lay back in
the golden glow, my body in shaky spasms, feeling love fill up the space made inside me
by my so recently departed seed. But alongside that sensation was another – a new one.
He had found me a new experience and I would embrace it fully. Saturday could not
come soon enough.

It was Professor Snape who told me about Hubert Coral’s Herbal shop in Hogsmeade. He
is renowned for his range of peculiar plants and I had shopped with him before when
concocting my own potions. A well-travelled and somewhat Bohemian wizard, Mr. Coral
was my first and favourite candidate for assistance with my piercings.

Shaking off Crabbe and Goyle was always easiest in Hogsmeade, as they could spend
hours poring over the many displays of sweets and cakes to be seen, but most of all, they
liked the wizard comic books in the Post Office. After five minutes of frustrated
browsing, I made a half-true excuse about purchasing some ingredients and set off for
the tiny Apothecary shop.

As anticipated, Mr. Coral did not so much as twitch one of his extraordinarily bushy
eyebrows at my request. He ushered me into his back room with warmth and
enthusiasm, all the while explaining the options available to me for the completion of the
procedure. It was, he told me, possible to cast a Perforatoria hex and ‘spell’ the hoops
into my flesh. I would feel a mild tingling sensation as the hoops located themselves and
then they would be healed. I refused this option before Mr. Coral had even finished his
fervent explanation.

My anticipation of the pain was as important to me as experiencing the pleasure I would


receive from the piercings when my phantom lover finally touched them. I opted for the
manual method of introducing the platinum into my nipples. I did permit the application
of a topical balm to numb my flesh somewhat, but that was all. I remember he touched
my arm gently and smiled at me as he positioned the hollow needle next to the tiny nub
of peaked flesh. I wanted to watch it pierce me but found I couldn’t control my breathing
if my eyes were open. I was terribly aroused and terribly scared.

The burning hot pain, when it came, snapped all sentient thought to my abused nipple. I
know I jerked forward at the intensity of it. There was less blood than I expected but that
was a secondary concern to the seething agony of it. I watched Mr. Coral’s calm, steady
fingers detach the little snake, revealing the open portion of the ring. I watched him hook
the ring into the hollow of the needle, feeding it finally into my flesh and withdrawing the
instrument. I forgot to watch him reattach the snake; my eyes were too tightly screwed
shut.

Once one was done, Mr. Coral rumbled some comforting words and forced a drink on
me. I had not realised my mouth was so dry. The drink helped; I don’t know what was in it
but I was calm again before he commenced the second piercing. This one was easier than
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the first when it should almost certainly have been harder. I would very much like to
know what was in that drink! As I dressed myself, I allowed him to press some ointment
into my hand to speed up the healing process. He convinced me of the necessity of
reducing the risk of infection, but by then I was only too grateful for any solution to the
stinging pain. I tried for a moment to savour it, but it was too raw – too fresh, and I could
not.

I’m glad I could not see the shock on my face when I exited the back room and came face
to face with Harry and the Weasley twins. My instantaneous thought was, They know!
And I wanted the piercings just for me, at least just then.

I still was not connecting my candidates to the reality of my secret lover, but that safety
blanket was snatched away as my eyes fell on Harry’s scarf. The carefully constructed
compartmentalisation in my head didn’t just crumble; it shattered. Even as I stalked
towards Harry with my best Malfoy mask in place, I tried to deny the evidence before me.
It was too significant however, that I should have a Gryffindor scarf and he should be
missing one. I thought I read his guilt in his eyes as I stood before him but when he
spoke, it was confusion that coloured his words.

I tried for some still unknown reason to convince myself that Blaise had orchestrated
this. I refused to accept that the sanctuary of my lover’s anonymity was past. I needed
space to think fast, to learn how to live with the surely indisputable knowledge.

Unbelievable! It MUST be Potter, I thought. Swiftly followed by, Oh, god! I’m going to be
the girl in this relationship. I just KNOW it!

I had to hide for a while until Crabbe and Goyle had given me up as having departed the
village already. I did not want them or anyone with me at a time when I was so unsteady
on my feet and in my head.

I would like to say I chose the clearing carefully, but that would be a lie. I barely even
knew where I was as my feet set an automatic course for the school. I vaguely came
around as I stumbled through the parted trees and decided that this was as good a place
as any.

Think…THINK! I was telling myself both in my head and out loud. I scrabbled for the
pieces to my puzzle, pacing erratically, gasping for air. The day was freezing, yet I was
burning up. My palms were wet with perspiration and my nipples throbbed with a low,
scorching heat, like red embers. I felt myself devoid of sanity for a while.

As I paced up and down, up and down behind the half cover of the trees and bushes I
wondered how I could get irrefutable evidence; not watered down, but blunt and
honest. That pretty much ruled out a verbal confrontation. He would undoubtedly find a

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way to justify his actions if I bade him talk. And I didn’t want justifications; I just wanted
the truth of his feelings for me. If I had that then I could work out how to make the jump
from virtual enemies to lovers for real. You are surprised? I thought I had made it clear
that I had given myself to him already. The ‘who’ of the problem was insignificant by this
stage.

In my nervousness, I found myself a little pleased with my deductive powers. After all, my
list had proved accurate in his respect and that had given me the necessary time to mull
over the possibility of a union between us. As I have mentioned previously, Harry was not
my worst-case scenario – that would have been Blaise. This realisation had given me a
foundation on which to build a way forward for myself where Harry was concerned.

But I didn’t know what to do. After all, the power had always been his, but now the
playing field was level. Would he still expect my deference or would I be permitted to
make any decisions in respect of proceeding? I could not know. I thought then that
Legilimency might give me the answers.

When the three of them finally sloped into the clearing, my heart was in my mouth. I was
terrified of his rejection. I barely saw Granger or Weasley. I just seemed to fall into those
big, sad green eyes. He looked defeated and I was filled with fear. I can’t even remember
what I said as I tried to keep my wand steady and keep my ‘brave’ mask in place.

The world narrowed down to him the moment I was inside his head. I riffled through his
memories to find the ones I needed and I could not believe what I saw. He was laughing
at me. The notes at the beginning, the taunts about the prefects bathroom; he had been
laughing at me all along. It was as if his hand closed around my heart and squeezed the
life out of it. I don’t know when the tears started to fall, just that they did. I was icy cold
with devastation. The jewellery, the dildo – it had all been to taunt me, not to love me. I
would never have believed this of him. Not Harry Potter. Blaise, yes – but not him. When
had he become so cruel? The last thing I saw as I wrenched myself from his memories
was his wicked grin as he stroked my beautiful platinum rings. He had meant them to
mutilate me; I felt it for sure. But after everything I had been through, I knew I was not
ready to part with them.

When I stopped staring through his eyes and finally was merely staring into them, I let
him see the extent of what he had done to me. He had known all along that I was
vulnerable, so why hold back now? I showed him my utter despair; that he had beaten
me. And then I ran.

When I reached the castle, I went straight to Professor Snape. I told him I was ill and
asked for a sleeping draught. He gave it me with few questions seeing my pallor, and I
drank it down as I stripped for bed. I knew it was the only escape I would find from my
thoughts at that moment.

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My life that next week felt as if I was stuck in a time-turner. As it began, I relived every
painful second as if it were a day long. I realised with some shock that somewhere along
the line, I had come to depend on the fact that Harry loved me. I had been so sure of my
conclusion! I had taken everything I knew about him and combed it for clues as to his
capacity to be unkind. There had never been any indication that he could sink to these
depths. I felt I had never been so wrong about anything.

But worse than that, I had realised that I could love him for himself, not just as my
phantom lover; that the revelation of his identity as my mystery man no longer caused
revulsion. I pined for him as I drew my first waking breath that day after the trip to
Hogsmeade, and then with every single breath that followed. I examined every possible
angle with regards to pursuing a relationship with him. I had many mad and stupid
thoughts at that time. I wondered if he was punishing me for my discovery of him. I
wondered if I was wrong, and he did want me, but only when his identity was hidden.
Perhaps his pleasure could only be fulfilled if he was invisible to me. And now that he was
not, he would cast me aside without a backwards glance.

I was conscious of the nature of our previous liaisons, and wondered if I was meant to
wait patiently for him to come to me when he was ready. I made a concerted effort to
hand him back his power on a platter, by remaining apart. I let him know I was punishing
myself, too, by not touching myself all that week, even though I wanted it so badly. I
would lie in my bed each morning and night with the wooden box open, staring through
teary eyes at the dildo he had made for me, and I tortured myself by not giving in to its
call. I wanted him to know the extent of my self-flagellation. I denied myself any kind of
release. I would not touch myself until he said I could.

I hoped he would read from my lack of retaliation that I was waiting for him. But I saw
nothing. At least, not at first.

When his team had Quidditch practice, it was usual for Slytherin to send spies. We did it
for every team so we always knew what moves they were working on. It did not look out
of place that I went with the others to watch. I felt confused as he held himself apart. But
when he started to fly against the Weasley girl, I died inside. How could he be so
magnificent, how could he fly so flawlessly after yesterday in the clearing if he cared for
me?

I could find no answer that I wanted to believe.

But as the week moved on, I began to doubt my initial reaction. He seemed to be in pain,
too. I watched from a distance as he drifted through the days like a zombie and I felt the
first flicker of hope return. I caught him looking at me from time to time, but his gaze
darted away instantly so that our eyes never communicated anything between us. I could
learn nothing from his face, other than that he was pursuing a course of self-destruct. I
noted his detentions in my journal, just so that I would know where he was. I felt safer
when I knew that.
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By Wednesday of that week, I decided that I could not remain passive. Much as I wanted
to show him I could be, I recognised that there is just too much of the dominant in me to
remain down for long. I set to planning a venue for our showdown. At least if I
confronted him I would know for sure where I stood. The lack of certainty became the
thing that disturbed me the most. I sowed the seeds of a plan with an unknowing
Professor Snape, causing confusion about a meeting with some parents that weekend. I
wanted our meeting to take place in his classroom – it was as close as I could get to
home ground outside of the Slytherin dungeons. Somehow, I didn’t think they were the
right place to lure him! I knew of Harry’s detention with the professor, and I hoped to hi-
jack it for my own purposes.

I watched Harry make the effort towards the end of the week to pull himself into shape
for his Quidditch match that weekend. I saw his well-wishers and his beautiful, shy smile
as he thanked them for their words, and I wished it was me that was saying them. I
wished I was on the receiving end of his radiant smile. I decided to take a chance and
speak to him if the opportunity arose. After all, he <I>had</I> wished me luck before my
last match, and so it would not seem out of place for me to return the gesture.

He caught me by surprise when my opportunity finally came. I had to send Crabbe and
Goyle on a hastily concocted errand to get rid of them. Looking back on it now, it seems
like some odd kind of mating ritual, our little dance in the Charms corridor. I felt clumsy
and ungainly as I blundered towards him. I could not look at his face for fear I would read
my rejection on his features. It would rob me of the last of my courage, I knew. My chest
felt tight as I caught his body language in my peripheral vision. He had almost stopped
walking and I felt sure he was going to turn and run. It was only when my breathing
hitched that he finally faced me. As his penetrating gaze pinned me, full of desolation
and loneliness, I lost all my words. My mind went blank. My best intentions of wishing
him luck dried up under his scrutiny. My cheeks burned with humiliation and I could not
say a word. To stand there in silence would have robbed me of my pride so I turned and
walked away, too scared to look back and see his triumph, or his crushing
disappointment in my weakness.

He won his Quidditch game like he wins all his games, or very nearly. He did it in style. I
was mesmerised by him. There were no other players for me, that day. I watched his
quiet pride as he sat alone with the Snitch in his fist, scanning the crowd. I hoped
desperately that he was looking for me. When our eyes met at last it was as if my heart
was in his fist, not the fluttering golden ball. He held me in the palm of his hand, and he
did not squeeze. I could still breathe! I had to look away to hide my elation. That was the
moment I knew it could work; that it <I>would</I> work, if only I could pitch my little
powwow correctly. I would have to lay the power at his feet; give him the lead to decide
for us both how things would be. I would go to my special place that night to think my
strategy through, to ensure my best chance of success.

But when I got to the Astronomy Tower, Harry was there. I could not bring myself to
disturb him and he gave no sign that he had heard my approach. Never mind, though. I
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already knew how I would play the conversation. I am, after all, a Slytherin and therefore
quite capable of manipulating circumstances to fit my required outcome.

My sleep that night was disturbed with dreams of snakes. I could not fathom what they
meant. But after the dream I slept like a baby, assured of my success when Harry’s
Potions detention came around.

And so here I am, back to present tense. You know, of course, what came of his Potions
detention and therefore that I am ecstatically happy! Of course, I expected nothing less
of myself, but Harry can be an unknown quantity and I believe I should never take his
reactions for granted. All my dreams have come true at once, or should that be all of my
Christmas and Valentine’s Day gifts are rolled into one! This truly is the first day of the
rest of my life. And it is filled with hope. You think I’m being soppy and romantic? What
can I say? I’m in love!

You want to know my side of the detention? What on earth for?! You’ve already heard
Harry’s. Oh yes, I know what it is you really want. But you’ll just have to wait some more
if it’s sex you want. There will be plenty more tales to tell on that score, believe me. I fully
intend to have my wicked, dirty way with him. And I bet you’ll read every word of it! You
are a pervert, but I love you, nonetheless.

Goodnight, and pleasant dreams.

Chapter Eleven

Blaise Zabini whipped his wand out, stabbing it in Harry’s direction as Harry took a small
step back away from Draco and raised the palms of his hands in an attempt to placate
the shocked Slytherin.

“Draco!” shouted Zabini. “God! Are you okay?” He looked furious. “Potter, I’m going to
kill you for this. Since when did you grow the balls to use the Imperius Curse against
anyone?”

Harry and Draco shared a brief unspoken conversation before Draco twisted out of his
seat and stood, walking to where his friend was. As he walked he spoke. “Blaise, I’m not
under the Imperius, I can assure you. This was…. well, this is…” he tailed off, motioning
vaguely with his arm towards Harry.

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“What he means is that what you saw was for real,” finished Harry, looking at Draco and
shrugging a little as if to say, ‘Only trying to help’.

Zabini lowered his wand arm shakily, looking at Draco as if he had never seen him before
and hesitantly speaking. “Oh Merlin, no. This is what all these months of mood swings
have been about, is it?” He stared at Draco, beseeching him silently to argue.

Draco winced a little, clearly embarrassed.

“Potter gave you that huge fucking hickey?” Zabini questioned loudly, looking at both of
them for an answer. The only answer he got was that they both avoided his gaze, looking
pointedly at their feet.

“That means he was IN OUR FUCKING DORM!” Zabini shouted, looking absolutely furious
at this discovery. Draco looked up at Harry then with a quizzical look on his face.

“Actually, now you come to mention it how did you do that?”

“Uh…trade secret?” Harry murmured sheepishly. Draco pinned him with a piercing glare
but Harry refused to expound, at least for now.

Trying to divert the path of the conversation Harry interrupted, “So, are you planning on
telling everyone now?” The comment was aimed at Zabini but he knew it would make
Draco think too. Watching the two of them closely he saw them share a momentary look
before Draco turned back to Harry.

“Look. Don’t take this the wrong way, but with how things are right now the shit would
really hit the fan for me. It’s not a good time. Either for bursting out of the closet in a pink
tutu or admitting that you are the one I’ve done it for.” Draco rubbed absently at his
arms, looking at nothing in particular, while he fell back into silence and thought.

Zabini looked barely surprised at Draco’s revelation, Harry noticed, and cut in suddenly,
“If this is going to carry on then I can’t see how you can keep Vince and Greg in the dark.
And just out of interest, how long has this been going on?”

Harry and Draco both spoke at the same time. Harry said,

“Oh, a while,” and Draco said,

“Just today.”

Zabini looked suspiciously at them both, folding his arms tightly across his chest a bit like
an angry parent. He could clearly see he was fighting a losing battle at this moment in
time. Draco turned to Harry and said, “What about you? Do you plan on telling anyone?”

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“No. There’s only two people who know anyway, and I think it should stay that way for a
while, at least until we’ve had a chance to find out if we can even stand each other.”

“Hmm. Weasley and Granger, I suppose,” Draco muttered.

“Er…”

“What? Not Weasley and Granger?” interrupted Zabini before Draco had the chance.

“Well, Weasley and Weasley, actually. Fred and George. Ron and Hermione
think…something else.”

Zabini started to grin slightly to himself. Then, “They think you fancy me, don’t they?” he
smirked.

Harry blushed bright red to the roots of his hair and looked away from them both,
mumbling something non-committal. He pulled himself upright and facing Zabini again
said, “Look, I used to, okay? But I got over it a very long time ago. End of story.”

He flicked his glance over at Draco who was looking slightly put out. Harry melted just a
little and added gently, “It stopped, right after the…that first time, you know?”

Zabini was glancing curiously between them but didn’t ask any questions. Draco frowned
at Harry but dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“So what about Crabbe and Goyle then?” Harry asked them both.

“You might have noticed that they are rather like my unofficial bodyguards,”

Draco said, arrogant mask firmly in place. Harry thought that was because Draco was
waiting for him to make fun of the arrangement. He just waited patiently for him to
continue.

“They barely have the brain power to say their names out loud, never mind gossip about
us. They are trustworthy in that respect, without question. But, if I tried to keep losing
them and wandering off they’d just track me down like faithful puppies.” Draco looked
slightly irritated as he finished speaking.

“Are you sure they don’t fancy you?” Harry joked. He stopped smiling instantly when he
saw the look of distaste cross Draco’s face.

“What about Pansy?” asked Zabini.

Draco looked consideringly at him before murmuring, “I wondered how long it would
take for her name to drop into the conversation.”

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It was Zabini’s turn to blush slightly and shuffle awkwardly. Draco turned to Harry and
said, “Pansy’s parents and mine have this arrangement. When we’re twenty-one, we
marry. It’s been that way since our mothers gave birth. The fact that I find women
repellent will have no effect whatsoever on this decision. I will be expected to go
through with the marriage and produce at least one pure-blood heir.”

Harry thought he saw Draco wrinkle his nose minutely before continuing.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I do like her. I even managed to fuck her once. Awful
experience.” He shuddered visibly then, “We are friends and we are both resigned to this
fate. Have been for some time. She finds the thought marginally less onerous than I do
though, it has to be said.” Then, looking over at Zabini, he said, “Of course, Blaise here
fancies the pants off her. Been trying to hide it for ages.”

Zabini cringed but didn’t interrupt or argue in any way.

“Perhaps the price of his silence might be for me to look the other way while he screws
the future Mrs. Malfoy,” Draco finished, no emotion evident in his voice.

“Merlin, Draco, it isn’t about buying me off! We’re friends.” Zabini was quite put out. “I
just thought that maybe, with it being Potter and everything…and you know, in the
circumstances… that might be a good thing. Your parents…well, they might, you
know…” He was clearly struggling to say something and Harry had no clue as to what it
might be.

Draco huffed loudly and started to pace, glaring at Zabini accusingly. “Do you honestly
think I started up with him because of that?” he questioned. Zabini didn’t reply.

“Would someone please enlighten me as to what the hell you are both talking about?”
Harry finally barked out, frustrated and more than a bit lost. Again the Slytherins looked
at each other, something passing between them before Draco walked up to Harry to
speak.

“What I’m about to tell you is very, very sensitive information. Regardless of our past I
know I can trust you with this.” He stopped speaking, looking to the side then back
again. “Merlin! It felt weird saying that out loud.” He shook himself then continued, “My
father, and several other….”

“Death Eaters?” Harry finished helpfully for him. Draco nodded, looking slightly sick.

“Um, yes. Well, a few of them have had enough. What I can’t believe is that it took them
so long to work out that He has no intention of sharing any power or glory with anyone.
Everyone is expendable to him, regardless of blemish-free service and so forth. Many of
us second generation…uh…”

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“Death Eaters,” Harry again helpfully finished.

“Well, frankly, many of us don’t want to join the ranks, as it were. What Blaise here is
implying is that I might have coerced you into this, um, romance, for protection or gain or
some other less than honourable reason.”

Harry burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Zabini and Draco stared at him like he
was mad. The more puzzled they looked, the harder Harry laughed, until he was bent
double with tears in his eyes. Eventually, Zabini spoke. “What’s so funny, Potter? The fact
that we might want to feel safe?” he was both hurt and a bit angry.

Pulling himself together, Harry managed to say, “Oh, no. That bit’s fine. It’s just the
thought of an honourable Slytherin that’s so funny.” Then he burst out laughing again, to
mildly disgusted looks from his two companions.

When Harry finally calmed down for good, he looked over at the two bemused, vaguely
insulted Slytherins and said to Draco, “Oh, don’t take it personally. It’s not like my
intentions towards you have been that honourable, is it?”

Zabini raised his eyebrows at that but still said nothing. Draco nurtured a small, sly smile
before shaking his head and narrowing his eyes.

“I must say this whole situation is very un-Gryffindor. That’s why I thought the scarf was
a plant for a long time. I wasn’t sure until the woods. And then I couldn’t believe it,”
Draco finally said.

Harry shrugged expansively while grinning broadly at them both. “Well, I did have a bit of
bother with the Sorting Hat on the first day. It seemed to think I would do very well in
Slytherin.” Harry chuckled at the looks of consternation on the two faces before him.

“And you what – disagreed with it? And got your own way?” Zabini asked, disbelief
evident in his voice.

“Yep.” Harry beamed smugly at them.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” sighed Draco, exasperated. “Does Professor Snape
know?” “Don’t know. Care less,” Harry snapped out, almost in challenge.

“Why on earth would you choose Gryffindor over Slytherin?” asked Zabini, clearly
genuinely confused.

Harry snorted loudly before answering, “I believe my exact words to the Hat were,
‘Anything but Slytherin’,” he smirked at them.

“Why? You are a Parselmouth, after all,” Zabini pressed.

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Looking at Draco, Harry said, “Truthfully?” When Draco nodded Harry said, “You.” He
watched his prince squirm with discomfort at the blunt answer. “I thought you were a
prick.” Harry shrugged gracefully.

“Ah.” Draco looked at his feet for a while, leaving Zabini and Harry to eye each other
suspiciously.

“Well. This is clearly getting us nowhere,” said Zabini, finally. “What’s the plan from
here?” Harry and Draco looked at each other, Harry motioning for Draco to have his say.

“We don’t tell anyone. At least not yet. Well, apart from Vince and Greg.” Zabini glared at

Draco until he added, “And Pansy.” Answering Harry’s questioning look he finished,
“They will all keep their mouths shut. They won’t be happy, but they’ll be silent on the
subject.” “Is it really necessary to tell anyone else at all?” Harry asked.

“It is if you expect anyone to cover for us at any point in the future. What better alibi for
you than a Slytherin who openly hates you?” Harry nodded, accepting Draco’s argument.

“What about the, uh…” Zabini asked, quietly.

“Death Eater thing?” Harry grinned. They both nodded.

“You know I can’t make any promises. Voldemort does have a bit of a temper problem
after all. Yeah – great game plan he’s got, starting on the pure-bloods. Makes you
wonder if anyone’s safe, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t help but chuckle as their faces blanched
at the mere mention of the name. Taking pity on their uneasiness he continued, “It might
be possible to sort out some kind of protection for a while. Maybe until things settle
down a bit. Or until I’ve killed him.”

That shocked the Slytherins. Harry saw the tiniest bit of hope reflected in their faces,
mixed with doubt and worry. He dismissed their looks with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t look so surprised. I am the Chosen One, after all!” He smiled again at this, only
causing more anxious looks between Draco and Zabini.

“Of course, such a, er, rescue operation could only happen with full co-operation on the
part of the defectors. Do you understand?” The Slytherins nodded mutely in response.

“Good, then.” Harry crossed his arms and smiled broadly. “Now. Onto more pressing
concerns.” At the confused faces Harry said, “My Potions detention?”

“Blaise, would you…?” Draco looked at his friend, a mute plea written all over his face.

Eyeing them with utter disgust, Zabini nodded and headed over to Harry’s workbench,
putting his back to them. Harry watched a predatory look enter Draco’s eyes, and it made
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his breath catch in his throat. The beautiful Slytherin stalked towards him, raising his
hands to Harry’s chest and pressing him back into the nearest desk, bringing the fronts of
their bodies into full contact. They were both hardening under their clothes. When Draco
spoke it was husky.

“Now then. Come here, you.” He rolled his lips, wetting them, before parting them and
leaning right into Harry’s face. As their mouths crashed together, Draco balled his fists in
Harry’s robes, moaning loudly in the back of his throat.

This kiss was totally unlike their first, which Zabini had interrupted. This kiss held passion,
fire, a desperation to possess each other that was all consuming. Their tongues rolled
and clashed together, wet and hot and mobile. Harry slipped his hands inside Draco’s
robes, pressing them into his back and slowly sliding them down to that firm, rounded
backside which he gripped and squeezed, eliciting a gasp and a rush of hot breath from
that delicious mouth. Their mouths parted briefly, eyes flickering open to look at each
other and take in the red swell of each other’s luscious lips. As they moved back together
again, Draco whispered, “Harry.”

And Harry was undone.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

If Blaise hadn’t cleared his throat rather loudly they probably would have gone a lot
further than kissing. “God! Take it somewhere else, will you? All that sucking and slurping
and moaning is turning my delicate stomach, if you don’t mind.”

They smiled then, Harry and Draco, shyly at first, and then breaking out into happy
giggles. They cuddled into each other, burying their faces into each other’s necks. Harry
filled his lungs with that never-forgotten, vaguely sandalwood smell that was Draco, and
nipped playfully over the once-bruised skin. Draco chuckled back and placed warm kisses
on Harry’s earlobe, sucking it in gently and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. They
eventually parted by an unspoken mutual consent and fought to calm their bodies. Not
that successfully probably, but hey! At least the robes were baggy.

It seemed they had been wrapped up in each other for a while because Zabini had
finished preparing the leaves and the cauldron was nearly full to the top. A couple more
minutes of simmering and the liquor would be ready to cool. Harry thanked Zabini with
genuine gratitude and received a curt nod in return. Harry cleared the workspace down,
discarding all the stalks and unused bits of vegetation in a bin near Snape’s desk. He was
just turning back to the desk when the professor re-entered his classroom looking like he
was in a foul temper. Nothing new there then, Harry thought to himself.

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Having assessed that the allocated task was completed, Snape dismissed Harry abruptly,
turning to converse with his two favourite pupils. Harry didn’t even try to catch Draco’s
eye as he left the classroom. He knew that would be foolish. But he grinned all the way
back to the Gryffindor common room, fighting a strong urge to skip and sing. When Ron
set eyes on Harry finally, he said, “Bloody hell, mate. How come you’re so happy?
Thought you’d been with Snape?”

Harry grinned broadly, then replied, “Yeah. Best detention ever. ‘Night, Ron.”

With that, he went to bed to finish what Draco had started.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry walked on clouds for days after the Potions detention. Ron and Hermione could
not work out what on earth had happened to bring about such a change in behaviour,
although they were happy to see him so vibrant. They did, of course, imply some
questions and drop some heavy hints to give Harry an opener into a conversation about
his happiness, but he just grinned and shrugged.

As Harry sat eating his breakfast mid-week, he thought back to last Sunday in the
dungeons and grinned inwardly. He particularly remembered the part after he had gone
to bed, when Draco teased him mercilessly for over two hours with the Magic Dildo. He
had to erect a Silencing charm hurriedly as soon as he realised what his beautiful blond
was doing, to prevent the entire common room, never mind his dorm, from hearing his
moans and outright screams. Merlin! He’s a prick tease, he’d thought, grinning smugly to
himself as he’d lay panting, with a cooling puddle of come decorating his stomach and
chest. Every time he had thought Draco was about to peak he’d backed right off, almost
withdrawing the toy from his body and robbing Harry of the sensation of his tight hole
massaging his cock. Draco played with Harry until he was little more than a quivering
lump of jelly, exhausted from the emphatic attentions.

It was, of course, virtually impossible for them to do anything that those newly engaged
in a budding relationship are wont to do. No shy smiles; no looking at each other across
the crowded Great Hall; no sitting together in class, studying together, holding hands,
taking romantic walks, in fact, nothing whatsoever. Harry had discovered he was unable
to even so much as seat himself facing Draco in any way, because he was completely
powerless to keep the stupid grin off his face.

By the second night after the Potions detention, Harry remembered the slate and stylus
that he had got from Sirius’ possessions. This seemed the only way they would be able to
talk apart from the rare times they would be able to sneak out after lights out. He had

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never tried to enchant a parchment that wasn’t within his sight, so he had no idea if it
would work. Even if it did, Harry had no guarantee that Draco would be working at that
precise moment in time. He decided to try and see if Draco was in the library, to
undertake casting the charm there, then wait to see if it lasted once they were separated
by distance.

This had seemed like a fairly good idea until the moment he walked into the library,
alone. He had neglected to think about the fact that Draco would be surrounded by his
friends, all of whom would likely know about their status. So when he walked into the
library and found himself staring at a table of seventh year Slytherins who dropped into
mute discomfort at his appearance, Harry wished there were a large, deep hole nearby
into which he could leap. He couldn’t ever recall feeling so exposed before. Harry noted
them each shoot a sideways glance at Draco, flicking their eyes back to him before
lowering them, and starting the whole routine over again. Other than Draco, Blaise was
the least bothered having actually been a witness, however unwillingly, to their mutual
attraction already. Harry had walked down a darkened and deserted aisle and retrieved
the writing equipment from his robe pocket, casting the charm before scribbling a note
quickly, and nervously awaiting a response.

~I want to find out if this charm works out of visual range. Can you keep your parchment
with you after you go to bed? I want to talk to you,~ Harry wrote.

~Okay.~

~Do they all know now?~ Harry knew the answer already he thought, but felt like he had
to ask.

~Yes. Problem?~

~No.~ Yeah. Right.

~Have you been sleeping well? Or rather, NOT sleeping?~ Draco wrote.

~God, yes! You are a filthy slut. I’m going to have to punish you for that. The laundry elves
must be wondering what the bloody hell is going on in my bed every night!~ Harry was
grinning like a lunatic, glad there was no-one close to see him.

~I look forward to my ‘punishment’. Better go now. Pansy’s trying to read over my


shoulder.~

Harry sat for a few minutes, trying to return his face to some semblance of a ‘normal’
expression by concentrating hard to get rid of his smirk. He half turned at the sound of
footfalls just behind him. When he looked round, he saw Draco almost floating towards
him, and just over his shoulder, Harry could see the outline of Greg Goyle blocking the
only entrance to the aisle.

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Recapturing Draco’s gaze, Harry stood quickly and pulled their bodies together, releasing
a rush of breath almost in relief. They smiled openly at each other, arms wrapped tightly
about them, before tentatively kissing. Both whimpered quietly at the first contact of
lips, melting by fractions into each other. To Harry, it felt like coming home. He never
wanted to let go of Draco. They drew back from the loaded kiss and just looked at each
other, touching each other's faces with warm fingertips and memorising the lines and
curves, as other couples got to do openly.

Letting go was agony for both of them. But they knew that pushing their luck would lead
to the discovery that was best avoided, at least right now. As their bodies drew further
apart, Draco lifted one of Harry’s hands to his mouth and placed a little kiss on each
fingertip before dropping the hand gently and whispering, “Goodnight, Harry,” and
smiling, face full of warmth.

Harry smiled back and watched Draco’s retreating form.

While he was placing his equipment back in his pockets, Harry heard the sounds of the
Slytherin group packing up and shuffling seats, leaving the library. He held back for a
minute or two, giving them time to get a head start and then left.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Several hours later, Harry closed the curtains tightly around his bed, placed a Silencing
charm around its perimeter and set the slate up on his lap. He used the tip of his wand to
produce a warm glow to light the cosy space. He wrote, and then waited.

~Draco.~ He felt so nervous! Almost like nothing had yet passed between them.

~You took your time, Potter.~

~Missing me already, then?~ Harry hoped desperately the answer to that was yes.

~I thought I was going to have to wait all night for you.~

~If I ever keep you waiting that long, I promise I’ll make it worth your while…~ Just the
thought of it got Harry hard. His skin was prickling with anticipation.

~I suppose the evidence so far suggests that might be true. Did you want to talk about
something specific, or just talk?~

~A bit of both, actually. What we talked about in the Potions classroom? If I’m going to
do anything, I need names.~ Harry wanted more than anything to concentrate on the
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two of them, but even in his fevered state he knew business had to come before
pleasure.

~Of course. Well, to start, both my parents, and Pansy’s. Blaise’s mother, although she
was never fully involved – more of a supporter, if you like. Nott’s father. Dolores
Umbridge-~

~You have got to be kidding. Umbridge?~ Harry interrupted angrily. ~Should have
guessed that stupid bitch was one of his.~ Harry fought with himself to contain the stab
of violence he felt even at the mere mention of that woman’s name. He wasn’t hard any
more, that was for sure.

~Have you finished interrupting? Dawlish wants out. His bottle’s gone. Don’t know how
much help he might be to the other side. Then there’s Vince and Greg’s parents. Father
hasn’t talked to them about switching sides. He’s worried they won’t stay quiet under
duress. But we do want them alive. Both clans are really too dim to be anything other
than sheep. They’re not really evil.~

~Does your father know you’re talking to anyone about this?~ Harry thought just for a
moment that Draco might have confided in his father, but then thought the better of it.

~You’re joking, yes? He’d fucking kill me if he had any idea. Don’t make me regret telling
you, Harry.~

~It’s hardly in my best interests to get you killed. I’d never get to fuck that gorgeous arse
of yours then, would I?~ Yep, definitely back to sex. Again!

~How very Slytherin of you. And for your information, it’ll be me fucking you.~

~Don’t even pretend you don’t want it. I know lots of your filthy little fantasies. And I also
know how much you’ve fucked yourself with the dildo I gave you for Christmas. Three
times alone on the first day? Please!~ Harry was laughing aloud now, memories of
Christmas Day returning in glorious techni-coloured detail.

~Do you really know every time I use it? What’s it like?~

~It’s like a hands-free wank. The pressure around my cock feels amazing. You’ve made
me come every time you’ve used it. I don’t even have to touch myself. I’ve got an
erection just thinking about you doing it.~ Which was very true. Harry’s penis had come
alive again, just thinking about the sight of Draco using the dildo on himself.

~Touch yourself, then. I am.~

Oh, God! That did it. It took Harry quite some time to manage to write a reply.

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~Merlin, Draco! You drive me insane. How can you write while you’re touching yourself?~
Harry was trying his best to stroke himself with his left hand while writing with the other.
It wasn’t easy to co-ordinate.

~I can’t. Give me a minute, okay?~

With a firm grip now on his cock, Harry’s hand was sliding up and down the shaft, sticky
with fluid. The thought of Draco doing the same thing right this second down in the
dungeons brought a persistent thudding pulse in his sac. His hand strayed momentarily
between his legs to stroke himself there, and squeeze the downy testicles before
gripping his shaft again and pumping himself firmly. Taking the stylus in his hand he
shakily wrote, ~Think of me.~

After a moment, the equally shaky reply came. ~I am.~

That was enough to tip Harry over the brink. He felt the contraction in the very centre of
himself as the orgasm rolled through his body, exploding in heavy gouts from his swollen
slit. He wondered vaguely if the come that had landed on the slate would be visible to
Draco. His answer came a couple of seconds later when he saw the shadow of Draco’s
own explosion splatter across the slate before disappearing quickly. Breathless and
shaking, Harry reached forward and wiped the semen from his slate before scribbling,
~Wow.~ That was an understatement!

A minute later, the reply came.

~I know. It was oddly intense. And a bit pervy. I could get used to this!~

Harry smiled and laughed out loud at that.

~That’s just as well considering it’s our only sexual outlet at the moment! When are we
ever going to get to see each other? With classes, Quidditch practice and exam revision,
there’ll never be time.~

~We’ll have to do some sneaking about. Probably late at night. You’ve always been good
at that, haven’t you? Alternatively, you could always visit me here. You can quite
obviously get in whenever you want.~

That made Harry think for a moment, then, ~I feel a bit uncomfortable about sneaking
into your dorm, especially now people might be expecting it. I don’t like the thought of
them being aware that we're together, in your bed.~

~Sex is commonplace in Slytherin House, Harry. Most people here have slept with both
sexes. Promiscuity is almost actively encouraged. Other than the fact of who you are, no
one in my dorm would bat an eyelid. Just as long as they didn’t have to watch.~ Which

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was all well and good, but that made Harry instantly aware of something unspoken, that
Draco might be hinting at, the very thought of which made him feel sick.

~How many males have you slept with, Draco?~ Harry knew definitively that he was
jealous. The thought of the females Draco had slept with didn’t really bother him, as he
felt assured that they meant nothing. But what about the males?

~Are you turning into a green-eyed monster?~ came Draco’s short reply.

~Yes. A bit. How many?~ Harry both wanted and dreaded the answer.

~Three. And I fucked then, not the other way around. Apart from my own fingers and
your glorious present, nothing else has ever been inserted into my hot little hole. I’ve
never submitted myself to anyone. Does that make you feel better?~

~Yes. I don’t want to share what’s mine with anyone. And you are mine, Draco. We need
to be clear on that.~ Harry’s stomach dropped into freefall. He didn’t feel one bit better.
He wanted Draco all for himself, with no fear of any other coming back to claim him.

~God! Say it again!~

~You. Are. Mine. No one else looks at you, touches you, kisses you, or fucks you. I don’t
share.~ Just writing it made Harry feel more in control of himself.

~I’m hard again. We’re going to have to start rationing ourselves in these little sessions,
or I’ll never have any energy!~ Draco replied.

~Draco?~

~Yes, Harry?~

~Tell me you’ll submit to me.~

~You know I will.~

There was a pause of long seconds, while the import of Draco’s statement sank in for
both of them.

~How many people have you slept with, Harry?~ Draco wrote.

~You’re my first. For everything.~ Harry winced inwardly at the truth of this statement.

~And you’re this good already? Shit! Did I ever fall on my feet!~

~I’m glad you’re not regretting your decision. I never expected to feel this way about
you. Or anyone for that matter.~ Harry really meant it, too.
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~If only you could see the smile on my face! I never expected it, either. I never even had
to think about piercing my nipples, you know. I knew that regardless of who you turned
out to be, the way you seduced me was just what I wanted. Every step of the way. I
haven’t thanked you for me jewellery. They’re truly beautiful.~

Harry’s heart almost burst with joy! Draco really wanted him!

~When I saw them in the box, writhing and wriggling, all I could think about was pressing
my tongue against the metal, tasting your skin underneath. I can’t wait to see them. Has
anyone else seen them?~

~No. Even when I knew they were from you, having them done was a private thing. In
truth, I had considered long and hard who would have had the ability to play with me like
you did. I could only think of a couple of people, and you were one of them. Even though
I was shocked, I knew I wanted to take things further. I still want you to be the first to
see them. And touch them.~

Yep, Harry was hard again. This was going to be a long, long night…

~When can we meet? I can’t stand the waiting.~

It took them a while to find a night that was good for both of them. It was a week and a
half away, much to their distress. They agreed to meet at the Room of Requirement very
late the next Saturday night, to spend a couple of hours together. They did, however,
agree to ‘meet’ every night in bed, to write to each other, and steal kisses in the library or
any other empty place they happened to find. It was their only way of getting to know all
the things that new couples talk about, such as likes and dislikes, hopes, fears, and plans
for the future. Harry found he was desperate to know all the little things about Draco. It
suddenly seemed like the most important task in the world.

They wrote well into the small hours, relating stories from their pasts, including things
they had done to each other over the years. Harry was careful to withhold certain
information such as his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauders Map, his relationship with Sirius
and other, more sensitive things. He was also mindful of broaching contentious subjects
such as Voldemort, Malfoy family politics, the future marriage to Pansy, and Draco’s
stance on the non-pureblooded. Harry couldn’t see the point of arguing so early on, just
as they were starting to get to know each other.

When he lay back in darkness finally, it was to the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.

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Chapter Twelve

Harry went to visit Professor Dumbledore the next day. He went as early as he could. His
impatience to take action was too great to override. The professor listened patiently as
Harry listed the names and any other pertinent information he thought he had gleaned
from Draco. Harry couldn’t help but notice the proud look Dumbledore wore as he
talked. When he asked Harry why he believed the information to be true, Dumbledore
had that roguish twinkle he always wore when he was being mischievous. Harry
stuttered and stumbled over answering that.

He admitted having had a conversation with Draco and Zabini while he should have been
completing Snape’s detention, and was grateful when Dumbledore didn’t press him
further. Harry had to admit the evidence was only circumstantial, but was quick to point
out that it seemed to tie in well with the professor’s own information. All in all,
Dumbledore agreed it was worth pursuing and assured him that there were several safe
approaches that Order members could make to the individuals that Harry had named. He
advised Harry to keep quiet about their conversation at least until further research could
be done as to how to keep so many people safe, when the need arose.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Bedtime had become Harry’s favourite time of the day very quickly. He and Draco would
write to each other into the early hours of the morning, every night. They would
sometimes do their homework together, particularly if it was Potions or Defence Against
the Dark Arts. The latter was particularly good fun, for Harry at least. He teased Draco
mercilessly, continually asking him how he might deflect an attack from Pansy’s mum or
Vince’s dad. Draco pretended to get wound up at first, then sank to Harry’s own level,
making jokes at his own expense, and describing imaginary Death Eater battles with his
childhood toys.

It was Draco who eventually brought up the subject of Occlumency. He told Harry he had
thought it was somewhat worrying that he had been able to get into his mind so easily.
Harry replied that he had allowed Draco full access but that he had previously tried to
develop his skills and failed miserably, although he didn’t describe the circumstances of
his efforts. This did seem like a bit of a risky admission, but Harry felt that as Draco had
bought the subject up, maybe he wanted to help. He was filled with a warm, glowing
feeling when Draco offered to tutor him. He had stressed the importance to Harry of
being able to protect himself in this way. To Harry, it was like listening to Professors
Dumbledore and Snape selling him the extra lessons over the previous years, but Draco
didn’t know about any of that. He accepted gratefully, and thanked Draco for his
concern. Draco merely replied that he wanted Harry to have the best chance of winning,
and learning Occlumency could be very handy.

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Of course, they also used their night time sessions for discussions of a more personal
nature. They discovered that taking it in turns to masturbate while the other wrote dirty
suggestions worked particularly well. It also helped Harry lower his remaining inhibitions
about his sexual inexperience. It seemed to Harry that many of Draco’s conquests had
occurred because of the constant availability of willing partners rather than any
particular desire, or strength of feeling for any of them. Draco had already told Harry that
sexual promiscuity was rampant in Slytherin house, but there was also a culture of
learning to control others through sex and the power of desire. Draco said that he had
merely been behaving as he had thought right.

As Saturday night drew closer, Harry got more and more excited. It was hard work trying
to conceal his emotions – he just wanted to explode with happiness. The main side effect
of his happiness was that he seemed to need to apply himself less to the practical
application of magic in his lessons, but more to the theoretical work. Harry really did have
natural ability when it came to casting, in contrast to Hermione’s ‘practice, practice,
practice,’ approach.

When Harry worked with Ron and Hermione now, the sessions were much more
balanced, with Hermione coaching the academic study and Harry leading in their
application. All three benefited from Harry’s new-grown skill.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

When the fateful day arrived, Harry was bursting over with anticipation. The whole of
Gryffindor house found him unbearable after a few hours being cooped up with him. At
lunchtime, the normally level-headed Hermione finally blew up and suggested Harry go
out flying on his broom that afternoon, to burn off some excess energy. She immediately
qualified her statement by pinning Ron with a glare and informing him that the
suggestion didn’t extend to him, as he was so far behind in his Herbology homework.

Thinking Hermione’s idea was a good one, Harry decided to go out straight after he had
finished eating. As he rose from the table, Harry’s eyes landed on the Hufflepuff seeker,
Lucy Cooper, who had performed so badly against him in their recent Quidditch match.
Feeling magnanimous, Harry made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, now being
watched by quite a few students, before finally stopping in front of Lucy with a wide grin
on his face. She could not have looked more shocked when Harry asked her if she’d like
to practice with him that afternoon, and she jumped up immediately, face flushed with
embarrassment and pride.

Retrieving the equipment from a very pleased looking Madam Hooch, Harry and Lucy set
off, Harry chattering away twenty to the dozen, completely overwhelming the young

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Hufflepuff Seeker. They spent a while together, just running some drills on their brooms,
Harry helping Lucy to control her broom better and manage sharp directional changes
more effectively. Harry was just opening the box containing the Snitch when half the
Ravenclaw team descended on them, led by Alicia Chambers, face looking not unlike a
bulldog chewing a wasp. When she barked at Harry that her team needed some extra
practice time, he found that he had invited them to join him and Lucy, allowing Lucy the
chance to test some of her new skills, before he had even formed the thought. This
suggestion was met with positive responses all round.

It didn’t take long for word to travel round the school that three houses were playing

Quidditch together as one team. It was maybe only fifteen minutes before Demelza
Robins came out, big grin on her face, broom in hand, and hopped on and joined in the
play, giving them enough for two small teams. A contingent from Gryffindor tower came
to spectate, including Ron and Hermione, swelling the ranks down at the pitch.

Harry had great fun playing Beater for a change. He had arranged the teams so that
Chambers and Lucy played the Seeker positions, but Harry kept a close eye on Lucy,
coaching her and shouting encouragement. He was so intent on watching Lucy that he
failed to notice a Bludger dart his way. It hit him full on in the stomach, knocking him to
the ground, which mercifully, was only a few feet below. This caused raucous laughter
from many of the spectators, and indeed, some of the players, and Harry lay on his back,
holding his stomach, trying not to laugh, mainly because it hurt too much. He opened his
eyes when a shadow fell across his face. He was very surprised to see Pansy Parkinson
looking down at him, arms crossed, eyebrow arched, foot tapping.

“What are you doing, Potter?” she asked, with humour in her voice.

“Er, suffering in pain?” Harry answered, equally amused.

“Try not to be dim, Potter,” she smirked, before continuing. “It has come to a certain
person’s attention that you have failed to request representation from the fourth and,
might I add, best house in the school for your little ‘friendly’, as it were.”

“Ah. I see,” he replied. “I have to admit that I didn’t think Slytherin were that friendly,
actually. Of course, we would be happy to see your esteemed house field some players,
as long as they mingle and don’t try too hard to win!” Harry said, then cut back in, “Oh,
and if

Slytherin might be entering their captain for play, he’ll have to play a position other than
Seeker. That’s only fair, I think.”

Pansy snorted her amusement at that but backed away, nodding once. Harry was just
getting back on his broom with Lucy’s help, when Draco, Crabbe and Goyle arrived, ready
for play. Draco shot Harry a look of amused annoyance before mounting his broom and

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flying off. Great arse, Harry though to himself. They settled into play with a total of
twelve players, just a Chaser short on each team. Lucy beamed happily when one of her
fellow second year Hufflepuffs joined them, the two laughing and joking merrily at the
thought of being part of such a coup. The players congregated by mutual consent, and
assigned teams. Harry stayed as a Beater, and he made sure that Crabbe and Goyle were
separated (one a Keeper, one a Chaser) and Draco accepted the position of Chaser on
Harry’s opposing team.

That afternoon was one of the happiest Harry had ever spent at Hogwarts, and that was
really saying something. There was a real sense of camaraderie for the first time ever,
with houses mingling both on the field of play and off it. After an hour or so of less than
serious play, (most of the time having been spent performing stunts and tricks on each
other rather than trying to win,) the stands were remarkably full. Harry even thought he
spotted some professors swelling the ranks of heckling fans. Harry decided that he was a
frustrated Beater; he was having so much fun. Especially when he had every excuse for
constantly targeting Draco with the Bludger, although he made sure that none of his
shots made contact. Draco’s enforced acrobatics caused much general amusement, one
near miss even startling a bark of laughter from the ever-silent Goyle.

By the time Chambers eventually caught the Snitch some two hours later, they were all
exhausted, sweaty and laughing; even the Slytherin contingent. There were huge cheers
from all around the very full stands, and every player went to congratulate Lucy on her
sterling performance, forcing a shock of giggles from her. It was really one of those
games where everyone felt they had won.

Landing gently, aching but relaxed, Harry found himself face to face with Draco. His
blond fantasy looked flushed and ruffled, with strands of his long hair caught on the
breeze, having worked loose of his braid. He wanted nothing more than to close the
distance between them and devour Draco right there and then. But he didn’t. Draco
folded his arms over his broom handle, sighed loudly, and let the corners of his mouth
turn up in a half smile.

“Quite the magnet for controversy aren’t you, Potter?” he said, finally.

“Well, I find myself with a lot of excess energy to work off these days…” Harry tailed off,
trying desperately not to flirt in so public a place.

“Do you think you’ve quite finished training my next opponent, then? Or can I expect
more ‘Potter wisdom’ to be imparted yet?” Draco’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. It
just made Harry laugh.

“Ah, well! That just depends if I’ve got any incentive. You know, not to help the
competition? I think that puts the onus back on you, don’t you?” Harry arched an
eyebrow, baiting Draco to tease him back. All he got however, was,

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“I hope you’ve got enough energy to stay awake late tonight. It would be a shame to
sleep through our date.” Draco’s eyes were smouldering. Harry blushed pink, making
Draco expel a very dirty laugh before he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving
Harry rooted to the spot, staring after him.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Late in the evening, Harry found himself watching the Marauders Map avidly, eyes rarely
leaving Draco’s name. He watched his Slytherin pace between what were probably his
bed and his wardrobe at least twenty times. Eventually, unable to sit still any longer,
Harry made a lame excuse to Ron about needing some fresh air, swiped up his cloak and
the map, and set off for the seventh floor. He was going to be very early. He took a long
detour, needing to avoid both Snape and Argus Filch on his journey. There were times for
Harry, like this one, when he loved wandering the empty, echoing corridors of the castle.
He took his time to reach the Room of Requirement, then took longer deciding quite
what to ask the room to provide. He didn’t really want to rush right into sex just yet, but
he did want them to be comfortable for whatever other opportunities might present
themselves.

As he opened the door, he had to stifle a loud laugh at the décor the room had chosen.
Everything was shades of rich, dark green, with hints of black and silver, even down to
the scatter cushions which were piled high on the enormous sofa. The room had made
itself small, but not claustrophobic, with a couple of large, squashy armchairs placed
either side of the sofa. There were a number of erotic paintings on the walls, which Harry
studied with interest, finding to his amusement that the subjects of the paintings were
lascivious in more than their poses. One gentleman made some extremely obscene
suggestions to Harry involving some handcuffs, a mirror and a selection of vegetables,
bringing colour to his cheeks and making Harry move on. Eventually, Harry lay down at
full stretch on the velvety sofa, staring into the flames flickering in the fireplace. He liked
the touch, finding the quality of light given out by the flames to be calming, yet arousing
at the same time. Oddly, the fire gave out little heat, maybe a concession to the relative
warmth of the evening.

Fifteen minutes before time, Harry heard the door open then click closed, almost silently.
His pulse rate rose in anticipation of seeing his boyfriend, of having him to himself, away
from the pressure and prying eyes of their peers. He heard Draco whistle, quiet and low,
as he paced around the room slowly, taking the same care to absorb the setting as Harry
had. Harry heard his delighted, quiet laugh at the subject matter in the paintings. When
Draco finally rounded the sofa and their eyes met, Harry saw happiness and wonder
twinkling away in his face. He knew the colour scheme had pleased Draco very much.
Draco looked stunning as he always did, but the head-to-toe black outfit he had on had
Harry salivating, fingers itching to tear it off him.

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Watching each other silently, Draco standing by the arm of the sofa, looking down on

Harry’s stretched out body, Harry felt himself grow hard without a word even spoken
between them. Draco crept onto the sofa, climbing over the arm, movements feline and
slow. There was a hungry fire in his eyes that made Harry glad he wasn’t standing up. It
would have made his knees weak. Draco laid himself fully on top of Harry, dragging his
body over Harry’s and creating an amazing friction that made his skin tingle. When they
were finally eye-to-eye, Harry parted his legs and wrapped them firmly around Draco’s
thighs, pulling their erections together. Harry watched his lover’s focus flicker for a
moment, while he recovered from the stimulation.

Finally, flooded with anticipation and the frustration of denial long enforced, Draco
moved in and placed a kiss on Harry’s mouth. Harry moaned aloud even before their lips
touched, just from the feeling of Draco’s breath burning against him. The tips of their
noses rubbed together fractionally, and Harry tilted his head, allowing Draco full access
to ravage him as he wished. Draco took what he wanted from the passionate kiss, forcing
Harry into submission. He pushed Harry back into the sofa, hands on his shoulders,
raising himself up slightly, increasing his ability to rub his crotch against Harry’s. They
were both moaning, bodies in constant motion, eager beyond thought, and filled with
the need to touch and be touched. Harry thought he might cry, he was so ecstatic.

When they finally broke apart to catch their breaths, Harry lifted his head and sucked
Draco’s beautiful bottom lip into his mouth. He licked it and rolled it between his lips,
sucking the taste of Draco into himself before renewing the deep kiss on his own terms.
Harry’s hands twisted frantically in Draco’s hair, worn loose for a change – a concession
to Harry’s preferences. They were both in total sensory overload, following days upon
days of deprivation. Harry moved his mouth to Draco’s supple neck, one of his very
favourite spots. It always smelled so good, so much of Draco, right there. Knowing how
much he liked to wear bite marks, Harry was sorely tempted but held himself in check,
just for once.

It was Draco, finally, who made the first move to undress them. His fingers slid down
Harry’s chest to his shirt buttons, and undid them with a speed that belied his state of
arousal. The only noise in the room was the crackling of the fire and the panting of their
bodies. Even the paintings on the walls were silent, necks stiff from staring at the two
young men entangled together in passion. Neither of them had spoken, both wishing to
preserve the moment for the tactile feast it was. They moved their bodies as little apart
as they could when they stripped their shirts off, until Harry felt the movement of
Draco’s nipple rings gently stroking his own hot skin. Almost roughly, Harry pushed him
up by the shoulders, needing to see the platinum adornments on the smooth, muscular
chest, and gasping his arousal loudly. When their eyes met, Harry saw the shyness
marring his lovers’ features, waiting nervously for his approval.

Draco knew he had it the split second he saw the fascination, and the hunger, on Harry’s
face. Harry was panting aloud as he leaned in to suck one of the nipples into his mouth.
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Draco threw his head back sharply, calling his passion out wordlessly as Harry’s tongue
and the tiny platinum snake furled around each other, pulling the hard, pink nipple taut.

It was hypnotic to Harry, wrapping his tongue around and around the firm little nub,
flicking the metal with just the very tip of his tongue, then nipping the flesh lightly with
his teeth. He lavished his attention on both nipples until they were wet with saliva and
purpled from stimulation.

Harry didn’t want to stop suckling at Draco’s chest, but his lover had other ideas. The
Slytherin was almost frantic now, driven to strip them both naked, to finally feel their
bodies stretched out against each other, able to caress or lick anywhere they wished to
reach. Their clothes flew off in a sudden flurry of activity, finally exposing their hard,
naked bodies. Draco’s skin smelled so good, it felt so warm and inviting and soft, that
Harry buried his face in the pale chest and rubbed it back and forth over the smooth skin,
just feeling the sensations against his face. He pumped his hips in small circles,
connecting their wet groins on each circuit, forcing whimpers and groans from them
both.

They were kissing again suddenly, without care, wet tongues lashing fiercely in and
around each other’s mouths with little worry for accuracy. Hands wandered madly,
pressing into burning flesh, stroking lightly with soft fingertips, and smoothing over
curves and angles, possessing each other completely, and with abandon. Draco moved to
take Harry’s hands, raising them above his head, pinning both wrists lightly in one of his
own hands, seeking permission with his eyes and receiving it, for the loose restraint.
Then he raised himself slightly, drawing a whimper of distress from Harry, and slid his
hand between their bodies to take both their lengths in his firm grip.

Harry’s world imploded as his erection met Draco’s in such intimate contact. They were
both soaking wet, sticky with pre-come, and pulsing with advanced arousal. The feel of
Draco’s hand, rolling back his foreskin and wanking them both simultaneously, struggling
to encircle the hard shafts reduced Harry to a state of impossible pleasure. He was
moaning his lover’s name over and over into his mouth, desperate for release.

Draco took charge of them both then. He lay Harry to face the fire and snuggled his own
front into Harry’s back. Harry could feel the writhing nipple rings and the insistent jab of
Draco’s wet cock in the small of his back, and pushed his buttocks back, no longer caring
to wait for the much anticipated penetration of his body. This raised a chuckle, which
rumbled through Draco’s chest and into Harry’s back, increasing their levels of sensitivity
yet another notch. Lifting Harry’s leg slightly, Draco’s erection found a home, stroking
through the gap between Harry’s thighs. Once in place, and having lubricated his own
path, Draco lowered Harry’s leg and pressed it down, forcing Harry’s thighs to squeeze a
firm pressure on his cock, imitating another fleshy channel. Draco began to pump then,
fucking the slippery path between Harry’s legs. At the peak of each stroke, his domed
end rubbed Harry’s tightly drawn testicles, creating a mind-blowing tension and catching
Harry’s breath with each impact. They were both groaning aloud, increasing each other’s
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pleasure from their sounds alone. But when Draco stretched his arm round and squeezed
Harry’s cock tightly, wanking him gently, then a little more, and a little more, until he was
pumping him forcefully and in time to his own thrusts, then Harry screamed. He
screamed for Draco, he begged his lover to touch him, to take him, to own him, and still
Draco thrust into his tight channel, still he masturbated Harry at his own pace. He would
not be coerced to finish them more quickly. Harry begged in broken whimpers. He
moaned his pleas into the velvet of the sofa even as Draco captured a mouthful of skin
on his exposed shoulder and bit down, increasing the pace of their movements. Harry
focussed a little thanks to the sharp pain of Draco’s insistent teeth grinding into his flesh.
He stretched his neck as much as he was able, to allow Draco more room to bite him. The
pleasure and the pain together were intoxicating. He knew he was coming.

Twisting an arm back behind him, Harry grasped a handful of Draco’s fine white hair,
wrapping his fist in it to pull Draco’s mouth closer to his injured shoulder. He pumped his
hips back and forth violently, working the beautiful, long length of his lover,
endeavouring to increase the friction and therefore his pleasure. Harry screamed out that
he was coming then, and Draco mouthed Harry’s name into his tender flesh, and Harry
felt the wet splash of come lick across his balls, between his legs, and into the crease of
his buttocks, driving him over the edge too, shooting floods of semen over Draco’s fist,
onto the sofa, and onto himself.

And then they were gasping for breath and laughing quietly, and shaking all over. When
Harry turned over to face Draco, wet and sticky with their mingled deposits, Draco pulled
their bodies tightly together and ground their flesh into it, anointing them, spreading
their seeds, and their smells. They smelled of heat and sex and each other. It was perfect.

They shared tender kisses, exchanged gentle words, and touched each other like it was
the last time, all the while knowing it was only the start of their journey together.
*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The rest of their time together that evening was mostly spent just holding each other and
talking about inconsequential things. The pleasure was in simply lying together, feeling
the movement of warm, naked skin against each other every time they moved.

Harry had his first Occlumency lesson lying with Draco on the green velvet sofa, a stark
contrast to the settings of his previous lessons with Professor Snape. Draco was patient
and calm, his desire for Harry to succeed blindingly obvious. They learned things about
each other then, perhaps too painful to talk about out loud. Harry made his first
successful entry into Draco’s thoughts in the wee small hours of the morning, re-living his
lover’s deeply buried pain at his long-endured emotional neglect, the foundation of his
relationship with his family. Harry understood then, perhaps for the first time, how his
game had come to affect Draco so much. He was wracked with remorse and told Draco
so. Draco wrapped Harry in his arms, holding him close, stroking his unruly hair with
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affection and whispering words of comfort and forgiveness, thanking Harry for giving
him something he never dared hope to imagine was attainable.

Eventually, Harry’s eyes started to droop closed; he was so tired. Draco prodded him
affectionately to get dressed and it felt awful, this separation, when they had closed the
chasm between them so completely. As they stepped towards the door, Harry draped
them both in his Invisibility Cloak, drawing gasps, laughter, and amused accusations from
Draco, who finally had the information to understand many unexplainable events. They
kissed then, in the cold, dark hallway, invisible to any eye, only real to each other. Harry
decided in his head to save the Map for another day, just for the pleasure of witnessing
Draco’s childlike reaction of wide-eyed surprise and his gleeful chuckles. He escorted his
prince back to the dungeons, unwilling to let him go when they reached the enchanted
wall but doing it anyway, with promises that they would find more time together
regardless of the inconvenience. When Harry flopped into bed, exhausted but complete,
he fell asleep almost immediately with the biggest smile on his face.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Life went on for Harry, Draco and their friends, whether aware or unaware of the
deepening relationship that gave hope and happiness to the school’s two most visible
pupils. With exams drawing ever closer, the pressure was really on, not just for Draco and
Harry, but all the seventh year students who hoped to achieve the necessary grades for
their future careers. With even the very best of intentions, it was impossible to arrange
anything more than the most fleeting of assignations, sharing fevered kisses and
caresses in empty rooms and continuing their silent night time communications.

Having never been in love before, Harry found it hard to accept any possibility other than
that he and Draco were meant to be together and that there would be a way for them.
He felt from their night time sessions however, that Draco held a sense of fatality about
their relationship, as if circumstances and the choices made for them by others would
forever block the path to their ultimate happiness. However Harry tried to convince
Draco, with comforting words and sincere promises, he knew that things would
undoubtedly be rocky for them both. But still, most of the time, he just wanted to stand
at the top of the Astronomy Tower and yell at the top of his voice to the whole world
how wonderful Draco was to him. How much he loved him. Odd, that, when he had yet
to share the sentiment with the object of his every waking desire. Harry wanted Draco in
much more than an emotional way, though. He wanted to feel him inside his body, so
much that it was almost a tangible pain, felt in every part of him, screaming for relief.
Their nightly tease was creating an itch that felt as if it might never be scratched.

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One day near the end of March, Professor Dumbledore pulled Harry aside as he was
going for dinner to walk a while and discuss more sensitive issues, particularly about the
Order and Voldemort’s defectors. The headmaster explained that several ‘accidental’
meetings had taken place with a number of the named individuals who wished to be free
of Voldemort’s grip, and that plans, plots, and ruses were in motion to achieve the
necessary progress. One option, which had been met with dismay and disgust by a
number of Death Eaters, was to hide them safely in full view. Namely, in Azkaban Prison.
The Death Eaters felt this was purely a trick to enable the Ministry to incarcerate them
without a struggle or the need for a trial. Harry could understand their misgivings to
some degree, but ultimately, felt little sympathy for those who had, of course, made
their own beds. He felt no emotions whatsoever towards Draco’s parents, even though
he knew his prince loved them despite their many shortcomings. He just has so much
love in him to give. Who would ever have thought it? Harry mused to himself, as he
strolled with Dumbledore, thoughts drifting momentarily from the task at hand.

The professor seemed to know of Harry’s lack of concentration. He slowed to a standstill


and gripped Harry’s shoulder paternally, smiling a broad smile at his favourite student.
Dumbledore turned them around, heading back, finally, to the Great Hall for their
evening meal. As they reached the entrance to the Hall, the professor said
conversationally, “Professor Snape tells me your skills in Occlumency have improved
dramatically in recent weeks.” He stared off, looking away from Harry, raising a hand to
wave to a first year Hufflepuff student. Harry snapped to attention and turned to face
Dumbledore as soon as the words sank in.

“How the hell would he know that? We haven’t had a lesson all year!” Harry snapped out.

Harry thought Dumbledore looked smug then, just for a moment, as he turned back to
him.

“It would seem that your esteemed Potions master-,” Harry frowned sharply, “-has been
somewhat concerned, by both your enthusiasm and new found skill, and also your
miserable lack of attention in his class. Seeing something of a paradox, he took it upon
himself to attempt entry to your mind to discover the meaning of this most atypical
behaviour.” He paused then, and Harry felt a thrill of anxiety coarse through him, sending
tingles to his fingers and toes, with fear of what the evil bastard might have gleaned.
Dumbledore chuckled out loud at Harry’s obvious discomfort.

“Professor Snape tells me he was completely unable to break through your mental
barriers. He was quite alarmed, let me tell you.” The Headmaster laughed gently, more to
himself than with Harry, then. “He believes you must have been practicing with someone
skilled in the art, and he knows of very few people here in the school who would be
willing, never mind able, to assist you in such an endeavour.” Dumbledore was almost
bursting, he looked so happy. Harry merely stared back at him, face reflecting the
surprise he felt inside. He couldn’t quite believe that the few lessons he and Draco had
undertaken could have had such dramatically effective results.
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Taking pity on Harry’s shocked expression, Dumbledore placed an arm around Harry’s
shoulders as he led him into the Great Hall and said, “It would seem that your current
teacher either has an altogether different approach to Occlumency, or has some
incredible incentives on offer to guarantee your success.”

Harry couldn’t speak, but he felt his face flush, and he prayed hard that Dumbledore
wouldn’t back him into a corner from which he had no hope of fighting his way out of, at
least, not without exposing his secret. He was relieved when he could break away from
the Professor’s light embrace to join Ron and Hermione at the table.

Ron and Hermione had, very gratefully, grown used to the new improved, and happy
Harry who accompanied them almost everywhere. Secretly, they believed that Harry had
developed another maddening infatuation on someone, but they were at a genuine loss
to pin point the potential candidate. They had hopes of getting to the bottom of the
issue when Fred and George came to join them again, in Hogsmeade, on the coming
Saturday. Ron in particular was slightly bemused by Harry’s thick and fast friendship with
the twins. He knew it was because they were all working on ideas for Pandora’s Box
together, and with Harry stumping up the cash for the operation, the many owls and
packages being sent between them were clearly justified. He couldn’t help feeling a bit
pushed out sometimes, though. In his more lucid moments, he supposed this must be
how Harry felt, being the outsider, where he and Hermione were concerned. But he
never resented his friend, having had years to know how desperately Harry needed the
stability of friends, lacking a family as he did.

The twins cropped up during the dinner conversation between the three friends, as they
often did. Hermione asked, in rather stilted words, (much to Harry’s amusement,) if any
new products had been developed for Pandora’s Box. Harry had them in stitches with
some of the ideas, ones that would never make it past the planning stage due to
potential side effects and the risks of permanent injury. Fred had become despondent for
a while when many of his potions proved to have no safe application, such as the penis-
enlarging potion that had no stopping point. Eventually, the tester, (George, as it
happened,) had to pass out from lack of blood circulation before his knob had stopped
growing. (The thought of that had made Harry cross his legs rather tightly.) Then there
was the anal enlargement charm, for those occasions when foreplay was just too much
trouble. Fred wouldn’t tell Harry what the problem was with that one, other than that
George had spent the night in St. Mungo’s, face down for most of it, while a team of
Healers had a good old laugh at his expense.

Fred had, however, had some success with spicing up one of the lubrication potions from

Sirius’ book. ‘Spicing up’ being the operative phrase. He had managed to secure, through
Hubert Coral, a rare type of cactus extract, that when mixed in careful quantities with a
custom base potion, created a mild irritant effect, but without a rash. The idea behind
this was that if the lubricant was used before sex, then both partners would have to keep
pounding away until the irritation wore off, or be left with some very personal itching
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problems. It sounded a bit unpleasant, but in practice was, apparently, great fun and
ensured the sex lasted longer. Harry intended to talk Ron and Hermione into being his
local test case, and hoped to broach the topic soon, but was just looking for the right
time. If it came down to it, he could always ask Draco, but he wanted their first few times
to happen without any artificial interference.

Harry and Draco had, during their night time conversations, developed their own stock
line, (unbeknown to Draco, however,) dreamt up partly through the use of the Calligra
charm and partly by their recollections of Tom Riddle’s old diary. They had managed to
create a charm to enchant two blank journals from a stack Draco had in his trunk,
allowing a permanent, open link between the two books. They no longer had to renew
the writing charm every so often as they had previously had to do, and if they chose, the
pages of the journals would retain both sets of writing. Harry had joked to Draco that the
journals would be a record of their teenage perversions, making them both consider
quite what would happen if their ‘conversation’ books fell into the wrong hands. By
which they meant, anyone else’s hands.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, meaning that most of the students
would be away from the castle from early in the day. Draco and Harry had decided that
the Friday night before would be an excellent time to get together again, as their friends
would no doubt be distracted with plans for the following day. They agreed to meet
again but this time, Harry would meet Draco right outside the Slytherin common room,
so they could go together under the Invisibility Cloak.

It had been easy to sneak away from Ron and Hermione that Friday evening, as they had
obviously gone off somewhere for a little ‘alone time’ of their own. At ten fifty, Harry
made his way down to the dungeons to wait for Draco to appear. His breath whooshed
out of him like it always did whenever he first got Draco by himself, as his Slytherin
cuddled up to him under the confines of the cloak, wrapping his arms around Harry and
leaning in for that tentative first kiss. If it wasn’t for the fear of being caught, Harry could
have stood there all night, drinking Draco in. But eventually, with only a little prodding
from Draco, they headed silently up to the seventh floor to the Room of Requirement.

It was immediately apparent that there was a problem, as soon as they reached the
dancing hippo tapestry. The door had shrunk until it stood only twelve inches high, and
no amount of cajoling, pleading or wishing would admit them entry to their planned
destination. Harry could have cried and Draco’s face didn’t look much better, as they
stared at the door, willing it to grow and open. They stood there for fifteen minutes,
trying everything they could think of, before agreeing to give up. Draco suggested taking

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a walk up to the Astronomy Tower, a place they both loved, to enjoy the view and
console each other away from fear of interruption. Harry half heartedly agreed and they
set off, arms around waists, pulled in close to each other, under cover of the cloak.

They only had one close call, when they rounded a corner and found Peeves arguing with
Professor Snape, who was threatening to bottle him in a jar if he didn’t stop throwing
things around the now empty classrooms. Harry could feel Draco’s heart rate speed up,
not yet trusting the cloak to keep them hidden. They edged past their noisy obstacle and
went on their way, still in silence. At the bottom of the tower stairs, Harry removed the
cloak from over them and they climbed up, hand in hand, taking their time, their
disappointment still palpable.

At the top Harry hung back, allowing Draco to move into the room and circle the edge of
the main room, finding his favourite spot. He stopped before a large picture window that
framed the edge of the lake on one side and the climb to the summit of the neighbouring
rocky mountains on the other. Harry stepped across the room and pulled his lover’s body
back against his own, arms circling the slim waist, hooking his chin over Draco’s shoulder
and following his gaze. Draco melted back into him, sighing aloud at the contact and
placing his hands over Harry’s, squeezed their fingers together to form a tight lattice.
Harry nuzzled the pale, slim neck with his nose slowly before placing a kiss just on
Draco’s collarbone. Harry felt Draco’s chest rise and knew he was going to speak.

“I’m sorry about the Room of Requirement,” he spoke quietly, voice echoing slightly in
the cool silence.

“It’s not your fault, silly,” Harry chided, smiling slightly and kissing Draco’s neck warmly.
The smacking sound of the kiss reverberated off the stone walls, making them both
chuckle. He tightened his grip on the shivering body in front of him and Draco turned his
head into a kiss. They both whimpered at the contact of their tongues, exploring each
other’s mouths with infinite care, licking along plump, warm lips, and swallowing their
sighs. Harry held Draco firm, in the slightly uncomfortable position, asserting his desire to
protect his precious possession.

They broke apart after a moment and focussed their gazes out over the night view,
listening to the sounds of their own breathing. They just stood for minutes, leaning into
one another, neither wanting to return to their dorms. Eventually, Draco turned in
Harry’s arms until they stood eye to eye. He pecked a kiss on Harry’s lips, then, “What
about coming back to my dorm? It’s not like you haven’t been there before.” He looked
so hopeful, his sparkling grey eyes pleading with Harry’s, beseeching him to agree.

Harry expelled a long breath before replying.

“I wanted to stay. You know, all night?” He raised his eyebrows, hoping Draco might pick
up on the unspoken sentiment, that tonight should have been the night.

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“Oh.” A pause, then, “I see. Then I’m doubly sorry.”

Their eyes met in a pained expression, before Harry said, “I wanted it to be perfect. It’s
just the thought that there have been others in your bed with you, you know?”

Draco nodded slightly, understanding Harry’s reluctance. Harry didn’t even begin to ask
Draco about staying in Gryffindor tower. He felt sure Draco would be repelled by the
idea. So they were out of options.

They both huffed their exasperation at the situation, then smiled sadly at each other
before sliding into another soft kiss. Draco pulled Harry back towards him, until the wall
stopped them. He smiled shyly at Harry as he pulled his arms from Harry’s waist, hands
moving steadily lower, until his fingers met with Harry’s button fly. He teased, “Maybe
there’s something else I can do. You know, as a consolation prize?” He crooked an
eyebrow cheekily before breaking into a sexy grin, as his dextrous fingers started
popping the buttons over Harry’s hardening length. Harry’s head tipped back at the mere
thought of spilling his seed down Draco’s eager throat, and he groaned his muted
frustration.

“Good evening to you, gentlemen,” a happy, familiar voice rang out from just across the
room. Draco’s fingers froze, and they both stilled in an instant, fully aware that there
were no explanations for their situation other than the most obvious one.

Harry turned his head back, then, “Uh…Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. We were
just, uh…”

“Yes, yes, my boy, I can see exactly what you were, in your own eloquent words, ‘just,
uh…’.” Dumbledore was smiling wickedly at the pair of them, full of amusement at Harry
and Draco’s discomfort. Eventually, Draco broke the silence.

“Er, have you been here long, sir?” It was impossible not to hear the plea in his words
that Dumbledore had, in fact, only just arrived.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy. Quite some time. Just through the alcove, back there. I often while
away the quiet, night hours, just gazing out at the landscape. A bit like you were so
recently doing.” Again, he was smiling broadly.

There was a long silence then, maybe a minute, in which Harry and Draco looked
uncomfortably at Dumbledore, and he looked back at them.

“Did you know, Professor? About me and Draco?” Harry eventually asked, having now
rebuttoned his fly and turned to face the headmaster, placing himself squarely between
Draco and his teacher.

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“I hoped, Harry, I hoped.” Dumbledore nodded a small acknowledgement to Draco, then,


giving his approval of the situation. “Can I assume that Mr. Malfoy here is the one who is
so successfully training you in Occlumency?” Harry nodded his assent that this was
indeed the case. He grasped Draco’s hand tightly when he felt it brush against his thigh,
and then his lover was stood at his side.

“My compliments, Draco. You have succeeded where other, more experienced teachers
have failed. And in such a short space of time, if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied, marginally more relaxed now that Harry’s trousers were once
again respectable. “Can I assume you are aware of my family’s desire, along with some
others, to extricate ourselves from the grip of the Dark Lord?” Harry felt the subtle
tension in the air then, as they waited for Dumbledore to formulate his response.

“It has most certainly been brought to my attention, Draco, along with many other
whispers.” Dumbledore was assessing Draco now, no longer appearing to register
Harry’s presence.

“I assure you Professor, that it is a sincere wish.” Draco’s words were clipped, perhaps in
response to Dumbledore’s somewhat vague response. “There are many things our
people could help with, to secure a victory against Him.” Harry was shocked at Draco’s
candour, but sensed there was a need for the sentiments to be aired.

Taking a step towards them Dumbledore smiled again and said, “You have already done
much for the side of good, Draco. Not least of which is making Harry happy. I believe you
are just what he needs.”

The tension slid out of the air at those few words, and Harry and Draco shared a warm
smile between them, recognising the truth that had been spoken.

“And now, I believe it is time for you both to return to the relative safety of the lion’s
den.

The tower is far too cold for such intimacies, and Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger will no
doubt only vacate their seventh floor haven come the morning. I wish you the best of
nights!” With that, Dumbledore turned away, dismissing them with a backward wave of
his hand, leaving Harry and Draco staring at each other in stunned silence. They each
raised an eyebrow at the other before setting off back down the stairs.

At the bottom of the steps, Harry threw the cloak over their heads as they stood, eye to
eye. “Do you think he was giving us permission to stay in your room, Harry?” Draco
questioned.

“Not giving permission, I don’t think. But maybe accepting the situation, I’m not sure,”
Harry shrugged, feeling sure that Draco’s sneer of refusal was about to be aired.

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He was surprised then, when Draco said, “Can we? Stay in your room? I’d like to stay the
night, even if we don’t do anything. Just to be there…” he tailed off, suddenly unsure of
himself. Harry just beamed a great big smile and scooped his beautiful blond into his
arms, kissing him hard.

“I’d like that!” Harry whispered finally into Draco’s mouth before he pulled back, a slight
frown on his face. “It’s just that my bed’s a bit smaller than yours. It’s not a single, but it’s
not a double either.” Draco laughed then, a wolfish expression on his face.

“It hardly matters to me how wide the bed is. I intend to be on top of you for most of the
night,” he purred, making Harry’s knees wobble.

With that, Harry dragged Draco off as fast as he silently could, towards Gryffindor tower
and his nice, private bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Draco made no comment as they entered through the portrait hole, Harry visible, the
Slytherin not. Harry led the way silently to his dorm, peeking quickly into each enclosed
bed to check for sleeping Gryffindors. Satisfied with his findings, he reached out and
pulled the cloak from Draco, bringing him into view. He smiled slightly, then turned and
started the slow, purposeful removal of his own clothes, and their careful placement in
his chest. Silently, Draco stepped up alongside him and removed his own clothes as well,
two shadowy figures picked out in the dull moonlight.

Naked, they climbed onto the mattress and carefully closed the curtains around them,
casting a Silencing charm as they did so. Harry lay back in the pitch black, heartbeat
racing, and reached a hand out to brush Draco’s back, enticing him down alongside him,
to draw the covers over them both. Harry heard Draco murmur, “Illuminatio,” and then
he heard some tiny popping sounds before a warm, creamy light filled the space, glowing
gently from pearly bubbles which meandered along invisible paths, bumping into each
other lightly, and bobbing away. Harry sighed in wonder, and Draco chuckled at his
pleasure and brushed the backs of his fingers across Harry’s cheek.

“They’re beautiful,” Harry finally managed, tearing his eyes away from the floating
spheres, smiling lazily at his amused boyfriend.

“Of course,” was the gentle reply, as Draco moved in to capture Harry’s lips in a kiss. It
was one of those kisses that lasts forever, but is still over too soon. They sighed into each
other, hands roaming freely over coveted flesh. The shafts of their erections rubbed
together as they held one another close, sticky with promise, pulsing with desire. They
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were silent for some time. The only noises were those of pleasure, coaxed out with kisses
and soft touches.

It was Harry who eventually spoke, hesitantly. “I want you, Draco.” He flicked his eyes up
to measure the reaction, eager for Draco’s assent.

His lover held his own eyes closed, exhaling shakily before meeting Harry’s gaze and
answering, “Tell me how you want me, Harry.” His words were like a wisp of summer air
scorching Harry’s skin, making his breath catch in the back of his throat.

Harry felt a shimmer of tears spring to his eyes, as he whispered, “Inside me,” and a
rogue tear fell as he leaned in to capture a kiss. Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth as they
kissed, their tongues gentle, but insistent. Draco rolled on top of Harry, rubbing their
crotches together maddeningly, making Harry arch up from the mattress, even weighted
down as he was.

They broke apart as Draco spoke. “I’m going to take my time, Harry. You won’t be able to
rush me. You mustn’t do a thing.” Harry nodded weakly and submitted his body to
Draco’s will.

Draco moved over Harry slowly, for a long time just teasing and tasting, measuring his
responses, remembering the places Harry liked to be touched. He kissed each toe in turn,
licking the instep of each foot wetly with the flat of his tongue, before sucking each ankle
joint, and laughing with pleasure at Harry’s hands, balled up into the sheets in his
desperation to regain some control over himself. His groans of frustration were like
music to Draco’s ears. Draco kissed kneecaps and thighs, hipbones and ribs, stroked
warm fingertips over biceps and armpits, and nibbled at earlobes and nipples.

Harry melted into the mattress, allowing the experience to take him over completely. He
murmured Draco’s name every so often, receiving a warm kiss upon the part of the body
Draco happened to be tending at that time for every sigh.

When Draco finally came face to face with him again, Harry was flushed red with desire,
his eyes almost mad with need. His pulse beat in his throat as Draco finally whispered,
“Turn over for me.”

Harry obeyed slowly, his body refusing to respond as quickly as it should, his thoughts
muffled and cloudy.

And then Draco started his worship all over again, suckling the wispy hairs at the back of
Harry’s neck, licking down the length of his spine and resting his cheek in the hollow of
his back. Draco kneaded the backs of Harry’s thighs, alternately stroking then pressing.
Harry’s back arched more than he thought possible, shocking a trill of delight from his
teasing boyfriend.

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Finally, Draco laid his body on top of Harry’s, pressing his erection into the crease
between Harry’s buttocks, and gently thrusting himself along the fleshy dip. They kissed
again with heat and urgency over Harry’s shoulder, pinned down as he was, and
completely at Draco’s mercy. As Draco withdrew and the cool air hit Harry’s skin, he
called out his wordless loss, comforted only by the hands lovingly caressing his back.

Draco straddled Harry’s legs and lavished attention on his twitching buttocks. He kissed,
licked, nipped and pinched the flesh, completely resistant to Harry’s howled pleas,
moving inexorably closer to his final goal with each touch. When he licked a hot path up
the tight crease to the small of Harry’s back, Harry finally let his cries out at full volume,
unable to control himself. Draco trailed his fingers through the saliva wetness, pressing
the tips inwards with each pass until they reached the hot flesh hidden inside. He parted
Harry gently and lowered his face, until Harry could feel every expelled breath burning
across his sensitised skin. Harry knew what was coming but he was not prepared for the
flood of emotions and feeling that rushed through him when Draco finally pressed a wet
kiss against the tight pucker of his hole. He screamed Draco’s name over and over,
begging him in both words and actions to enter him.

But Draco continued as he wished, licking slowly, thoroughly and lovingly at every inch of
exposed flesh.

Draco spent a lot of time pressing the flat and the tip of his tongue across Harry’s anus,
warming the flesh, wetting it down, and tasting the musky flavour of his lover, before
rolling his tongue and pushing it past the outer ring of muscle.

Harry bucked his hips fiercely, driving it inside him, all the while begging to be breached,
and whimpering his desire into the mattress. Draco stabbed his tongue in and out of
Harry’s delicious backside now, seeming to lose his own control. It was wet and messy
and glorious, all rolled into one, the muscles loosening under Draco’s overwhelming
onslaught. Harry didn’t know what to do with himself; he was desperate to ride Draco’s
tongue, but he wanted to hump the mattress too. There were too many sensations, too
many needs all at once, and Harry had no idea which one to fulfil.

When Draco pulled back and slid the first finger in, Harry was almost so exhausted that
movement was impossible, at least at first. Harry’s body was coated in perspiration, his
muscles quivering of their own accord. Draco worked the finger into Harry’s loosened,
wet hole, and chuckled to himself, pleased with his results. He teased Harry slowly as was
his way, circling the fingertip at the very opening of Harry’ s body, before slipping it
gently inside, a little deeper on each stroke. Harry was shameless now, spreading his legs
as wide as Draco would allow him, and thrusting his backside up, tensing his inner
muscles to clutch the finger covetously.

Sensing Harry’s desperation, Draco caressed his buttocks with soft, soothing touches. He
took pity on him, and added a second finger. Harry’s face was buried in the mattress,

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muffling his uncontrollable sobbing and groaning, begging Draco to please, please take
him.

Draco could barely stand his self-imposed wait; he was so desperate to bury himself deep
inside Harry. But he held back, all the time knowing he was so close.

It wasn’t until the third finger that Harry’s body resisted at all. Draco pushed so carefully,
flexing his fingers gradually, a tiny twist of his wrist every now and then, always
stretching the strong muscles. And then the resistance was gone, smoothed away under
gentle fingers and soothing words of encouragement. When Draco had his fingers in to
the second joint, and Harry was fighting to impale himself further, Draco moved to ready
himself. He sat back on his haunches for just a moment, trying to calm the tripping of his
heart. Then he turned Harry over, a firm hand on his slick hip, and straddled his body,
stretching forward and kissing him with tortured longing.

Harry gripped him in his arms, afraid that Draco would back away again, relaxing by
degrees only after a time.

When Draco reached to pull a pillow from under his head, Harry noticed the small bottle
hidden there, one that he had not placed there himself. He allowed Draco to place the
folded pillow under his hips, completely receptive to the murmured instructions,
attention solely on his beautiful blond, and watched with fascination as Draco reached
for the bottle and uncapped it. It contained oil, and Harry gazed in rapt enchantment as
Draco poured the shiny liquid into a cupped palm and set the bottle aside. He rubbed his
fingertips together, coating them in oil, before reaching between Harry’s legs and lightly
massaging the wetness in and around Harry’s hole. Harry sighed and bucked under the
caress, his own eyes and Draco’s locked together, drinking the sight of each other’s
excitement in. Harry’s breathing hitched sharply as Draco slicked the remaining oil up and
down his long shaft, stroking himself briefly, eyes flickering shut for a few moments as he
touched himself there.

And then he moved between Harry’s legs, spreading them wide, revealing his goal. Harry
strained to look down the length of his body, to watch Draco place his shiny, purpled end
against the hidden dip. Harry whispered his name as Draco rubbed his own pearly
lubricant into the oiled flesh, reducing the risk of friction for his entry. Harry knew the
moment had come when Draco’s eyes locked with his, face flushed, eyes wild. Harry
cried out incoherently as he felt the very end of Draco enter his body, the barest amount
of pressure pushing it inside. He watched Draco’s eyes flutter closed and open again, as
he smiled down at him, pushing a little further inside. Harry was filled with some
emotion, one he couldn’t name. There was no word for the mingled excitement, elation,
love and utter completion that he felt as he lay there, watching Draco enter him with
such exquisite care, his body shiny with exertion, his face etched with wonder.

Draco stretched forward and snaked his arms under and around Harry’s thighs, lifting his
buttocks fully off the mattress and further onto his stiff length. Harry felt himself tighten
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suddenly as the invading organ stroked against his prostate and he bucked up, his cry
matching Draco’s own wail of pleasure. Draco entered him no further for a while, just
pumping in and out at the shallow depth he had achieved, attending to Harry’s sensitive
nerve endings and murmuring endearments in answer to Harry’s sighs and moans of
pleasure.

In the end, Harry begged and pleaded with Draco to please, please enter him deeper, and
Draco groaned loudly as he finally slid himself further in. Even then he held himself back,
not forcing full entry in one go, but working himself in a little more on each forward
stroke.

Harry’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, pulling the sheets from the bed with his
constant writhing, but his eyes remained focussed on Draco’s radiant face, smiling down
at him, or lost in pleasure.

Finally, Draco reached full penetration and he shuddered uncontrollably, having to


release Harry’s legs and catch his own weight on the bed, so overwhelming was the
sensation of being swallowed in the pulsing, sticky hole of his Harry’s anus.

Harry reached to stroke Draco’s arms, finally within reach, and he pulled his prince down
onto him, holding him tight, kissing him finally, loading the contact with all the words he
wanted to say but couldn’t, for fear of shattering the moment.

Instead he whispered, against Draco’s parted lips, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t
stop…” and he tilted his hips up to rock against Draco’s body, shifting the delicious shaft
inside him, feeling it press into the muscled walls inside, sending licks of hot pleasure
shooting through him, and the softest of moans from his mouth. Draco drank him in,
swallowing Harry’s pleas, and began to move.

The lovemaking was gentle and heartfelt, overflowing with kisses, both chaste and
passionate, and whispered names, filling the enclosed space of Harry’s bed with their
desire for each other. Harry gazed at the expressions flitting across Draco’s face, thinking
to himself, I’m so glad I did what I did. I’d never have known that this is who he really is…

The movements of Draco’s body as he thrust so slowly into his lover brought his stomach
into contact with Harry’s neglected erection. The pool of wetness that had collected on
Harry’s own stomach now spread between them, lubricating a path in which the jerking
erection could slide, stroked gently from above and below. The tiny platinum snakes of
Draco’s nipple rings flicked and curled their tails across Harry’s sensitised chest, adding to
the sensory overload.

“I’m so close…” he sighed into Draco’s neck, not really knowing where he had found the
power to speak.

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“Wrap your legs around me, Harry,” Draco whispered, finally picking up a firmer, yet still
measured pace, lengthening his thrusts to catch Harry’s little bundle of nerves on each
pass. Harry wrapped his legs as high up around Draco’s waist as he could reach,
stretching his passage wide open for the solid, hot length, and feeling the firm testicles
bounce against his buttocks at the end of every stroke. There was a tiny burst of dull pain
at the peak of each thrust, but Harry wanted it, needed it to hold himself back. They both
groaned their appreciation of the increased friction and sense of closeness. Harry’s
fingers dug shallow tracks in the muscular flesh of Draco’s back, keeping their fronts
close together.

The approach of Harry’s orgasm was written all over his flushed face, and Draco groaned,

“Hold on, just a little longer, just a little….”

And then the warm wetness of Harry’s pleasure worked its sticky path between their
closely pressed bodies, creating a wonderful, slippery, musky river, as Harry screamed
Draco’s name into his open mouth, their lips finally crashing together, Draco adding his
own groan as he filled Harry’s passage with his own flood of semen. His hips pumped
firmly, seating his shaft up to the hilt in Harry’s furiously pulsing, sopping passage,
milking his own orgasm to completion, before slowing, and then finally stilling his
movements.

They kissed still, but broke away to look at each other’s faces, laughing quietly and with
disbelief, struggling to comprehend how unbelievable it had been. Harry could not have
found the words to express his gratitude for Draco’s experience in those moments. It
took many minutes to catch their breath, during which Harry held Draco firmly to him,
refusing to let go, in love with the feeling of his lover’s penis softening inside him,
wiggling his hips from time to time as a gentle reminder of their activity.

Eventually, Harry relaxed his embrace and Draco made some tentative stretches, moving
backwards to pull himself out of Harry. Harry could have cried right then. He did not want
to let Draco go. Then he felt a hot trickle run from his twitching passage, as the prized
semen escaped him. Harry moaned just a little, and Draco thought it was in discomfort.
He waved his hand, intending to speak the cleaning charm, but Harry stopped him
quickly.

“No, don’t. I want to feel it. This is what sex is about, Draco. All sticky and messy. I love
it.”

Draco smiled a quick cheeky smile, before stretching himself out alongside Harry’s body,
an arm and a leg thrown casually over, nuzzling his face into Harry’s damp neck, placing
tiny little kisses over every patch of skin he could reach.

“Thank you, Harry. I mean it. That was…” he seemed at a loss for words to describe what
had happened.

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Harry giggled quietly, before turning his head to face Draco, saying, “I should be thanking
you! You did all the work, after all.”

“I wanted your first time to be amazing. I didn’t need your hot little hands distracting me
from my task,” he grinned in response.

“Well, it was. Amazing, I mean. Better than amazing actually. Spectacular! Yeah, that’s
more like it. Un-fucking-believable!”

They were both giggling now, until their heated eyes met, and the mood became
altogether more charged again.

“Don’t give me that look, Potter. You’ve had all you’re getting from me tonight!” Draco
smirked. “Go to sleep. We’ll reassess the situation in the morning.” He was smiling now,
but there was intent behind Draco’s words.

“Really. I just want to sleep. But mostly, I want to wake up here with you, and prove to
myself that none of this is a dream.”

Draco yawned expansively, and Harry stroked the now tangled blond locks while settling
them both in, and re-arranging the covers. Draco murmured quietly and the little bubbles
of light popped out one by one, until they were in darkness.

They held each other comfortably in the warm darkness, listening to each other’s
breathing settle into a slow and steady pattern, exchanging ‘Good night’s’ quietly, while
drifting off.

Harry’s last thought was, I’m so in love with him, and then he was asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

When Harry awoke the next morning he had a mouthful of long, white blond hair. He
smiled broadly as he pulled the strands from his lips and tucked them carefully behind
Draco’s ear. Harry was happy to lie and watch Draco sleep, and he surveyed the tangle of
bed linen and limbs with amusement. He decided that there were few things in the world
better than the feeling of waking up with someone you love. It was like his body was full
of sunlight. He tried to close his arms tighter around Draco without waking him but he
didn’t succeed. The slight movement was enough to make those perfect pale grey eyes
flutter open sleepily.

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Draco made the first sound, “Mmmmm….” snuggling in closer to Harry’s warmth,
pecking little kisses over his neck and chin.

Harry laughed gently and whispered, “Good morning,” into the ear closest to him.

“Yes, it is,” was Draco’s mumbled reply, followed by a hand waved over their groins and
a quiet, “Scourgify”. Their morning erections brushed together as Draco pulled him
closer, hooking a leg over Harry’s thigh before moving in for a kiss. The kiss was a sleepy
one; a little sloppy, lots of tongue, but slow, and warmly sexy. They rubbed lazily against
each other, creating a delicious friction that teased more than it satisfied. They sighed,
making tiny little moans deep in the backs of their throats, enjoying the leisurely pace of
their foreplay. It was not long before Harry’s hand strayed across Draco’s stomach, his
fingertips trailing through the mingled wetness there, tracing it down one long, slim
thigh. At the touch, Draco’s head arched back from the kiss until Harry was looking at the
taut column of his lover’s throat. He leaned in and licked the pale skin, rolling the taste of
Draco round his mouth, and he filled his lungs with the scent of his lover, revelling in the
intimacy of their embrace. Then Draco groaned aloud, prompting Harry’s advance to the
next level. He drew his hand back up towards Draco’s groin, and stroked circles with a
fingertip in his pubic hair, causing him to involuntarily thrust his hips towards Harry. Harry
laughed and leaned up and bit an earlobe, pulling it gently between his teeth.

In retaliation, Draco caught Harry’s wrists and rolled their bodies so that he was lying
stretched out on top of Harry, holding his hands up beside his head. The position let him
grind himself hard into Harry, the pressure making them both moan the other’s name.
Harry gazed up at Draco and thought how radiant he looked with a chink of sunlight
playing off the silvery whiteness of his hair.

They crashed their mouths together again, their tongues fighting to taste each other, to
invade, to give the most pleasure possible. They were drowning in each other, until,

“-on Harry, everyone else has left already. We’ve been waiting for you for ages! It’s time-
OH!” Hermione’s voice cut through the sounds of their passion as she ripped the curtain
back from the side of Harry’s bed, smashing the Silencing charm to smithereens.

Harry and Draco snapped their attention to the frozen figure of Hermione, the curtain
still swaying in one hand, the other clutched to her chest. Harry had a moment to register
the utter shock on her face; the wide eyes and open mouth, before she flushed bright
red and snapped the curtain shut again.

“Oh, god…” Harry groaned aloud, as if in excruciating pain. He slid a wrist out of Draco’s
grasp and threw a forearm over his eyes, shaking his head slowly from side to side as if
the action would turn the clock back.

It was just possible to hear Ron talking to Hermione, muffled as they were by the
curtains.

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He was berating Hermione in a very loud whisper for barging into Harry’s space. After all,

she shouldn’t have been in their dorm anyway. It seemed that Ron thought Hermione
had caught Harry masturbating. That made Draco expel a sly, dirty little laugh and Harry
instantly intuited that trouble was coming. He was taken completely by surprise when
Draco leaned over, grabbed a handful of curtain, and snatched it open. Harry turned his
head away, eyes still covered, so that he could not accidentally make eye contact with
either of his friends. He needed a moment to compose himself, and he was so
embarrassed. Not by his relationship with Draco, but because he hadn’t confided in them
and they had been forced to discover about it like this.

Harry could tell the moment Ron’s eyes took in the scene – he went instantly, and
completely silent. Harry’s heart was trying to burst out of the front of his chest. He
thought everyone in the room must be able to hear it pounding.

After an incredibly strained silence, Draco snapped out, “Didn’t your mother teach you
any manners, Granger?”

Harry could sense, if not see, Hermione’s struggle to speak. He could hear lots of gulping
noises, and little “Eeep” sounds issuing from his friend.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Please don’t tell me you hadn’t worked it out yet?” Draco was
camping up his best sneer, sounding exactly like the ice prince of Slytherin should.

Ron’s wavering voice managed, “But you’re…you’re…”

“Gay? Fucking Potter?” Draco spat out. “Or rather, I would be fucking Potter if you hadn’t
barged in!” Harry groaned aloud expressively before turning his head to face his friends
for the first time, shooting Draco a calculated frown before looking at Ron and
Hermione.

Hermione said, “I’m so sorry!” in the highest pitched voice Harry had ever heard her use.
Her pleading eyes met with Harry’s, shouting a silent apology for her interruption. He
knew then that Hermione at least would accept his relationship with Draco.

“What are you doing here, Granger, just as a matter of interest? Or is this kind of thing
commonplace in Gryffindor tower?” Draco smirked. Harry snorted at that, knowing full
well that it was the exact kind of behaviour most often seen in the Slytherin dungeons.
Harry looked out at Ron and Hermione and noted their matching blushes.

“We were…uh…” stuttered Ron, dropping his gaze to the floor as he spoke.

“Oh, god!” Draco choked out. “You haven’t been at it, have you? Not in the next bed?”
His voice was high-pitched, full of mock shock. “Please don’t say any more. My stomach
couldn’t take it. Look. I can see I’m going to be disappointed if I expect either of you two

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to say anything remotely useful at this particular moment in time-” Draco drawled, now
fully into Slytherin mode. “-so I’ll be brief. So you can understand, okay?”

Harry winced at the cutting sarcasm, and snapped, “Draco!” His blond lover turned his
eyes to look at Harry. One eyebrow was raised, and his amused expression showed Harry
just how much he was enjoying himself, teasing Harry’s closest friends. Draco leaned in
and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Harry felt like a rabbit frozen in the headlights of a car.
He stilled completely and accepted the kiss, forgetting that his friends were there in that
instant.

When Draco pulled away, he turned back to Ron and Hermione and said haughtily,
“Potter will meet you for lunch at twelve thirty in the Three Broomsticks. So you two run
along now, and leave us in peace.” Draco reached to shut the curtain, then seemed to
think of something else to add.

Harry was terrified what that might be, and he found himself reaching up to draw Draco
back towards him, hoping the action would prevent any more talking, and murmuring,
“Don’t…”

“Oh, and find Pansy or Blaise and tell them the same. We’ll see you all there. Clear?”
Harry grimaced, knowing Draco was fully playing up to his aristocratic, superior image.
His friends both looked askance at him, so Harry nodded his head briefly to Hermione in
something like resignation, and she returned the gesture.

“Granger. On your way out, be good enough to cast one of those excellent Locking
charms of yours, so we don’t have to suffer any further interruptions.” Harry heaved a
sigh of relief internally. Draco had complimented Hermione – things could have been a
lot worse. Even Ron had noticed the import of the comment, and raised his eyebrows
quickly at Hermione.

But then, “Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go,” Draco finished, making a
‘shoo’ing gesture with his hand at them. It was all too humiliating for words. Harry
looked at his dumbfounded friends and shrugged expansively, letting them see his
uncomfortable amusement at the situation.

Drawing his arm tighter around Draco’s waist, a gesture not wasted on either Ron or
Hermione, Harry said, “It’s fine, okay? I’ll see you at the Broomsticks.” Hermione
managed a nervous smile, but Ron just looked thunderstruck. He had barely moved a
muscle throughout the whole interaction. Harry gave Ron a small wave as Draco drew
the curtain closed again.

In the several seconds of silence after Draco closed the curtain, Harry stared up at his
lover, eyebrows raised to question what had just happened. Draco opened his mouth to

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speak, but stopped, as they both heard Ron whisper something loudly about the
Imperius curse and Hermione tell him not to be so dim.

Harry and Draco smiled at each other, and Harry finally said, “It seems our friends think
along the same lines.”

They shared a conspiratorial grin, before Draco whispered seductively, “Now, where
were we?”

They kissed again, passion rekindling as they heard the sound of the dorm door closing,
and knew they were alone once more. Harry pulled his wrist from Draco’s grasp and ran
both his hands down the back of the soft warm body above him. He used every part of
his hand to draw the heat and the texture of the skin into himself, memorising the dips
and bumps of Draco’s spine. Eventually, he was clasping a warm buttock in each palm,
pressing his fingertips into the firm flesh and releasing it, then pressing in again.

Their lazy kiss broke as Draco raised his head slightly, and said, “Put your fingers inside
me, Harry. Make me loose for you,” before returning his lips back to Harry’s. Harry
thought he’d died and gone to heaven right there. He wanted Draco so much that
sometimes it was hard to breathe. They parted as Draco reached up for the bottle of oil.
Harry held his hand out while Draco poured the slippery liquid into his palm and along his
fingers, then moved himself higher up Harry’s body until his nipples were level with
Harry’s mouth. Harry snaked his tongue out and captured one of the platinum rings,
suckling it gently. He ran his oily fingers along the cleft of Draco’s bottom, before
pressing the fingers inwards, stroking all the while until he found the tightly puckered
hole. Draco was moaning into the pillow above Harry’s head, whispering words of
encouragement as Harry circled and lubricated the muscled entrance. Draco parted his
legs until his knees dug into the mattress on either side of Harry’s body in an attempt to
make himself more accessible to Harry’s probing. He pushed himself back against Harry’s
fingers, but Harry would not press inside just yet. He was too busy enjoying sucking the
skin around Draco’s nipple into his mouth, until he had taken in as much as would fit,
flicking his tongue over the saliva slicked skin. Just as Draco pressed his chest harder into
Harry’s face, the tip of a finger slipped inside the tight passage, and he pushed himself
back, impaling his body on the invading digit. Draco let out a high, heated moan, raising
goose pimples all over Harry’s skin.

Harry stopped dead for a second, marvelling at the sensation of Draco’s body pulsing
around his finger. It felt so unbelievably hot and moist and soft and tight – too many
things to comprehend in one go. It was an effort to concentrate on pumping the finger in
and out, but he applied himself to this most pleasurable task and soon, Draco was
begging him for a second finger. He complied without delay, working the second finger
in gently until they were pressed tightly together inside the fleshy channel. Harry set to
finding Draco’s prostate, wanting to locate the little button of nerves that would make
his lover moan for him. It was not hard to find it, and he crooked his fingers slightly,
applying their very tips to its surface, stroking and teasing it lightly. Draco’s reaction was
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instant and magnificent; he arched his back sharply, calling Harry’s name and digging his
fingers into Harry’s chest. The dark pink mouth mark that Harry had made around Draco’s
nipple glowed brilliantly against the pale flesh.

With Draco now leaning above him, Harry had the room to reach between their bodies
and clasp the erection standing proud from its sparse bed of blond curls. He didn’t rub
Draco, he just held the length in the circle of his fingers and clenched and unclenched his
hand, feeling the blood pulsing through the long, fat vein. Harry could smell them both in
their arousal, warm skin and the musky scent of sticky, oozing shafts. It was intoxicating,
and Harry closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply, committing the experience
to memory.

Draco was losing control now, his body rippling and moving under the double
stimulation. He looked down at Harry with mad eyes and said, “You need to stop that
now, or I’ll come before you’re even inside me.”

Harry smiled cheekily up at him, and murmured, “I didn’t think there were any rules that
said you couldn’t come twice…” before beginning to stroke Draco’s erection, keeping his
grip loose so that the sensation did not override the feeling of his fingers, buried and
pumping in Draco’s tight little hole. Harry could see how hard it was for Draco to
concentrate; his eyelids were fluttering, but mostly shut, and he could not seem to co-
ordinate his movements with Harry’s. He was gasping with every breath, arching up over
Harry’s prone, madly aroused body. Harry stilled his hands to allow Draco to create his
own rhythm. After a minute, a slow, tortuous pace was set. Draco thrust himself back
onto Harry’s fingers, held bent to catch every bump and ripple inside him, then thrust
forward into the loose grip of Harry’s circling hand. Looking up at his flushed and wanton
lover, Harry could have orgasmed from just watching. It was so incredibly intense.

After a while Draco looked down at Harry, and mouthed almost silently, “Oh, Harry. I’m
going to…I’m…” and the hot splash of his orgasm painted Harry’s stomach and chest as
Draco whimpered his name, struggling to prevent the collapse of his shaking body. Harry
released Draco’s length, allowing him to move upwards slightly until the fingers eased
out of his passage. Draco sat upright then, his testicles resting against Harry’s purpled,
neglected erection and he breathed a deep, sated sigh, his lips settling into a lazy smile.
When Draco opened his eyes and looked down, Harry was running his fingers through
the pool of Draco’s release, making the tips sticky with it. Locking eyes, Harry raised the
fingers slowly towards his parting lips, with the clear intention of licking them clean.
Draco’s breath caught at the sight and he grasped the palm of Harry’s hand, and drew
the fingers slowly towards his own mouth instead. Harry’s eyes widened in absolute
arousal as he watched Draco suck the fingers inside his mouth, and felt the maddening
rolling of his wet tongue over the pads of his fingers. Harry felt the pound of his
heartbeat all over his body. His face froze for a moment and he saw the look of

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uncertainty cross Draco’s face, felt his fingers released as Draco murmured, “What’s
wrong?” He seemed worried, like a child who thinks they are about to be shouted at.

“Nothing. It’s just…” Harry felt stunned for a second. He watched Draco’s face fold into
distress before suddenly blurting, “It’s just that you’re so beautiful.” He felt himself flush
to the roots of his hair at the blunt admission, but it was worth it for the shy smile that
grew on Draco’s striking features.

Draco lowered his face, and looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. Then, “But my
hair…” as he raised a hand nervously to try and smooth his sleep-mussed locks into some
kind of order.

“…is perfect,” Harry said, pulling his lover down to him and kissing him softly. It lasted
for a long while. There was no hurry, and the luxury of this free time was too good to
cloud with rushed fumblings.

They lay quietly together for some time, Harry touching and caressing Draco’s soft, pale
skin with tenderness and wondering if he could ever get enough of this feeling of relaxed
intimacy. Eventually, the contact grew from gentle to impassioned.

As they kissed, Draco used his body to rub against Harry’s length, making his breathing
catch and his tongue still at each stab of sensation. Harry was mewling in the very back of
his throat, knowing that whatever they did next, it was unlikely he would last very long.
When Draco sat up to straddle his lap, the tension raced through Harry, pushing his
emotions to fever pitch. He reached up and gripped those slim hips as his prince raised
his body and positioned Harry’s erection at his own entrance before lowering himself
slowly. There was resistance at first, and Harry could not contain his gasp of distress as
Draco tried to force his body to accommodate the hard flesh. Harry was terrified of
hurting him. But Draco calmed him, stroking his cheek, and murmuring comforting
words, that it was okay, and to be a little patient. And then Harry breached the ring of
muscle and slid inside. Oh, god! Oh, god, Harry thought, as he got his first sample of the
spectacular heat and grip of Draco’s anus. He nearly came at that exact moment, only
partway inside. Draco was shifting his body, making small movements to lower himself
fully onto Harry, moaning softly as each successive inch was swallowed. His renewed
erection bobbed with each movement of his hips, tempting Harry to once again grasp it
in his hand and play with it.

When Draco finally took all of Harry into him and sat nestled in his lap, flexing and
unflexing his buttocks, Harry gave in to his temptation, and reached forward to
masturbate his lover in time to their lovemaking. All he could say was, “Oh my god,
Draco…” as his Slytherin lover rode him gently. Draco worked his body over Harry’s with
abandon, smiling lovingly down at him, stroking the hard, dark nipples and plucking at
their peaks with his fingertips in time with his thrusts.

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Harry was trying so hard to fight against the inevitable conclusion of Draco’s attentions
that it must have been evident in his features. Draco told him, “Don’t wait for me,” as he
rubbed his fingers along the plump, kissable lips opened wide and panting below him.

“Draco…I…” Harry couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Ssshh. It’s okay. I know,” his lover whispered back to him, clenching his inner muscles so
tightly on the downward thrust that Harry saw spots of colour in his vision. Harry’s eyes
clamped shut, his neck muscles spasming, forcing his head back into the pillow with the
strength of the pulse rippling up from his toes, into his groin, into Draco’s tight hole. He
screamed. And he pumped his orgasm into Draco’s body, shouting his name and gripping
the pale hip so tightly that he would later see finger mark bruises decorating Draco’s
skin. He wanked Draco furiously after the first spurt of his orgasm had left his body, and
he was released from its incapacitating grip. Draco thrust onto him harder, slowing only
as his own orgasm took over his body, and he collapsed forward to rest against Harry’s
rapidly panting chest. It took Harry a full minute before he had enough strength to wrap
Draco in his arms and hold him tight.

They lay that way, in silence, for ages, listening to each other’s hearts beating and feeling
Harry’s semen slide from Draco’s body. They were mussed and sweaty and sticky and
satisfied, and in love with the intimacy of the post orgasmic glow that enveloped them
both.

It was hard to finally make the move to get dressed.

As Harry stretched his muscles and prepared to get up, Draco whispered, “Do you really
think I’m beautiful?” He sounded so unsure, and a bit scared of the answer.

Harry held Draco’s cheeks in his palms, as he looked into his eyes and replied, “Yes. More
than anyone else I’ve ever seen.” And he leaned in and kissed Draco, demonstrating just
how much he meant it.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

They showered and dressed separately as Draco needed to return to his own dorm for a
change of clothes. Harry gave him the Invisibility Cloak and helped Draco exit the
Gryffindor tower unseen, arranging to meet him in the front hall for the walk into
Hogsmeade.

The walk to the village was peaceful and pleasant; probably the closest Harry had ever
felt to being part of a happy couple. If they could have held hands it would have been

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perfect, but they both agreed it was probably not the best idea. As the mood took them,
they talked animatedly about inconsequential things, or walked in companionable
silence.

Just past the clearing where Draco had confronted him, Harry turned towards Draco and
said, “You were very rude to Ron and Hermione, Draco.”

They walked in silence for a few paces before Draco grinned at him and replied, “I know.
But it’s only what they were expecting. Why disappoint them?”

“Are you going to try and be nice to them at all?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Draco ran ahead and turned to face Harry, performing a theatrical bow and laughing,
“For you, Harry, anything. And being nice to Weasley is going to be quite a task, let me
tell you!” They both giggled at that but Harry shot Draco a mock glare that said he had
better really try.

Harry felt butterflies in his stomach as they saw the Three Broomsticks grow larger
before them. He told Draco, who squeezed his elbow supportively and stepped forward
to open the door for them both, courteously waving Harry ahead.

Just inside the door, Draco walked smack into Harry’s motionless back and had to step
round him to see into the room. He let out a bark of laughter as he saw what had
shocked Harry so. Across the room, two tables had been drawn together to make one
big one and an extremely uncomfortable, almost completely silent group was gathered
round it. Ron, Hermione, Fred and George were sat round one side, while Pansy, Blaise,
Vince and Greg were sat round the other. Except for Fred and George, who clearly
thought the whole situation was hilarious, everyone else was doing their level best to
find somewhere to look that did not involve looking at their companions on the other
side of the table.

Draco said, “Come on,” to Harry, and strode across the room, a spring in his step. That
worried Harry more than anything else. Drawing level to Draco, Harry nodded greetings
to Fred and George before flicking his concerned gaze over at the Slytherin contingent.
Draco was the first to speak.

“What on earth are you doing?” He posed the question to his friends, crowded in
squirming discomfort along their edge of the table.

It was Blaise who answered. “Granger told us that you said, and I quote, you’d ‘see us all
there’. Well. Here we all are.” He looked incredibly displeased about the whole situation.

Hermione cut in, “That is what he said!” The strain was evident in her tone.

“Yes, yes. It is what I said. But I didn’t quite mean this!” Draco snapped back.

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Ron scraped his chair back loudly, saying, “Thank Merlin for that. Let’s find another
table,” looking to Harry for support.

Harry thought to himself, Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound, and heard himself say,
“No. This is good. Let’s eat. I’m starved.” Even Draco looked at him with surprise, but he
took the vacant chair next to Harry’s and did his best to fill the silence, along with Fred
and George, who re-commenced their somewhat ambiguous attempts to get the
Slytherins to become testers for some of their potential products.

After a while, Draco finally got everyone’s attention by saying, “Weasley and Weasley!
What the fuck are you talking about?” This was a result of some of the twins’ requests for
testers for some slightly obscene charms and potions intended for Pandora’s Box.
Although of course, no one was actually admitting to the fact that they were setting up a
sex shop. So the talk was all a bit vague and confusing to the uninitiated.

“Our names are Fred and George, you know,” said Fred with amusement.

“I know that, but how am I supposed to tell which is which?” Draco almost snapped out.
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Ron. “Fred’s the annoying one.” Everyone burst out laughing at
the same time, because it was patently clear to them all that both twins were equally
annoying. Even the twins thought it was funny. It helped to thaw the atmosphere around
the table, although the conversation was still stilted.

Eventually, Pansy broke a lull in talk. “Er, Draco? Can I ask you something?” Draco raised
an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. She shrugged at Blaise minutely and went
on, “Granger says you’ve got pierced nipples. She says she saw them this morning. In
Potter’s bed. When you were both naked. And about to have sex. And, well…have you?”
Hermione’s face was purple. She looked horrified at this turn of events.

Harry groaned and his forehead hit the table, remaining there for some moments. There
was a painful silence as everyone held their breath and waited for the answer. Harry
looked up to find Draco gazing over at him questioningly. They stared at each other for a
long moment before Harry dipped his head in a nod. What Harry did not expect,
however, was for Draco to start unbuttoning his shirt. He gulped slightly, causing Draco
to grin broadly at him, before lowering the shirt off his shoulders and giving the entire
table a very clear look at not only the writhing platinum snake piercings, but also the
large dark pink bruise surrounding his left nipple. There was an audible gasp from all
around the table as many of them leaned in for a closer look.

“Holy fucking shit,” Blaise managed to say. And that was all. There was silence for about
thirty seconds before Draco raised his shirt and began to re-button it.

Eventually, George said, “Nice one,” and let out a belly laugh, breaking the spell.

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Pansy spoke next. She just said, “When?” Harry thought in that moment, she looked so
sad.

“Valentine’s Day,” answered Draco calmly, no longer trying to prove anything.

“So, it’s been going on for a while, then?” asked Ron.

“Uh…not exactly,” was Harry’s sheepish reply.

Everyone was looking questioningly at both Harry and Draco, so between them, they
gave the barest of bones of how the whole thing came about. Excluding anything
remotely personal or perverted. So that meant leaving quite a lot out. At the end of the
very short story, the Slytherins were all looking at Harry rather differently. Almost with
some sort of admiration. Harry and Draco both noticed it, and they shared a smirk.

And then Ron broke in, “The love bite – at the Quidditch game. It was you.” He looked
pleadingly at Harry, desperate for him to deny it but disappointed when the denial never
came. “But Slytherin hammered Ravenclaw, Harry. Did you make that happen?” Ron was
gutted. Harry felt sick, seeing his friend suddenly so desolate. His body language must
have been screaming distress because Draco reached into his lap and grasped his hand
and he clung to it, needing the comfort. The table fell silent once again. Ron sat with his
head in his hands. The potential effect of the relationship on winning the Quidditch Cup
seemed to be his only concern about the unusual bond that Harry and Draco had formed.
Hermione voiced this opinion, in better words, but it didn’t improve the mood of the
group.

After a very uncomfortable couple of minutes, Pansy said, “Well, we’d better make a
move. Vince and Greg and I still have lots of History of Magic revision to do.” Harry
looked questioningly at the three, knowing full well that none of them were in the NEWT
class.

It was Greg Goyle who grunted, “OWL resit,” filling in the pieces for Harry.

Pansy sighed heavily and said, “It’s really hard work, making it understandable. But
you’re both trying, aren’t you?”

Vince and Greg both looked at the table in answer and something about the gesture
must have touched Hermione, because she suddenly said, “Can I help at all? I’ve got
some free time today, while Ron’s with his brothers.”

She was not the only person who was utterly surprised, when Vince said, “Yeah. Thanks.
I’d appreciate it.” He blushed as he said it.

Pansy nodded almost imperceptibly to Hermione and said, “I think it will be easier with
two of us.” That seemed to be her way of saying thanks.

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People started to shuffle and move away. Draco rose to leave, planning to accompany
Blaise to a couple of shops. He scanned the pub quickly before leaning in and pecking
Harry on the lips, murmuring his good-bye, and then he was gone. The Weasleys and
Harry were left sitting in silence at the table. Harry leaned in and said, “I’m sorry it’s
Draco, Ron. I never intended for anything like this to happen.”

Ron nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. The four of them rose to leave, their interactions
muted for the remainder of the afternoon.

Chapter Fifteen

Things were somewhat fraught between Harry and Ron for the remainder of the
weekend.

The twins tried their best to relieve the tension during the rest of their afternoon visit in
Hogsmeade, with little success. Hermione also endeavoured to keep the peace between
them when they arrived back at the castle, but Ron remained quiet. Silent, even. Harry
concluded eventually that what Ron needed most of all was time, and some space to
come to terms with his new knowledge. He hated to do it, but he left Ron alone, praying
internally for a quick resolution to their problems.

The uneasy peace of the weekend stretched well into the next week, during which Harry
and Hermione shared some slightly worried conversations about how to get through to
Ron. Harry had even talked to Draco about the situation during their night time chats.
Draco appeared concerned for Harry, but in an unconcerned kind of way. He thought
that Ron would come around when he was ready. It was clear though that if efforts
weren’t made soon, Harry and Ron might drift apart. Hermione had confided to Harry
that Ron was still dwelling on the Slytherin Quidditch performance as being his main
gripe with the whole situation. But they both agreed that it was probably the easiest
hook from which to hang larger issues. By the following weekend, Harry had decided
that actions would speak louder than words, and he set out to put Ron in a position
where he would have to interact with him.

One week on from Hermione and Ron’s discovery in the Gryffindor dorm, Harry found
himself pacing past the Room of Requirement door three times and letting himself in to a
duelling room. He waited patiently for Hermione to bring Ron up, so that they could
practice together. He planned to bait Ron a bit to try and get some sort of response.
Harry thought even an angry response would be better than the current state of play.
And to that end, he had convinced Hermione to invite Vince Crabbe to make up a
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foursome. Hermione and Vince had struck up an uneasy and very unlikely friendship. The
pair of them were the talk of the school since they had begun sitting together in the
library to work. Harry felt sure that this could be contributing to Ron’s general feeling of
being left behind, or maybe passed over for Slytherins, or some other similar feeling.

Vince arrived next, and he and Harry struggled to make idle chitchat while they waited.
Harry felt it only fair to warn the Slytherin of the potential for Ron to lose his temper
during the practise session, but he merely shrugged and mumbled, “Can’t be worse than
Draco when someone borrows anything of his without asking.”

That brought a small smile to Harry’s face, which Vince seemed to note with interest. All
signs of humour disappeared when Ron and Hermione entered the room. Harry and

Hermione did their best to fill the prickly silence, but if anything they were too effusive,
and it all came across as a bit brittle.

It had been Harry’s idea to test some hexes and curses, hoping that Ron would get
wound up and start shouting. To that end, he paired himself with Ron, while Hermione
and Vince started throwing hexes at each other with increasing gusto. He noted Ron’s
increasingly frequent, and obviously jealous glances at the other pair, so he wasn’t really
surprised when Ron didn’t see the Myxoma hex that Harry flung at him, causing his
friend to sprout rabbit ears and a pom-pom tail.

Harry finally shouted in exasperation, “For Merlin’s sake, Ron! Pay attention, will you?”

That was the catalyst Ron had been waiting for. He blew his top spectacularly. He turned
on Harry, buck teeth poking over his bottom lip, ears wriggling and flopping with a life of
their own and yelled, “Are you doing this to me on purpose? Is it not enough that you
spend half the year moping over bloody Zabini? I pulled out all the stops for you, and I
never said a word about it!” Ron’s face was so flushed it was almost purple. And it didn’t
help that his speech was slurred by his big teeth. “But oh no - you have to top it, don’t
you? Never do anything by halves, do you, Harry?” Ron was stalking towards Harry, his
wand held stiffly at his side in a clenched fist. “It’s not enough that my best friend is
shagging the person I hate more than anyone else, but now my girlfriend’s cosying up
with one of his best mates!” Ron halted a bare step in front of Harry.

It was actually Hermione who made the first reply, which was a good thing, because all
coherent thought had left Harry’s mind for the moment. “Ron! Get a hold of yourself!
Harry’s entitled to sleep with whomever he wants. It’s none of our business.” Her tone
was pleading by the time she finished speaking. Her face went white when Ron turned
slowly towards her and fixed her in his furious glare.

“Easy for you to say, when you’re lining a Slytherin up for yourself too!” He wasn’t
shouting any longer. His voice was low, and dangerous.

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“Oh for Merlin’s sake! I’m only helping Vince revise,” she said, voice starting to tremble
with unshed tears. Harry was paralysed, just waiting for Ron’s next move.

“You could have fooled me,” he snarled. “Look at him! He’s getting all protective, trying
to put himself between us. How sweet.” Vince had indeed stepped forward so that he
was partially blocking Ron’s line of vision to Hermione. It reminded Harry of how Vince
often protected Draco.

It surprised everyone when Vince spoke up next. “Look, Weasley, Hermione’s only
helping me study. My girlfriend doesn’t have a problem with it.” That seemed to deflate
Ron a bit, but he continued to bluster as if it hadn’t.

“You’ve got a girlfriend?” It was obvious to them all that Ron was losing some of his
angry edge.

Everyone’s eyes were on Vince now, waiting for his reply. He just shrugged slightly and
said, “Millicent Bulstrode.”

“I didn’t know,” was all Ron could manage.

It was Hermione’s turn to get angry now. “Well, it’s not like you asked, is it?” she
snapped.

Seeing this particular argument hitting neutral now, Ron turned back to Harry to try and
retain his mood.

“WHY, Harry? Why Malfoy?” There were tears hiding under the anger and Harry wished
he knew what the right things to say were.

“I don’t know, Ron. Why Hermione?” Harry shrugged at Ron, hoping that he would
answer some of his own questions.

“It’s not the same! He’s your enemy! Think of all the things he’s done to us!” Ron’s eyes
were shiny with tears, and some of the colour had drained from his face.

Harry sighed loudly and wondered how to start. “We’ve done a lot of things to him, Ron.
I’ve done a lot of things recently too, that weren’t very nice. I’ve seen the other side of
him, Ron – the side that hardly anyone else has seen. I just…” Harry didn’t know quite
know how to finish without possibly upsetting Ron even more.

It was quiet enough that you could have heard a pin drop in the silence before Ron half
shouted, “You just what, Harry? What is he to you, really?” The first tear splashed down
Ron’s cheek. It looked macabre, with the rabbit teeth and ears. “TELL ME!” he screamed,
when Harry remained silent.

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“I’m in love with him, Ron,” Harry whispered, eyes darting around the room, settling
briefly on each person present.

“No…” Ron’s reply was almost inaudible. Harry saw that Vince and Hermione were
looking pretty shocked at him, too.

“I’m not sorry, Ron. What I’ve got with Draco makes my life worth living. I’ve got brilliant
friends in you and Hermione, but when I realised how I felt about him, my life felt empty.
I’m happy when I’m with him.”

There was a long and painful silence, which it seemed, was not to be broken, until,

“You haven’t told Draco any of that,” Vince said quietly, breaking the spell between
Harry and Ron. Harry looked questioningly at Vince, knowing full well that Draco just
didn’t discuss such personal things with his Slytherin friends. Vince picked up the
unspoken question because he shrugged lightly and added, “He talks in his sleep
sometimes.”

Harry shook his head slightly to clear it and re-focus back to the original conversation.

“No, but I want to. I just need to find the right time, you know?” Harry said, slightly
worried that Vince might report the conversation back.

“Sure. It’s your business, not mine,” Vince said flatly. Then, “I think I’d better go now. Got
Quidditch practice in a bit.” He nodded briefly to them all and then left quietly.

Ron slid slowly to the floor until he was crumpled in a pile, staring into space. Harry and
Hermione shared a worried glance before moving tentatively towards him. Harry
muttered the counter spell to remove the Mxyoma hex as he lowered himself cross-
legged, near to Ron. Hermione sat next to Ron, cuddling him into her body, and offering
him comfort as his final silent tears dried themselves up. He was passive in her arms. They
were all still for a few minutes before Ron finally pulled himself together to speak.

“Since I was little all I’ve ever dreamed about was holding the Quidditch Cup in the air, as
captain of Gryffindor. It was my dream. Not Charlie’s or Bill’s or anyone else’s. Just my
dream. I thought we couldn’t lose.”

“And we still might not, Ron,” replied Harry levelly. “But if we do lose, it’s because they’ll
have been better than us. Not because of Draco and me. You must see that, Ron.”
Hermione was rubbing her hand up and down Ron’s arm, nodding in agreement.

“I’m fed up of being poor, of being average, of being second best, Harry. This was my
chance to do something that people would remember me for. Not my brothers, and not
you. Just me.” Ron was talking so quietly now, that it was hard to hear him. Harry
reached out and placed a hand on Ron’s forearm, and was relieved when the gesture was

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accepted. “I promise you faithfully that I will do everything within my power to help the
team win the Cup. I don’t just want to do it for you; I want to do it for me as well. When
I’m playing, I’m not Harry Potter. I’m the Gryffindor Seeker. I want it too, Ron.” There
was silence for a while before Harry had a sudden, awful thought.

“You don’t think I’d throw it for Draco, do you? Please tell me you don’t think that.”
Harry couldn’t believe that Ron might think so little of his loyalty. He felt like crying
himself just then.

“But you said you love him, Harry. How do I know what you’ll do? I don’t think I know you
anymore.” There was no life, no emotion in Ron’s words at all.

“Please don’t do this, Ron. Not over my choice of boyfriend. You’re the best friend I’ve
ever had, you and Hermione. It’s important to me that you accept it, even if you don’t like
it. Just please let us not go on like this.” Harry’s tears were close to the surface as Ron
met his eyes, perhaps recognizing for the first time that Harry was hurting over the
whole affair too. Something happened between them at that instant. Ron buried his face
in his hands, rubbing harshly at it and mussing his hair in the process. When he looked up,
he looked different.

“I really want to try, Harry. I promise you. But I still want to punch him every time I look
at him.” There was a weak grin on his face as he said it, reminding them all of a similar
conversation at the beginning of the year. Harry and Hermione snorted together, but
halfheartedly. More than anything, Harry wanted the rift healed. This was neither the
time nor the place to dissect the situation and lay it out for minute scrutiny. So he took
the easy option.

“You’ll make me get all protective and macho if you say things like that, you know,”
Harry teased.

Hermione laughed out loud then, just a quick bark, before clapping a hand over her
mouth. They both raised their eyebrows at her and she finally admitted, “Sorry, Harry. I
know you’re no queen, but you’re not exactly macho are you?” Harry’s mouth dropped
open. He couldn’t believe she’d said that! Ron guffawed at Harry’s face, and in that
instant, the tension disappeared from the room. Ron and Hermione both continued to
laugh at Harry’s only slightly mock outrage, and it was a few minutes until they settled
again.

Ron looked at them both and said, “I’ve been a bit of a prick, haven’t I?” They both
nodded

‘yes’, even before he’d finished speaking. He looked pensive before continuing, “It seems
like my dreams are fading, you know? They’re not like they used to be – all rose-tinted
and happy.”

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It was Hermione who answered, after pecking him on the lips, “We’re getting older, Ron.

Life’s jumped up and kicked us in the shins. Some dreams just don’t work anymore. But
the Quidditch Cup is still well within reach. Don’t give up on it yet. Just put it into
perspective, though. I’d prefer to survive the war, when it comes. Quidditch doesn’t
seem that important when you compare it to all the other things in life. Like your family,
friends, your future.”

“Your exam results….” muttered Ron, but in an amused tone of voice.

“Ah! I see we have understanding!” she said happily.

“Okay, okay, I get it. But, Harry, Malfoy? You don’t know where he’s been!” smirked Ron,
doing his very best to say the name without spitting.

“That, my dear Ronald, is where you are wrong! I know exactly where he’s been, but I’d
rather not show you, if that’s all right,” Harry joked. He thought he saw Ron wince and
clench his buttocks together, but he could have been mistaken.

“If he hurts you, Harry, I’ll kill him,” said Ron, slightly serious again.

“My gallant protector!” Harry laughed as he stood, and dragged Ron up to his feet.
“Let’s go to the kitchen and get Dobby to give us some cakes. I’m hungry,” said Harry,
winking secretly to Hermione who knew that appeasing Ron’s stomach went a long way
to appeasing the rest of him, too. When Harry finally closed the door to the Room of
Requirement, he was relieved that they had recaptured at least some of their usual
happiness.

*{ctd}*{ctd}*{ctd}*{ctd}*{ctd}*

The next week saw Hermione’s revision timetables completely take over both Ron and
Harry’s every waking minute. She had literally given them forty-five minutes free time
each day. “But mate, at least you get to choose how you spend your free time. I get to
spend mine with Hermione! Look! She’s booked it in on my planner. See? ‘Eight ‘o’ clock
‘til eight forty-five, couple time’,” said Ron, well out of his girlfriend’s earshot.

Draco was playing Quidditch against Hufflepuff on the coming Saturday, so he was
shoehorning in extra revision sessions late at night to cover for the additional practices.
This severely cut into his and Harry’s private chat times, and Harry worried whether he
could cope with the loneliness, especially as their time would be increasingly limited for
another couple of months. But then, they’d be free! Well theoretically, anyway.

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Harry was becoming extremely frustrated at not being able to work off his excess
energies with Draco in private. They had not managed to find any quality free time to be
together the previous week, having to survive instead on two snogs, one in the library
and one in an empty classroom. Oh, and of course their nightly masturbation sessions,
but Harry didn’t count those. They weren’t ‘hands-on’, after all. Draco had even been too
tired to use the dildo. Harry didn’t blame him for that; their study days were very long,
and he knew he didn’t have any extra energy after their chats, either.

That week, two of Harry’s free time slots coincided with the Slytherin Quidditch team
practice, so Harry paid the stands a visit on both occasions. The first time, he strolled
down by himself with a textbook and found an isolated seat from which to watch Draco
in peace. He ended up being ten minutes late back for the next study session, because
the erection he got from watching Draco fly just wouldn’t go down. Watching Draco had
turned him on enormously, but it had been impossible for him to have a wank where he
was. There were too many people about who might have caught him at it. It did give him
an idea for the next session though.

Three days later, Harry made his way to the stands to watch Draco practice, but he didn’t
take a text book this time; he took his Invisibility Cloak. He figured it would be infinitely
more useful for misdirection than the book.

He covered himself as he left the castle, walking unseen down to the Quidditch pitch.
Being a colder day, there were fewer spectators and it wasn’t hard for Harry to make his
way to an unoccupied a bay of seats at the farthest end of the pitch. He dropped into a
front row seat and undid his trousers, freeing himself before the inevitable reaction had a
chance to take place. He smiled to himself at the sight he would make to anyone who
could see through Invisibility Cloaks, slumped there with his flaccid penis lying outside his
fly.

As with anything remotely Draco-related, Harry’s cock was standing to attention in about
three minutes flat. He ran his hand up and down the shaft lightly, not really trying to
work himself up yet, more just for the feel of it. He slouched back in his seat, eyes glued
to Draco’s manic flight path, as he zoomed around on his broom in search of the Snitch.
God! Harry just loved everything about him. He particularly liked the way his blond
ponytail whipped about in the wind, trailing out behind him. And so Harry sat there,
stroking himself and contemplating how good his life was and that Draco was all his.
Mm… mine… he thought with a wry smile, as he gripped himself tighter and began to
wank in earnest. It felt a bit odd actually, trying to hold the flapping cloak up in a little
tent over his lap so it didn’t get in the way.

Harry’s heart thudded in time with the audible, lubricated movements of his palm over
his length. He stretched his foreskin right back away from the head of his cock and
pressed into it firmly with the tips of his fingers. His head tipped back automatically and
he forgot to keep his eyes open for a few seconds before suddenly remembering he was
missing out on quality Draco-lechery time. Just watching the way Draco sat on his
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broomstick reminded Harry forcefully of how those buttocks felt pressed into his palms,
dimpled by the pressure of his fingertips digging into them. Oh god! His arm was working
furiously now, as Draco flew over to Harry’s end of the pitch, bringing him into clearer
focus. Harry could make out his expression, the colour of his lips. He remembered
Draco’s pleas and moans for Harry to come in his mouth, to give him what he wanted.
The pressure was building inside Harry; the throbbing of the long vein on the underside
of his cock begging to be pressed; his recollection of Draco’s tongue insistently tracing its
length and the feeling of his tightened lips passing over it; of the heat of Draco’s tight
body as he worked himself in Harry’s lap. Harry knew he was moaning aloud but he didn’t
care. He wished more than anything else that Draco could see him, see what he was
doing. And know intuitively why he was doing it. The orgasm exploded out of him,
forcing a loud cry and a rush of air out of his lungs.

Harry lay back in his seat while the mad pulsing of his body receded, watching Draco
though slitted eyes, and levelling out his ragged breathing. It was a good ten minutes
before he had the energy to cast Scourgify on the now cold remains of his ejaculation.
Still basking in the post-orgasmic glow, he sat up and adjusted his clothing for the walk
back to meet Ron and Hermione in the common room.

As he walked away from the pitch he took a last, long look at Draco still darting about in
the darkening sky, before turning away and heading indoors.

This time, he was twenty minutes late.

Chapter Sixteen

After a minor argument with Hermione, Harry and Ron managed to persuade her to
amend their rather restrictive revision timetables. She had only allowed an hour in their
schedule for the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match and Harry and Ron didn’t
think that was at all reasonable. They tore into her with exasperated gusto to get their
point across.

“But ‘Mione! He’s my boyfriend,” Harry whined.

“Come on Curly-Wurly, it’s the last-but-one match of the year! You can’t hold us back!”
pleaded Ron.

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“Curly-Wurly?” snorted Harry. After that, she pretty much gave in and followed them to
the pitch at a snail’s pace, clutching an armful of textbooks to her chest and muttering
distractedly. Professor McGonagall walked some of the way with them, quite forcefully
reminding Ron and Harry that they were not to forget the annual Quidditch team
photographs were being taken on the following Wednesday evening, and to be sure they
presented themselves in spotless uniforms.

When they were settled in their regular seats, surrounded by the rest of the Gryffindor
team,

Ron leaned in to Harry and whispered confidentially, “Are you going to be supporting
Slytherin, then Harry?”

Harry gave him a mock disgusted look and replied, “What do you think?”

Ron didn’t make any further comment during the match. All in all, there wasn’t much to
say. Hufflepuff held the Slytherin team off with more success than Ravenclaw had, but
they were never going to win. The match wasn’t a repetition of the massacre that had
been seen previously, to the surprise of many there, but Hufflepuff were hopelessly
outclassed by the kind of team performance that would have made professional players
proud.

The Hufflepuffs had outdone themselves in their midfield set pieces, with co-ordinated
attack and defence patterns, but they couldn’t hope to compete with the stealth and
speed of Draco’s team. Once again, his confidence shone out of him like a beacon,
drawing all eyes to his skill and his leadership of the Slytherin team’s clever strategy.
About an hour and a half into play, Draco finally caught the Snitch after a wince-inducing
nosedive which ended a bare two feet from the ground. Slytherin had won by over two
hundred points. Again. It piled the pressure on Gryffindor, who would now need to beat
Ravenclaw by a large margin to stand any chance of winning the cup.

Ron was reserved again after the match, clearly deeply in thought about the magnitude
of the task ahead of his team, but he seemed to recover a bit over lunch. The Slytherin
table was pretty empty for both lunch and dinner, the celebrating house having made
arrangements to have their meals in their common room.

Harry counted off the hours until he could finally meet with Draco. His concentration
during the revision session was abysmal and eventually, Hermione sent him off – an all
too common occurrence lately, and one for which both Hermione and Draco berated
Harry. He and Draco had planned a post-match celebration, both feeling assured of the
Slytherin win.

Harry went up three hours early to snag the Room of Requirement, recalling their
previous disappointment. He had spent some time practising casting the Aspectibilis
latebra charm, which could hide something in plain view, not unlike a chameleon, and he

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used it to good effect on the Room of Requirement doorway. Now, no one except Harry
should be able to find the room, whether they had need of it or not. He hung around the
seventh floor all that time, either in the room itself, which presented itself as looking not
unlike a sterile hospital waiting area, or wandering the corridors aimlessly. Fifteen
minutes before their agreed meeting time, Harry went to the dungeons to fetch Draco
under his cloak.

The first kiss was as searing as always, but they quickly moved away from the dungeons,
wary of the many celebrating Slytherins coming and going. Harry only removed the cloak
as they drew up outside the door to their destination. Draco frowned, unable to see the
entrance until Harry lifted his charm.

“Hurry up and let me through that door, Potter,” Draco snarled in his best Slytherin
tones.

“Why the mad rush, my victorious captain?” said Harry, looking at Draco with big,
innocent eyes, yet smirking at the same time.

“Because it’s time to claim my prize,” growled Draco, voice low and dangerous. It sent a
hot shiver right up Harry’s spine, prickling through his hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Harry smiled and said, “Exactly what ‘prize’ might that be,
then?” He raised his eyebrows in question, knowing full well what Draco wanted. Draco
stalked right up to press his body against Harry’s, letting him know he was already
hardening under his clothes.

His nose almost touched Harry’s as he breathed, “Your gorgeous arse, sliding up and
down my cock.” He closed the remaining few inches and forced a kiss onto Harry’s lips.
Harry moaned his anticipation into the aggressive contact, submitting to the strength of
Draco’s desire. How does he always manage to taste so fucking good? Harry pondered
briefly. Eventually they parted, and Harry pushed Draco back a bit before speaking.

“I thought you might say that,” Harry started, with the clear intention of saying more.
Draco waited in obvious impatience for Harry to finish.

“I fully intended to let you have your wicked way with my body tonight, but…” he tailed
off, grinning at Draco, and looking up at him through his spiky fringe. Draco started to
frown so Harry continued, “…watching you out there performing for all those people
made me feel a bit jealous. And very possessive.” He reached out and grabbed Draco’s
swollen groin in his hand, squeezing slightly. Harry was gratified to watch Draco’s eyes
flutter at the contact, and he felt his own pulse start to pound at these first signs of his
lover’s submission.

Keeping his hand in place, he backed Draco in to the opposite doorjamb, leaning in to
whisper, “And so, to make sure you know you’re mine, and so that I can reassert my

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ownership of everything that is you…” he pressed a brief, firm kiss onto Draco’s lips,
backing away quickly. “…I intend to I fuck you to within an inch of your life.” Draco’s
eyes widened as he spoke, and Harry’s groin throbbed when he saw the pink flush stain
the pale, high cheekbones.

He could feel Draco’s shallow breathing washing over his cheek as he continued, “I’m
going to take what I want Draco, and you’re going to let me. And you’re going to be
screaming my name while I do it.” Harry moved in for another kiss, feeling like a predator
swooping in to catch its prey. He could feel Draco’s length jerking and pulsing in his firm
grip as he opened his mouth and sucked that plump, delicious bottom lip in and bit down
on it. Draco whimpered and squirmed in response as he pushed himself closer into
Harry’s body. Harry laughed into Draco’s mouth, pinning him firmly while he ate at the
swelling lips before thrusting into the warm, wetness to battle with the flickering,
darting tongue. Draco twisted Harry’s hair frantically into messy spikes as he returned
the kiss.

Harry broke away and leaned into Draco’s ear, catching a maddening, faint scent of warm
skin and sandalwood. He murmured, “Can you taste my come in your mouth yet?”
Draco’s breathing hitched audibly, and he moaned as he exhaled. Harry licked a wide,
wet line up from his collarbone to the lobe of his ear before continuing, “I hope you’ve
saved some energy, because this is going to be a very long night for you.” He released his
grip on Draco’s groin, only to grind his own erection into it. They both gasped aloud at
the sensation, bodies bucking in pleasure. And then Harry picked Draco up. He held the
slim, muscular thighs with both hands as Draco wriggled to wrap his legs loosely around
the back of Harry’s body, and leaned over to open the door.

Harry didn’t notice the décor, or anything else inside the room other than the big, inviting
bed. He carried Draco to it, ravaging his mouth with kisses on the way, and threw him
back onto the mattress before slinking after him like a tiger, or a leopard. Draco’s eyes
were wide and glassy as he panted his excitement into the otherwise silent room.

Harry stripped them both with slow, deliberate movements. He teased Draco’s skin with
kisses and caresses and strokes as he exposed it, all the time murmuring against the flesh
exactly what he was going to do. Harry was not surprised in the least when he had to
almost peel Draco’s silk shorts off him, he was so wet with his body’s arousal.

Pinning Draco with his eyes, he held the underwear up, whispering, “I’ll be keeping
these,” before throwing them aside and pouncing on Draco. He used his weight and
strength to press his beautiful blond prince back into the mattress, gasping at the sudden
silky glide of skin against skin. The moment Harry lowered his body into full contact,
Draco wrapped his arms and legs tightly around him. Their kisses were rough and
bruising, leaving salivaslickness all over each other’s faces and necks. Draco used his legs
to good advantage, clenching and unclenching their strong grip, creating a delicious
friction between their erections. Harry growled at him to stop it, but Draco laughed
wickedly and upped the pace.
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Without warning, Draco rolled them so he was on top, putting him momentarily in
control. Harry watched through passion-fogged eyes, as his lover sat upright and
positioned himself so his crotch was snuggled over Harry’s groin. He pressed himself
down, shifting his hips in small circles that stimulated Harry’s erection, making him moan.
As his eyes shut on a heated rush of desire, Harry reached forward and took hold of
Draco’s stiff flesh, stroking it softly with his fingertips. He heard the subtle change in
breathing and opened his eyes to find his lover staring raptly down at him.

A cheeky grin broke out on Draco’s flushed face as he was caught watching Harry lost in
pleasure. If the sparkle to the normally icy grey eyes was any indication, Draco had clearly
enjoyed the minor act of voyeurism.

Harry reached up to grasp a handful of blond hair, using it to pull Draco down against
him. He wanted to kiss him so much! He was desperate for him, starved for his touch,
thirsty for his kisses.

“I want you,” Harry choked out, as Draco kissed him with passion again.

“What do you want, Harry?” was the whispered response as their mouths finally parted.

“I want to feel your mouth on me. You’re so good at that,” Harry managed, after a few
seconds of just savouring the sensations coursing through his body. He pressed his nose
into Draco’s neck and inhaled deeply, loving the smell of him.

“Tell me, Harry. Tell me like you did that night in my dorm…” Draco tailed off, then
exhaled sharply as Harry bit into his neck softly. Harry raised his head to look into his
lover’s eyes as he said,

“Suck me off, Draco. With that beautiful…” He planted a soft kiss on the lips before him.

“…dirty…” Another gentle kiss.

“…mouth,” and then the kisses were no longer gentle. They both moaned, with joyous
arousal.

Draco broke away first and trailed wet kisses down Harry’s body until he was directly
over the sticky, wet erection. He looked up at Harry with undisguised hunger, licking his
lips lasciviously before taking hold of the length and guiding it into his eager mouth.
Harry sighed loudly as he felt Draco cover him, the firm pressure of lips, and his wicked
tongue working enthusiastically at the pulsing flesh. Harry’s fingers slid into Draco’s soft
hair as he groaned and whimpered at the unbelievable perfection of his lover’s skill.

After a while, it became impossible for Harry to watch Draco devouring him. Every time
the grey eyes flicked up to meet his own, Harry felt the pulse that signalled his imminent
orgasm and he had to look away to stop himself.

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When Draco finally reached up with both hands and scratched hot, pink tracks down
Harry’s chest and stomach he came with staggering force. Draco was unprepared for the
sudden explosion, and choked a little before swallowing eagerly. Harry basked in the wet
warmth of the enveloping mouth for a while, before Draco finally pulled away, resting his
head gently on Harry’s thigh, panting slightly as he tried to regain his breath.

After a minute, Draco spoke. “Well, now. That was interesting. Perhaps I should grow my
nails a bit. What do you think, Harry?” There was much good humour in his voice, and he
chuckled as he finished speaking.

Harry stroked the pale hair and murmured, “I have no idea where that came from. But it
felt incredible.” He pulled Draco up over his body, until he was covered with gorgeous,
blond Slytherin, not unlike a hot, sexy blanket.

Draco, of course, was still at the peak of his arousal, and Harry wanted nothing more than
to pleasure him. When Harry felt the press of sharp teeth against his chest, he arched his
body into the bite, willing it to mark him, to draw blood. After only a few moments, Harry
forced his lover’s body up and up, until Draco was squatting precariously just above his
face. Harry could not help but lick his lips at the sight of the tempting flesh positioned
within his reach, and he lapped gently at the soft skin of Draco’s testicles, before moving
back and attending to the softly curving perineum. Every stroke of his tongue was
accompanied by quiet, heartfelt moans from above.

Draco was obviously trying hard to balance his weight above Harry, but his legs were
becoming weak from the stimulation, shaking and wobbling as Harry licked harder, and
more invasively. When Draco finally collapsed forward to rest his head against the wall,
Harry moved himself to crouch behind the kneeling figure, sprinkling tender kisses on the
firm buttocks. Harry’s heart was pounding with both desire and anxiety as he stretched
the flesh apart to display the tiny hole inside. It twitched and pulsed in anticipation; a
perfect mirror of Draco’s own emotions. Harry had never done this before, and wanted
Draco to experience nothing less than the best. He spent a moment just breathing
against the little opening and recalling the sensations of having it done to himself. He
was momentarily lost in the fantasy, until Draco’s quiet voice pulled him back.

“Please, Harry. Please,” he was saying, in anguished tones.

Harry’s knees nearly gave way as he registered the first incredible taste of Draco on his
tongue. The contact shocked a scream from his lover, who ground himself back into
Harry’s face. Overcome in the moment, Harry launched himself vigorously into a full
assault of Draco’s hole and the hidden fleshy channel enclosing it. He was noisy and
sloppy in his attentions, which only seemed to increase Draco’s arousal. Harry’s face slid
freely in the wet crease, the tip of his tongue pressing entry into the hole on each rough
pass. Feeling Draco’s body stretch to accommodate the probing tongue was
unbelievable – Harry was completely amazed by it. He vaguely registered Draco’s high-
pitched screams, but was unable to think about much else other than how to push as
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much of his tongue as he could inside the loosening hole. It was completely addictive;
Harry thought he could do this forever.

It was actually Draco who broke the spell, twisting away from Harry’s face and throwing
himself back onto the mattress. He was flushed dark red, and panting, “I can’t wait. I
have to have you now. Please, Harry!”

Harry groaned aloud at his lover’s eagerness, and moved swiftly between the
stretchedwide legs, bunching the quilt up to raise the slim, writhing hips enough to
afford him easier access. He looked down on his almost frantic prince, stretching a
wicked smile across his face as he said, “I don’t like sharing you, Draco. Not with
anyone.” Draco’s breath caught sharply at the intensity of the words. As Harry’s hands
sought a grip on Draco’s thighs, he continued, “They were all looking at you, Draco. Only
I’m allowed to look at you.”

Draco nodded mutely, seemingly spellbound by Harry’s possessiveness.

“What was that, Draco?” Harry questioned dangerously, teasing the pulsing anus with
the wet tip of his cock as he spoke.

Draco was momentarily confused, before answering, “I’m only for you, Harry. I’m yours.”
The moment the words were spoken, Harry could see the truth of it dawn on Draco’s
face. A swell of emotion swept through him; it wasn’t love; it was more base, more brutal
than that. More akin to ownership, perhaps.

Harry grinned wolfishly as he slid the first inch of himself into Draco. They both closed
their eyes and sighed at the same time. Then Harry spoke quietly, “Again, Draco. Say it
again.” His words were almost a plea. He needed to hear it so much. He heard the
murmured response with difficulty, over the pounding of his heartbeat.

“I’m yours, Harry,” Draco moaned, “I’m yours…” And then Harry slid himself deeper
inside the spectacularly tight passage, and all words were lost for a while.

Harry wondered how he had ever lived without this feeling before. He watched himself
impale Draco’s hungry body over and over, sliding in and out, seating himself deeper,
further inside until Draco had swallowed all of him, and he felt his groin hit against the
warm resistance of Draco's body. It seemed to Harry as if there was some significance,
some greater purpose than pleasure to this simple act. The hot clasp of Draco
surrounding his hard shaft, the gentle friction of his thrusts, the softly murmured sighs of
passion all created a different kind of reality for Harry. A reality where only the two of
them existed; where only their love and their happiness mattered.

Needing to feel Draco hold him, Harry leaned over his lover and pressed himself against
the fever-hot flesh, capturing a languorous kiss and meeting the emotion-filled grey eyes,
even as he felt the slim, muscular arms encircle him and pull him closer. He heard Draco

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whisper against his skin, “I’m yours, Harry….” before feeling the press of teeth into his
neck.

Harry pressed himself into the open mouth, whispering, “Harder…” and feeling the
response, the teeth nipping into his skin, catching it between their sharp edges. Harry
loved that Draco wanted to mark him like this. He knew he would treasure the bruises,
stroking them softly when he was alone in the privacy of his own bed, no doubt stroking
something else with his other hand at the same time.

Their bodies worked slowly together, developing a mutual rhythm of push and thrust,
edging ever closer to their goal. Draco tortured Harry with the firm clenching of his inner
muscles, making each stroke more explosive than the last. Harry didn’t notice when the
pace started to pick up, just that it had; they were now urging their bodies onto a much
deeper, harder penetration. Their bodies quaked with the impact of each stroke,
shocking loud moans and cries from them both. Harry was circling his hips to rub against
Draco’s hidden bundle of nerves on each inward thrust, knowing each time he succeeded
when Draco’s torso convulsed and arched upwards. Harry felt the hands on his back
become claws, pressing the fingertips and nails more firmly into him, as they gouged
lines up and down his spine. The scratching grew more pronounced as he pounded more
vigorously into Draco’s hole. They were both grunting unashamedly, pushing the sounds
into each other’s mouths as their tongues clashed in haphazard kisses.

When Harry felt the sharp nails break his skin and draw blood, he knew he was coming.
He had but a moment to shout, “Draco!” before feeling the waves of heat engulf him,
rippling over his whole body, as he pumped his violent orgasm into the depths of his
precious lover. He groaned loud and long as his body relaxed, feeling with acute
awareness the rhythmic clenching of Draco’s anus, and the sticky slickness of the
aromatic seed now present between their stomachs. He collapsed fully onto Draco,
snaking his arms behind his back; feeling Draco’s arms tighten around him in return. They
chuckled together as they caught their breath, perhaps thankful to have found such a
safe and pleasurable haven.

Sliding to lie side by side after a while, they held hands and just looked at each other, as if
to memorise the other’s features. Draco leaned in for a soft kiss, and whispered against
Harry’s lips, “Keep me safe, Harry. I’m so tired of it all.” An unpleasant tightness gripped
Harry’s stomach for a second, as he faced the possibility of his lover being harmed by his
most hated enemy. It was almost too painful to contemplate.

“I’ll never let them have you. Never,” he murmured back, feeling the hot prick of tears in
his eyes, but fighting them back.

They lay in peace for a long time, taking comfort from their shared warmth and the feel
of smooth fingertips stroking patterns on each other’s skin.

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After a time, they began to talk. They talked about their hopes and fears for the future –
for their future. For the first time, Draco seemed ready to believe there might be a way
for them to be together. He agreed that if there were a way, Harry would find it.

Harry swallowed hard and told Draco about Sirius having been his godfather, and about
Grimmauld Place. His lover was shocked to discover that Harry had been named the Black
family heir in Sirius’ will, having assumed, along with his parents, that his Aunt Bellatrix
would succeed Sirius. It took Draco a while to accept Harry’s assurances that he was
telling the truth, and Harry answered many questions about the circumstances around
Sirius’ death with patience and as much tact as he could muster.

After a lengthy discussion on the subject, Draco let out a chuckle and said, “Mother will
be pissed off! And that makes you rich!” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at Draco’s train of
thought where finances were concerned.

Draco went on to share his own childhood stories of visits to the house with his parents,
and Harry got a flavour of how Grimmauld Place must have felt when it was inhabited.
They laughed about the portrait of Sirius’ evil mother in the hallway, screaming abuse at
unworthy houseguests. Draco admitted to having been terrified of the old woman when
he was small.

When Harry asked him to move there and live with him when they left school, Draco
looked as if he might cry, but didn’t actually do it. He shook uncontrollably for a minute
or two and Harry clung worriedly to him, saying over and over that he was sorry; he
hadn’t meant to upset him. It took Draco a good five minutes to be able to manage, “I’d
love to!” and then

Harry was laughing and rolling them around the bed, tickling Draco, and kissing him
madly.

Harry was only slightly saddened when Draco amended, “If I can, I’d love to…”

Harry would not let the unspoken concern dampen his mood. Their kisses became
serious once again and when Harry took Draco’s face in his hands and told him, “Fuck
me,” there was nothing else for Draco to do but comply.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The following morning found Professor Snape tearing through the Slytherin dungeons in
his manic search for Draco. He had stormed around the entire school; he had checked

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every single place his Head Boy might be, but to no avail. In the end, he decided his only
option was to grill Draco’s friends for his whereabouts.

Lining up Vince, Blaise, Pansy and Greg in his office, Snape cajoled and threatened by
turns, receiving shockingly dishonest answers. He could not believe his own students
would be so woefully disobedient. His fury was evident for all to see, and they eyed each
other nervously and shuffled uncomfortably in the cramped office. When the professor
produced the Veritaserum, Blaise groaned quietly, so Snape sent the others away and fed
the potion to him alone.

The professor waited a couple of minutes in frustrated impatience before swinging to


face

Blaise. He barked, “Where is Draco?”

Blaise cringed inwardly as he heard himself answer, “The Room of Requirement, sir.”

Robes snapping angrily around him, Professor Snape exited his dungeon office, dragging
Blaise awkwardly in his wake, and headed for the seventh floor.

Chapter Seventeen

Having shattered the intricate Locking charm on the door in his need to find Draco,
Professor Snape stormed into the Room of Requirement tailed sheepishly by Blaise, to
find Harry draped over Draco, both fast asleep. He almost tripped over his own feet in his
shock. His mouth worked, lips forming words that never came out.

Snape stood rooted to the spot at the foot of an ornate four-poster bed, in which it was
obvious that a lot of activity had taken place. Draco lay on his back, face angled in to
Harry’s hair. Harry lay by his side, almost face down, leaning into a loose embrace, cheek
resting on Draco’s shoulder, arm circling his waist. It was impossible to miss the angry,
red lines gouged into Harry’s back from shoulder blade to waist, or the tiny sparkle of
silvery jewellery adorning Draco’s nipples. There was no doubt whatsoever about what
they had been doing.

Eventually, after taking a deep breath, Snape cleared his throat loudly. Only Draco stirred,
twisting his neck to kiss Harry’s hair before stilling again. The professor cleared his throat
a second time, and Draco pried his eyes open.

After a moment, Draco saw his Head of House staring down at him and winced slightly,
fully aware of the potential for impending disaster. Flicking his eyes briefly to Blaise,
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Draco saw there would be no real help from him. He was too scared of Snape. Through
the stretching silence, Draco spoke.

“Harry.”

Nothing.

Slightly louder now.

“Harry.”

Harry moved slowly, lifting his head to kiss the pale neck and nuzzle Draco’s chin with his
nose. Through a yawn he said, “Again already? God! You’re like a bitch in heat.”

A loud snort cut through the silence, which Blaise desperately tried to stifle with his
hand.

The sound roused Harry to awareness that they had company, and he turned to follow
Draco’s eyes, lifting himself slightly and running his palm down the centre of Draco’s
body, resting it on his flat stomach. When Harry’s eyes met Snape’s murderous stare he
smiled minutely, and pushed his stilled hand further down Draco’s body towards his
groin, all the while holding the challenging eye contact. Harry felt intensely jealous of
Snape, and Draco’s previous infatuation with the man. He needed to prove to himself,
and them, that Draco was his now.

It was Draco who stopped him. His hand shot out just as Harry’s fingertips reached the
curls of his pubic hair, and gripped his wrist tightly, a clear warning. Harry chose to take it
and withdrew his hand slowly, turning his body away from Draco’s until he was leaning
back on both elbows, still facing Snape.

Both the professor and Blaise trailed their eyes over Harry’s body, and Harry noted with
some amusement their shocked expressions at the bite marks and scratches decorating
his body. Harry noticed that while Snape looked horrified, Blaise looked faintly surprised.
Maybe he didn’t figure Draco for a mauler, Harry thought to himself.

An almost painful silence drew out. Harry continued to stare at Snape, willing the
professor to say something. In the end Snape did break the silence, but he addressed
himself to Draco. “What have you done?” His voice was quiet and full of shock.

Feeling mischievous, Harry replied briskly, “How much detail do you want, sir?” There
was an audible groan from Draco, who looked beseechingly at Blaise for support that
wasn’t ever coming.

“Silence, Potter!” Snape barked at Harry. “Get up, now. And come with me.” This latter
was addressed to Draco.

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Sighing heavily, Draco moved to dress. Snape and Blaise turned away while he did so,
giving Draco and Harry time to exchange smug grins and indicate to each other, silently,
that each of them was going to be okay. When Draco lifted his shorts to step into them,
Harry shook his head firmly and indicated that he should leave them there for him. That
brought a sly smile to the striking Slytherin’s face. Once he was otherwise clothed, Draco
leaned over the bed, pulling Harry’s face to his with a firm grasp on his chin and kissed
him loudly and wetly. As Draco left the room with Snape and Blaise, he grinned back over
his shoulder at Harry and called out, “Catch you later, lover.”

Harry lay back with his hands behind his head, caught between amusement,
embarrassment, jealousy and concern. He would have to find out what was going on. He
was just too nosy not to.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he was met by Ron and
Hermione’s worried faces. They were poring over the Sunday Prophet, in which there
was a large article about Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It seemed that two strongly-
suspected Death Eaters (whose names Harry had never heard before) had been found
murdered. The report suggested that Ministry officials were of the opinion that the
murders had been carried out by other Death Eaters under direct orders from their Dark
Lord. The reporter’s source claimed that the Ministry had no idea why these incidents
had taken place. Harry huffed aloud, thinking they were either lying, or Dumbledore
hadn’t seen fit to involve them in the negotiations with the defecting followers. In truth,
either option was equally feasible. Harry hoped to catch the headmaster at lunchtime to
speak in person with him. He was unable to confide in Ron and Hermione about the
situation, but he could at least try and get some more information from the professor.

There was no sign of the headmaster at the beginning of lunch, so Harry did his best to
occupy himself by picking out Draco at the Slytherin table. After some minutes of furtive
glances, noted with exasperated amusement by his two friends, Harry could not find
Draco anywhere. Looking up at the teacher’s table, he saw that Snape was also missing.
This set him to worrying. What if the Prophet had failed to mention something pertinent
about Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy? If anything had happened to them, Draco would be
devastated, regardless of their lack of obvious affection for him.

Harry had told his friends about his rude awakening that morning and with her usual
display of deductive prowess, Hermione put the pieces together over lunch. She began
carefully, “Harry, you don’t think Draco’s parents are involved in the murders somehow,
do you?”

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As he caught up with Harry and Hermione, Ron butted in, “Yeah, Snape might have had
some news for Malfoy about them that was urgent!” He paused for a moment, looking
very pleased with himself, then continued, face full of excitement, “Just imagine if old
Lucius was the one who did those other Death Eaters in! I bet that’d-”

Hermione cut Ron off with a glare so frightening that he dropped his fork onto the table
with a loud clatter. He had the decency to wince as he looked at Harry’s shuttered
expression before saying hesitantly, “Shit, sorry mate. Didn’t think there, for a second.”

Harry raised a hand to stop the no doubt stern words that were on the tip of Hermione’s
tongue and mumbled, “It’s okay.” He scraped the bench back as he pushed away from
the table and said, “I’ve got to go and see Dumbledore. Then I’m going to find Draco. I’ll
see you later.” He walked off without waiting for a reply, his head a jumble of thoughts
and concerns.

As he was walking through the entrance hall, Harry spotted the headmaster waving
vigorously at him from two floors up, hurrying down the stairs to intercept him.
Dumbledore asked Harry to accompany him to Hagrid’s hut so that they could talk,
indicating that they should wait until there were fewer people around before conversing.

As soon as they were outside in the open air, Harry started, “Are Draco’s parents okay,
sir?”

Dumbledore gave Harry a warm smile, clasping his shoulder as he replied, “They were not
involved in the murders, if that is your concern.” He acknowledged Harry’s small nod
before continuing, “They arrived at the school early this morning, most distraught and
looking for refuge. I fear that they believe their escape plans will bear no fruit as things
continue to decline for Voldemort’s supporters.” He paused, while Harry absorbed the
information. He seemed to anticipate the next question Harry asked.

“Does Voldemort know about-”

Dumbledore interrupted then, saying, “No, no. As far as I can tell from my lengthy
discussions with Lucius and Narcissa, Voldemort is not aware that they are participants in
the mutiny. You will agree that this is just as well, I’m sure.”

Harry nodded his agreement, his relief clearly visible. He finally said, after a short silence,
“If anything happened to them, I don’t know how Draco would take it. He does love
them, despite everything.” Harry looked up at the professor as if he had asked a
question, rather than made a statement. He needed to hear some words of reassurance;
to know that Draco would survive.

Dumbledore drew him into a one-armed embrace and said, “I think it bodes well that in
their fear, their first thought was to visit their son. When we couldn’t find Draco this
morning, they were beside themselves.” Harry looked at the headmaster disbelievingly,

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huffing his breath out, almost in disgust. Dumbledore’s response was, “Nevertheless, it is
true, Harry. I feel sure that as soon as they are gone, he will seek you out to explain for
himself.” He let Harry go and changed the subject, albeit only slightly.

“You read the Sunday Prophet article this morning, I presume?” At Harry’s nod, he
continued, “I believe the facts to be essentially true, which will doubtless cause distress
for the remaining Death Eaters.”

“Are you helping any of the people I told you about, Professor?” wondered Harry out
loud.

“Most certainly. We have had to create several new unplottable safe houses but I fear
that this will not be the solution for Draco’s parents.” He was silent for a while before
addressing Harry again.

“I’m afraid the Malfoys’ rank precludes a similar approach to hiding them. Voldemort has
more options for tracking them down, unfortunately.” He sighed loudly and added,
“Harry, they will have to go to Azkaban if they wish to have any chance of surviving. We
have had a most heated conversation to that effect this morning. I believe they are able
to recognise the severity of their situation, but this does not assist them to accept the
solution.”

Harry’s first thought was how Draco might react to the publicity surrounding his parents’
incarceration. It would be front page news, possibly coinciding with their upcoming final
exams. Harry was desperately worried for his lover. It must have shown on his face
because Dumbledore said,

“Draco is going to need you, Harry. This will be a terrible time for him and I hesitate to lay
further responsibility on your young shoulders. But if things between you are as they
seem, it will be you he turns to for support and understanding.”

Harry stared off into space for a while, thinking about all the possibilities. They were
almost at Hagrid’s hut when Harry turned to Dumbledore and asked to be excused. He
ran back to the school, heading straight down to the dungeons. He decided that he
would wait outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room all afternoon if he
needed to.

In his concern and frustration, the half an hour that Harry spent pacing up and down did
actually feel like all afternoon. He had tried asking several Slytherin students in the
corridor to speak to Draco for him, but none of them would even talk to him. It was
Blaise who eventually came out to find him. Ushering Harry round the corner towards the
Potions classroom, Blaise began, “For Merlin’s sake, Potter! You can’t go harassing third
year students just because you’re a bit upset, you know.”

“Is he all right?” Harry cut in as if he hadn’t heard Blaise speak.

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They stopped walking and Blaise turned to face Harry. He took a deep breath, then, “He’s
with Snape and his parents. Has been all morning. I haven’t seen him, but that’s where he
is.”

Blaise seemed to soften a bit as he watched Harry crumble before him. “When are you
going to tell him you love him, Potter?” Blaise gave him a small smile. It made Harry
blush. He shrugged slightly, but didn’t know how to reply. Why hadn’t he told him?

“He knows. God! We all know, but you need to say it out loud. He’s going to need to hear
it soon.” Harry was staring at the floor, squirming slightly at the direction of the
conversation and the person he was having it with. The silence was broken with,
“Harry?” That shocked his attention back to Blaise and Harry returned his smile.

“I do love him, Blaise,” he managed, feeling choked and tight across the chest.

“I’m glad. Now be a good chap and tell Draco, will you? I’m fed up of watching him float
around on clouds, stroking puppies and waxing lyrical at the scent of the morning dew.”
They were both laughing now, Harry at the thought of Draco being nice to fluffy animals
as much as anything else. It helped him regain some of his composure and he nodded his
thanks to the Slytherin before him. He thought to ask,

“Are your family okay, Blaise? And your friends’ families?” He watched Blaise shiver
slightly before answering. Harry was back to feeling worried all over again.

“One of the fatalities was the uncle of a second year student. Not a close uncle, though.
Hadn’t seen him for years, apparently.” Blaise gave a half-hearted shrug, but Harry could
see the anxiety in him. “We’re all fine. Scared, but fine.” As an afterthought he said,
“Thanks for asking.” Harry nodded and by mutual consent, they walked back towards
the enchanted wall that hid the Slytherin common room.

Rounding the corner, Harry quickly said, “When he gets back, tell him to write to me will
you?” Blaise raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. He just nodded and shooed Harry
away so that he could give the password to get back inside.

Harry wandered back towards the Gryffindor tower at a slow pace, mulling over the day’s
events, smiling and grimacing in turn. Better get some revision done, he thought as he let
himself through the portrait hole and joined Ron and Hermione.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Draco did not appear at teatime either and Harry found he had lost his appetite. He was
carrying the journal everywhere with him, checking it at least every minute for signs of
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Draco trying to reach him. Ron and Hermione were sharing worried looks over his
agitation, but said nothing. They tried to keep the conversation as light as possible, filling
the silences as best they could. In the end, Ron leaned in to Harry and spoke quietly into
his ear.

“We’ll take some food up to the tower for you, if you want to head off. You might want
something to eat later. Why don’t you go somewhere for a while?”

Harry agreed absently, touched more than he could say by Ron’s words. This was, after
all, usually Hermione’s territory. He left the Great Hall quietly, slipping off to sit in the
Quidditch stands and letting his thoughts drift away.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

It was gone nine ‘o’ clock that night by the time Draco’s elegant script appeared on the
page of Harry’s journal. He was lying on his bed trying to read his Potions textbook.
Unsuccessfully. He snatched up his pen and quickly scribbled,

~Are you okay? I’ve been so worried.~ Yeah – master of understatement there!

~I know. Blaise said you looked awful earlier. I’m fine. I’ve been sharing some home
truths with my parents.~

~You told them about us?~ Harry couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt
about the thought of Draco’s parents knowing about their relationship. It made him fear
that they would make efforts to split them up.

~No. It didn’t come up, to be honest. There were other, more pressing matters up for
discussion today.~ Harry’s stomach flipped at the thought of their conversation about
relocating to Azkaban prison.

~Do you want to talk about it?~ Harry wrote.

~Yes. No. I’m not sure. They’re going to Azkaban. In a couple of weeks. I’m tired of
talking about it. I will tell you everything, but just not now, okay?~

~Of course. Whenever you’re ready.~ Harry’s heart felt heavy at the pain that Draco must
be experiencing. He wanted so much just to hold him, to cuddle him tight and take all his
worries away. He wrote as much in the journal, offering his comfort to his lover. Harry
knew it was bad when Draco wrote back,

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~That sounds wonderful. But I’m just too worn out to move. I think I should try and get
an early night. I’m just going to have to pretend you’re here. I’ve still got your scarf, after
all. I’m going to sleep with it, like a teddy bear.~

Harry knew that Draco was trying to make him feel better and he was grateful for the
thought. He wished Draco goodnight and lay back on his bed, staring up at the tented
ceiling, experiencing each minute as if it were an hour.

He eventually got undressed when the others came up for the night, but sleep was
elusive. He tossed and turned in frustration and loneliness before deciding his course of
action, rising and dressing as quietly as he could. Taking his Invisibility Cloak from the
bottom of his trunk, Harry crept down to the Slytherin dungeons with his pulse
hammering in his throat. He knew he was being selfish, wanting to see Draco so badly,
but he thought it was the only way he would get any peace. He just wasn’t sure what
kind of reception he would get.

It was only when Harry spoke the password and could not gain access through the
enchanted wall that he realised there was a major flaw in his plan. Of course the
password would have been changed! None of the houses kept the same one all year.
Now he was stumped! Refusing to give up immediately, Harry tried as many evil sounding
passwords as he could, thinking that eventually one of them might let him in.

He was there for about ten minutes, listing every snake, every poisonous plant and every
deadly animal he could think of, becoming more and more exasperated at each failed
attempt. He had taken five or six steps back down the hall towards the stairway, having
admitted defeat, when it came to him. One last try, he thought to himself. He strode
back to the wall and said,

~“Let me in,”~ in a loud, clear voice.

When the wall shimmered and acquiesced, he laughed out loud and stepped through.
Being able to speak Parseltongue does have its uses after all, he mused to himself.

The Slytherin common room was deserted, even though it was not long after eleven ‘o’
clock. Harry thought the subdued atmosphere was a good indication of how things must
have been for Slytherins all day. He made his way to Draco’s dorm, but was dismayed to
find a sliver of light beneath the door. He was torn between opening it and walking away.
He was loath to go back having come this far, so bundling his nerve up, he turned the
handle with infinite patience and inched the door open, watching the gap intently for
signs of life. When the gap was wide enough, Harry squeezed through. He was
confronted with the sight of Blaise lying on Draco’s bed hugging Harry’s pallid looking
boyfriend to him. All the other occupants appeared to be asleep, or at least their curtains
were closed. A flash of intense jealousy ripped through Harry, and he made a small noise
in the back of his throat before he knew he had done it. Blaise turned his head towards
Harry’s location, clearly noting the door’s position and frowning deeply. He mumbled

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something that Harry couldn’t hear, and Draco roused himself to look as well. Harry
dared not move or speak for fear of scaring them both. Besides which, he thought Blaise
might just kill him for his presence, so he decided that no action was the best course. He
watched in pained silence as Draco sat up and whispered, “Harry?”

Harry’s heart nearly burst as he heard the hope in his boyfriend’s voice. It made him
forget all his concerns of a moment before, and he stepped into the room, pulling the
cloak off himself as he did so. Draco shot off the bed and threw himself into Harry’s arms
in an instant. They stood locked together in silence, with Blaise looking on in utter shock
as Harry stroked Draco’s hair and murmured words of comfort. Harry thought he had
never been so happy to see Draco as he was right then. He could have literally smothered
him with his need. All his worries of the day evaporated as he breathed Draco into
himself and held him close. Eventually, they broke apart and Draco led Harry to his bed,
where a silent Blaise was still sitting.

Once the three of them were shut inside the curtains surrounding the bed and Draco had
placed a Silencing charm, Blaise snapped out, “Well! The Invisibility Cloak explains a lot!”
He was not happy. Before Harry could say anything in response, Blaise had turned to
Draco and barked, “I can’t believe you gave him the password! You know the rules!”

Draco immediately replied with, “I didn’t! Tell him, Harry,” and looked pleadingly at Harry
to sort everything out. Harry sighed heavily and spoke to Blaise.

“He didn’t give me the password. No one gave me the password, okay?” It was obvious
from Blaise’s angry face that it was not okay.

“I see. So you spied, did you? I thought you Gryffindors were above that sort of
behaviour.” Blaise was snarling now, and Draco was getting more and more distressed.
Harry decided that honesty might be the best policy. Or half honesty, at any rate.

“No. I. Did. Not.” He snapped back. “I spied all the other times I’ve been here, but not
tonight. I just…guessed it.” Now both Draco and Blaise were looking at Harry with
disbelief.

“What is it then?” asked Blaise with something like fury in his voice.

“Uh…” Harry was trapped and he knew it. He rubbed his face with his hands vigorously
before continuing.

“Look, I worked out that I don’t need a password to get in here,” he said.

“Really,” was Blaise’s withering retort. “Pray tell us how that might be,” he added. Harry
looked at Draco for some moments, absorbing the drawn, tired look he wore before
answering.

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“I can speak Parseltongue,” Harry offered. Blaise and Draco both continued to look
blank.

Harry snorted at their confusion and explained,

“I imagine Salazar expected that anyone who could speak Parseltongue would always be
placed in Slytherin. All I had to do was say, ‘let me in,’ and it did. But I imagine I could
have read a shopping list, as long as I said it in Parseltongue and still got in.” He shrugged
at them both, not knowing what else to say. A shocked laugh escaped from Draco’s
mouth, as he crawled over to drape himself around Harry again.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispered into Harry’s neck.

Clearly disgusted at the turn of events, Blaise moved to the curtains to let himself out.
But before he did he turned to Harry and said, “You’d best be gone before morning. It’ll
be harder for you to get out when the others get up.” With that, he clambered off the
bed and shut the curtains, resetting the Silencing charm as he did.

Harry and Draco turned to face each other, showing small smiles. Harry reached a hand
forward to tuck a strand of long blond hair behind his boyfriend’s ear, murmuring, “Come
on. Let’s get you tucked up in bed, shall we?”

Harry took a moment to kick his shoes off and then they both stretched out under the
covers, fully clothed. He gathered Draco to him, stroking his back, his cheek, whispering
words of comfort and placing soft kisses on the fevered forehead. They didn’t speak;
they just lay together in companionable silence, each taking comfort and warmth from
the presence of the other. It was the first time Harry had felt at peace since he had
woken up that morning.

Eventually, Draco’s breathing slowed and deepened, and Harry knew he was asleep, or
close to it. He held his lover to him in the dark, and murmured, “I love you,” into the
silence.

The only answer was the small movement of Draco’s arm as he tightened his grip on
Harry.

Chapter Eighteen

It took Harry a while to realise he wasn’t dreaming. It was dark and he was warm, in that
state somewhere between sleeping and waking. He first registered the fingers combing
softly through his hair, before feeling the press of tender lips against his forehead.
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Remembering he was in Draco’s bed in the Slytherin dungeons, he cuddled in to Draco,


wrapping himself as closely around him as he could. He let out a quiet sigh, and heard a
chuckle rumble through Draco’s chest in response.

Harry lay like that for some time, floating slowly back to wakefulness, absorbing the
sleepy pampering before making the effort to stretch up and return Draco’s kisses.

Everything about the way they touched each other was sensitive and sincere. When they
finally began to undress, it was as if there was all the time in the world. Their fingers
moved slowly over buttons, easing fabric aside and worshipping each piece of exposed
flesh for the precious gift it was. It was a long time before they were both naked.

In the darkness, Harry could barely see the outline of his boyfriend’s body, a dusty grey
against an inky background. He reached out and traced the curve of Draco’s waist, his
hip, until his hand lay pressed against a long, warm thigh, pulling their bodies together
and feeling the heat of their aroused flesh burning into each other.

He watched Draco lazily pull away, pressing a hand to Harry’s shoulder, persuading him
to lie back as he placed his own body on top of Harry’s. Harry loved the weight of his
boyfriend stretched out on him, the presence made him feel more real somehow. He
hooked his heels loosely around Draco’s calves, holding him in a relaxed embrace. Harry
ran his fingers through the long strands of Draco’s hair as they kissed, eventually clasping
his arms around the slim waist above him.

They didn’t rush towards sex – there was no need. But when Harry inhaled sharply at a
sudden stab of pleasure in his groin, Draco moved to fetch his oil. Placing a final kiss
against Harry’s lips, Draco sat up and uncapped the bottle. Harry let out a shocked laugh
as the cool oil splashed in a puddle into his bellybutton.

Without the need for words, Harry raised his knees and spread his legs wide to allow the
slicked fingers access. Draco’s fingers circled and dipped in and out at a sluggish pace.
The sensation of the stroking and caressing made Harry melt into the mattress, utterly
helpless against the languorous onslaught, and when Draco leaned in and pressed his
tongue into Harry’s mouth, it felt no less intimate than the fingers working inside his
body. Their tongues coiled and stroked against each other, always with Harry submitting
to Draco’s muchneeded, gentle possession.

Harry watched as the outline of his lover withdrew into the velvety darkness. Draco
slicked his fingers in the pool of oil and worked it along his erection. He was filled with
delicious anticipation as Draco placed himself at the entrance to his body, spreading the
oil a little before sliding himself home. The stretching heat of Draco’s invasion brought
soft words of passion to Harry’s lips and his boyfriend moved down to kiss them away, to
swallow them up.

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As Draco rocked and thrust inside Harry’s pulsing passage, Harry knew what it meant to
belong to someone; to be part of something so much greater than himself alone. He was
almost surprised they weren’t glowing, he felt so special.

There were no words as they moved together; only the sounds of their impassioned sighs
filled the space inside Draco’s enclosed bed. Harry loved the way Draco moaned each
time he tightened his muscles and gripped his lover inside, struggling to retain the
glorious penetration.

Harry’s orgasm built for a long time, edging closer and closer with each slow thrust inside
him. His quiet groans were the only sign of his nearing release. Draco kissed him
passionately as he drove Harry gently towards completion, nipping his lips and his neck
by turns.

When Harry came it was quietly, as if a loud cry would shatter the tranquillity of their
lovemaking. His body fell apart and remade itself as it submitted to the ripples of
sensation washing through him. His breath rushed out until he was so relaxed that he
could barely move. Draco’s own orgasm came just after, pumping deep inside Harry’s
loosened body, and he sighed his contentment as he brushed his lips across Harry’s
throat.

Neither of them seemed to want to move afterwards, while their breathing slowed to
normal pace again. Harry moaned sadly when Draco finally withdrew, cleaning them both
with a wave of his hand. When they lay still again, on their sides and facing each other in
the slowly lightening gloom, Draco finally began to speak.

In whispers, he told Harry about his fears for his parents and the possible destruction of
the only family he had ever known. He knew they had their faults but at the same time,
the thought of returning to an empty Malfoy Manor that summer filled him with fear.
Harry knew that Draco would have responsibilities once his parents were incarcerated,
and he offered to do whatever he could to support Draco through the hard times. He
reiterated his offer for Draco to live with him at Grimmauld Place, receiving a very nice
kiss for his thought, and he even offered to return to the Manor with Draco if it would
help him. Harry wasn’t surprised when Draco said he’d need to think about it, and
probably talk to his parents again before coming to any conclusions.

Draco also told Harry he was torn about telling his parents of their relationship. He
thought them going to Azkaban was bad enough, and that an admission of this kind
might very well make them totally apoplectic. But he wanted them to know. He seemed
fixated on the idea of gaining their approval before they went to prison. Harry felt there
was little he could say. He recommended that Draco talk to his friends who, after all,
knew the people involved much better than he did.

That prompted Draco to share his concern about how much of a change his friends could
discern in him these days. He was worried that his armour-plated public personality was

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falling apart around him. Harry had not realised quite how much Draco kept the ‘real’ him
hidden from even his closest friends, and admitted that he could see that they must be
wondering if they had ever really known him at all. But if they were his friends, they
would help him survive the media storm, surely? Draco nodded thoughtfully before
making it clear to Harry that he did not intend to be quite so cuddly in public. It just
wasn’t him. Harry chuckled at that and said Draco could be as awful as he wanted; it
could never stop Harry wanting him.

When the sun finally rose above the horizon, filling the room with first light, Harry moved
to dress. It would only be an hour or so until the castle started to bustle with people once
again. Draco pulled on a pair of trousers from the top of his trunk to see Harry out of the
Slytherin rooms. Harry couldn’t help but reach out and play with the little nipple rings
adorning the lean, bare chest before they broke apart and headed into the common
room.

Draco was still giggling quietly when they entered the main room, but stopped abruptly
as they both came face to face with Professors Snape and Dumbledore, who were sat
peacefully around the main fireplace, with a spread of tea and nibbles before them.
Snape immediately jumped up when he saw them enter the room, looking positively
furious. His eyes burned holes through Harry, who suddenly realised that Draco was
pushing in front of him, to shield Harry from the irate professor. He reached forward,
putting his arm around Draco’s waist and pulling his body back against the front of his
own.

He whispered, “It’s okay,” into Draco’s ear, and steered them forward until they reached
the sofa opposite their professors. They sat down, intently watching the two men for
signs of speech. Harry could not have been more surprised when Draco curled his feet up
and tucked himself into the side of Harry’s body. He wrapped his arm around his half
naked boyfriend, trying to cover him as best he could from the open scrutiny.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence with a very unexpected, “I like your jewellery,
Draco.” Harry snorted and watched as Professor Snape’s face shut down tightly.

When Draco replied, “Thanks. Harry bought me them for Valentine’s Day,” Harry thought
Snape’s head was going to explode. The man was purple. So much so, that Harry actually
had to look away from the professor because it was making him feel queasy.

“Why are you both here, Professors?” Draco finally asked.

“Never mind us, what about Potter?” Snape snapped out.

“I let him in, sir. Of course, I’m happy to comply with any punishment you may wish to
impose,” Draco said, almost without emotion. Harry held him tighter, wishing that Snape
would not punish Draco for his crimes. There’s an ironic twist of fate, he thought to

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himself. “Come now, gentlemen. I don’t think that will be necessary in the
circumstances,”

Dumbledore interrupted smoothly. “In answer to your question Mr. Malfoy, Professor
Snape and I felt it appropriate to make ourselves available to any Slytherin pupils who
may have had difficulty sleeping after yesterday’s events…” He chuckled merrily before
adding “…but I see you have found your own comfort.” Snape made a disgusted sound,
and the headmaster raised his eyebrows, clearly asking the man silently to contain
himself. He continued, “You must feel free to approach either myself or Professor Snape
at this very difficult time, Draco. We will do our utmost to ensure the situation is
contained, both here and once the summer break comes.” Harry felt Draco twitch
slightly at that comment, and was impressed that his boyfriend managed to control his
emotions. “Perhaps I can walk back to Gryffindor tower with you, Harry? I believe our
presence here when the pupils start to rise for the day would be disruptive.” Harry
nodded his assent and moved himself to the edge of the sofa. Snape watched them like a
hawk as Harry leaned in and pecked a kiss onto Draco’s lips.

“I’ll keep the journal with me now, just in case you want me,” Harry whispered. He
retrieved his Invisibility Cloak from the floor with a smirk, watching Snape’s disgusted
face and left the common room, blowing a kiss over his shoulder to Draco as he waved
him goodbye.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry watched Draco with care from then on. He tried his best to intuit Draco’s frame of
mind, sending him little notes through their journals when he thought his boyfriend
hadn’t smiled recently enough.

The routine returned to normal over the next week or so. The final Quidditch game of the
year was coming up, and Ron had arranged more practises for Gryffindor team in his
efforts to not only ensure their victory, but also that he would be lifting the cup at the
end of the year. Of course, running alongside their revision schedule, this left few
opportunities for Harry and Draco to be together. Through Hermione, Harry had passed a
message to Vince to ask all of Draco’s friends to keep an extra eye on him, although not
stating why. The reason, of course, was completely secret.

All things considered, Draco presented his best mask to the school. Only those who knew
him very well would spot the odd chink in his armour, quickly covered over.

Harry had a little fun with Draco the day the Quidditch team photographs were taken.
He’d been writing Draco rude notes all day, heavy on the innuendo about broom handles,

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sweaty Quidditch robes, fondling balls and post match showers. By the time they
presented themselves on the pitch to Colin Creevey, Draco was decidedly pink, and Harry
was having real problems keeping his penis in control. Every time he laid eyes on his
boyfriend, the damn thing just kept rising up like a trouser periscope. In the end, Harry
had to take drastic action and ignore Draco altogether. He had reached breaking point
when the blond kept dropping his broom on purpose and bending over, giving Harry
repeated spectacular views of his very shapely rear end. He was very glad come bedtime
that evening that Draco put his beloved Magic Dildo to vigorous use. Without it, Harry
would have had a very tired arm at a time when he was supposed to be conserving his
energy for the game, just over a week away.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry had a free lesson first thing the next day, followed by Transfiguration after break.
There, he, Ron and Hermione worked together as was their habit, honing their
techniques in preparation for the practical exams they would have to face. Every so
often, Harry snuck a sly look at Draco, across the room from him, deep in concentration,
practicing with his Slytherin housemates. The lesson went well, and Harry felt satisfied
with his progress by the end of it.

As the class were moving to pack up, a loud Scottish voice rang out, bringing silence into
the room.

“Mr.Potter. Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall called out, sharply. “Kindly stay behind
after class.”

Making a heroic effort not to look up at Draco at this request, Harry merely sat back
down in his seat and waited for his classmates to leave the room. Ron and Hermione shot
Harry a worried look, which he brushed off with a slight wave of his hand, and then they
were gone. With the room empty, except for the three of them, Harry made his way to
stand before the professor’s desk, where Draco could already be found. Harry noted with
some small concern that Professor McGonagall looked particularly sour.

“Gentlemen, Mr. Creevey has delivered the Quidditch team photographs to me at


breakfast today, for framing. They were meant to be hung in the trophy room. That,
however, appears to be completely out of the question! Would you mind explaining this
to me?”

With that, the professor slapped the photographs of Gryffindor and Slytherin teams face
up in front of them, on her desk. It was immediately apparent that both Harry and Draco
were not with their teams as they should be, and their teammates were all shuffling in

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distinct discomfort. Harry and Draco gave each other a sideward glance, silently
questioning what was going on, but their attention was drawn back to the photographs
as a flicker of movement sped between the two pictures.

They both watched, Draco in something like horror, and Harry in rather embarrassed
amusement, as Draco’s naked figure darted out from behind the back row of Gryffindor’s
team, running across the foreground of the picture, giggling like a small child. The
photographic Draco glanced over his shoulder and let out a little scream as Harry jumped
around his team-mates, and chased after Draco, shouting and laughing, “Get here now,
Malfoy!”

In Professor McGonagall’s classroom, Draco’s chin was on the floor, his mouth couldn’t
fall open any wider. He was pink with embarrassment. Which got even worse as the red
and gold-clad Harry caught his naked quarry and picked him up, throwing the giggling
Slytherin captain over his shoulder, shouting out, “I’m going to have to spank you for
running away this time!”

At that, Harry marched with his wriggling load across the front of the Slytherin team
photo, where Draco’s teammates were all desperately trying to avert their eyes, and
disappeared from sight out of the far side of the picture.

Harry and Draco were both silent. Professor McGonagall finally said, “Well?”

“But we didn’t…How?” Draco almost whispered.

“Mr. Creevey has, apparently, been experimenting with the camera film!” Professor
McGonagall snapped back. “It would appear he can now photograph thoughts as well as
actions!” She sounded furious.

Schooling his face as best he could, Harry turned to Draco, and said, “You shameless
exhibitionist!”

Draco looked at the floor, before letting his eyes close in something like pain and biting
his bottom lip. When he eventually turned to look at Harry, he smiled slightly and
whispered, “You want to spank me?”

Professor McGonagall hissed sharply in shocked understanding of what was playing out
in front of her.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and an evil smile grew on his face as he reached out his hand and
grabbed Draco by the wrist tightly, pulling his boyfriend sharply towards him. The
Slytherin’s eyes shot wide open in surprise, but he didn’t speak. Finally, Harry said,
“ Please excuse us, Professor,” and turned quickly, dragging Draco in his wake as he
strode from the Transfiguration classroom.

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Draco never spoke once as Harry pulled him up and up the stairs, towards the Room of
Requirement. Neither of them answered the questions shouted after them as Harry
fought a path through the lunchtime crush of students. They never acknowledged any of
the gasps and open stares that followed after them. Harry’s grip merely tightened on
Draco’s slim wrist, twisting the skin to the point of pain. But Draco didn’t fight or
complain. He merely followed.

After he had marched them the customary three times before the doorway to the room,
Harry shoved Draco forcefully inside, slamming the door shut behind them. The only
sound in the room was their harsh breathing. Placing his hand in the centre of Draco’s
back, Harry pushed him towards the armless chair sat before the large bed. He withdrew
his hand and threw his robes off, as if in frustration. Draco turned carefully to look at
Harry. Harry appraised him slowly, head slightly tilted on one side. When he spoke it was
merely to say, “Strip. Now.”

Draco hurried to comply, casting off his clothes roughly, scattering them in a messy pile
around him until his fully aroused body was revealed to Harry’s hungry stare. As Harry
made his way to the chair, still fully clothed, and sat on it, Draco watched with a look of
apprehension on his face. Harry allowed himself a moment to slouch back in the chair,
drinking in Draco’s high colour and shallow breathing before beckoning his naked lover
to him. He sat up straighter and pulled Draco to lie across his bulging lap. Draco
whimpered and shuffled his body into some semblance of comfort, rubbing his hard cock
roughly against Harry’s thigh.

Harry reached out to stroke and pet Draco’s hair, loosing it from the band he always
wore, whispering wordless calming noises as he did so. When Harry’s hands reached
Draco’s bottom and kneaded the firm, silky flesh there, Draco moaned aloud, causing
Harry’s breathing to catch roughly. He let his hands travel down the backs of the naked
thighs, fingers pressing channels into the flesh, and back up again to circle the rounded
buttocks. The tension was building to snapping point. As Draco opened his mouth and
murmured, “Please…” Harry’s hand cracked down on the naked bottom, the loud slap
echoing round the room. Harry rubbed the flushing flesh with his hand gently, lovingly,
before bringing his hand back up and laying another sharp slap on the flushing skin.
Draco cried out loudly, wriggling uncontrollably across Harry’s lap, pressing into Harry’s
rigid erection, sighing and moaning with every sobbed breath. As Harry brought his hand
down again, Draco pushed himself up to meet it, forcing a harder impact which jerked his
head back, and he gasped Harry’s name. Harry could barely contain himself, he was so
turned on. He stroked Draco’s buttocks with reverence, and laid another firm smack on
the hot, red skin. He thought he might orgasm from the sounds Draco was making alone.
Knowing he had little time left, Harry scooped Draco out of his lap until he was standing
him up unsteadily on his feet. He lifted Draco into his arms, staring warmly into his eyes
and carried him to the bed.

As he laid Draco on the soft covers, Harry whispered, “Turn over, Draco.”

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Harry watched with tortured impatience as Draco rolled over onto his front and lay with
his head cushioned on his folded arms. Stepping forward finally, Harry gripped Draco’s
legs and pushed him up until he was on his knees, legs spread slightly, with his chest and
head still resting on the bed. Standing back to look at his exposed lover, Harry could not
contain the deep moan that rose from his chest. He watched Draco’s hips rocking in tiny,
almost imperceptible movements, before kneeling on the bed behind him and lowering
his face to the hot, abused skin. Harry plastered open-mouthed kisses all over Draco’s
bottom, covering every patch of reddened skin. He moaned his need into Draco’s flesh
each time his lips met the taut buttocks. His fingers dug into Draco’s hips and waist as he
fought to control his desire. Finally, he could take no more. Harry spread Draco’s cheeks
roughly and licked a wide, wet path up the pink channel. Draco cried out in surprise and
forced himself back against Harry’s face, seemingly desperate to retain the tongue
against him. Harry buried his face as far into Draco as he could, lapping without care,
rubbing the wetness of his saliva into every part of Draco, making his own face slippery in
the process. When he forced his rigid tongue into Draco’s hole, Harry felt a rush of relief
wash through him. It was the feeling of conquering this flesh, of owning it, and having it
respond to him with abandon. It was the feeling of pure power. As he fucked Draco with
the stub of his tongue, Harry heard his name being screamed out in broken cries.

Harry took only a moment to register how tight Draco felt, clasping his invading tongue
with the muscles in his passage, before he tore himself away and ripped his trousers
open, finally exposing his madly throbbing cock to the air. Draco was pleading with Harry
now, to touch him, fuck him. He rolled his hips backwards, desperate to make contact
with Harry again, as the saliva slicked flesh cooled. Harry lubricated himself carelessly
from the pot on the nightstand next to the bed, throwing the jar aside uncapped. He
raised himself up on his knees, drawing Draco’s hips in line with his erection.

Draco moaned, “Don’t be gentle,” and Harry shoved himself into Draco in one violent
stroke. They both shouted out in unison, freezing momentarily at the point of full
penetration. Harry was shocked back to reality at the thought that he might have hurt
Draco. He lessened the grip of his fingers at Draco’s hips, but his naked lover cried out
and pulled himself sharply down Harry’s shaft, then shoved himself back on until Harry’s
balls slapped against him. Harry lost it right there and then, fucking Draco mercilessly, his
thrusts vicious and deep, in time with Draco’s pleas of, “Harder, Harry! Fuck me harder!
God! Don’t stop!”

Harry obliged, fucking Draco as hard as he could, forcing a channel into the resisting flesh
spread out before him.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Harry grunted, between vicious thrusts.

“You…look…so…dirty.” he managed to say, in time to the rhythm of their bodies. Draco


whimpered his heightened arousal at Harry’s words. “You’re so fucking eager. God! I love
it!” he continued.

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Draco was crying Harry’s name quietly into the mattress, as Harry rode him
remorselessly.

“Come for me, Draco. Come for me now…”

The incredible tightness of Draco’s body wrestled the orgasm from Harry in very few
strokes. As Harry reached forward and grabbed a handful of white blond hair, stretching
Draco’s neck taut in the process, they came together, each screaming the other’s name
over and over, thrusting their bodies together to milk the last ripples of pleasure from
their orgasms. Draco slumped, arms still underneath his head to rest his panting, shaking
body against the mattress. Harry sat back on his knees, using his arms to prop his body
upright, and prevent his collapse onto Draco’s weakened frame. They stayed that way for
minutes, each fighting to regain some control over their bodies, and their breathing.

As soon as Harry felt some strength return to him, he leaned forward and placed a tender
kiss on Draco’s shoulder, eliciting a sated moan from his lover’s still form. Harry ran his
hands underneath Draco’s chest and pulled him backwards, up off the bed, until Draco
was sat in Harry’s lap, still impaled on his softening penis. Harry held Draco tight to him,
rubbing his face into Draco’s shoulder, kissing him over and over again.

He whispered, “I love you, Draco. I really do.”

He felt the sharp intake of breath through his hands, as he caressed Draco’s chest,
stroked the hard little nipples, feeling the platinum snakes curl around his fingertips.
Draco pulled himself out of Harry’s embrace and turned to face him. There were tears
brimming in his silver grey eyes, and his gorgeous face was wide with shock. Harry
reached up to stroke Draco’s cheek, but Draco threw himself into Harry, locking his arms
and legs around Harry’s body, burying his face in Harry’s neck, clinging to Harry for all he
was worth. Harry held him fast, giving wordless comfort, rocking him slightly, and
rubbing circles on his back.

Eventually, Draco pulled back and he looked up into Harry’s eyes. “I love you,” he said. “I
want you, Harry. I love you so much.”

The few moments until their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, were agony for the wait. They
kissed as they had the very first time; slowly, full of emotion. They moaned into each
other’s mouths, stroking their tongues together, licking across swollen lips, and breaking
to look at each other, before sinking back into their embrace. They whispered their ‘I love
you’s’ into open mouths, swallowing them deep down inside, in their shared breath.

The moment stretched forever.

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Chapter Nineteen

After dressing hurriedly in the Room of Requirement, Harry and Draco finally made it to
the Great Hall about ten minutes before lunch was due to end. Harry, walking slightly in
front of Draco, spotted Hermione waving and guarding a plate of food for him.

Half looking over his shoulder, Harry whispered, “I love you,” before heading off to his
table. He walked briskly to his seat, ignoring the questioning looks from his friends, and
plonked himself down next to Hermione. He exchanged basic greetings before picking
up a sandwich and taking a large bite from it, chewing thoughtfully as he watched Draco
make his slow, steady way to the Slytherin table. Harry felt a pang of guilt, watching
Draco wince slightly as he sat down at his table. Harry had to look down at his plate to
hide the warmth spreading across his face. When Ron cleared his throat slightly
uncomfortably, Harry looked at him and smirked. Ron in turn looked at Hermione with a
small crease between his brows, before leaving Harry in peace to finish his hurried meal.

A couple of minutes before the end of lunch, the three of them stood to leave, allowing a
limited amount of time to walk down to Herbology. As they approached the front
hallway, Harry’s attention was drawn to a small huddle of professors. McGonagall, Snape
and

Dumbledore were exchanging what seemed to be some fairly heated words. At least,
McGonagall and Snape were. The headmaster was spectating, with no small measure of
amusement etched across his features. The group fell quiet as Harry and his friends drew
level with them, their eyes all for Harry. He merely smiled sweetly at them, saying, “Good
afternoon, Professors,” before strolling out of the front door, with a very confused Ron
and Hermione in his wake.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Draco was late for both Herbology and Potions, their last lesson of the day. Even Blaise
had not bothered to wait as Draco made his way carefully from place to place, walking
slowly, although not with obvious difficulty. Harry felt worse and worse about what he
had done to his boyfriend that lunchtime, wishing he hadn’t been quite so forceful.

Professor Snape was particularly vicious towards Harry that afternoon, raising more than
a few eyebrows across the classroom. Harry accepted the abuse graciously, shrugging
off the more overt comments and smiling tightly to himself, faintly touched that the
mean professor should feel so protective towards Draco still. Perhaps Snape did, after all,
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harbour some feelings for his lover? Harry decided to kill two birds with one stone at the
end of the lesson.

As the students were leaving the room, Harry shooed Ron and Hermione away from him,
saying he needed to talk to Snape in private and not to wait for him. Although they didn’t
question the request, Harry could tell they were worried.

When the room was almost empty, Harry made his way to stand before Snape’s desk and
said confidently, “May I speak with you privately, sir?”

The professor turned and focused a look of withering contempt on Harry, seething
hatred plain on his face. Snape spat, “Everyone else out. Now!” while still looking at
Harry. Only Draco, Blaise and Pansy remained anyway.

Harry added, “Draco needs to stay, sir,” and calmly held the Head of Slytherin’s glare.

As the door snicked closed behind the departing students, Harry felt Draco move up
alongside him.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape’s fury was evident, and directed solely at Harry.

“I was wondering if you had a potion, sir, that might help Draco with his pain.” Harry
spoke without inflection, completely controlled. He heard Draco groan in discomfort at
his side, and watched Snape’s face turn almost purple.

“What?! Why?!” was all Snape could manage to say. Draco had dropped his head,
examining the stone of the floor in minute detail.

“Well, sir,” Harry began, “at lunchtime, I fucked Draco rather forcefully and I’m now
worried that he seems to be suffering.”

Draco groaned aloud and said, “Oh my God…” and covered his face with his hands,
flushed red skin visible between the splayed fingers. Harry thought Snape was going to
pop.

“You WHAT?!” Snape finally shouted, at Harry’s composed face.

“As I said, sir, I-”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, POTTER!” Snape roared. He had jumped up from behind his desk and
was pacing rapidly, clearly agitated. Draco stood completely still, apparently trying to
disappear.

“I thought Draco would rather I came to you than Madam Pomfrey. I thought you might
understand a bit more, sir,” he added, fighting hard to keep the smirk off his face. Harry
seemed to be the only one, however, who was enjoying this conversation.
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Eventually, Snape stood back before them, and looking at Harry said, “Why couldn’t you
be more careful? You’re not supposed to hurt him!” Snape’s face was hiding an emotion
just under the surface. Harry thought it might be jealousy. But he couldn’t seem to help
himself. He had found a chink in Snape’s armour and he was determined to capitalise on
it, sure that he could extract an admission of the professor’s feelings for Draco. He
ploughed on with,

“But he begged me, sir. Over and over. I couldn’t stop myself.” He raised his palms
slightly, in a small shrug.

Draco was now shuffling uncomfortably next to him. “Harry, don’t…”

“Can you help us or not, sir? Harry said, aiming for nonchalance but hitting arrogance.

There was silence for a minute before Snape moved in front of Draco, speaking quietly,
“How hurt are you?” he asked, the most gentle Harry had ever heard the professor’s
voice.

Shit. He really cares, Harry registered, before Draco replied,

“It’s nothing really, sir. Just a bit sore. Probably will have worn off by tomorrow.” Draco
never managed to make eye contact with Snape the whole time he was speaking.
Watching, Harry was hit full on with the realisation of what he was doing. How could he
be so stupid? He wasn’t pushing Snape; he was punishing Draco. And that had never
been his intention. Why didn’t you think this through before jumping in feet first again?
he thought to himself angrily. Suddenly feeling remorseful, Harry reached over and
grasped Draco’s hand, offering support and a feeble apology for his appalling behaviour.
Draco squeezed his hand back, but said nothing.

Snape exhaled loudly, shooting Harry a filthy glare before heading into the private room
adjoining the classroom.

“Draco, I’m sorry. I feel so guilty. I thought this might be better than the infirmary, but I
should have handled it better,” Harry whispered; aware at once of how lame he
sounded. But Draco must have been preoccupied, as he merely squeezed Harry’s hand
again and said nothing.

A minute or two later, Snape returned with a small blue jar in his hand. Again, he shot
daggers at Harry, and then headed to stand before Draco.

“This will help. It will cool the skin and reduce the swelling somewhat.” With another
sideways glare at Harry, he continued, “But you should refrain from further activity for at
least a few days.” The latter words were clipped, as if it had cost him to speak them.

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Draco reached his hand out, unseeing, to accept the jar. The hand was shaking quite
violently. Snape’s look of hatred hit it’s target this time, and Harry’s face crumbled.
Snape watched the tears prick Harry’s eyes, with a satisfied smile. Harry moved in to
grasp Draco, surprised when Draco’s arms flew up and clung around him, hugging the
breath out of his body. Harry and Snape shared a look of shocked discomfort over
Draco’s shoulder. Harry rubbed the shaky back absently, placing light kisses on the white
blond hair.

Snape regarded them the whole time. Eventually he exhaled loudly and said, this time to
both of them, “It may be easier if you have help to apply the salve. There will be less
movement involved.” Snape had to look away from Harry as he spoke. Harry thought his
professor more human in that moment. It was as if some admission of the place they
each held in Draco’s life had been spoken.

They were both surprised to hear a small voice from Draco interject, “Professor, is there
somewhere private here where we can use it? It’s a bit difficult for us around the school,
what with being from different houses. There aren’t many places for us to go and the
seventh floor seems miles away right now.”

Draco raised his gleaming grey eyes and looked pleadingly at Snape for just a moment,
before the professor turned away, beckoning them to follow him into his private rooms.

With Draco safely in the circle of Harry’s arms, the two of them paced slowly after their
professor, blue jar still tightly gripped in Draco’s white hand. Snape led them through a
comfortable sitting room with book-lined walls, into an adjoining room, containing a
more formal seating arrangement. He motioned with his hand and dipped his chin, to
indicate that Harry and Draco should use this room for their attentions. Backing out of
the room, Snape closed the double doors before him.

Harry moved forward to kiss Draco lightly. He whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” over
and over, forming the words on Draco’s lips. Draco silenced him with his mouth, cupping
Harry’s cheek gently in his palm, before Harry reached to take the jar from Draco’s hand.
Once he had the jar he unclipped Draco’s robes, and dropped them onto the chair they
were closest to. Pocketing the salve for the moment, Harry reached down to undo
Draco’s trousers, brushing his fingers accidentally over the growing erection hidden
beneath the clothes. Harry looked back up at Draco, arching an eyebrow in question.
Draco shrugged lightly but looked embarrassed. He told Harry,

“I don’t mind, you know. Please don’t be sorry. About the sex, I mean. I want us to do
that again. It was the most uninhibited, intense experience of my life.” He stopped for a
moment, smiling shyly at Harry’s look of wonder. Draco leaned in to kiss Harry before
continuing, “I like the fact that I can still feel you inside me. I want to feel you there for
days.”

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That made Harry groan, and he leaned in to kiss his lover passionately, all reservations
overcome. Harry felt himself grow as hard as Draco while they kissed. Draco’s hands
were everywhere, pulling his body closer to Harry’s, possessing as much as he could. It
was hard to pull away, but Harry did so eventually. Smiling at Draco, Harry turned him
round to face the back of the nearest chair. He knelt, easing the trousers and underwear
down to rest on Draco’s thighs. Retrieving the salve from his pocket, Harry unscrewed
the lid and dipped a finger in, slowly swirling it through the thick, whitish paste. When
the fingertip was well coated right down to the first joint, he placed the jar on the floor
and raised his free hand to stroke Draco’s buttocks. Draco gasped and automatically
thrust himself back into Harry’s touch, causing Harry to chuckle wickedly. Harry breathed
his hot breath onto the sensitised skin, and Draco moaned beautifully. Harry could feel
the pulsing start up in his groin once again at Draco’s responsiveness.

“Can you spread your legs a little, and hold yourself open for me?” Harry murmured, face
close to his lover’s skin still. Draco complied and Harry was given an intimate view of
Draco’s most private place. He could see how red it was, the puckered flesh looking shiny
and swollen and angry. Harry made a sound of remorse in the back of his throat, and his
breath rushed out. It made the hole clench just a little, and pulse in and out. Draco’s
whole body jerked in response, a high moan escaping his lips.

Before Harry knew it, he had leaned in all the way and licked Draco’s tortured opening
with a wet, delicate stroke of his tongue. Draco tried his hardest to force himself onto
Harry’s tongue, but Harry offered only the flat of it, not the point. Draco was pleading,
“Please, Harry. Please…don’t stop…” and rolling his hips back and forth, stretching
himself wider, perhaps in the hope of increasing the friction and penetration.

God! I want to fuck him again, right here! Harry thought to himself, groaning his arousal
against the taut flesh. Allowing himself only one more taste of Draco, Harry pulled back
and sat on his haunches, drawing shaky breaths and trying to contain his emotions. Draco
pushed his bottom back towards Harry in an unspoken plea, but Harry did not resume his
attentions. Instead, he raised the slicked finger and traced it gently all around the edges
of the opening, covering all the reddened flesh with the cooling balm. Harry allowed his
finger to slip in no farther than that first joint, and pumped it in the tiniest movements to
coat the irritated flesh inside. Draco was unashamedly begging now, trying without
success to push more of Harry’s finger inside him. Harry “tsk’d” affectionately at him,
and Draco tried hard to contain himself, lessening his moans a little.

When Harry was satisfied with the application of the salve, he turned Draco around with
his hands on those seductive, narrow hips. He had to duck back slightly so that the
weeping erection didn’t slap him on the nose. And then he looked up into Draco’s
desperately aroused face and took the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking on it
gently, swirling his tongue around the flesh until it was doubly lubricated. Draco had
leaned back against the chair and gripped it tightly as his legs wobbled a little. Harry was
momentarily stunned by the gorgeous face staring intently down at him, breathing
raggedly, a plea for release in his eyes.
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Circling the base of Draco’s erection with his hand, Harry spoke softly, “You were so
good today, Draco. So good. I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?” He moved his
hand, slowly stroking just the very bottom of Draco’s engorged shaft. Draco nodded
mutely.

“What would you like, Draco?” Harry teased, drawing the words out seductively.

It took Draco several swallows, and several deep breaths to manage, “Suck me off. I
want to come in your mouth. Please…”

Even before he’d finished speaking, Draco’s cock had disappeared between Harry’s moist
lips, and his hands flew up to grip the spiky black hair in front of him, twisting handfuls of
it as he worked his hips gently, fucking Harry’s willing mouth with shallow movements.

But, wildly turned on himself, Harry refused to go slowly. He sucked hard on Draco,
tasting the seeping lubricant coating his luscious flesh with relish, and pulled Draco’s hips
firmly to him, forcing the length to rub against the back of his throat with each insertion.
Harry moaned around the erection, feeling the vibration travel into Draco’s body,
eliciting yelps of pleasure. Draco shouted Harry’s name out as he thrust into the heat of
his mouth, and Harry worked to intensify the experience for his lover, gently grazing his
teeth along the swollen flesh when he withdrew, and pressing his tongue firmly along
the underside on every inward thrust. Harry pursed his lips tightly every time he felt
Draco’s flared head rub through his lips, rolling them wickedly against the dip of flesh
underneath the petal-soft head.

Harry was insistent and vigorous in his actions, hungry to drive Draco headlong into an
explosive release. It didn’t take awfully long to get his lover there. Draco finally
whimpered, “I’m coming, Harry,” before the first pulse of musky semen jetted into the
waiting mouth.

He shouted Harry’s name at the moment of release, the cry echoing off the stone walls of
Professor Snape’s sitting room, bouncing around them, while Draco poured himself into
Harry.

They remained joined at mouth and groin for a minute or so, Harry swallowing every last
taste he could extract from Draco’s body. Draco deepened his breaths, and loosed his
hands from Harry’s hair before chuckling quietly. Finally releasing the softening shaft
from his mouth, Harry rose shakily and pulled Draco tightly into his arms, kissing his neck,
as Draco whispered words of love while reaching down to Harry’s button fly. Harry
stopped him, reminding him with a glance around where they were. He was amused to
watch Draco blanch slightly, as he realised the inappropriate venue they had chosen for
such a display.

They took only a little time to make themselves presentable, but Draco prevented Harry
from leaving the room with a hand on his arm.

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“Harry? What you did. In the classroom just now? That was shitty. You embarrassed me
and you upset Professor Snape.” Harry was looking and feeling contrite. Draco
continued, “You think I still fancy him, but you’re wrong. I’m only going to tell you once.
Don’t ever do anything like that again. I’m not going to argue about this. I’m just telling
you, so you’re crystal clear. Right?” Harry nodded and went to speak, but Draco shook his
head slowly, showing Harry a small smile, before heading for the double doors back into
Professor Snape’s reading room.

Coming back through, they were confronted by a scowling professor who could not
make eye contact, mumbling with little coherence about Silencing charms. Draco and
Harry looked askance at each other, both grimacing when they realised that neither of
them had thought to set one.

Draco moved forward to thank Professor Snape profusely for the salve, and to return it
to him. Again, Snape moved away, refusing to accept the jar back, saying they may well
need it again in the future. Sniggering and embarrassed, they took leave of the mortified
Potions master, back into the classroom to collect their things. They shared a long,
passionate kiss at the door, murmuring ’I love you’s, before parting in the corridor and
heading their separate ways.

Chapter Twenty

Early in the following week, Professor Dumbledore sent word to Gryffindor tower for
Harry to meet him in his office. He made haste to go straight from Quidditch practise,
thinking it must be related to Draco’s parents and their imminent incarceration. The
gargoyles parted before Harry could even commence his list of confectionary names, and
he made his way up the stone staircase to the cluttered office.

When he walked in, the only person Harry could see was Draco. Flicking their gazes
guiltily around the office, they met in the middle of the floor for a quick kiss.

When they pulled apart, Draco murmured, “What’s wrong with this picture, Harry?”
gesturing around the room.

“You mean apart from the lack of headmaster?” questioned Harry, receiving a nod in
return. He scanned the room slowly, eyes finally alighting on a comfy looking sofa placed
squarely before Dumbledore’s crowded desk. “I’ve never seen a sofa in here before, I
must admit,” replied Harry finally.

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“Mm. Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious?” Draco looked at him from below a
pronounced frown, which made Harry smile and reach out to stroke the Slytherin’s
cheek.

“You are a cynic, Draco,” he grinned. “Fancy getting your leg over before the old man
comes back?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Draco snort with laughter
as he moved away quickly.

“Forget it! That would be like shagging in Professor Snape’s rooms,” Draco said, through
a grimace.

“Which we very nearly did...” Harry laughed. When Draco continued to back away, hands
shielding himself, Harry screwed his face up and moaned, “Oh, you’re no fun!”

They chatted together for a few minutes, catching up on little things that were too
inconsequential to write about at night. They moved around the office as they spoke,
picking up and examining the headmaster’s things. Every so often one of them would
exclaim over an object, and the other would come across for a better look. After about
ten minutes, they started to get a bit fed up of waiting. Draco tried to talk to some of the
portraits to try and find out where Dumbledore was, but they were all unhelpful to the
point of being quite rude.

After another ten minutes, they were pretty restless. They had manhandled every
portable possession in the office as well as poking at a few things that weren’t, and
examined the scenery outside. Harry flopped onto the sofa in frustration, leaning his
head back and sighing loudly.

Harry watched Draco hover on the other side of the room for a few moments, before
stalking over and crawling into Harry’s lap, straddling his legs and rubbing their noses
together affectionately. “Mmm…didn’t take you long to crumble, did it?” Harry
murmured into Draco’s neck as he kissed it. His hands wandered slowly down Draco’s
back, coming to a rest with a buttock in each palm. “God, you’ve got the most beautiful
backside I’ve ever seen,” Harry told Draco.

His lover chuckled and teased, “You haven’t exactly got a lot of previous conquests to
compare me to, have you?” He moved in and placed a kiss on Harry’s lips, perhaps to take
the sting out of his words. Harry responded by attacking the waistband of Draco’s
trousers and slipping his hands inside his boyfriend’s underwear until his palms rested
against bare skin. He dug his nails into Draco’s firm flesh, eliciting a little yelp, and moved
in for a proper kiss. Harry groaned in satisfaction as his mouth met Draco’s, and he was
more than pleased to feel the press of Draco’s hardening cock against his thigh. Draco’s
fingers combed Harry’s spiky hair as the kiss became more passionate. Harry was just on
the verge of moving a hand to unbutton Draco’s fly when the office door swung open.
The first indication that they had an audience was the shocked gasp of a woman slicing
through the air.

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They pulled away from the kiss sheepishly and looked towards the door. Harry winced
slightly as he took in the quartet of Draco’s parents and the headmaster, with a
thoroughly disgusted Professor Snape bringing up the rear. He tried to draw his hands
slowly out of Draco’s trousers without drawing further attention to their precise
positioning, but failed miserably, as all eyes swung down to watch his hands surface into
the light. He wished right then that they had both been wearing robes, which would have
hidden exactly what was going on. He could feel the burn of their matching blushes
without having to check Draco’s face.

Taking in the white fury of Lucius Malfoy’s face, Harry managed to break the silence with
a feeble, “Hello.” He was thankful that his erection had subsided instantaneously and
hoped that Draco had experienced the same good fortune.

The party at the door were frozen like statues until Draco eased himself off Harry’s lap
and stood before them all. “Mother. Father,” Draco said, voice full of formality,
appearing for all intents and purposes as if they hadn’t seen anything noteworthy.

“Come now, let us enter and be seated,” cut in Dumbledore’s cheery voice. “Some tea, I
think!” he added, as he Transfigured additional, very formal chairs for the group to sit on.

Harry noticed that while Narcissa Malfoy’s glare was fixed intently on her son, both
Lucius and Snape only had angry eyes for him. Draco sat next to Harry on the sofa, but he
perched uncomfortably on the edge rather than relaxing into it. Lucius Malfoy switched
his glare from Harry onto his son, but Draco acted as if he were not under scrutiny. He
reached forward and took the proffered teacup, passing one back to Harry at the same
time. Harry felt bemused; the whole situation was unreal.

The silence was finally shattered when Professor Snape spoke. “Does Potter reallyneed
to be present, Headmaster?” Both Lucius and Narcissa made wordless noises in
agreement even as Dumbledore looked at them over the top of his glasses. They waited
for him to speak.

“I believe Harry’s presence with us to be beneficial, not least because of his involvement
with your son.” Narcissa gave a high-pitched sob at that statement, pressing a folded
handkerchief to her eyes as she did. The atmosphere was incredibly tense.

Eventually, Mrs. Malfoy’s tearful voice wavered, “Draco?”

Harry watched his boyfriend’s emotionless profile with fascination. He could not imagine
what it would be like to be part of this family with their stiff formality. Draco turned to
look at his mother before speaking. “I had hoped to find a…better way of telling you
both of my relationship with Harry. However, I am not sorry and I will not be ending it for
the sake of your approval.”

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Harry wanted to fling his arms around Draco right at that moment and drag him
backwards into a warm embrace, but he contained his urge and schooled his face to
seriousness as best he could.

Mr. Malfoy spoke next. There was no distress in his voice, only grinding disapproval.
“Your opinion means little to me, Draco. I will not tolerate this relationship and you will
honour our wishes, as your parents.” He was almost snarling by the time he finished
speaking. To Harry’s surprise, Draco held his father’s evil stare, refusing to be intimidated
by the man.

Harry himself was almost squirming with discomfort and felt a strong need to say
something to break the confrontation. He found himself blurting, “Is it because he’s
gay?”

Dumbledore chuckled loudly, but he was the only person present who found the
comment amusing. Harry found himself pinned by three sets of disdainful eyes and even
Draco twisted around and raised an aristocratic eyebrow at his question.

Professor Snape answered him in his usual patronising fashion, looking out of the
window in bored resignation rather than meeting his eye. “Do grow up, Potter. Same sex
relationships are hardly front-page news, you know. Besides which, I doubt such an
obviously passing fancy is really of any importance here.” Harry could feel his blood
boiling at Snape’s cold dismissal of his love for Draco. He was about to snap back when
he caught Dumbledore minutely shaking his head, and kept his mouth shut.

The headmaster stepped in, diverting attention away from Harry. “I do believe that
debating the nature and prospects of Draco and Harry’s relationship would distract us
from the rather pressing matter at hand. Namely, Draco’s safety once he leaves the
school.” He leaned his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers and gazing off for a
moment before continuing. “Worrying about future social niceties at a time such as this
seems…pointless.” He shrugged slightly. “I requested Harry’s presence as he will no
doubt be Draco’s greatest protector for the duration of your time in Azkaban. I see this
fact displeases you, Lucius.” Dumbledore paused, as if waiting for Mr. Malfoy to speak.
When he did not, he continued, “Perhaps you should consider Harry’s track record. You
will find no one with a greater rate of success, I assure you.”

Lucius grunted before biting out, “Custody of my son will pass to Severus. He will be able
to advise Draco in matters that Potter will not.”

Dumbledore merely smiled and replied, “I’m afraid I have plans for Severus during the
summer months. His extended absence will be as necessary as your own. Harry, on the
other hand, is not only available but also most willing. And he would give his life for your
son, Lucius. Would you not, Harry?”

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Harry shot forward in his seat and exclaimed, “You know I would!” Lucius and Narcissa
both turned quickly towards Professor Snape, an unspoken question on their faces.
Snape looked angry, but nodded his confirmation that Harry was indeed telling the truth.
Harry felt sure that Mrs. Malfoy’s shoulders were set less rigidly as she settled back into
her chair. Draco had reached back and squeezed his knee, shooting him a shy smile. Harry
was pleased when he left the hand there.

“I will not have that boy living at Malfoy Manor!” Narcissa Malfoy’s tone was icy,
although Harry perceived that she seemed to have conceded the previous point and
moved on to another attempt at undermining him.

It was Draco who spoke up for Harry this time. “That won’t be necessary, Mother. Harry
has invited me to live with him.” Draco’s voice was even and calm as he spoke. The
statement was met with snorts of disbelief from both his parents and Snape.

“Yes, Draco,” his father sneered. “I can picture you now in Potter’s Muggle residence,
taking tea with his repellent relatives.” That actually made Harry laugh aloud. Finally, we
agree on something! he thought to himself.

Draco turned to Harry, and shot him a questioning look. He replied with a brief nod, and
leaned forward to address the Malfoys. “Draco would not be returning to my aunt’s and
uncle’s house. I’ve asked him to move into Grimmauld Place with me.”

That statement drew a loud exclamation from Lucius and Narcissa, the latter of whom
stood up in shock. “How have you come by the Black Family residence?” she demanded,
in a highpitched, brittle voice. All eyes were on Harry, waiting for his reply. In that
moment he felt very powerful, as if he were holding them all in the palm of his hand.

Smiling his sweetest smile, Harry finally said, “I was elected the Black family heir when my
godfather died.”

Narcissa collapsed back into her seat, whispering, “Sirius…”

“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. Sirius. My late godfather.” Harry was very matter of fact as he made
his statement, but inside he was bubbling over with glee at Draco’s parents’ anger at this
turn of events.

Lucius pinned Harry with narrowing eyes and murmured, “The Black Family vault…”

Harry grinned widely and shrugged, simply replying, “Mine.”

Narcissa snapped back, “But you’re not even a Black!” Harry looked over at Dumbledore,
who had an expression of suppressed amusement on his face.

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Harry turned back to Draco’s mother and said, “And neither are you. Or Bellatrix. Not any
more, at least.” Lucius raised an eyebrow at that. The same expression on Draco’s face
usually meant amusement. Harry briefly wondered if it meant the same on his father.

“My, my, Headmaster. You do seem to have done your homework,” murmured Lucius, as
if to himself. Harry wasn’t sure he was following the import of the conversation all of a
sudden.

Dumbledore replied, “I assure you most sincerely that I have played no part in arranging
for your son and Harry to become attached to each other. I admit that I think it is
excellent news, but I do not credit myself with being nearly manipulative enough to be
able to achieve such a union. No, no. They have managed this without any external help,
to the best of my knowledge.”

Draco finally found his tongue and addressed his father then. “I am in love with Harry,
Father. And this is not a particularly recent occurrence. We have been involved for some
months now.” Again, Harry was unnerved by the emotionless quality of his lover’s words
when addressing his parents. Draco continued, “When news of your imprisonment
reaches the newspapers, I suspect the story of our relationship will not be far behind,
once the journalists start to dig around. We have been discreet thus far, but I very much
doubt that we will be able to hide much longer. Regardless of the current situation, I
need Harry-”

Lucius cut across Draco’s speech then, with, “Need? Since when has need ever been a
consideration? You had better be stronger than this if you wish to survive.” Harry could
see Draco’s face flushing scarlet now, but he didn’t think it was from embarrassment.

Draco finally shouted, “Fine! I want him then. Is that better? Is that language you can
understand?” Harry reached out to touch his lover’s arm and suddenly he could feel as
well as see Draco’s body shaking with anger.

“How dare you…” Lucius hissed, face rigid with fury at his son’s insolence.

“Gentlemen, please,” interrupted Dumbledore. “This altercation is a waste of our


precious time. We must agree a way forward this evening, before events overtake us.”

“Yes. I expect it’s easy for you to be calm, isn’t it, Dumbledore?” spat out Lucius. “After
all, you aren’t going to Azkaban, are you?”

Dumbledore’s gaze swept the room slowly before he replied, “This is a weary argument,
Lucius. We must press on.”

With that, Professor Dumbledore steered them through the delicate negotiations
surrounding Draco’s status upon his parents’ incarceration (or ‘protective custody’, as
the headmaster preferred to call it). It was finally agreed that Draco and Dumbledore

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would share the burden of overseeing the Malfoy Estate and the variety of family
interests. Financial matters would fall solely to Draco, although it was agreed that
Professor Snape could be at least minimally contactable to support him if the need arose.

The larger part of the discussion, (and arguments), were about Draco’s living
arrangements. He himself was adamant that he would be joining Harry at Grimmauld
Place. He would have additional protection at all times – a bevy of Aurors, similar to
Harry’s own arrangements.

However, the discussion that interested Harry the most was the one concerning the
media and public feedback, which would impact on both himself and his boyfriend. Harry
had long been concerned about having to deal with the intense public scrutiny that was
bound to accompany disclosure of his homosexuality, but all of a sudden, it seemed less
insurmountable. He had never imagined a situation where there would be someone at his
side, supporting him and sharing the pressure with him, as Draco would be. He also
couldn’t help but think that what Draco would have to deal with was going to be far
worse than his own problems. He shook himself internally and coached himself to put
the problem into perspective. He loved Draco and when it actually came down to it, he
wanted people to know. It made him smile to himself when he realised he wanted to
show Draco off; to shout from the rooftops, ‘Look how wonderful, how gorgeous he is!
And he loves me!’

Leaving his reverie and rejoining the discussion, Harry found himself disturbingly awed by
Lucius Malfoy’s ability to manipulate events for the benefit of his family. Following much
toing and fro-ing, it was decided that news of Harry and Draco’s relationship would be
leaked to the Prophet shortly after the Malfoys went to Azkaban. Harry’s head pounded
from considering the many angles of the media spotlight, and from trying to understand
the number of different conclusions that the wizarding world could potentially leap to.

It would be likely that the media would question Draco’s own allegiance to Voldemort. In
the first instance, they would probably label him a Death Eater, assuming he would
follow in the footsteps of his family. But after the news of his relationship with Harry
became known, many would think he had given his own parents up as some kind of
offering for switching sides. Dumbledore and Lucius agreed that it would be impossible
and also unwise to try and contain these rumours. After all, it would be helpful to have a
smokescreen of sorts, and this seemed to be as workable as any of their own design. All
agreed, however, that it would be unlikely that Draco would receive much in the way of
public sympathy. Harry in particular was very upset about this. He vowed to do anything
to deflect bad press from his lover and agreed to shoulder some of the media
responsibilities, including giving of interviews and such, to curtail as much negativity as
possible.

Of course, there was also the issue of Voldemort and his opinion of the Malfoy family
situation. Once he knew of Harry and Draco’s relationship, it was likely that he would
pursue Draco with a view to either interrogate him or worse, assassinate him. Certainly,
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he would have to assume that Draco could not be trusted as an ally. Lucius and Snape
agreed that in such cases, Voldemort had a tendency to ‘do away’ with questionable
people. This would make the role of Draco’s Auror guards both dangerous but also
hugely important.

Dumbledore agreed to take personal responsibility for the organisation and management
of both Draco and Harry’s Auror guards. It was just too important to leave it to anyone
else.

It made Harry’s head spin as each of them argued both sides of the many sticking points,
unable to draw up a clear, definitive plan. Lucius Malfoy secretly impressed him, although
he still didn’t like the man. Malfoy senior seemed to come alive when presented with a
problem and he was dogged in his determination to secure the best solution. Harry was
convinced that by the end of the discussion, Lucius was more tolerant of both his son’s
relationship and his choice of partner. It was almost, Harry thought, like he had talked
himself into it being a good idea. It was the first time Harry had any inkling that the man
might actually care for Draco. Certainly, it was rather surprisingly agreed that Harry could
both visit and stay over at Malfoy Manor, although moving in was overstepping the
boundaries. Seeing a victory in his parent’s concessions, Draco accepted it.

Harry found himself tuning out of the conversation again some time later, and
considering quite how much his relationship with Draco could change the public
perception of the Malfoys as a pure-blood dynasty. He did not for one moment entertain
the notion that Draco’s parents would welcome him into the fold with open arms. But he
did think to himself that if the Malfoys wanted not only to change sides but also to court
public approval, that having himself involved with Draco could not be a better way of
proceeding. When Harry finally tuned back in to his surroundings, he met the calculating
gaze of Lucius Malfoy. It was as if they had an instantaneous recognition of their
individual conclusions and discovered that they were in agreement. But even so, Harry
was shocked when he received a small nod from the man.

When the discussion had run its natural course, the headmaster bid them all goodnight.
Following very formal farewells to the Malfoys, and a warm hug accompanied by a
dazzling smile from his beloved boyfriend, Harry planted himself back on the sofa.
Dumbledore seemed unsurprised that Harry remained behind. Finally they were alone,
and the headmaster waited for Harry to speak.

Harry stretched the silence out for a while before meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. “You set
us up.” Harry spoke without inflection, giving no clue as to his mood.

The headmaster laughed delightedly and clapped his hands together, nodding vigorously
at the same time. “Yes Harry, I did. And I must say, you have rather more restraint than I
credited you with! I had to walk the Malfoys around the second floor twice while I waited
for you to get into a position that was unmistakably compromising!” Harry sat shaking
his head slowly at Dumbledore’s glee.
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Harry finally responded with, “Didn’t you trust Draco to tell them himself? Surely it was
his right to do so?”

Dumbledore calmed his humour a little before replying, “A picture says a thousand
words, Harry. This was one occasion when I felt that Draco’s parents needed to see how
you are together, not hear about it in cold, clinical detail.”

Harry narrowed his eyes before saying, “You really are a sneaky, manipulative bastard,
aren’t you?”

“Yes,” came the frank, amused reply. They sat in silence for a moment before Harry
decided to speak something that had been on his mind for a while.

“On my first day at Hogwarts, I remember Hermione saying that you yourself were in
Gryffindor as a student.” The headmaster poured them more tea as Harry spoke, saying
nothing, but implying his interest through his expression. Harry continued, “I believed
that for quite a long time, sir. Then I decided to check up on you, back at the start of the
year.” Harry now had Dumbledore’s rapt attention as he spoke. “I really find it weird that
there aren’t actually any records stating your house affiliations as a student, although
there is proof that you were Head of Gryffindor House for a while.” The teacher
motioned for Harry to continue, when he stopped to collect his thoughts. Harry sat
forward until he was perched quite precariously on the edge of the sofa.

“I don’t think you were in Gryffindor as a student, Professor.” He watched a big,


mischievous grin grow on Dumbledore’s face. “I think you were in Slytherin.”
Dumbledore’s laughter boomed out in the cluttered office, waking a few of the snoozing
portraits and shocking Harry. The professor got out of his chair and walked around his
desk, leaning against it as he addressed Harry.

“You are quite right, Harry. I was indeed in Slytherin as a student here. I am pleased and
proud that you are the first person ever to discover my little deception!” He leaned
forward and squeezed Harry’s shoulder, before continuing and filling in the final blanks.

“You are not the first person to disagree with the Sorting Hat! I myself was offered

Gryffindor in preference to Slytherin, but chose the former. Even at that time, Slytherin
House held such mystery, such fear over the other houses. I decided early on that to
know the enemy meant that I must know exactly how they operated. I read ‘Hogwarts: A
History’, much as Miss Granger did, and I learned from it that nearly all Dark wizards had
their roots in Slytherin. Coming from a family of crusaders for the Light, and also being
something of a self-righteous know-it-all; yes, even at that age,” Dumbledore smirked
and shrugged at that point, before continuing, “I concluded I must gain access to their
culture, if you like.”

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He paused for a moment to allow Harry to absorb his words before continuing, “It was a
simple thing to enchant the school records to ‘forget’ where I was placed, and there are
few alive (or ghostly), who remember me as a student. I needed to do very little to alter
memories to hide my roots. But hide them I felt I must, Harry. It would not do for those
who came later to know quite how much I understood of their ‘special’ education. In
some ways, I wished you had accepted the will of the Sorting Hat on your first day, but
you made you choice without the knowledge that I already had at the same age. I cannot
blame you for that.”

Harry had sat back in the sofa, no longer looking at his headmaster as he spoke, but
focusing on his words all the same. He finally said, “I cannot believe you.”

Dumbledore just shrugged expansively and replied, “Believe it, Harry. And be grateful for
the insight we have into our enemies’ psyche as the result of some most timely action on
the part of my younger self. And now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight, Harry!”

Sensing the finality of the dismissal, Harry rose and left the office, mulling over the very
busy evening he'd had.

Chapter Twenty-one

Two days later, the news of the ‘capture’ of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy made the front
page of the Daily Prophet. And six pages inside. Hedwig caused a huge racket at about
five ‘o’clock in the morning, pecking the window to Harry’s dorm so hard that the glass
rattled in its frame. She refused to hand the paper over to Neville, who had reached the
window first, heading directly for the small gap in Harry’s curtains.

As Harry petted Hedwig and relieved her of the furled Daily Prophet, his dorm mates
drifted sleepily towards his bed to discover what the fuss was all about. Even anticipating
the story, Harry was taken by surprise when he laid eyes on the crisp, clear picture of
Draco’s parents. Lucius was rigidly upright, arm encircling his wife tightly as they walked
between an escort of Ministry security officials. Lucius’ face was drawn, his expression
challenging, while Narcissa looked shocked and tired. The headline read,

Death Eaters duped?

Aurors set trap and catch Malfoys.

There was an instant outbreak of chatter between Harry’s friends except for Ron, who
looked carefully at Harry, obviously trying to judge his reaction.

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The pair looked at each other in complete silence before Ron said, “You knew.” He had
spoken quietly, but the comment sliced though the gossiping, until all eyes were on
either Harry or Ron.

Harry dipped his head in a brief nod, answering only, “Yes.” The atmosphere in the room
changed subtly; a sudden tension, while everyone waited for equilibrium to return.

“You never said,” Ron murmured, his face accusing.

“I couldn’t, Ron. I was told not to.” Harry felt a shiver of worry as he registered just how
bad this media storm could be, for both himself and Draco. Harry looked back down at
the paper, carefully opening the page to scan the inside story.

It was Neville who broke the strained silence. “What’s happening, Harry? Isn’t this good
news?” Harry looked at his friend, this person who had lost so much himself, and realised
it was time to start telling the truth.

Harry looked at each of his dorm mates in turn, finishing with Ron before saying clearly,
“I’m involved in a relationship with Draco. He’s my boyfriend.” Harry watched his friends’
faces as they fluctuated between disbelief, dismay and disgust. But he ploughed on,
“We’ve been together for a while now, but we kept it secret for obvious reasons.” Dean
snorted loudly at that, but had the grace to flush red when Harry stared at him. “I’m in
love with him, and he loves me back. And I’m happy, probably for the first time ever.”

Seamus whispered, “No!” in a small, shocked voice. Harry just looked at him, showing no
emotion. Seamus found his voice and came back at Harry with, “Oh, I see. So now that
you two are all cosy, it’s not okay to arrest Death Eaters anymore. Is that what you’re
saying?” Seamus had a waver in his voice as he finished speaking, and Harry recognised
the budding anger.

“Look, Seamus,” Harry began. “You haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. How
do you think it feels, knowing that the parents of the person you adore are evil?” Harry’s
voice was growing in volume. “How do you think it feels to know they’re going to be
arrested and not be able to tell anyone? That he and his family are going to be vilified;
publicly humiliated?” Harry was almost shouting as he flung the last words out. Seamus
blanched under the onslaught. At the sight of the effect of his words, Harry felt the warm
glow of satisfaction deep inside his stomach. Of course, he had no intention of telling any
of them that Draco also knew the arrests were coming – that was out of the question.

Harry was brought back to awareness by Ron’s gentle call of, “Harry?” Looking at his
friend,

Harry could see the resolve form on Ron’s face. “What can I do to help?” He reached out
and grasped Ron’s forearm in heartfelt thanks. He gripped it hard, until they both smiled
at each other.

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Harry replied, “Things are going to be bad for him, Ron. And they’ll be even worse in a
couple of days, when the Prophet finds out about us being a couple.”

Ron looked thunderstruck, but said, “How will they find that out?” Harry could almost
see the cogs whirring inside his best friend’s head, trying to calculate the impact of the
public outcry.

“We’re going to stop hiding, Ron.” Harry said it gently, knowing that Ron would need to
undertake his own preparation for the outing of his best friend. Harry looked round at
the others, weighing their demeanours and doing his best to work out how much of a
problem he was going to have with them.

Dean scrubbed his face with his hands and choked out, “Shit! This is a lot to take on
board in one go.”

“I know. For me, too,” Harry said kindly. “You’re my best friends, here in this room. You
lot and Hermione, I need you. More than ever, I need you now. I’m asking you to put your
feelings to one side and help me. And Draco. And I know that’s a lot to ask. But please. I
know you have it in you. It’s what makes us Gryffindors.”

“Whatever you need, Harry. Just tell me and I’ll do it,” said Neville immediately.

Neville looked so earnest, and Harry could not doubt that his friend had the utmost faith
in his judgement. He smiled and murmured, “Thanks, Nev. Really. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, me too,” added Dean, although he sounded less pleased about the prospect.
“And Seamus. He’ll get over being a prick any minute now, honest.” Dean elbowed
Seamus sharply in the ribs. Seamus managed an incoherent grunt, which Harry accepted
as his agreement.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly. “Ron, I think we need Hermione here so we can talk properly.

Sort Hedwig out with a note, will you?” As Ron wrote and attached the parchment to
Hedwig’s leg, Harry took the time to look over the rest of the article. It was bad. The
report all but stated that the Malfoys were confirmed Death Eaters. The fact that they
actually were was neither here nor there to Harry. For the first time, he was truly able to
see the problem from the other side. He groaned inwardly as he read down the lengthy
list of allegations and the evidence supporting the suspicions.

Of course, Harry knew the report had to be damning. It was necessary, to make
Voldemort believe that the imprisonment of the Malfoys was genuine, which meant that
the Prophet had free reign to print all the hidden scandals and rumours from years past.
Harry wondered if Draco was reading the paper too at that moment, and if he was, how
might he be feeling? After all, it’s one thing to know a family secret, but another thing

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entirely to see it exposed for all to see. Harry’s stomach twisted in anxiety as he thought
about what might be in store for Draco during the day.

About five minutes later, Hermione trudged up the stairs. She looked tired, but resolute.
Harry laid the newspaper out on his bed for her to see and she walked over, gasping
loudly as she flopped onto the mattress and scanned the articles.

Eventually, she looked up at him with pained eyes and said, “Oh, Harry. What can we
do?”

“I was thinking along the lines of damage limitation, actually,” Harry replied. “And I
thought you’d be the best person to keep everything in check.” Hermione nodded at
him, obviously flattered by the faith he put in her ability to cope.

The six of them had a lengthy conversation, albeit with Harry and Hermione actually
doing most of the talking. Between them, they agreed to tackle any comments against
Draco and the other Slytherins, doing their best in the first instance to play them down. If
that failed, then they all agreed to go for a more authoritative approach. What this meant
in reality was that Hermione and Ron would start giving out detentions and deducting
points from any students they overheard being aggressively unkind.

Hermione persuaded Harry to let her talk to Lavender, Parvati and Ginny, to try and
engage their support as well. He was glad that Hermione was going to deal with Ginny;
he’d been dreading that himself, being only too aware of her fascination with him.
Frankly, Ginny made him squirm. And not in a good way.

Harry asked them all to hold on to the news of his and Draco’s relationship. He knew that
it would most likely be difficult, as the urge to gossip about something this big was just
so tempting. He hoped they would all come through for him. He was at their mercy now.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

As he stood under the pounding shower, letting the hot water beat at his tense neck
muscles, Harry snorted quietly to himself. He contemplated the fact that the news of his
homosexuality had been almost completely lost in amongst the larger shocks of the
arrest of the Malfoys, and the fact that Draco was his boyfriend. In some ways, he was
relieved. Perhaps being gay really wasn’t such a big deal after all.

Having dressed quickly, Harry made his way down to the Slytherin dungeons. It was early,
maybe only a little after seven, but he imagined that Draco would have been up a while
too. As he descended the stairs to the lower level, Harry caught sight of Vince and Greg.

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They were sitting near the bottom step, and both turned and stood at the echo of his
footfalls. Nodding a greeting to the pair, Harry let himself be led towards the Slytherin
common room.

But before they got there, Greg turned slightly and mumbled, “Draco’s in Professor
Snape’s office. He’s expecting you.”

Harry gave him a small, nervous smile and said, “Thanks, Greg,” before taking his leave of
them and heading towards the Potions master’s office.

Harry felt unaccountably nervous as he stood before the heavy door, calming his anxiety
before he knocked. It was Draco who called him inside. Harry was surprised to see Draco
slumped down in a large, comfy armchair, the likes of which Harry had never seen in
Snape’s office before. Curls of steam were rising from a china teapot, but other than
that, the room was still. Snape was nowhere in sight.

Draco smiled up at Harry, but didn’t move. Harry couldn’t help but notice how tired his
boyfriend looked, although everything else about his presentation was as immaculate as
always.

“Ah. My knight in shining armour arrives,” Draco chuckled. Harry grinned back and
dropped a kiss on the top of the pale blond head, before lowering himself to his knees
between Draco’s legs. Harry lay against Draco’s chest, worming his arms behind Draco’s
back and holding him close. They were silent for some minutes. Eventually, Draco asked,
“You’ve seen the Prophet?”

Harry moved back slightly so he could look at Draco’s face and he nodded and replied,
“Yes.” Draco huffed expressively, showing Harry his utter exhaustion.

“Kiss me?” Harry smiled at Draco’s shy request, and moved in slowly and gently pressed
their lips together. Harry’s mouth tingled at the warm sensation, but he waited for Draco
to want more before parting his lips and sliding his tongue out. The kiss was tentative,
carefully measuring each other’s response.

When they parted, Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands and said earnestly, “I love you.
I don’t care what’s true and what’s a lie. It doesn’t change a thing.” It was the right thing
to say. When Draco smiled his appreciation back at him, Harry thought he’d never seen
his lover look so striking. There was strength inside Draco; a will to fight that would
ensure his survival, whatever might happen. Harry felt some of the tensions inside him
subside as he recognised the expression for what it meant.

They talked for quite a while, reassuring each other, and mentally preparing themselves
for the days ahead. Harry told Draco about letting his friends in on their relationship
secret. He could have been mistaken, but Harry was sure that Draco looked relieved as he
said it.

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A good while later, Draco stretched and said, “How do you feel about walking me up to
breakfast?” He grinned impishly at Harry as he said it. Harry felt himself frown slightly,
and he saw the happiness in his lover’s face crumble. “You don’t have to!” Draco blurted
out, but Harry was already shaking his head.

“It’s not that, Draco. I just wonder if you really need to field any questions about me,
today of all days.”

Leaning forward and pecking a quick kiss on Harry’s lips, Draco replied, “I think that’s
exactly why it should be today. I’d rather answer questions about you than my parents.”
Draco stared off into space for a few moments.

“Do you want me to sit with you, too?” Harry asked haltingly.

Draco choked out a loud laugh before saying, “Merlin, Potter! One thing at a time, all
right?” But he kissed Harry passionately, even through his laughter, and Harry was glad
he had made the offer, if only to make Draco laugh.

They left the office, walking side by side. Their companionable chatter filled the echoing
corridors. They hadn’t even rounded the corner from Snape’s office before they came
upon a group of younger Slytherins. Harry scrutinised Draco’s reaction, just on the edge
of his sight, and couldn’t detect even the slightest tension in Draco’s stance. The pupils
looked up at Harry in complete silence, measuring him with their eyes, but giving nothing
away about their findings. As the two of them made their way between the group, Harry
felt the press of Draco’s hand in the small of his back. It made him smile, and relief
coursed through him at this recognition of their friendship in front of other pupils. It gave
Harry hope. He shared a glance with Draco as they passed the group and walked on, but
it was a minute before their conversation resumed.

In a short time, they were at the top of the stairs leading into the main hall. The huge
doorway to the Great Hall was just across from them. By unspoken mutual consent, they
ground to a halt, stepping to one side to move out of the flow of students. Turning to
look at Draco, Harry could now see the small signs of stress in his face. If he looked really
closely, he could follow the tiny tick in the corner of a glassy silver eye.

“You could have breakfast somewhere else, you know,” Harry suggested carefully. Draco
shook his head sharply.

“It’s not the Malfoy way to show weakness, Harry. Besides which, my house will close
ranks and address any little…difficulties as they arise. I’m not really alone.” Harry
thought Draco’s words were incongruent with his body language. He was starting to feel
very worried, and Draco must have noticed because he continued in a rather brisk,
authoritative tone, “Look, I imagine the majority of sarcasm and unpleasantness would
have come from Gryffindor house, but seeing as you control them, I expect it won’t be so
bad.”

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Harry was confused. “What do you mean, ‘control them’? I don’t control them.
Gryffindor’s not like that.” Harry knew as soon as he saw Draco’s reaction that it had
been the wrong thing to say.

“Oh. I see. Perhaps that’s just a Slytherin thing then,” Draco almost spat out through
gritted teeth.

“Don’t say it like that!” Harry snapped back, the shock evident in his voice. He was
grasping madly at explanations in his head as to how, and why, the conversation had
turned so spectacularly sour.

“Look, Potter, Draco snarled threateningly, “Slytherins stick together. Whatever the
problem. Just because your Gryffindors are too busy looking down on everyone else
from their precious fucking moral high ground to compromise for the greater good,
don’t you dare question our way of doing things.” Harry opened his mouth to speak, but
Draco cut him off with a glare. “You might write us off as Junior Death Eaters, I think
your phrase was, but you have no idea how things are for us.” Harry stood there, mouth
hanging open, completely lost for words. Draco continued, “I can’t believe I thought you
might care remotely about any of this.” And then he turned on his heel, robes billowing
around him, and marched off to the Great Hall, head held rigidly high.

Harry set off after Draco, maybe five or six paces behind him, but he didn’t try to call him
back. He just followed. His thoughts were a jumble, each idea tripping over the others to
claim prominence. He tuned everything out as he entered the Great Hall. Draco was
already half way to his table, and Harry noted the volume of chatter decrease rapidly as
more pupils became aware that Draco had entered. Only the Slytherin table acted as if
nothing was amiss.

Newspapers were open up and down every table, Harry saw. They must have been in
Snape’s office longer than Harry realised, if the regular post had already arrived.

Harry eventually looked away from Draco and sought out his friends at his own table. He
did his best to ignore Ginny’s accusatory glare as he sat down between Dean and Ron.
Harry paid no attention to the nervous glances of his friends as he filled his plate with
food.

As usual, it was Hermione who took the bull by the horns and broke the silence.

“The story’s caused quite a stir, as you can imagine.” Harry grunted his reply, mouth full
of toast. “We’ve had words with a few students this morning.” Harry looked up
enquiringly. “Mostly Gryffindors.” He groaned at that, shoulders slumping slightly as
Draco’s words echoed through his mind. When he looked down the table at his fellow
Gryffindors, Harry was perturbed note how many of the younger pupils averted their
gazes instantly, perhaps scared Harry would read their thoughts. “That’s not altogether
unexpected, Harry,” Hermione added cautiously.

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Swallowing his mouthful, Harry replied quietly, “Draco would certainly agree
wholeheartedly with you on that score.” He couldn’t look at his friends. He was afraid of
seeing their pleasure at the first signs of trouble in paradise.

Drawing herself up, Hermione continued, “Professor McGonagall’s been rather…ah…


testy about the article this morning. I think half of the fourth year are already in
detention with her at some point this week, for being overheard plotting a mass Jelly-
legs jinx on Slytherin house.” Harry raised his eyebrows at that.

“I tell you mate, the twins would have been proud! Those fourth years, bloody clever
how they were going to do the jinx. They were-” Ron stopped speaking abruptly as Dean
cleared his throat loudly. Ron just shrugged and chuckled, saying, “Okay, okay. I was just
trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit.” Harry turned slowly and just looked at Ron. It
was one of those long, searching looks, and it had Ron squirming in discomfort.

“How’s Draco, Harry?” Neville spoke with quiet confidence, drawing all attention to him.
The fact that Neville had used Draco’s first name didn’t escape Harry, and he shot Neville
a small smile.

“Oh. He’s his usual self,” Harry snorted. When no one asked anything else, he continued,
“He thinks our house is going to give him the worst time over the report. And he’s
probably right, much as I hate to admit it.” There were slow nods of agreement from
those near to Harry.

Ron broke in, with, “And he’s going to hate us even more when we lift the Quidditch Cup
on Saturday!”

“That’s it, Ron. Let’s keep our priorities straight, shall we?” Hermione huffed, but with a
small amount of humour, as she stood us from the table and picked up her pile of books.
“Let’s go. We’ll be late for Herbology.” Cramming a last bite of toast and marmalade into
his mouth, Harry followed his friends, shooting the Slytherin table a long look, trying to
catch Draco’s eye. But all he saw was the back of Draco’s head, as his boyfriend pointedly
looked away.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The day was an awful one for Harry. He had three lessons with Draco. Which equated to
three opportunities for Draco to freeze him out. Harry was distracted by their
disagreement, and he knew it.

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To be absolutely fair to Draco, he presented an impeccably self-assured persona


throughout the whole day. It was almost impossible to guess that he was under the dual
pressures of the newspaper report and his argument with Harry. But Harry could see the
signs that showed how hard Draco had to apply himself. They were subtle. Just a sigh
here, or a roll of the neck there. But they were there, and Harry wanted nothing more
than to run to Draco’s rescue – to hold him tight and protect him. Harry sighed to
himself, hearing Hermione’s voice inside his head, telling him to stop being so obsessed
with being a hero.

In fact, that was exactly what he was thinking about when Professor Snape barked at
Harry to remain behind after the lesson to receive his punishment for inattention.

Standing before Snape’s desk, Harry listened with bored resignation to the litany of
complaints about his efforts as a student. He only really started to pay attention when
Snape raised the subject of Saturday detentions.

“I would have thought, Potter, that you would be endeavouring to produce your best
behaviour, with the final Quidditch game of the year occurring in just two days time. It
would be a pity to see Gryffindor house…impeded by your absence.” Harry’s blood was
just about boiling in his veins at this well-worn threat.

“But sir,” he began, knowing even as he spoke that he really shouldn’t play into the
professor’s hands, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want Slytherin to lift the Quidditch cup under
the shadow of your having excluded me from representing my house? I imagine people
would talk…” Harry watched the professor’s eyes harden, and draw down into the
narrowest of slits. He was furious. Harry watched with glee as Snape accepted the truth
of his words.

“Detention, Potter. Saturday. Immediately after the Quidditch match.” Harry couldn’t
stop himself smirking. He was elated to have got one over on Snape.

“Another detention, Potter, for smirking. Sunday morning. Five ‘o’ clock.” That’s when it
hit Harry. Snape wasn’t just punishing him over his performance today. He was punishing
him for Draco too.

He found himself blurting out, “I tried to help him this morning. I don’t know what-”

“Spare me the sordid details. I can hardly claim surprise that you are incapable of offering
support to Draco in his hour of need.” Harry was fuming. How dare Snape say such a
thing! Harry took a step towards the desk separating them, and found himself looking at
the end of his Potions master’s wand. Snape snarled, “Do not even attempt to threaten
me.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry half-shouted.

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“Prove yourself, Potter. For once in your life, put someone else first. Merlin knows why
he wants you, but he does. It is long past time that you demonstrated you are worthy to
claim him as yours. Now get out before I regret my lenience.” Harry stood, rooted to the
spot for some moments, morbidly fascinated by the hatred carved into Professor Snape’s
face. He couldn’t understand it. He really couldn’t. But he collected his bag and left the
classroom without a backwards glance.

If Harry thought he had been preoccupied before, well – he’d been mistaken. He
replayed the interaction with Snape over and over in his head. He barely spoke at all
during the lunch break, being so absorbed in his thoughts.

By mid afternoon, Harry concluded that he was going to have to apologise to Draco. As
soon as possible. He still didn’t know what he’d done, but apologising or backing down
was better than carrying on in strained silence. Harry wondered if he’d ever get the hang
of balancing his own emotions alongside someone else’s. It seemed like so much hard
work.

He decided to collect his Invisibility Cloak, and wait outside Professor Binns’ classroom,
for Draco’s last lesson of the day to finish.

Gathering his courage, Harry went to wait.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

Harry didn’t have to wait too long. But he did have to find a way to get Blaise out of the
equation. He was almost glued to Draco’s side as they left Binns’ classroom together, and
Harry really did not want to apologise in front of him, too. Aiming a Trip jinx carefully,
Harry stepped back as Draco stumbled and dropped his armful of books. Both Slytherins
bent to pick up the scattered texts, but Harry made a grab at Draco’s wrist, squeezing it
gently but remaining utterly silent. Draco froze, and Harry watched his features settle
into a frown.

Turning slightly, Draco said to Blaise, “Leave them, Blaise. I’ve got to go back in to Binns
anyway. I’ll see you later.” Harry let out the anxious breath he had been holding and let
go of Draco, stepping back to give him some space. Blaise made to stay, but Draco
dismissed him again, and Harry watched the other Slytherin walk off down the corridor.
He was alone with Draco.

“What?” Draco snapped, staring at the floor.

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“We need to talk,” Harry replied as carefully as he could. Draco snorted angrily at that,
but stood, shoving his books forcefully into his bag and letting himself be led to a nearby
classroom. His body language was stiff and guarded.

Harry closed the heavy wooden door carefully behind them, setting both Locking and
Silencing charms in place. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak off and let it slide to the floor.
He watched Draco throw his bag on the floor and pace up and down, his face tense with
illcontained fury. Harry stayed near the door, unsure what to say now that he had Draco
to himself.

“Come on then, Potter. Out with it!” Draco finally ground out.

Taking a step into the room, Harry said, “Let me help you, Draco-”

“What exactly do you think you can do to help?” Draco stalked towards Harry, eyes cold,
gaze challenging. Harry subconsciously took a step back from the advancing Slytherin.
“Are you going to start spying on me? To make sure I keep my evil Slytherin urges under
control?” Draco was sneering now, as if trying to prod Harry into some sort of retaliation.
But Harry remained silent, thinking it best to encourage the anger out of his boyfriend.

Harry only realised he had continued backing away when his heel hit the wall, followed
quickly by his back. He pressed himself into the cold stone as the spectacularly furious
Draco came to stand only a pace in front of him. Harry was desperately trying to think
what he could say or do that would make Draco understand that he wanted to apologise.
Draco leaned forwards, placing his hands either side of Harry’s head. It brought their
faces very close together.

“Come on, Potter. Tell me. I’m desperate to know.” Draco was almost hissing as he
finished speaking.

“Look, Draco. I didn’t mean what I said this morning. It came out wrong, okay?” Harry
gushed, knowing full well that it was not okay from the continuing snarl on the face so
close to his. “I have every intention of stopping any comments, especially from within my
own house, so don’t be thinking otherwise. In fact, we’ve already started dealing with
lower school students. Hermione’s policing the common room as we speak, no doubt.”
Harry found he was breathless as he finished speaking, and his chest rose and fell rapidly.

“I see. So, you’ve got your friends doing the dirty work, have you? I wonder what exactly
it is that you are good for,” Draco murmured threateningly.

Harry was enraged. “I’m good for lots of things!” he snapped out, hands balling into fists
at his sides.

There was a long silence, in which Harry could only hear his own ragged breathing.

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“Want to know what you’re really good for, Potter?” When Harry didn’t reply, Draco
leaned in until their noses touched. A loud sigh escaped Harry’s lips and Draco laughed
dryly. “Hands and knees, Potter.”

“What? Harry said, confused.

“Get on the floor. Now. Hands and knees. Do I need to break that down any more for
you?” Harry was gob smacked. How the hell could Draco be thinking about sex at a time
like this?

He stood frozen, even as Draco pushed himself back to give Harry the room to move.
Harry’s eyes stretched wide as cauldrons when Draco threw off his robes and began to
unbutton his fly. Fucking hell, he’s hard! Harry thought, in shock. He could feel the colour
rise to his cheeks as Draco began to stroke himself firmly. Harry found he couldn’t look
away from Draco’s groin. He was transfixed by the sight, and completely confused at the
odd timing for such a display.

“Harry?” Draco’s quiet voice pulled Harry back to awareness. “Now. Do it now.” The tone
brooked no argument and finally, Harry moved away from the safety of the wall, undid
his robes and dropped to the floor.

Chapter Twenty-two

The floor was as cold and unforgiving as all stone floors, and Draco didn’t conjure
anything nice for Harry to kneel on. He gasped as he felt Draco’s arms encircle his hips
and undo his trousers, yanking them down hard until they were bunched up around his
knees. The cool air tickled his naked buttocks and Harry was bemused to feel himself
hardening. A light wash of magic teased his exposed skin, making Harry wonder what
Draco was up to.

Harry could sense, rather than see Draco’s struggle to position himself between his legs,
bound close together as they were in a twist of trousers and underwear. Draco made a
snarl of frustration and tugged sharply at Harry’s clothes until he managed to pull them
completely off his legs, leaving Harry with his socks and one shoe left on. He hurriedly
spread his legs for Draco, anticipating them being forced apart if he didn’t, and it was not
easy to make his knees comfortable on the cushion-less floor.

Harry watched Draco’s bag slide across the floor, clearly being silently summoned. Its
scuffling journey stopped just outside of Harry’s peripheral vision. He heard some
scrabbling noises and then the rasping sound of a jar being unscrewed. After long
seconds, Harry felt a cold smear of lubricant being slathered around his anus before a
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finger slid inside in one long, unhurried push. Harry moaned aloud despite his mixed
feelings, and felt the second finger press in alongside the first. When Draco stroked his
prostate, Harry grunted and pushed back onto the fingers, drawing an evil-sounding
chuckle from the Slytherin.

Harry waited impatiently for the third finger, but it didn’t come. Instead, Draco replaced
his two fingers with the head of his cock and pushed the first inch in. Harry groaned and
dropped his head, closing his eyes on his surroundings and willing his body to relax. If he
didn’t, this might well hurt. They stayed joined that way for what felt like ages to Harry,
before Draco slowly withdrew and gently pushed back in, but a little further this time.
Harry felt so full, yet there was hardly any of Draco inside him. It was a bizarre feeling,
but one that really turned Harry on. Putting his weight onto one hand, Harry reached
back with the other and took his own erection in hand and started to wank himself. As
the waves of pleasure rolled outwards from his groin, Harry felt the muscles in his
passage relax. He wanted a much deeper penetration from Draco and began to work his
hips back and forth, encouraging him to slide in all the way.

In relatively few strokes, Harry felt Draco’s balls slap against his arse, and grunted his
approval. Releasing himself and putting his hand back on the floor, Harry concentrated
on thrusting backwards onto Draco’s cock, punctuating each thrust with a sharp cry. He
pushed the pace until Draco had to grip Harry’s hips firmly to keep them joined at the
farthest limit of withdrawal. Harry shuffled his knees wider apart, no longer even noticing
the bruisingly hard floor. He just wanted to spread himself wide open, so Draco could
fuck him as hard as he wanted. In that moment, no argument existed. It was just the
forceful pull and thrust of two impassioned people desperate for orgasm, using their
bodies to eradicate the tension between them.

When Draco started catching Harry’s prostate on every thrust, Harry dropped his upper
body to the floor, pressing his cheek against the cold stone. It felt wonderful against his
toohot face. Harry reached back again, and tugged at his shaft in time with Draco’s
thrusts. He was so close to coming. The wet slapping sounds of the vigorous fucking
burned into Harry and triggered the first gut-wrenching spurt of his ejaculation. Harry
bellowed his orgasm into the empty classroom, milking himself in a frenzy of released
aggression. Draco was still pounding into him, almost silent except for the occasional
strained groan. In the swell of sudden relaxation, Harry could feel every nerve ending in
his passage zinging from stimulation. He could feel Draco’s fingernails pressing half-
moons into his hips; he was hyper-aware.

Stretching both arms right behind himself, Harry grasped the cheeks of his buttocks and
pulled them apart, trying to allow Draco deeper inside him. Moments later Harry heard a
choked inhalation followed by a deep growl as Draco finally came. Harry relaxed his grip
on himself, letting his tired arms flop to the floor. Draco came to a halt fully sheathed
inside Harry’s body, panting to regain his breath. Harry wiggled his backside slowly,
earning a soft laugh from Draco, and a gentle caress against his hip. Despite the

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discomfort, Harry thought he could stay spread open like that all day. He just felt…good,
better than good.

It was awful feeling Draco slide out of him. The sudden emptiness that signalled the end
of their passion always upset Harry more than he cared to show. Using his arms to push
himself up from the floor, Harry twisted and stretched his neck and shoulders to get
some movement back into his sluggish limbs. As he was gathering himself to sit back,
Harry was shocked rigid by the soft stroke of Draco’s tongue against his anus. He cried
out, “Draco?!” in surprise; both a question and a statement.

After another probing lick, Draco pulled back slightly and murmured, “Do you want me to
stop?” It was a shy question, and Harry realised that Draco thought he didn’t like the
feeling, or perhaps the timing of the action.

“Oh, no. Don’t stop,” he sighed in reply, and settled himself back on his hands and knees,
relaxing to the amazing sounds and sensations of Draco’s attentions. Draco was cleaning
him, Harry realised with awe. He was lapping up his semen as it trickled from Harry’s
body.

The slightly perverse nature of the act stirred Harry’s desire and he savoured every
sweep of Draco’s careful tongue. Harry moaned aloud, and he felt Draco stroke his thigh
as if in answer to some unspoken comment.

All too soon, Draco pulled away and Harry was alone once again, his wet backside cooling
quickly in the air. This time, he did rouse himself to dress, turning stiffly over to sit for a
moment, wincing at the coldness of the floor against his hot skin. The bruises on his
knees were already purple-blue, and Harry shook his head in exasperation at the sight of
himself, socks half-mast, only one shoe on. Not the most attractive fashion statement, he
thought wryly.

They remained silent as Harry dressed himself, wriggling around on the floor, as he was
aching too much to stand. When Harry was fully clothed he looked over at Draco, who
was kneeling back on his thighs, staring into space. Harry shuffled until he knelt in front
of Draco, but not touching him. There was still too much tension for that. They had yet to
cross the bridge of clearing the air between them.

“Was that what they call ‘make up sex’?” Harry pitched his tone as innocent, hoping to
gain a smile. He was rewarded with a small, but definite smirk from Draco, who still
steadfastly refused to meet Harry’s eyes. Chuckling softly, Harry murmured, “Can we
argue more often then, please?” That comment got a proper smile from Draco, who
looked up at Harry fleetingly. Harry watched Draco’s face flush pink, and he thought
there was an emotion akin to remorse marring the beautiful features. Harry slid his hands
down his thighs until his fingertips brushed Draco’s knees. He stroked the fabric gently in
small, cautious movements. “I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem,” came

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Draco’s quiet reply. Harry tipped his head back and laughed at that, and when he opened
his eyes again, Draco was looking earnestly at him.

“I’m sorry for this morning, Draco. It really did just come out all wrong. I promise I didn’t
mean anything. I just…” Harry was struggling to find the right words. Draco smiled then,
and slid his hands down his own thighs, until his fingertips met Harry’s. That one, small
touch spoke volumes to Harry, and he let the feeling of relief flood through his body. He
leaned in slowly and laid a kiss on Draco’s lips. Harry loaded the careful kiss with love and
affection. Draco covered Harry’s hands with his own and sighed deeply.

“Me too. It’s just…when we got to the hall, I could hear them all talking. It was so loud. I
froze. I snapped. I didn’t mean to.” Draco was really trying to say sorry too, but Harry
didn’t need to hear the apology. He silenced Draco with another kiss, and this kiss grew
into something a little more heated. Draco pulled back from it before Harry was ready to
let go. “I’ve got to stand up. My knees are bloody killing me,” Draco moaned. Grinning,
they helped each other stand. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him close.

“You know what we just did?” Harry asked. He felt Draco’s nod before continuing, “Was
that what you’d call a Slytherin urge? If it was, I really like your urges. I think you should
have more. In fact, I absolutely insist on it.” Draco hugged Harry tighter, and they stood
that way for some time, absorbing warmth and comfort from each other.

When they pulled apart and Harry leaned down to pick up his Invisibility Cloak, he winced
audibly.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, concern colouring his voice.

“Um, you know that salve Snape gave us? D’you think there’s any left? I’ve got Quidditch
practice in a hour, and Ron’ll have my guts for garters if I can’t sit on my broom.” Draco
snorted loudly before breaking out into full-blown laughter. Harry just looked quizzically
at him, and he laughed all the more. “Ah. I see. So I’m funny now, am I?” Harry arched his
eyebrow, waiting for a response that never came. Or if it did, it was drowned out by the
sounds of Draco’s humour.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

After a somewhat uncomfortable Quidditch practice, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the
stands for a while, talking about the day. Hermione filled Harry in on what the rest of the
school was saying. She seemed to think that Draco was going to get off quite lightly in
view of the fact that most of the pupils were scared of him. Ron had spoken to a number
of seventh year students from other houses, asking them to try and keep a lid on things

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in the spirit of reconciliation. He reported to Harry and Hermione that pupils from both
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were surprised that such a gesture would originate from
Gryffindor house. Ron told them he’d made light of it, but he was sure they were
suspicious.

Hermione told Harry that Professor McGonagall had made an early evening visit to the
Gryffindor common room, calling all the students together to issue a very stern warning
against recriminations and pranks targeting Slytherin house. She was, apparently, very
thorough in clarifying for all present that her wrath would know no bounds if any teacher
brought back reports of Gryffindor students dirtying the house name.

All in all, it seemed that the news of the Malfoys’ arrest had caused gossip, but not hard
feeling as such. Within Hogwarts, at least. Harry was almost sick with worry about what
was going on in the outside world, especially Voldemort’s reaction to the news. His fears
that Draco might be targeted for being a Death Eater himself remained, but had became
an abstract concern, something for Dumbledore to worry about rather than him. Harry
was grudgingly grateful for Draco’s superior, stand-offish personality, as it meant that he
was likely to get few direct approaches in school. Few students would be brave enough
to approach him directly. And with Theo Nott and Blaise, alongside Vince and Greg,
doubling Draco’s usual complement of self-appointed body guards, Harry knew that any
stray hexes would likely fall on someone other than Draco. He felt slightly guilty for being
pleased about that.

That night in bed, Draco and Harry wrote for a long time, saying many things that they
should have shared throughout the day, when they were fighting instead. For Draco, the
knowledge that his parents had chosen their course of action, however limited those
choices actually were, really seemed to help him deal with the situation. They spent much
time wondering and also worrying about the next phase of the plan: their joint outing to
the entire wizarding world. Draco seemed much less nervous than Harry, but then Harry
supposed being gay must rank quite far down the list of concerns when both of your
parents were in prison for being Death Eaters. Harry couldn’t help himself but ask Draco
if he was absolutely sure that being outed as his boyfriend was what he wanted. Draco
reassured Harry in every way possible, but that didn’t squash the last little worm of
doubt deep inside Harry’s heart. He was just so terrified of not measuring up.

After much serious discussion, their notes finally moved on to the light-hearted. This was
how they usually ended their night time talks; on a high note. Steeling himself, Harry
asked,

~You know that thing you did today?~

After a long pause, maybe half a minute, Draco replied,

~Which one?~

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~You know. In the classroom. Right after you fucked me.~

Another very long pause, causing Harry to add,

~When you licked me?~

~Yes.~

Merlin! It was like trying to get blood out of a stone! Harry took a moment, unsure how
to put his question into words.

~Did you like it?~

This was the burning question! Deep inside Harry’s innermost thoughts, he had really
liked what Draco did, but he felt slightly ashamed to admit it because he couldn’t help
but think it was dirty. It was that very dirtiness that made the activity so delicious. Harry
just wasn't experienced enough to know if it was common practice to eat your own
come. Someone else's, yes - but your own? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had
felt unbelievably turned on when Draco did it.

~Yes Potter, I liked it. Why?~

~What did it taste like?~

This was the part that worried Harry. He had been scared ever since Draco licked him
back there that he might have tasted of something unpleasant as a result of their activity,
taking into consideration exactly what the primary purpose of his anus was.

~It tasted like your skin and my come. I cleaned you first, remember? Why? Thinking
about doing it to me?~

~Would you like me to?~

There was another very lengthy silence before Draco replied,

~Very much.~

~Why haven’t you asked me before?~

~Strangely enough, I couldn’t find quite the right way to say ‘Will you fuck me up the arse
and eat your own come out of me, please?’~

Oh. That answered Harry’s question, all right.

~Well. Fancy that! Draco Malfoy stuck for words!~

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Harry was snorting to himself as he wrote, imagining Draco’s face as he was reading it.

~Talking of arses, how’s yours?~

~I might just be able to sit on my broomstick for an hour or so on Saturday, if that salve
of Snape’s is any good. Ron looked at me funny for most of the session. I told him I was
practising leaning off my broom for those long lunges to catch the Snitch, but I don’t
think he bought it.~

~Damn. My dastardly plan has failed then.~

~Yep. Only my sudden death will put the Quidditch Cup within your reach, Malfoy,~ Harry
joked.

~Not funny, Harry. Don’t you die on me. You haven’t eaten your own come out of me yet,
so you’d best stay alive until you have. After that, do what you want.~

~Oh! You wound me!~

~You wouldn’t want me any other way.~

~You’re right. I love you.~

Harry meant it with every fibre of his being.

~I love you too. ‘Night, Harry.~

When Harry extinguished the light and settled into bed, his mind darted from thought to
thought for some time. He hoped there weren’t going to be many more days like it. He’d
never survive his exams otherwise.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

The next day, the Prophet printed a follow-up story on the Malfoys, adding detailed
interviews with people allegedly well acquainted with the family. The only mercy that
Harry could see was that the story was inside, and not splashed all over the cover again.
Looking over at the Slytherin table, Harry watched Draco open his own newspaper and
read the story with a practiced air of detachment. Harry watched the top of Draco’s
blond head for a long time, running through his worries in his mind. When Draco looked
up and gave him a small smile, Harry grinned back warmly, all concerns instantly
forgotten. Just looking at his boyfriend across the crowded hall made Harry feel warm
and happy. He only broke Draco’s gaze when Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
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“Harry! You’re drooling,” she chided humorously. He looked at her and shrugged, noting
Ginny’s icy glare over Hermione’s shoulder, but paying it no mind.

Since their relationship would soon be common knowledge, Harry and Draco made less
effort to hide their interest in each other. Over the rest of the day they shot each other
smiles in Herbology, exchanged pleasantries at the supply cupboard in Professor Snape’s
classroom and even walked to Transfiguration together, their uncomfortable friends
trailing behind. Except for Vince and Greg of course, who led the way like a wall of
muscle. By the end of the school day, Harry knew that other pupils had taken notice of
the change in their relationship. He imagined his fellow students might begin to think
that Draco had switched sides, which was fine with Harry. It was true, after all.

Spending time together that evening was out of the question. Ron had the Quidditch
team practicing set pieces for three hours, both before and after dinner. At least no one
could accuse Gryffindor house of lack of enthusiasm. Harry was extremely thankful that
Snape’s salve had done the trick on his rear end. So many hours on his broom would have
been the death of him, otherwise. He thought he should really thank the professor. And
then decided he wasn’t quite ready for that. Maybe he’d talk Draco into doing it for him!
Yeah – that sounded better.

Waking the next morning, Harry felt more relaxed than he thought possible. But when he
opened his curtains to the sight of Ron’s manic pacing and mumbled words, he huffed in
resignation. Ron would be a complete nightmare today, he thought. That sentiment was
proved correct when Ron’s breakfast came back to visit almost as soon as he’d finished
eating. Only a quick charm on Hermione’s part saved the entire Gryffindor breakfast
table from retching over the smell.

Sitting in the Quidditch changing rooms waiting to go out for the match, Harry steeled
himself to talk to Ginny. She had been brilliant with Ron over the course of the morning,
stepping in to save Harry from much of Ron’s more inane babble. She stiffened
fractionally when Harry went to sit next to her, and inhaled deeply before turning to look
at him.

“Ginny?” Harry almost thought for a moment that she was going to get up and walk
away. The look on her face held real pain. “Thanks for this morning. You know, with Ron.
I don’t think I could have coped with him on my own. I’m not very good with feelings and
that.”

Ginny snorted loudly and then blushed a little before replying, “No shit.” They sat in
silence, just looking at each other for long moments. Harry was squirming in his
desperation to run from this awkward conversation, but Ginny spoke just as he was
preparing to escape. “When were you planning on telling me, Harry? Would you have let
me hope forever?” He winced, knowing this would eventually have needed attention, but
never imagining it would jump up and bite him so soon.

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“Look Ginny, I’m sorry you’re upset, but I never led you on. I never did anything to make
you think anything would happen between us.” He paused and took in her hardening
expression. “I didn’t really know myself for a long time. About being gay, I mean. I made
it happen, Draco and me. I didn’t start out to catch him, but I did. And I’m glad. I love him,
you know?” She nodded, but looked distracted. “He’s not like you think he is, Ginny. He’s
wonderful.” Harry knew his expression softened as he said the words. He couldn’t help
himself. Ginny sighed and attempted a small smile, perhaps swayed slightly by the
obvious depth of Harry’s feelings.

“He is pretty, I’ll give you that,” she managed to say, although it was clearly a real effort.

Harry gave her a broad smile and said, “Mmm. He is isn’t he?” Ginny scrutinised Harry’s
expression and covered her face with her hands, rubbing at her eyes. When she dropped
her hands, there was a tired smile on her face.

“Trust you to get the second hottest boy in the school,” she said, eyebrows raised, a look
of sad acceptance finally reaching her eyes.

“Oh no. You’ve got that wrong. There’s no one at Hogwarts that comes close to Draco,”
Harry laughed.

He watched Ginny’s face draw down to seriousness and she sighed, “Yes, there is, Harry.

You just can’t see it.” She stood then, picking up her broomstick and making for the door.

Harry frowned after her, but slowly moved to follow the rest of the team out onto the
pitch.

Harry was pleased that Ron seemed to recover his senses somewhat once on the field of
play. The instant the game began, Ron’s nerves evaporated and he reverted to his usual,
highly vocal leadership style. Gryffindor would beat Slytherin to the Quidditch Cup if they
won by a margin of two hundred points or more. In truth, this was not unreasonable,
although Ravenclaw were a good team.

Harry’s main problem of the day was with the brightness of the sun. His neck was quickly
sore from twisting his head around rapidly every time the light caught on a shiny object.
The few sightings he had of the Snitch in the early stages of the game led to nothing, as
Gryffindor needed to rack their lead up before he could start seeking in earnest. It was
slow going. Ravenclaw scored well to start with, but once play began to stretch out,
Gryffindor’s supremacy became apparent.

When Ron bellowed for Harry to start now, Harry picked up the Snitch and went after it
at full tilt. Alicia Chambers was left behind quite quickly, although she continued to dog
Harry’s every move.

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With one eye on the scoreboard and one on the Snitch, Harry knew his window of
opportunity was small. If he could catch the Snitch in the next few seconds, the score line
would almost definitely stay the same, meaning it would be enough to win not just the
game, but also the Quidditch Cup. Chasing the golden speck vertically at lightning speed
with Chambers in his wake, Harry stretched for all his worth, unseating himself from his
broom, just holding on with fingertips and the toes of his boots. Each fraction of a
second felt like an eternity. Then his hand closed around the fluttering wings and he felt a
rush of elation as they stilled, and the Snitch accepted its capture.

Holding his arm out to signal his success, Harry started a gentle descent towards his team
mates and the pitch, way below.

When he was within visual distance, Harry saw that the Gryffindor celebrations were
somewhat muted. In fact, the only house celebrating Gryffindor’s victory was Slytherin.
Feeling a cold, wormy feeling settle in his stomach, Harry headed for the scoreboard to
confirm his fears. Whilst he had been above the clouds, Ravenclaw had scored another
two goals. Gryffindor had won the game, but lost the cup. To Slytherin.

Harry could see Ron on the ground being comforted by Hermione and oddly, Professor
McGonagall, who was usually much too reserved for such a display of solidarity with her
team captain. It was Ron for whom Harry felt the most sorrow. How his friend would
have loved to hold up the Quidditch Cup, as captain, in their final year.

Harry sighed and smiled to himself, a sad, but not devastated feeling flowing through
him. He could, of course, hear the cheers from the Slytherin stand, and this made him
think of Draco and his success. He was the captain who would be lifting the Cup instead
of Ron.

Harry could not find it in himself to be completely sorry at his own team’s loss. He’d won
Draco this year, but lost the Quidditch Cup. Harry knew which one he’d rather have.
Draco’s, indeed, Slytherin’s last two games had been nothing short of superb, and Harry
thought he had a lot to do with making that happen. So looking at it that way, he had
helped someone win after all.

Circling the pitch, Harry flew towards where Draco and the Slytherin team were sitting,
alongside Professor Snape and a gathering of other Slytherin pupils. There was much
celebrating and congratulating taking place, but Draco himself looked quiet. Not
unhappy of course, but contemplative. When Draco noticed Harry coming in close he
leaned forward over the railing at the front of the stand, apart from his companions. The
rest of the spectators there went oddly quiet at Harry’s approach.

Harry came to hover sideways on to Draco, a tiny smile growing on his lips. All the
spectators’ attentions were on Harry. He was the first to speak, eyes all for Draco. “So.
How does it feel?” he asked, a sparkle in his eye.

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“To finally beat you, you mean?” smiled Draco back at him. Harry gave a small nod.

“Not as good as I thought it would, in truth.” Harry thought Draco looked at him with
something like compassion. He continued, “You didn’t deserve to lose it like that.”

Harry shrugged, scanning the far horizon in a quick, dismissive gesture.

Turning back to look at Draco, Harry smiled broadly and reached out with his balled fist. A
tiny crease drew down between Draco’s brows before he moved his hand across the
railing towards Harry’s hand. Harry leaned in and placed the Snitch in Draco’s palm,
closing the pale, long fingers around the golden prize and holding Draco’s hand closed.
They shared a smile and a long gaze and Harry arched a brow, seeking and receiving
permission before he leaned in to kiss Draco.

The kiss was chaste; warm lips meeting, slightly parted. A shiver of breath shared
between them, before pressing in and then drawing away. Harry felt light all over, just
like he always did when he was near his prince. Gasps and murmurs had arisen in the
Slytherin stand, soon to be joined no doubt by a flurry of gossip from around the stadium
at this first, and most public, display of affection.

Harry started to pull away to join his team mates. He said, “Enjoy your celebrations
tonight. And congratulations.”

Draco smirked his response. “I had hoped I might be celebrating my victory with you.”

Harry grinned broadly at that and said, “Yeah – I expect my name’ll be mud around
Gryffindor tower. Getting out might be a good thing. Usual place?” Draco agreed, and
Harry couldn’t help but shoot a quick smile at Professor Snape who was looking on in
barely disguised irritation. “After my detention with Professor Snape, of course.”
Returning his gaze to Draco, Harry backed his broom up slightly and reached out to brush
Draco’s cheek gently with his knuckles before going to face the music on the ground.

Chapter Twenty-three

When Harry dismounted from his broom at the edge of the Quidditch pitch and caught
up with the rest of his team mates, they were entering the changing rooms. He was
starting to absorb the reality of their loss, particularly once he saw Ron’s distraught face.
When the team had closed the door on the rest of the world, they slumped onto the
wooden benches that lined the edges of the main room. After a short silence, Harry said,
“It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know they’d scored again or I’d never have
tried for the Snitch. I’d have backed off.”

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Ron clearly couldn’t look at Harry. He dropped his head into his hands, and Harry
watched a single tear splash onto the floor between Ron’s feet.

“Don’t blame yourself, Harry,” Jimmy Peakes eventually said.

He was about to continue, when Ron’s tear-congested voice choked out, “No! Blame me.
Say it. Go on, say it!” Ron looked up challengingly at his team mates, his face shiny with
tears and reddened. “It was my fault. You all know it. So. Nice try, Harry, but forget it!”
Ron snatched up a towel from the pile close to him and stormed off towards the boys’
showers. Harry sat back in shock, scanning the faces of the others to find some clue to
what had happened. He caught Ginny’s eye, and she told him flatly, “Ron was so busy
watching you in hot pursuit of the Snitch that he took his eye off the goal hoops. A cheer
went up from the crowd and he thought you’d caught it. He didn’t even see the first
Quaffle go in. After that, he fell apart. He just froze, and the second goal sailed through
almost immediately, a split second before you caught the Snitch.” A fat tear rolled down
her cheek, but it was the only outward sign of her distress. “Ron’s right when he says it
was his fault, Harry. It was.” With that, Ginny picked up a towel for herself and shuffled
towards the girls’ dressing room.

“Shit,” Harry groaned. He planted his elbows on his knees and dropped his head onto his
hands. “Shit!”

The rest of the team sat in exhausted silence for some time. The air of depression
weighed heavily on all of them. Finally, Demelza spoke up and broke the oppressive
atmosphere. “So then, Harry. You and Malfoy, hey? Bit of a shocker, that.” Harry looked
up at her, almost spoiling for a fight, but she waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.
He let out a quick snort of laughter before pulling it back in check. She smiled cheekily
and said, “He’s dead horny, you know. I’ve got to tell you, you’ve got great taste in men.”
Hm. This was becoming a bit of a theme.

He managed a genuine, but small smile back and replied, “Hands off, Demelza. I’d hate to
have to hurt you for flirting with my boyfriend.”

Richie Coote sniggered quietly at Harry’s comment. The humour seemed to galvanise
them all out of their depression a little. One by one, they filed towards the showers.

When Harry had stripped down, he found the cubicle next to Ron’s and stepped in. He
could clearly hear his friend crying, and Harry felt just about as helpless as he ever had.
“Ron…” he started, not knowing what to say. Receiving no answer, he persisted, “Ron,
please don’t be upset. What can I do? Please tell me…” He heard Ron choke back a sob,
before the water was switched off and Ron stormed out of the shower stall.

Harry pressed his forehead into the cold tile wall and wondered what the hell to do. If
only he didn’t have detention with Snape. And then his sense of depression deepened, if
that was possible. Snape would no doubt be absolutely fucking unbearable now that his

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house had won the Quidditch Cup, and Harry just didn’t know whether he could cope
with his badtempered professor right then. But he had little choice, so he finished up
quickly and headed off for the dungeons, and an afternoon of living hell.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

When Harry entered Snape’s classroom, he was somewhat distressed to see the
professor lining up a large selection of liquids, plants and powders at Harry’s workbench.
Harry stood back for a moment or two, watching the stockpile grow alarmingly, before
Snape finally beckoned him over with a flick of his wrist and a smile that managed to be
both evil and patronising at the same time.

“Potter. How sad that your Quidditch strategy didn’t extend to the replacement of poor
quality goalkeepers. I trust that you will apply yourself fully to this detention, putting
aside your own insignificant personal issues. You are here with me and your time is mine.
Do I make myself clear?” Snape had folded his arms and stared at Harry imperiously,
tapping one long finger on his forearm. At Harry’s nod, Snape continued. “You will be
spending these detentions thoroughly cleaning all of the Silverware from the Slytherin
house trophy cabinet.” Harry had never seen Snape look so smug as he did at that
moment. He wondered idly how long the Potions master had spent dreaming up this
detention, and laughed to himself that the mean old man clearly had too much time on
his hands. “But before you commence your most important of tasks, you will be making
something to assist you. The correct name for the potion is Fulgeo sempiternus.
However, most house-elves merely refer to it as ‘glitter polish’.”

Harry thought he did an impeccable job of keeping the irritation off his face, but Snape
read him too well.

“Perhaps you could look at this another way, Potter. If you fail to qualify as an Auror, you
will be perfectly proficient in domestic chores. Look upon this exercise as my taking an
interest in your future career opportunities.” Harry could feel his jaw clenching, and
willed himself not to give the professor any more fuel for the fire. “You will no doubt be
further encouraged to hear that this potion is one of the ‘irregular’ family.” Harry knew
his shoulders sagged at that statement. He was terrible at brewing irregular potions.
They required so much concentration because their mixing and stirring could not be done
with any repetitious movements. What that meant was that you had to constantly
change the speed and direction of your motions, otherwise the liquid would harden into
a solid lump. Harry was awful at doing this. He always ended up stirring rhythmically,
because he forgot to ensure his movements followed no pattern.

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“I see you are suitably grateful for the additional practice I am allowing you. Now. The
instructions are written here. I will return periodically to check on your progress.” Snape
stopped speaking, waiting for Harry to make eye contact before continuing, “I would, of
course, usually remain to supervise your detention. However, Slytherin house has just
won the Quidditch Cup, and I prefer to join the celebrations rather than spend my time
here with you, watching your appalling disregard for the subtleties of potion making. Do
have fun, Potter.” He smiled falsely at Harry and swept away from the workbench in his
usual ripple of inky black robes.

Harry gritted his teeth, but rolled his sleeves up and started mixing.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

After four return visits, Snape had thrown away four potions. His derisory comments and
hints about the vibrancy of the Slytherin party had gone far past irritating, and well into
physically painful as far as Harry was concerned. His stomach was rumbling because he
hadn’t had any lunch. Snape brought him a sandwich on one visit, but he put it on the
other side of the classroom, so that Harry could not go and get it unless he wanted to
ruin another batch of potion. On his next visit, Snape remarked, “Not hungry, I see,” and
promptly took the plate of food with him when he left.

As Harry prepared the ingredients for his fifth attempt, he seethed over the task Snape
had set. Snape knew Harry wouldn’t be able to make the potion. He’d be here all night
trying, and that meant not seeing Draco. Great. Not only am I hungry and pissed off. Now
I’m lonely, too, he thought.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

At twenty to twelve that night, Harry was finally successful with the potion. It was his
ninth attempt. Snape released him from detention, reminding Harry to return at five the
next morning for the cleaning and polishing portion of his punishment.

Tiredly shutting the classroom door behind him, Harry was overjoyed to see Draco
leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, smiling sweetly at him. Harry half threw
himself towards Draco, who opened his arms and welcomed Harry into an affectionate
cuddle. Draco kissed Harry’s hair and murmured, “When he told me what he’d got you
making, I thought you’d be there all night.”

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Harry snorted loudly and mumbled, “Me too.” As he inhaled the smell of Draco, and
slowly breathed it out, Harry exhaled with it all of the tension from his day. He let go of
his anger over Snape’s detention, and his upset over the Quidditch Cup, and accepted the
warmth and comfort being offered so unconditionally.

“Your stomach’s rumbling. Haven’t you eaten?” Draco asked. Harry shook his head
slowly, hunger forgotten for a moment. But Draco wouldn’t let it go. “I can rustle you up
something from the buffet in our common room, if you can wait here a minute or two.”

Harry sighed in utter happiness at Draco’s thoughtfulness, but replied, “I’ve got a better
idea than that.” He pulled slightly back from Draco and added, “Come with me?”

As Harry led Draco by the hand towards the kitchen, Draco recounted his afternoon and
evening. Harry was touched that Draco was genuinely trying not to rub Slytherin’s victory
in, and told him not to bother moderating his happiness. But Draco told him he had been
raised with better manners than that, and changed the subject neatly to their very public
kiss.

“Have you any idea how many Slytherins had the hots for you, Harry?” Draco smirked.
“I’ve spent most of the day listening to the sound of hearts breaking all over the
dungeon.” Draco turned to look at a clearly puzzled Harry, raising an eyebrow before
continuing, “Male and female, I’ll have you know.” Harry screwed up his face, showing
the confusion he felt inside. Draco pulled them both to a standstill. He turned Harry to
face him, and placed his palms flat against the sides of Harry’s face. Harry couldn’t help
but see the love staring out of Draco’s pale grey eyes. “You really don’t know, do you?”
he almost whispered.

“What?” Harry replied, feeling he was losing track of Draco’s line of thought.

“You’re gorgeous, Harry. Half the school’s in love with you. It’s just so…you, that you
wouldn’t have a clue.” Harry went to speak, but Draco spoke first. “It’s one of the things
I love about you. One of the many things.”

Draco closed the space and kissed Harry. Harry’s only thought before he gave himself
over to the sensation, was If happiness had a taste, this would be it.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

“Just tickle the pear, Draco,” Harry chuckled.

Draco turned slowly to look at Harry, a predatory expression on his face. He whispered,
“Is that a euphemism for something perverted?” Harry threw back his head and laughed
loudly.

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Draco tickled the pear.

*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*{h}*{d}*

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby shouted, bounding across the kitchen floor towards Harry and
Draco.

“Hey, Dobby. I like your waistcoat,” Harry grinned, patting Dobby on the shoulder as the
house-elf did a good impression of a small dog humping his leg.

“Oh my god…” muttered Draco in absolute disgust.

“Winky! Poppet! Fetch food for Harry Potter and Master Malfoy, quickly!” Harry allowed
Dobby to usher him over to the large table in the centre of the floor, usually reserved for
preparation. “How is Harry Potter being? Dobby is very sorry you lost the Quidditch Cup
to those…” Dobby’s eyes shot nervously up to Draco’s unamused face, and he didn’t
finish his sentence.

“Dobby, I’m starved. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Is it all right if...”

“Of course! Dobby cut in. He fussed around both Harry and Draco, getting them settled
onto chairs and providing neatly folded napkins, plates and glasses for both place
settings.

Harry watched Draco’s unreadable face with interest. It was completely obvious from his
body language that Draco was squirming with discomfort. Harry reached across the table
and patted his hand. “You know Dobby, right?” he asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow slowly, shooting Harry a guarded yet superior look. “Of course I
know him, you dolt. He used to be ours. But you knew that.”

“Oh. It’s just that you haven’t said ‘hello’ yet,” Harry said mischievously.

A dozen platters of food floated down to settle between them. There was a huge
selection of cold cuts, but also some piping hot steak and kidney pudding and gravy, and
piles of vegetables. Harry’s mouth filled with saliva and he sighed with pleasure and
started spooning huge portions of food onto his plate. He looked over at Draco, who was
looking at the spread with a mixture of wonder and amusement. Draco finally let out a
small chuckle before buttering a warm bread roll and plastering it with smoked salmon
and cream cheese.

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“Here are your drinks, Masters Harry and Malfoy,” Dobby said breathlessly, as he ran to
the table and placed two large bottle of Butterbeer down in front of them.

“We don’t have Butterbeer on the menu!” said Draco in undisguised surprise.

“Oh, no, Master Malfoy, sir. These are from Professor Dumbledore’s own supply!” replied
Dobby happily. Harry and Draco looked at each other and burst out laughing. When Harry
looked up, Dobby was standing there staring at him, clearly pleading for another task.

“Grab a chair, Dobby. Come and get something to eat with us,” Harry smiled at the eager
house-elf.

Dobby’s face grew stricken. “Oh no, Harry Potter. House-elves isn’t eating with wizards!
House-elves is only here to serve.”

Harry thought he heard Draco mutter, “Quite right too,” but he couldn’t be sure.

“Well, that’s just rubbish, Dobby. Sit down,” Harry gestured again.

But Dobby had already started to scurry away. He called back, “Shout if you need
anything, Harry Potter!” and disappeared around the corner.

Harry sighed sadly. Dobby’s subservience really bothered him at times.

“Harry,” Draco said, calling his attention back to l