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bottom_dracoTitle: Cho Must Die a Horrible, Painful Death (15/?)
Author: NQDonne
Email: nqdonne@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Cho’s messing Harry about leads him to consider… other options (aka: Draco Malfoy). Botched kissing attempts, fumbling in the Prefects' Bathroom, the sordid use of Parseltongue and, of course, massive squabbling follows.
Genre: Humor/Angst.
Pairings: Draco/Harry, plus Ron/Hermione on the side.
Kinks: RIMMING, TOYS
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. JKR and co. own all the rights.
Notes: Thanks to my regular betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyvader and kataclysmic, and to my new beta furiosity for whipping this one into shape.
There is a quote/homage to The 10th Kingdom in here, which I watched again the other day and realised I got a lot of dialogue-isms and mannerisms from that I’ve been using in this fic and others. Also realised Draco is definitely modelled after Stewie on Family Guy. Basically, everytime Stewie has a Rex Harrison moment, that’s my effeminate/angry gay Draco, lol. And there’s a comedic reference to the lovely Miss Marks’ Oscillate Wildly down there somewhere, too. Oh, and beware of a few fandom clichés, but I do love my fandom clichés, so I hope you enjoy them :)
Previous chapters can be found here for those that need to play catch up.
Chapter Fifteen: Supply and Demand
Harry was having the most wonderful dream. He lay on a soft blanket, spread out over a verdant field. The sun was bright, and Harry lay on his side, burrowing into the warmth of the figure next to him, who was whispering something in his ear. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and the air smelt of daffodils. Harry smiled and cuddled closer to the other boy (Malfoy?), nuzzling his nose in the soft hairs at the base of his skull.
Then, all of a sudden, the warmth retreated and the feelings and sounds of spring went with it.
“Fuck!”
Harry woke with a start, eyes shooting open to find himself, indeed, sprawled on his side in the spot where he was formerly snuggling with Malfoy, who was currently at the edge of the bed, clutching the bed sheets to his chest as though Harry had sullied his delicate honour. Harry turned to the bedside table, heart racing as he grabbed frantically for his glasses.
“What?” he asked.
“What the fuck are you still doing here, Potter?”
Shit. Harry put his glasses on and looked around, remembering where he had been last night; where he still was this morning.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Exactly! Why the fuck didn’t you leave, you prat? And why were you… snuggling with me?” Malfoy shrieked.
“I… I don’t know!”
“You were supposed to leave!”
“I know! But I… just fell asleep.”
“You fucking idiot!”
“Fuck off!” Harry lashed out.
“Shit, Potter! We have class in” - he picked up his watch from the side table - “twenty minutes!”
“Shit!”
“Yes, Potter – shit!”
Draco began scrambling around, pulling a clean shirt and trousers from his closet and placing them over the back of a chair, while Harry stood awkwardly by the bed.
“Yes, Potter?”
“I, um, I need to shower.”
“Shower?”
“Yes, well, cleaning spells don’t do quite as well as a shower, and I really need to wake up and…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Potter! In there -”
Draco pointed to a door to the right side of the bed.
“But don’t you dare touch any of my things. I’ll not waste my expensive hair potions on that mess of yours.”
Harry shuffled past, heading for the bathroom, as Malfoy muttered a charm that righted his bedcovers. As was to be expected, Malfoy’s bathroom was lavish, outfitted with marble adornments and silver fixtures to rival the Prefects’ bathroom.
Harry turned on the shower and let it run until it was comfortably hot, before stepping under the spray. Wait a second – Malfoy had his own bathroom, so why did he use the Prefects’ bathroom?
“Malfoy, why do you -” Harry cut himself off, realising the blond couldn’t hear him from the other room.
“Why do I what?” a sharp voice answered and Harry jumped, jamming his elbow against the wall painfully.
“What are you doing in here?” Harry asked, rubbing his sore elbow and crossing his legs in an awkward attempt to preserve his modesty.
“It is my bathroom, and I decided I shouldn’t have to forego my morning shower because you’re an idiot. Budge over, Potter.”
Harry’s mouth hung open as Malfoy simply got into the small cubicle with him and moved under the spray.
He ran fingers through his hair, water cascading over his flexing shoulder blades. Harry simply continued staring. After a moment, Malfoy tore his attention away from the soothing effects of the water and peered at Harry.
“What are you gaping at Potter? And what were you so keen to ask before? Why do I what, exactly?”
“Um, why do you use the Prefects’ bathroom if you’ve got your own?” Harry asked.
Malfoy cast him a sharp look and he squeezed a dollop of shampoo into this palm.
“Isn’t it obvious? What are we standing in now?”
“Um, a shower?”
“Yes. And what are we not standing in?”
“I don’t know?”
“A bathtub, you prat!”
“A bathtub?”
“Yes, just because one has a shower, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally wish to take a bath. You’re really an idiot, you know. And…” He stopped short and cocked his head to the side.
“Ugh! You look like a drowned rat, Potter.”
With that, Malfoy lunged at Harry, going straight for his hair. Harry yelped and drew back, but all he did was hit the shower wall. Draco ignored his protests and simply worked the shampoo into Harry’s dripping hair with fervour, huffing all the while.
“You have truly awful hair, Potter, you know that? You need a clarifying shampoo and a conditioning serum at least once a week, seriously.”
Harry forgot himself momentarily and closed his eyes, leaning into Draco’s massaging fingers.
“You’re such a girl, Malfoy,” he murmured half-heartedly.
“I’m not a bloody girl, you ponce. Just sensible about hair care… and are you enjoying this?” Malfoy drew his hands from Harry’s sudsy locks.
Harry grimaced, feeling slightly guilty. He had been enjoying it. Immensely.
“We don’t have time for this! Rinse, for Christ’s sake!” Draco indicated the showerhead and pushed Harry toward it.
Harry moved under the spray and felt the fragrant suds run down his neck. Malfoy lathered up his own hair quickly and pushed Harry out of the spray to rinse.
“We don’t have time to condition, so we’ll just have to use spray-in serum.”
“What?”
“Just go with it, you half-wit.”
Draco picked up the soap and ran it up and down his body with vigour, before handing it off to Harry with a smirk. Accepting the soap, Harry likewise gave himself a quick wash, pointedly ignoring a few choice body parts.
“All done?” Draco asked smugly as Harry finished. Harry nodded and handed the soap back to him.
“Right.” Draco put the soap in its holder and shut off the shower once Harry had rinsed off, stepping past Harry and grabbing two towels. He handed one to Harry and began using the other to pat himself dry.
Harry stared at Draco as he ran the towel over the swell of his arse. To think he’d just had a morning-after shower with the boy with whom he’d been engaging in lewd sexual acts the night before. Brilliant.
But he didn’t have time to stare a naked and flexing Draco Malfoy all day. They barely had ten minutes to get to class. And, Harry realised as he finished drying himself off, he had no clothes.
He had come to Slytherin last night in his pyjamas. Fuck.
“Um, Malfoy?” Harry tied the towel round his waist as he padded over to the mirror, where Malfoy was spraying something in his hair.
“Turn around,” the blond ordered.
Harry complied and felt something mist over his neck.
“Malfoy, I have a bit of a problem,” Harry continued.
“Damn right you do,” Malfoy raked a comb through his wet locks.
“You have no idea how to take care of yourself. The modern wizard, gay or otherwise, needs to know the basics of hair and skincare.”
He finished and spun him around, toying with his fringe until he seemed satisfied.
“There – much better.”
Malfoy put the finishing touches on his own hair and moved into the bedroom, his haughty voice floating behind him.
“You know, because of your idiocy I don’t even have time to moisturise – and I loathe not moisturising.”
Harry rolled his eyes and followed Malfoy into the bedroom. Malfoy really could be quite the drama queen at times, and he seemed to spend more time getting ready than most girls. Though Harry supposed Malfoy would have to spend a bit of time on himself to look as polished as he always managed to. Still, he gave way more importance to his hair than was strictly necessary.
In front of Harry, Malfoy dropped his towel and pulled on a clean pair of y-fronts before stepping into his freshly pressed trousers.
“Potter – don’t just stand there, get dressed!” Malfoy directed.
“That’s the point, Malfoy – I don’t have any clothes!”
“Nonsense, you didn’t come here last night naked.”
“No, I came in pyjamas. Flannel, Gryffindor coloured pyjamas. And no robes.” Harry raised an eyebrow, and felt satisfied when the blond flinched, finally registering the point.
“Fuck, Potter, you idiot!”
“Yeah, I get that. You’ll have to give me some of your clothes.”
Draco looked aghast. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Well, if you don’t give me something to wear, people will ask questions when I show up to class in my pyjamas…”
“Why can’t you just go back to your own tower and get some of your clothes?”
“Someone will notice me coming back my pyjamas… and if they don’t they’ll definitely notice when I’m a half hour late for class. Snape’s class in particular. It’s not the end of the world, Malfoy. I just need a shirt and a pair of trousers, and maybe one of your robes.”
“Oh, just maybe one of my robes. Why don’t you have a pair of shoes, too, while you’re at it!” Draco intoned sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“I wore proper shoes, luckily,” Harry replied, ignoring Malfoy’s sarcasm. “Yours would never fit – your feet are much smaller than mine.”
“Aha! I can’t lend you clothes – you’re taller than I am!” Draco said, looking thrilled that he’d discovered a loophole.
“Only by an inch. That’ll hardly make a difference,” Harry said, smirking.
“But my robes are Slytherin colours…”
“Do you know any charms to change them?”
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to use them?”
“These are tailor-made robes, Potter. You’ll probably tear them, or get them dirty… or disintegrate them during Potions, something daft like that.”
“As long as you don’t spill anything on me, we shouldn’t have that problem,” Harry smiled at the pouting boy. “Listen, it’s only for a few hours – just charm the robes a different colour and I’ll have your clothes back to you by lunch.”
Draco grudgingly went to his wardrobe and retrieved a dress shirt, a pair of black trousers and a set of school robes. He handed them to Harry, who began dressing.
“I can’t believe the great Harry Potter doesn’t even know a simple colouring charm.”
“Like I can be arsed to know any fashion charms, Draco.”
“Draco?”
“Yeah, Draco,” Harry said matter-of-factly.
Draco said nothing, simply staring at Harry quizzically. Harry finished buttoning up his shirt, save for the last button, which he left undone.
“I need a tie,” he said softly.
Draco moved to his dresser and retrieved a green and silver Slytherin tie, muttering a charm that turned it red and gold. As he handed it to Harry, their fingertips brushed, making Draco shiver. Harry looked at him, surprised.
“I’m cold,” Draco threw back his shoulders proudly and moved across the room to finish getting dressed.
Harry put on his shoes wordlessly and threw a set of Draco’s robes over his shoulders. The emblem wasn’t quite Gryffindor red, but they would do in the short term.
“Right then,” Harry moved toward the door. “Shall we?”
Draco finished tying his tie and picked up his schoolbag. He paused at the door, saying smugly:
“You don’t have any books. And your cloak is still over in the corner.”
“Oh, right. Um… I’ll share with Hermione or something. And, um… I guess I could come back for my cloak later.”
Draco quirked his eyebrows with a look that said ‘oh really?’ and Harry realised he’d just invited himself back to the Slytherin dungeons, as if he were talking to his boyfriend.
“I mean, it’s only fair you have something of mine while I have your clothes, right?” Harry stammered, trying to gloss over the implied intimacy of the statement.
“Quite,” Draco nodded curtly. “But you should at least wear it to the door – wouldn’t want to be caught after going to all this trouble.”
“Oh, right.”
Harry hastily grabbed the cloak and slung it over himself.
“God, Potter, I can’t believe you were snuggling with me earlier. You’re such a girl,” Draco teased as they crossed the threshold. Harry would have argued back, but he knew an invisible voice shouting at Malfoy would be a bit suspicious.
***
Draco was thanking his lucky stars Snape had arranged for him to have his own quarters about a week ago. If he hadn’t, it would have been particularly awkward having Harry Potter in his bed this morning. Sure, Snape had only made the arrangements so Draco could have his wicked way with Potter in private (though Snape had said, officially, that the Head Boy needed his personal space, considering his falling marks, but Draco appreciated the convenience nonetheless.
Speaking of Snape, he looked positively gleeful this morning. He was almost… smiling, casting Draco knowing looks between glances at Potter. Draco had a sneaking suspicion he’d be having another little chat with Snape after class…
And, like clockwork -
“Mr. Malfoy, a word?” Snape gestured at him to come forward as the class filed out of the room.
“Professor Snape, I’d be delighted!” Draco intoned sarcastically, and followed Snape into his office. It was almost a routine at this point.
Draco took a seat across from the professor and launched right into what he expected he wanted to hear.
“Well, I did as you suggested. Potter and I are engaging in sexual acts several times a week, and I even styled his hair this morning, as I presume you noticed. Happy?”
“Thrilled, Mr. Malfoy, though that’s not what I called you in here for.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Well, great,” Draco rolled his eyes. “What is it?”
“Don’t use that tone with me, Draco. I don’t appreciate your cheek in the slightest. Now, your eighteenth birthday is coming up, correct?”
“Yes. Next week. But you already know that.”
“Yes, Draco, I realise that. Do you still plan on spending the Christmas holidays at home?”
“Of course – mother’s asked me specifically to come home.”
Snape gave a dramatic sigh.
“I’m going to be frank with you, Mister Malfoy. If you go home on Friday, you won’t be coming back to Hogwarts.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t be daft, boy! Do you really think you’ll survive your birthday unmarked? You’re expected to fulfil a duty; one I’m not so sure you’re keen to fulfil.”
“Where do you get the nerve, Sir?” Draco lashed out, aghast.
“Draco,” Snape said with an air of tired frustration, “you are my student above all else, and I’d like to see you finish your education here. But I know that if you go home, that will not happen. It’s up to you. Just say the word, and I’ll arrange for you to stay on for the holiday.”
“And what do I tell my mother, then? And the Dark Lord? Do you want to tell them I’m not coming home?”
“Ask me, and I’ll take care of it. But I won’t do anything against your will.”
“Well, I won’t do it. I made a promise. I have to go home.”
Snape sighed. “If that is your decision, fine, Mr. Malfoy. Please leave. I have another class to teach in five minutes and need to get ready.”
He dismissed Draco with a wave of his hand. Draco complied, exiting slowly, shooting wary looks behind him all the way.
Surely this was a trick. Snape was testing him to see what he’d do, right? Draco couldn’t take the risk. He’d just have to go home and see what happened.
***
Draco needed to stop thinking about Potter’s tongue in his arse.
Seriously.
Only thing was, he simply couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he got a flash of him thrusting his arse into Potter's exploring tongue, how it felt when he replaced it with fingers and rubbed him just there…
It had Draco masturbating frantically, trying to replicate the experience, but putting his own fingers up his bum just wasn’t cutting it, and he certainly didn’t have a spare tongue handy. He desperately longed for another meeting with Potter, but it was the other boy’s turn, and Draco didn’t want to see too eager by jumping ahead of their schedule. He was sure Potter would send an owl soon. Any day now.
But it’d been three fucking days; what the fuck was he playing at? And at this point, Potter really needed to get a move-on. It was already Monday, and term ended Friday. This might be the last chance he had to have sex that didn’t involve a Death Eater orgy. God, he did not want to think about that.
Truth be told, he didn’t want to become a Death Eater at all. He’d wondered about the Christmas holidays, but surely Voldemort wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull him out of school and make it obvious he’d joined the other side. Strategically, it would be a disaster.
No, wait, he was that stupid. Voldemort was getting desperate; Draco knew that. With every day he failed to act, Potter was growing stronger and the odds increased that the Dark Lord would lose. And if Draco were completely honest with himself, the odds had been against him for quite sometime.
Hmmm… would they make him bottom at the orgies? They probably would, fucked up sods they were. God, he hoped he didn’t end up anywhere near Macnair. He didn’t particularly fancy S&M, especially as the submissive, and spiked mallets just weren’t his thing.
Draco tore his mind from thoughts of Death Eater orgies as a tawny school owl, which he assumed was for him, approached the breakfast table. It was about time! Untying the note, Draco began to read. He licked his lips as he made his way through the text, anxious to do some unspeakable things to Potter as soon as possible. As long as the prat didn’t want him to…
Fuck.
As long as he didn’t want him to have sex in Gryffindor Tower. Right. Which was exactly what he’d requested, in his adorably messy handwriting. Wait, no. Draco did not just think that Harry Potter had adorable handwriting. Fucking bastard, with his untidy scrawl and his Gryffindor Tower.
Sometimes Draco hated Harry Potter. Just not enough to miss this meeting, Gryffindor Tower or not.
***
So this was Gryffindor Tower? It was… cosy, in a musty kind of way. Draco peered at the red and gold tapestries and linens surrounding him, running his hands over an ornate wall covering. The colour scheme could use some work, but it seemed good enough. Nowhere near as nice as Slytherin, of course (dear God, was that imitation silk on that chair?), but it would do.
“Nice, Potter.” Draco gave a strained smile.
“Um, thanks. It took forever to clear everyone out. I nearly had to resort to using one of the Weasleys’ fireworks or something.”
“And you’re sure we won’t be disturbed?”
“Shouldn’t be. The others are asleep by this point, and I know some strong silencing spells anyhow.”
“Wank a lot, do we?”
“As much as any other teenage boy.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“You’re one to talk! I’m sure you had plenty of time to yourself after all those times in the Prefects’ bathroom, and with a room to yourself.”
“For your information, I only got that room last week.”
“Really?”
“Snape’s idea. To facilitate further… friendly relations between the two of us.”
“That’s… really disturbing.”
“I know.”
“Then you probably know your share of Silencing spells, as well.” Harry grinned.
“Shut it, Potter.”
“Right.”
He didn’t stop grinning, but continued, “Shall we, then? Just follow me, but be quiet.”
Draco nodded resolutely and followed Harry up a winding set of stairs. He was led into a circular room, lit only by the light of the moon, in which five beds stood.
“Dean and Seamus are over there -” Harry pointed to the two beds nearest the door “- and that’s my bed between Ron’s and Neville’s.”
Following Harry between Weasley and Longbottom’s beds (if they woke up, he’d spork himself to death from the embarrassment), Draco crawled onto the large mattress.
“Doing this ten feet from Weasley does nothing for my libido, Potter,” Draco said derisively.
“It’s not like he’ll hear.” Harry rolled his eyes, crawling in next to him and shutting the curtains. He then cast a strong imperturbable charm with his wand.
“That should do it. It’ll hold for at least eight hours.” Harry nodded and gave a slight smile. “So… I thought we might -”
Draco cut him off. “I don’t care what you thought, Potter, I have some ideas of my own.”
“But it’s my turn!”
“Well, last time it was my turn, but you made all the decisions anyhow.”
“Because you had no clue what you wanted!”
“Well, now we’ll be even.”
“But I know what I want.”
“Too bad. I know what I want, too. And I brought supplies. I’ll not let them go to waste.”
“You brought supplies? Where did you get supplies? Wait, what am I talking about? What supplies, Malfoy?”
“Oh, just something I thought you might enjoy…” he trailed off and retrieved the satchel he’d brought with him, drawing out of it a small flared butt plug and a jar of lubricant.
Harry’s jaw dropped open. “You… you…”
“Yes, me. I’ll not let you have all the fun, Potter. My turn.”
“You want me to put that in you?”
“Of course not. I’m going to use this on you. Keep up, Potter! Judging from the other week, I’d say this is right up your alley.”
“Um, I guess, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, this is rather… unselfish of you, isn’t it?”
“Of course not. I’ll be getting off, too. All things in good time.”
“Right.”
“So, strip off and lie down.”
“Um…”
“Oh, for the love of…” Draco flicked his wand at Harry and muttered a banishing spell.
Now divested of his clothing and sprawled naked on the bedspread, Harry looked up at Draco, surprised.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, it’s just a little spell all good Slytherins learn.” Draco gave a sly smile and turned his wand on himself, doing the same to his clothes.
“Where do the clothes go?”
“I don’t know, Potter. Somewhere. You’ll find them in the morning, I’m sure.”
“Now, budge up and spread your legs like a good boy.” Draco gave a feral grin.
Harry complied, wondering at Malfoy’s sudden take-charge attitude. Sure, he was enjoying it, especially the prospect of trying out the toy, but this was all a bit out of character. Well, the ‘thinking of another’s pleasure part’ was, at least.
Malfoy situated himself between Harry’s spread thighs, the butt plug (which, appropriately, was Slytherin green) and lubricant (a curious red) by his side. Harry jumped slightly as clammy hands caressed his buttocks, spreading them slightly.
“Pillow, Potter.”
“What?”
“I need to put a pillow under your hips. This angle won’t work.”
Harry nodded and pulled a pillow from behind himself, handing it to Malfoy. He lifted his hips so the blond could tuck it at the small of his back, canting his hips forward in such a way that his arse was more accessible for -
Malfoy’s tongue! Harry gave another start as the other boy nudged his perineum with his nose and touched the tip of his tongue to his arsehole. Malfoy was giving him a rim job. This was… an interesting development.
As Malfoy got more comfortable, spreading Harry’s arse cheeks with his hands so he could lave more thoroughly at Harry’s hole, Harry became increasingly glad that Malfoy had surprising sexual layers, because this was fantastic. No wonder Malfoy had moaned and keened so beautifully the week before. Harry was in heaven… until it stopped.
“Hey!” he cried out, lifting his head and peering at Draco.
Draco looked up and rolled his eyes. “Hold your horses, Potter. Just getting the lube. I can’t fuck you with my tongue all night, now can I?”
“I don’t see why not,” Harry muttered petulantly.
“Because then I wouldn’t ever get to using this,” he held up the butt plug, which now glistened with lube. “And I think you really want to know what this feels like.”
Harry bit his lip, knowing full well his answer to that was affirmative. After a moment, he felt a gentle pressure at his arsehole, then a pleasant slide of warm plastic against his hot skin, which quickly developed into a slight discomfort as the curved top of the plug slid past his tight ring of muscle. He mentally told himself to relax, but couldn’t help tensing as the slightly larger middle bit slid in as well.
Harry reckoned he must have made quite a picture: he was sweating, clutching at the sheets, his spine arching, trying to get more. He’d never felt so stretched or full, and found that he quite liked that feeling. God, he hoped he didn’t turn out to be a desperate bottom, because he knew Malfoy would never let him live that down.
Oh, but he was enjoying being a desperate bottom.
Just as Harry had established a rhythm that looked to get him off efficiently and soon, Malfoy stopped the toy’s movement.
“Wha…” Harry said incoherently, and Malfoy simply looked up and gave a knowing smile.
He moved up Harry’s body languorously, like a cat, and lined himself up so their cocks touched just so. Bracing his arms on either side of Harry’s shoulders, he began a slow grind, creating a delicious friction that made Harry’s breath hitch and his cock jump at every movement. Harry moaned, bringing his hands up from the sheet to grasp Draco’s back, pulling him down further.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you Potter?” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear, licking the shell and tugging gently at the lobe with his teeth.
Harry’s guttural moan served as a sufficient ‘yes.’
“You like having that plug up your arse, my cock rubbing against yours, huh?” Draco continued in his smutty diatribe.
Harry would have rather had the plug up his arse while Draco fucked himself on his cock, but didn’t say anything. Draco tended to get moody whenever Harry suggested his bottoming. He settled instead for another heady moan, to which Draco responded with his own muttered ‘fuck’ at a particularly forceful thrust from Harry.
The two rutted lazily against each other, enjoying the slow build to orgasm. Just when Harry thought he couldn’t take anymore, Draco slowed his rhythm. Before Harry could voice his confusion, however, the butt plug was set vibrating by another spell that was foreign to Harry.
“Oh, fuck!” he cried out, his muscles tensing and relaxing, all at once, in exquisite pleasure.
Draco lifted his pelvis and brought his hand between their bellies, grabbing a hold of both cocks and pulling firmly. His quick, sure movements brought both boys off within a minute, Harry moaning incoherently and Draco cursing loudly.
His arms giving way, Draco collapsed on top of Harry, panting. Harry’s heart jack-hammered in his chest over his most intense orgasm to date, and his hips continued grinding into the still vibrating butt plug, which was now more uncomfortable than pleasurable.
“Uh, Malfoy,” Harry questioned breathlessly, “could you, um, turn it off?”
“Huh?”
With much effort, the blond lifted his head from Harry’s shoulder and looked at him warily.
“The butt plug. Please turn it off. Now.”
“Oh, right,” Draco said, sliding off Harry to reach for his wand and end the charm.
“Happy now?”
“Yes, thank you. Though you could, you know, remove it.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re so demanding in bed, Potter.”
“Me! You’re one to talk, Mister ‘I came with supplies and I’m gonna use them whether you like it or not’. You wrote the book on demanding in bed.”
Giving a thoughtful pause on his way to the foot of the bed, Draco nodded. “Good idea, Potter. Maybe I should write a book…”
“Please, don’t be so egotistical Mal-FOY!”
Harry’s voice jumped as Draco unceremoniously pulled the last bit of the butt plug from Harry’s arsehole.
“Better?” Draco simpered.
“Bastard.”
“You know you like it.”
“Whatever.”
Draco simply shrugged, flopped down next to Harry and leaned against the pillows. They lay there in silence, save for the cleaning spell Harry thought to utter. He wondered what they were supposed to do now. It might be nice if Draco spent the night, mad as that sounded. Harry hadn’t slept so well as when he had shared a bed with Draco the week before, and he was hoping for a full night’s sleep… and maybe a little surreptitious cuddling in the morning.
Of course, that had been in Draco’s private room, where there had been no roommates to find them in the morning. Well, if anyone disturbed them, maybe it could at least be Ron, who wouldn’t have too much of a shock. Hopefully.
Harry still couldn’t believe Snape had given Draco a private room just so they could fuck. That man’s interest in his sex life was probably the most disturbing element of his sexual discovery. It was weird enough figuring out he was gay and wanted to fuck Malfoy, but to have Snape, of all people, cheering him on? Bizarre. How Snape had even known what was going on was beyond him. He wasn’t so rubbish at Occlumency anymore that Snape could have got an inkling from him, so how…
Wait. Of course. He wondered how Draco would feel knowing he was the weak link in this situation. He almost laughed at the thought of Snape peering into Draco’s mind and getting an eyeful of Harry Potter naked and wanking.
“Snape probably used Legilimency, you know,” Harry said idly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“Used what?”
“Never mind.” Harry smiled to himself. Teasing Draco was too much fun.
“No! Bloody tell me,” Draco reared up on his elbows and peered at Harry curiously.
“That’s how he knew about us. He used Legilimency on you. It’s like mind reading. It’s what Voldemort uses.”
“Wizards do NOT read minds, Potter. How common. And how do you know this, anyway?”
Uh oh. Harry wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But at this point he really didn’t fancy Draco thinking he’d been taking remedial Potions for three years. Besides, if he told anyone, he’d just let them all know he was a pouf.
“Do you really think I’ve been taking remedial Potions these past few years?”
“Yes. You’re rubbish at Potions.”
“You’re one to talk - I’ve seen how sloppy you’ve got.”
“It’s been your fault.”
“How is it my fault?!?”
“You and your bloody blow jobs. Distracting.”
“Am I really that good?” Harry countered.
“You know that’s not what I meant...” Draco trailed off and scowled. “I hate you.”
“And I hate you.” Harry smiled. He had a suspicion that this was Draco’s way of showing affection. He almost found it cute.
Draco continued. “So how do you know that Snape uses Legilimency?”
“Because he’s been teaching me to defend myself against it, you prat.”
“But Snape hates you.”
“But if he doesn’t teach me, he’ll be fired.”
“No, you don’t get it - he hates you. Really, really hates you.”
“Malfoy, if you’re trying to get at Snape being a Death Eater, I know. I’m not stupid. I’ve been in the presence of them many times. Including your father.”
Draco narrowed his eyes and sat up, scooting back so he sat straight against the headboard. “Why do you always bring him up?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s a huge leap or anything. You do kind of, you know, share the same genes. And you’ve both threatened to kill me on several occasions.”
“Genes?”
“Muggle thing. Never mind. And your father’s nearly managed it, several times. To kill me, that is.”
Harry turned to Draco, a lazy grin on his face, but it seemed that Draco was ignoring him. The blond was staring down at his hands, which were resting over his sheet-covered thighs.
“I do love him, you know,” Draco said quietly. “He is my father. My… Dad. The significance of that fact is not entirely lost on me.”
“I never implied that you didn’t love him,” Harry tried to sound reassuring, but it was an odd tone to use with Malfoy; one he certainly had never used with him before.
“No, you just implied that he and I are the same person,” Draco tried his best to sneer, but his shoulders drooped and he continued looking anywhere but at Harry.
“We’re not, you know. He raised me to be just like him, but at a certain point free will kicked in and… I’m just not.”
“You’re right. You’re not the same person. He has nicer hair,” Harry grinned as he played with a few stray, sweaty locks that hung in Draco’s eyes.
“Fuck off, Potter!” He jerked away from Harry. “I’ll have you know that the thing that separates me from my father is not our hair. This is why I don’t like you. You’re such an arrogant prick.”
“No.” Harry’s smile turned to a tight-lipped grimace. “You don’t like me because I’m the Boy Who Lived. I stand for everything you hate,” Harry finished coldly.
“No, Potter, you imbecile. I hate you because you chose a fucking Weasel over me,” Draco spat impulsively.
“Oh,” Harry responded uncertainly. He began to inspect his hands as well, surreptitiously sneaking a look at the boy next to him. Draco was sneering and pushing back his hair with his hand.
“What the fuck was your problem, anyway?” Draco turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time in the last five minutes. “He was dirty and poor and I was obviously so much better than he. He’s the wrong sort, Potter – not me,” Draco finished forcefully, pointing a finger at the bed curtains on the side where Ron’s bed stood.
Harry was getting fed up. He just had to go and ruin their first quasi-normal sexual experience by dredging up this stuff. “You were an arrogant prick. You insulted everything I was, everything I had, including the first two people who were ever my friends. I didn’t want to have anything to do with you and your sort.”
“And look at you now. Naked after I’ve had my tongue in your arse. What a long way you’ve come.”
Harry refused to answer the other boy’s biting sarcasm. He was suddenly feeling very tired - and let down.
Draco continued, seething, “I was only eleven, for fuck’s sake! And I met some scrawny kid in a dress shop and wanted to impress him, so I talked about the only things I knew – things my father had told me. I’m bloody sorry if my etiquette wasn’t up to your high standards.”
“You wanted to impress me? Ha! Yeah, cause I was Harry bloody Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”
“Get over yourself, Potter. I had no idea who you were. To me, you were just a boy.”
“If you didn’t know who I was why did you…” Harry trailed off, the question dangling from his lips.
“I don’t know. But it sure as fuck wasn’t because you were Harry Potter. My father’s been telling me to keep away from you from day one. Your being Harry Potter is every reason to have nothing to do with you. And did I listen to him? No. And fuck if I know why.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He really had no idea what to say to any of this. This was the first time the two of them had ever had a conversation. Well, this wasn’t exactly a conversation. But it had spawned from a perfectly normal, post-coital conversation. Kind of.
“You know what? Fuck that. I know exactly why. Because you were arrogant, and famous, and everybody’s hero and I hated you so much. Because I still hate you. I hate you, but I love you and I want to shag you and be around you all the time and that makes me so fucking mad, Potter. Do you understand that?”
Harry’s mouth hung open. He’d definitely just heard Draco Malfoy said that he loved him. Either that or he was having a psychotic episode and this was all some schizophrenic delusion.
Once again, Draco breezed right past Harry’s silence, continuing his rant.
“And I’m not like my father. Because, unlike him, I don’t want you dead. I like you alive. I fucking like you, for some ungodly reason. And my father? He’s afraid of you, your power, but I’m not. And unlike my father, and Voldemort and the greater part of the Wizarding world, I don’t think you’re a hero, some sort of Messiah. I still think you’re just a boy. Just some stupid, fucking boy.”
Harry had no words. He only stared at Draco, aghast.
“Well, don’t look so fucking shocked, Potter. If you’d ever bothered to talk to me, to consider for one moment that I wasn’t some fucking two-dimensional stereotype, this wouldn’t be such a surprise. You’re incredibly dense, you know that? You see everything in black and white. Well, I’ve got news for you – it’s grey. You can’t just see things the way you want to see them.”
“What if I want to see you differently?” Harry said quietly.
“What?” Draco was taken aback.
“All this is very new to me. I… hadn’t ever tried seeing you as, well, a person really. But after all this…”
“Don’t go bloody soft on me, Potter. I’m not going to be your boyfriend or some right shit like that, just because we’ve fucked.”
“But we haven’t fucked.”
“Whatever.”
“But you did just say that you love me.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You definitely did. You love me and want to be with me all the time.” Harry grinned, teasing him again. “You like me. That’s what you said.”
“No – I… I really don’t… fuck you, Potter!”
Harry ignored his outburst, pressing on. “And you don’t support Voldemort?”
“What the fuck does that matter?”
“It matters. Please, tell me. Do you support Voldemort?”
“Don’t think I’m on your bloody side, Potter, cheering for bloody Dumbledore and his mighty avengers. But I’m not on his side either.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Mine. It’s black and white with you again. There aren’t just two sides to everything.”
“I think this is a case where there are. You either support evil or you don’t. You support me or you don’t.”
“What do you have to do with it?”
“I’m the one who has to die, fighting him. It’s him or me. One of us has to die.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s true. There was a prophecy. It’s why Voldemort came after me. I have to fight him, and one of us has to die. That’s what your father was after in the Ministry of Magic. He wanted the prophecy.”
Harry let it all out in one big breath, amazed after the fact that he’d just told Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, something he hadn’t even told his friends yet. His stomach fluttered nervously, yet Harry felt an overall calm. He trusted Malfoy for some reason. Now he would have to pray his inexplicable faith in Malfoy had not been misplaced.
“Oh,” was Malfoy’s quiet reply.
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh, as in ‘non-committal noise’ oh.”
“Oh.”
Draco snorted, suppressing a laugh. Harry glanced over at him and began to laugh himself. They really were ridiculous sometimes. Their giggling fit (was Malfoy really giggling?) lasted for another moment before they dissolved into silence again.
“No one’s ever said they love me, you know,” Harry said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s true. But you…”
“I didn’t say I loved you.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Um, sorry.”
“No one’s ever told you they loved you? Ever? Not even your parents?”
“If they did, I don’t remember it. But as long as I can remember… no one.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re Harry Potter, surely your legions of fans have declared their never-ending love for you.”
“No, really. You’re the first person who’s ever said it to me…”
“Potter, I’m not going to argue with you about this!”
“Okay, Okay!” Harry turned from Draco and smiled to himself.
Somebody loved him, and even if it was Malfoy, it was still something. Harry settled down for sleep, burrowing under the warm covers. Peering over his shoulder, Harry saw Malfoy was sitting against the headboard tensely.
“You can stay the night, you know. I don’t mind. And nobody will really notice.”
Draco huffed. “Fine. But I’m only staying because I’m not sure where my clothes were banished to and I don’t feel like searching for them. Not because I want to spend the night with you or anything.”
“Whatever you say, Malfoy. Just don’t hog the covers.”
“I don’t hog the covers!”
“Why do you think I was snuggling with you the other night? I was freezing.” Harry baited Malfoy playfully.
“Aha! So you were snuggling with me! You admit it!”
“I never denied it.”
“Yes you did.”
“Did not!”
“You did Potter, for Christ’s sake. Don’t argue with me. Go to sleep,” Draco demanded.
Flipping dramatically onto his side, Draco gathered his fair share of covers around him, demonstrating his lack of cover stealing.
“Uh huh,” Harry muttered sleepily, already drifting off. “Good night, Malfoy.”
“Night, Potter,” Malfoy’s comparatively lucid voice answered him.
Unlike Harry, Draco was suddenly wide awake.
Snape was helping Potter defend himself against the Dark Lord, and the odds were, therefore, increased that Snape was a spy. Potter knew Snape was a Death Eater, but did nothing about it. And Harry Potter was going to die. What’s more, he’d trusted Draco enough to tell him all of this, despite who he was.
The whole world had flipped upside down. Worst of all, Draco realised, as he felt a pang in his heart and his stomach churned with nausea; it was true. He loved Harry Potter, in a difficult to place, unfamiliar way.
This was going to be a problem.
End Chapter Fifteen
Author: NQDonne
Email: nqdonne@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Cho’s messing Harry about leads him to consider… other options (aka: Draco Malfoy). Botched kissing attempts, fumbling in the Prefects' Bathroom, the sordid use of Parseltongue and, of course, massive squabbling follows.
Genre: Humor/Angst.
Pairings: Draco/Harry, plus Ron/Hermione on the side.
Kinks: RIMMING, TOYS
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. JKR and co. own all the rights.
Notes: Thanks to my regular betas,
ladyvader and kataclysmic, and to my new beta furiosity for whipping this one into shape.There is a quote/homage to The 10th Kingdom in here, which I watched again the other day and realised I got a lot of dialogue-isms and mannerisms from that I’ve been using in this fic and others. Also realised Draco is definitely modelled after Stewie on Family Guy. Basically, everytime Stewie has a Rex Harrison moment, that’s my effeminate/angry gay Draco, lol. And there’s a comedic reference to the lovely Miss Marks’ Oscillate Wildly down there somewhere, too. Oh, and beware of a few fandom clichés, but I do love my fandom clichés, so I hope you enjoy them :)
Previous chapters can be found here for those that need to play catch up.
Chapter Fifteen: Supply and Demand
Harry was having the most wonderful dream. He lay on a soft blanket, spread out over a verdant field. The sun was bright, and Harry lay on his side, burrowing into the warmth of the figure next to him, who was whispering something in his ear. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and the air smelt of daffodils. Harry smiled and cuddled closer to the other boy (Malfoy?), nuzzling his nose in the soft hairs at the base of his skull.
Then, all of a sudden, the warmth retreated and the feelings and sounds of spring went with it.
“Fuck!”
Harry woke with a start, eyes shooting open to find himself, indeed, sprawled on his side in the spot where he was formerly snuggling with Malfoy, who was currently at the edge of the bed, clutching the bed sheets to his chest as though Harry had sullied his delicate honour. Harry turned to the bedside table, heart racing as he grabbed frantically for his glasses.
“What?” he asked.
“What the fuck are you still doing here, Potter?”
Shit. Harry put his glasses on and looked around, remembering where he had been last night; where he still was this morning.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Exactly! Why the fuck didn’t you leave, you prat? And why were you… snuggling with me?” Malfoy shrieked.
“I… I don’t know!”
“You were supposed to leave!”
“I know! But I… just fell asleep.”
“You fucking idiot!”
“Fuck off!” Harry lashed out.
“Shit, Potter! We have class in” - he picked up his watch from the side table - “twenty minutes!”
“Shit!”
“Yes, Potter – shit!”
Draco began scrambling around, pulling a clean shirt and trousers from his closet and placing them over the back of a chair, while Harry stood awkwardly by the bed.
“Yes, Potter?”
“I, um, I need to shower.”
“Shower?”
“Yes, well, cleaning spells don’t do quite as well as a shower, and I really need to wake up and…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Potter! In there -”
Draco pointed to a door to the right side of the bed.
“But don’t you dare touch any of my things. I’ll not waste my expensive hair potions on that mess of yours.”
Harry shuffled past, heading for the bathroom, as Malfoy muttered a charm that righted his bedcovers. As was to be expected, Malfoy’s bathroom was lavish, outfitted with marble adornments and silver fixtures to rival the Prefects’ bathroom.
Harry turned on the shower and let it run until it was comfortably hot, before stepping under the spray. Wait a second – Malfoy had his own bathroom, so why did he use the Prefects’ bathroom?
“Malfoy, why do you -” Harry cut himself off, realising the blond couldn’t hear him from the other room.
“Why do I what?” a sharp voice answered and Harry jumped, jamming his elbow against the wall painfully.
“What are you doing in here?” Harry asked, rubbing his sore elbow and crossing his legs in an awkward attempt to preserve his modesty.
“It is my bathroom, and I decided I shouldn’t have to forego my morning shower because you’re an idiot. Budge over, Potter.”
Harry’s mouth hung open as Malfoy simply got into the small cubicle with him and moved under the spray.
He ran fingers through his hair, water cascading over his flexing shoulder blades. Harry simply continued staring. After a moment, Malfoy tore his attention away from the soothing effects of the water and peered at Harry.
“What are you gaping at Potter? And what were you so keen to ask before? Why do I what, exactly?”
“Um, why do you use the Prefects’ bathroom if you’ve got your own?” Harry asked.
Malfoy cast him a sharp look and he squeezed a dollop of shampoo into this palm.
“Isn’t it obvious? What are we standing in now?”
“Um, a shower?”
“Yes. And what are we not standing in?”
“I don’t know?”
“A bathtub, you prat!”
“A bathtub?”
“Yes, just because one has a shower, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally wish to take a bath. You’re really an idiot, you know. And…” He stopped short and cocked his head to the side.
“Ugh! You look like a drowned rat, Potter.”
With that, Malfoy lunged at Harry, going straight for his hair. Harry yelped and drew back, but all he did was hit the shower wall. Draco ignored his protests and simply worked the shampoo into Harry’s dripping hair with fervour, huffing all the while.
“You have truly awful hair, Potter, you know that? You need a clarifying shampoo and a conditioning serum at least once a week, seriously.”
Harry forgot himself momentarily and closed his eyes, leaning into Draco’s massaging fingers.
“You’re such a girl, Malfoy,” he murmured half-heartedly.
“I’m not a bloody girl, you ponce. Just sensible about hair care… and are you enjoying this?” Malfoy drew his hands from Harry’s sudsy locks.
Harry grimaced, feeling slightly guilty. He had been enjoying it. Immensely.
“We don’t have time for this! Rinse, for Christ’s sake!” Draco indicated the showerhead and pushed Harry toward it.
Harry moved under the spray and felt the fragrant suds run down his neck. Malfoy lathered up his own hair quickly and pushed Harry out of the spray to rinse.
“We don’t have time to condition, so we’ll just have to use spray-in serum.”
“What?”
“Just go with it, you half-wit.”
Draco picked up the soap and ran it up and down his body with vigour, before handing it off to Harry with a smirk. Accepting the soap, Harry likewise gave himself a quick wash, pointedly ignoring a few choice body parts.
“All done?” Draco asked smugly as Harry finished. Harry nodded and handed the soap back to him.
“Right.” Draco put the soap in its holder and shut off the shower once Harry had rinsed off, stepping past Harry and grabbing two towels. He handed one to Harry and began using the other to pat himself dry.
Harry stared at Draco as he ran the towel over the swell of his arse. To think he’d just had a morning-after shower with the boy with whom he’d been engaging in lewd sexual acts the night before. Brilliant.
But he didn’t have time to stare a naked and flexing Draco Malfoy all day. They barely had ten minutes to get to class. And, Harry realised as he finished drying himself off, he had no clothes.
He had come to Slytherin last night in his pyjamas. Fuck.
“Um, Malfoy?” Harry tied the towel round his waist as he padded over to the mirror, where Malfoy was spraying something in his hair.
“Turn around,” the blond ordered.
Harry complied and felt something mist over his neck.
“Malfoy, I have a bit of a problem,” Harry continued.
“Damn right you do,” Malfoy raked a comb through his wet locks.
“You have no idea how to take care of yourself. The modern wizard, gay or otherwise, needs to know the basics of hair and skincare.”
He finished and spun him around, toying with his fringe until he seemed satisfied.
“There – much better.”
Malfoy put the finishing touches on his own hair and moved into the bedroom, his haughty voice floating behind him.
“You know, because of your idiocy I don’t even have time to moisturise – and I loathe not moisturising.”
Harry rolled his eyes and followed Malfoy into the bedroom. Malfoy really could be quite the drama queen at times, and he seemed to spend more time getting ready than most girls. Though Harry supposed Malfoy would have to spend a bit of time on himself to look as polished as he always managed to. Still, he gave way more importance to his hair than was strictly necessary.
In front of Harry, Malfoy dropped his towel and pulled on a clean pair of y-fronts before stepping into his freshly pressed trousers.
“Potter – don’t just stand there, get dressed!” Malfoy directed.
“That’s the point, Malfoy – I don’t have any clothes!”
“Nonsense, you didn’t come here last night naked.”
“No, I came in pyjamas. Flannel, Gryffindor coloured pyjamas. And no robes.” Harry raised an eyebrow, and felt satisfied when the blond flinched, finally registering the point.
“Fuck, Potter, you idiot!”
“Yeah, I get that. You’ll have to give me some of your clothes.”
Draco looked aghast. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Well, if you don’t give me something to wear, people will ask questions when I show up to class in my pyjamas…”
“Why can’t you just go back to your own tower and get some of your clothes?”
“Someone will notice me coming back my pyjamas… and if they don’t they’ll definitely notice when I’m a half hour late for class. Snape’s class in particular. It’s not the end of the world, Malfoy. I just need a shirt and a pair of trousers, and maybe one of your robes.”
“Oh, just maybe one of my robes. Why don’t you have a pair of shoes, too, while you’re at it!” Draco intoned sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“I wore proper shoes, luckily,” Harry replied, ignoring Malfoy’s sarcasm. “Yours would never fit – your feet are much smaller than mine.”
“Aha! I can’t lend you clothes – you’re taller than I am!” Draco said, looking thrilled that he’d discovered a loophole.
“Only by an inch. That’ll hardly make a difference,” Harry said, smirking.
“But my robes are Slytherin colours…”
“Do you know any charms to change them?”
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to use them?”
“These are tailor-made robes, Potter. You’ll probably tear them, or get them dirty… or disintegrate them during Potions, something daft like that.”
“As long as you don’t spill anything on me, we shouldn’t have that problem,” Harry smiled at the pouting boy. “Listen, it’s only for a few hours – just charm the robes a different colour and I’ll have your clothes back to you by lunch.”
Draco grudgingly went to his wardrobe and retrieved a dress shirt, a pair of black trousers and a set of school robes. He handed them to Harry, who began dressing.
“I can’t believe the great Harry Potter doesn’t even know a simple colouring charm.”
“Like I can be arsed to know any fashion charms, Draco.”
“Draco?”
“Yeah, Draco,” Harry said matter-of-factly.
Draco said nothing, simply staring at Harry quizzically. Harry finished buttoning up his shirt, save for the last button, which he left undone.
“I need a tie,” he said softly.
Draco moved to his dresser and retrieved a green and silver Slytherin tie, muttering a charm that turned it red and gold. As he handed it to Harry, their fingertips brushed, making Draco shiver. Harry looked at him, surprised.
“I’m cold,” Draco threw back his shoulders proudly and moved across the room to finish getting dressed.
Harry put on his shoes wordlessly and threw a set of Draco’s robes over his shoulders. The emblem wasn’t quite Gryffindor red, but they would do in the short term.
“Right then,” Harry moved toward the door. “Shall we?”
Draco finished tying his tie and picked up his schoolbag. He paused at the door, saying smugly:
“You don’t have any books. And your cloak is still over in the corner.”
“Oh, right. Um… I’ll share with Hermione or something. And, um… I guess I could come back for my cloak later.”
Draco quirked his eyebrows with a look that said ‘oh really?’ and Harry realised he’d just invited himself back to the Slytherin dungeons, as if he were talking to his boyfriend.
“I mean, it’s only fair you have something of mine while I have your clothes, right?” Harry stammered, trying to gloss over the implied intimacy of the statement.
“Quite,” Draco nodded curtly. “But you should at least wear it to the door – wouldn’t want to be caught after going to all this trouble.”
“Oh, right.”
Harry hastily grabbed the cloak and slung it over himself.
“God, Potter, I can’t believe you were snuggling with me earlier. You’re such a girl,” Draco teased as they crossed the threshold. Harry would have argued back, but he knew an invisible voice shouting at Malfoy would be a bit suspicious.
***
Draco was thanking his lucky stars Snape had arranged for him to have his own quarters about a week ago. If he hadn’t, it would have been particularly awkward having Harry Potter in his bed this morning. Sure, Snape had only made the arrangements so Draco could have his wicked way with Potter in private (though Snape had said, officially, that the Head Boy needed his personal space, considering his falling marks, but Draco appreciated the convenience nonetheless.
Speaking of Snape, he looked positively gleeful this morning. He was almost… smiling, casting Draco knowing looks between glances at Potter. Draco had a sneaking suspicion he’d be having another little chat with Snape after class…
And, like clockwork -
“Mr. Malfoy, a word?” Snape gestured at him to come forward as the class filed out of the room.
“Professor Snape, I’d be delighted!” Draco intoned sarcastically, and followed Snape into his office. It was almost a routine at this point.
Draco took a seat across from the professor and launched right into what he expected he wanted to hear.
“Well, I did as you suggested. Potter and I are engaging in sexual acts several times a week, and I even styled his hair this morning, as I presume you noticed. Happy?”
“Thrilled, Mr. Malfoy, though that’s not what I called you in here for.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Well, great,” Draco rolled his eyes. “What is it?”
“Don’t use that tone with me, Draco. I don’t appreciate your cheek in the slightest. Now, your eighteenth birthday is coming up, correct?”
“Yes. Next week. But you already know that.”
“Yes, Draco, I realise that. Do you still plan on spending the Christmas holidays at home?”
“Of course – mother’s asked me specifically to come home.”
Snape gave a dramatic sigh.
“I’m going to be frank with you, Mister Malfoy. If you go home on Friday, you won’t be coming back to Hogwarts.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t be daft, boy! Do you really think you’ll survive your birthday unmarked? You’re expected to fulfil a duty; one I’m not so sure you’re keen to fulfil.”
“Where do you get the nerve, Sir?” Draco lashed out, aghast.
“Draco,” Snape said with an air of tired frustration, “you are my student above all else, and I’d like to see you finish your education here. But I know that if you go home, that will not happen. It’s up to you. Just say the word, and I’ll arrange for you to stay on for the holiday.”
“And what do I tell my mother, then? And the Dark Lord? Do you want to tell them I’m not coming home?”
“Ask me, and I’ll take care of it. But I won’t do anything against your will.”
“Well, I won’t do it. I made a promise. I have to go home.”
Snape sighed. “If that is your decision, fine, Mr. Malfoy. Please leave. I have another class to teach in five minutes and need to get ready.”
He dismissed Draco with a wave of his hand. Draco complied, exiting slowly, shooting wary looks behind him all the way.
Surely this was a trick. Snape was testing him to see what he’d do, right? Draco couldn’t take the risk. He’d just have to go home and see what happened.
***
Draco needed to stop thinking about Potter’s tongue in his arse.
Seriously.
Only thing was, he simply couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he got a flash of him thrusting his arse into Potter's exploring tongue, how it felt when he replaced it with fingers and rubbed him just there…
It had Draco masturbating frantically, trying to replicate the experience, but putting his own fingers up his bum just wasn’t cutting it, and he certainly didn’t have a spare tongue handy. He desperately longed for another meeting with Potter, but it was the other boy’s turn, and Draco didn’t want to see too eager by jumping ahead of their schedule. He was sure Potter would send an owl soon. Any day now.
But it’d been three fucking days; what the fuck was he playing at? And at this point, Potter really needed to get a move-on. It was already Monday, and term ended Friday. This might be the last chance he had to have sex that didn’t involve a Death Eater orgy. God, he did not want to think about that.
Truth be told, he didn’t want to become a Death Eater at all. He’d wondered about the Christmas holidays, but surely Voldemort wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull him out of school and make it obvious he’d joined the other side. Strategically, it would be a disaster.
No, wait, he was that stupid. Voldemort was getting desperate; Draco knew that. With every day he failed to act, Potter was growing stronger and the odds increased that the Dark Lord would lose. And if Draco were completely honest with himself, the odds had been against him for quite sometime.
Hmmm… would they make him bottom at the orgies? They probably would, fucked up sods they were. God, he hoped he didn’t end up anywhere near Macnair. He didn’t particularly fancy S&M, especially as the submissive, and spiked mallets just weren’t his thing.
Draco tore his mind from thoughts of Death Eater orgies as a tawny school owl, which he assumed was for him, approached the breakfast table. It was about time! Untying the note, Draco began to read. He licked his lips as he made his way through the text, anxious to do some unspeakable things to Potter as soon as possible. As long as the prat didn’t want him to…
Fuck.
As long as he didn’t want him to have sex in Gryffindor Tower. Right. Which was exactly what he’d requested, in his adorably messy handwriting. Wait, no. Draco did not just think that Harry Potter had adorable handwriting. Fucking bastard, with his untidy scrawl and his Gryffindor Tower.
Sometimes Draco hated Harry Potter. Just not enough to miss this meeting, Gryffindor Tower or not.
***
So this was Gryffindor Tower? It was… cosy, in a musty kind of way. Draco peered at the red and gold tapestries and linens surrounding him, running his hands over an ornate wall covering. The colour scheme could use some work, but it seemed good enough. Nowhere near as nice as Slytherin, of course (dear God, was that imitation silk on that chair?), but it would do.
“Nice, Potter.” Draco gave a strained smile.
“Um, thanks. It took forever to clear everyone out. I nearly had to resort to using one of the Weasleys’ fireworks or something.”
“And you’re sure we won’t be disturbed?”
“Shouldn’t be. The others are asleep by this point, and I know some strong silencing spells anyhow.”
“Wank a lot, do we?”
“As much as any other teenage boy.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“You’re one to talk! I’m sure you had plenty of time to yourself after all those times in the Prefects’ bathroom, and with a room to yourself.”
“For your information, I only got that room last week.”
“Really?”
“Snape’s idea. To facilitate further… friendly relations between the two of us.”
“That’s… really disturbing.”
“I know.”
“Then you probably know your share of Silencing spells, as well.” Harry grinned.
“Shut it, Potter.”
“Right.”
He didn’t stop grinning, but continued, “Shall we, then? Just follow me, but be quiet.”
Draco nodded resolutely and followed Harry up a winding set of stairs. He was led into a circular room, lit only by the light of the moon, in which five beds stood.
“Dean and Seamus are over there -” Harry pointed to the two beds nearest the door “- and that’s my bed between Ron’s and Neville’s.”
Following Harry between Weasley and Longbottom’s beds (if they woke up, he’d spork himself to death from the embarrassment), Draco crawled onto the large mattress.
“Doing this ten feet from Weasley does nothing for my libido, Potter,” Draco said derisively.
“It’s not like he’ll hear.” Harry rolled his eyes, crawling in next to him and shutting the curtains. He then cast a strong imperturbable charm with his wand.
“That should do it. It’ll hold for at least eight hours.” Harry nodded and gave a slight smile. “So… I thought we might -”
Draco cut him off. “I don’t care what you thought, Potter, I have some ideas of my own.”
“But it’s my turn!”
“Well, last time it was my turn, but you made all the decisions anyhow.”
“Because you had no clue what you wanted!”
“Well, now we’ll be even.”
“But I know what I want.”
“Too bad. I know what I want, too. And I brought supplies. I’ll not let them go to waste.”
“You brought supplies? Where did you get supplies? Wait, what am I talking about? What supplies, Malfoy?”
“Oh, just something I thought you might enjoy…” he trailed off and retrieved the satchel he’d brought with him, drawing out of it a small flared butt plug and a jar of lubricant.
Harry’s jaw dropped open. “You… you…”
“Yes, me. I’ll not let you have all the fun, Potter. My turn.”
“You want me to put that in you?”
“Of course not. I’m going to use this on you. Keep up, Potter! Judging from the other week, I’d say this is right up your alley.”
“Um, I guess, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, this is rather… unselfish of you, isn’t it?”
“Of course not. I’ll be getting off, too. All things in good time.”
“Right.”
“So, strip off and lie down.”
“Um…”
“Oh, for the love of…” Draco flicked his wand at Harry and muttered a banishing spell.
Now divested of his clothing and sprawled naked on the bedspread, Harry looked up at Draco, surprised.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, it’s just a little spell all good Slytherins learn.” Draco gave a sly smile and turned his wand on himself, doing the same to his clothes.
“Where do the clothes go?”
“I don’t know, Potter. Somewhere. You’ll find them in the morning, I’m sure.”
“Now, budge up and spread your legs like a good boy.” Draco gave a feral grin.
Harry complied, wondering at Malfoy’s sudden take-charge attitude. Sure, he was enjoying it, especially the prospect of trying out the toy, but this was all a bit out of character. Well, the ‘thinking of another’s pleasure part’ was, at least.
Malfoy situated himself between Harry’s spread thighs, the butt plug (which, appropriately, was Slytherin green) and lubricant (a curious red) by his side. Harry jumped slightly as clammy hands caressed his buttocks, spreading them slightly.
“Pillow, Potter.”
“What?”
“I need to put a pillow under your hips. This angle won’t work.”
Harry nodded and pulled a pillow from behind himself, handing it to Malfoy. He lifted his hips so the blond could tuck it at the small of his back, canting his hips forward in such a way that his arse was more accessible for -
Malfoy’s tongue! Harry gave another start as the other boy nudged his perineum with his nose and touched the tip of his tongue to his arsehole. Malfoy was giving him a rim job. This was… an interesting development.
As Malfoy got more comfortable, spreading Harry’s arse cheeks with his hands so he could lave more thoroughly at Harry’s hole, Harry became increasingly glad that Malfoy had surprising sexual layers, because this was fantastic. No wonder Malfoy had moaned and keened so beautifully the week before. Harry was in heaven… until it stopped.
“Hey!” he cried out, lifting his head and peering at Draco.
Draco looked up and rolled his eyes. “Hold your horses, Potter. Just getting the lube. I can’t fuck you with my tongue all night, now can I?”
“I don’t see why not,” Harry muttered petulantly.
“Because then I wouldn’t ever get to using this,” he held up the butt plug, which now glistened with lube. “And I think you really want to know what this feels like.”
Harry bit his lip, knowing full well his answer to that was affirmative. After a moment, he felt a gentle pressure at his arsehole, then a pleasant slide of warm plastic against his hot skin, which quickly developed into a slight discomfort as the curved top of the plug slid past his tight ring of muscle. He mentally told himself to relax, but couldn’t help tensing as the slightly larger middle bit slid in as well.
Harry reckoned he must have made quite a picture: he was sweating, clutching at the sheets, his spine arching, trying to get more. He’d never felt so stretched or full, and found that he quite liked that feeling. God, he hoped he didn’t turn out to be a desperate bottom, because he knew Malfoy would never let him live that down.
Oh, but he was enjoying being a desperate bottom.
Just as Harry had established a rhythm that looked to get him off efficiently and soon, Malfoy stopped the toy’s movement.
“Wha…” Harry said incoherently, and Malfoy simply looked up and gave a knowing smile.
He moved up Harry’s body languorously, like a cat, and lined himself up so their cocks touched just so. Bracing his arms on either side of Harry’s shoulders, he began a slow grind, creating a delicious friction that made Harry’s breath hitch and his cock jump at every movement. Harry moaned, bringing his hands up from the sheet to grasp Draco’s back, pulling him down further.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you Potter?” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear, licking the shell and tugging gently at the lobe with his teeth.
Harry’s guttural moan served as a sufficient ‘yes.’
“You like having that plug up your arse, my cock rubbing against yours, huh?” Draco continued in his smutty diatribe.
Harry would have rather had the plug up his arse while Draco fucked himself on his cock, but didn’t say anything. Draco tended to get moody whenever Harry suggested his bottoming. He settled instead for another heady moan, to which Draco responded with his own muttered ‘fuck’ at a particularly forceful thrust from Harry.
The two rutted lazily against each other, enjoying the slow build to orgasm. Just when Harry thought he couldn’t take anymore, Draco slowed his rhythm. Before Harry could voice his confusion, however, the butt plug was set vibrating by another spell that was foreign to Harry.
“Oh, fuck!” he cried out, his muscles tensing and relaxing, all at once, in exquisite pleasure.
Draco lifted his pelvis and brought his hand between their bellies, grabbing a hold of both cocks and pulling firmly. His quick, sure movements brought both boys off within a minute, Harry moaning incoherently and Draco cursing loudly.
His arms giving way, Draco collapsed on top of Harry, panting. Harry’s heart jack-hammered in his chest over his most intense orgasm to date, and his hips continued grinding into the still vibrating butt plug, which was now more uncomfortable than pleasurable.
“Uh, Malfoy,” Harry questioned breathlessly, “could you, um, turn it off?”
“Huh?”
With much effort, the blond lifted his head from Harry’s shoulder and looked at him warily.
“The butt plug. Please turn it off. Now.”
“Oh, right,” Draco said, sliding off Harry to reach for his wand and end the charm.
“Happy now?”
“Yes, thank you. Though you could, you know, remove it.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re so demanding in bed, Potter.”
“Me! You’re one to talk, Mister ‘I came with supplies and I’m gonna use them whether you like it or not’. You wrote the book on demanding in bed.”
Giving a thoughtful pause on his way to the foot of the bed, Draco nodded. “Good idea, Potter. Maybe I should write a book…”
“Please, don’t be so egotistical Mal-FOY!”
Harry’s voice jumped as Draco unceremoniously pulled the last bit of the butt plug from Harry’s arsehole.
“Better?” Draco simpered.
“Bastard.”
“You know you like it.”
“Whatever.”
Draco simply shrugged, flopped down next to Harry and leaned against the pillows. They lay there in silence, save for the cleaning spell Harry thought to utter. He wondered what they were supposed to do now. It might be nice if Draco spent the night, mad as that sounded. Harry hadn’t slept so well as when he had shared a bed with Draco the week before, and he was hoping for a full night’s sleep… and maybe a little surreptitious cuddling in the morning.
Of course, that had been in Draco’s private room, where there had been no roommates to find them in the morning. Well, if anyone disturbed them, maybe it could at least be Ron, who wouldn’t have too much of a shock. Hopefully.
Harry still couldn’t believe Snape had given Draco a private room just so they could fuck. That man’s interest in his sex life was probably the most disturbing element of his sexual discovery. It was weird enough figuring out he was gay and wanted to fuck Malfoy, but to have Snape, of all people, cheering him on? Bizarre. How Snape had even known what was going on was beyond him. He wasn’t so rubbish at Occlumency anymore that Snape could have got an inkling from him, so how…
Wait. Of course. He wondered how Draco would feel knowing he was the weak link in this situation. He almost laughed at the thought of Snape peering into Draco’s mind and getting an eyeful of Harry Potter naked and wanking.
“Snape probably used Legilimency, you know,” Harry said idly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“Used what?”
“Never mind.” Harry smiled to himself. Teasing Draco was too much fun.
“No! Bloody tell me,” Draco reared up on his elbows and peered at Harry curiously.
“That’s how he knew about us. He used Legilimency on you. It’s like mind reading. It’s what Voldemort uses.”
“Wizards do NOT read minds, Potter. How common. And how do you know this, anyway?”
Uh oh. Harry wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But at this point he really didn’t fancy Draco thinking he’d been taking remedial Potions for three years. Besides, if he told anyone, he’d just let them all know he was a pouf.
“Do you really think I’ve been taking remedial Potions these past few years?”
“Yes. You’re rubbish at Potions.”
“You’re one to talk - I’ve seen how sloppy you’ve got.”
“It’s been your fault.”
“How is it my fault?!?”
“You and your bloody blow jobs. Distracting.”
“Am I really that good?” Harry countered.
“You know that’s not what I meant...” Draco trailed off and scowled. “I hate you.”
“And I hate you.” Harry smiled. He had a suspicion that this was Draco’s way of showing affection. He almost found it cute.
Draco continued. “So how do you know that Snape uses Legilimency?”
“Because he’s been teaching me to defend myself against it, you prat.”
“But Snape hates you.”
“But if he doesn’t teach me, he’ll be fired.”
“No, you don’t get it - he hates you. Really, really hates you.”
“Malfoy, if you’re trying to get at Snape being a Death Eater, I know. I’m not stupid. I’ve been in the presence of them many times. Including your father.”
Draco narrowed his eyes and sat up, scooting back so he sat straight against the headboard. “Why do you always bring him up?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s a huge leap or anything. You do kind of, you know, share the same genes. And you’ve both threatened to kill me on several occasions.”
“Genes?”
“Muggle thing. Never mind. And your father’s nearly managed it, several times. To kill me, that is.”
Harry turned to Draco, a lazy grin on his face, but it seemed that Draco was ignoring him. The blond was staring down at his hands, which were resting over his sheet-covered thighs.
“I do love him, you know,” Draco said quietly. “He is my father. My… Dad. The significance of that fact is not entirely lost on me.”
“I never implied that you didn’t love him,” Harry tried to sound reassuring, but it was an odd tone to use with Malfoy; one he certainly had never used with him before.
“No, you just implied that he and I are the same person,” Draco tried his best to sneer, but his shoulders drooped and he continued looking anywhere but at Harry.
“We’re not, you know. He raised me to be just like him, but at a certain point free will kicked in and… I’m just not.”
“You’re right. You’re not the same person. He has nicer hair,” Harry grinned as he played with a few stray, sweaty locks that hung in Draco’s eyes.
“Fuck off, Potter!” He jerked away from Harry. “I’ll have you know that the thing that separates me from my father is not our hair. This is why I don’t like you. You’re such an arrogant prick.”
“No.” Harry’s smile turned to a tight-lipped grimace. “You don’t like me because I’m the Boy Who Lived. I stand for everything you hate,” Harry finished coldly.
“No, Potter, you imbecile. I hate you because you chose a fucking Weasel over me,” Draco spat impulsively.
“Oh,” Harry responded uncertainly. He began to inspect his hands as well, surreptitiously sneaking a look at the boy next to him. Draco was sneering and pushing back his hair with his hand.
“What the fuck was your problem, anyway?” Draco turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time in the last five minutes. “He was dirty and poor and I was obviously so much better than he. He’s the wrong sort, Potter – not me,” Draco finished forcefully, pointing a finger at the bed curtains on the side where Ron’s bed stood.
Harry was getting fed up. He just had to go and ruin their first quasi-normal sexual experience by dredging up this stuff. “You were an arrogant prick. You insulted everything I was, everything I had, including the first two people who were ever my friends. I didn’t want to have anything to do with you and your sort.”
“And look at you now. Naked after I’ve had my tongue in your arse. What a long way you’ve come.”
Harry refused to answer the other boy’s biting sarcasm. He was suddenly feeling very tired - and let down.
Draco continued, seething, “I was only eleven, for fuck’s sake! And I met some scrawny kid in a dress shop and wanted to impress him, so I talked about the only things I knew – things my father had told me. I’m bloody sorry if my etiquette wasn’t up to your high standards.”
“You wanted to impress me? Ha! Yeah, cause I was Harry bloody Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”
“Get over yourself, Potter. I had no idea who you were. To me, you were just a boy.”
“If you didn’t know who I was why did you…” Harry trailed off, the question dangling from his lips.
“I don’t know. But it sure as fuck wasn’t because you were Harry Potter. My father’s been telling me to keep away from you from day one. Your being Harry Potter is every reason to have nothing to do with you. And did I listen to him? No. And fuck if I know why.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He really had no idea what to say to any of this. This was the first time the two of them had ever had a conversation. Well, this wasn’t exactly a conversation. But it had spawned from a perfectly normal, post-coital conversation. Kind of.
“You know what? Fuck that. I know exactly why. Because you were arrogant, and famous, and everybody’s hero and I hated you so much. Because I still hate you. I hate you, but I love you and I want to shag you and be around you all the time and that makes me so fucking mad, Potter. Do you understand that?”
Harry’s mouth hung open. He’d definitely just heard Draco Malfoy said that he loved him. Either that or he was having a psychotic episode and this was all some schizophrenic delusion.
Once again, Draco breezed right past Harry’s silence, continuing his rant.
“And I’m not like my father. Because, unlike him, I don’t want you dead. I like you alive. I fucking like you, for some ungodly reason. And my father? He’s afraid of you, your power, but I’m not. And unlike my father, and Voldemort and the greater part of the Wizarding world, I don’t think you’re a hero, some sort of Messiah. I still think you’re just a boy. Just some stupid, fucking boy.”
Harry had no words. He only stared at Draco, aghast.
“Well, don’t look so fucking shocked, Potter. If you’d ever bothered to talk to me, to consider for one moment that I wasn’t some fucking two-dimensional stereotype, this wouldn’t be such a surprise. You’re incredibly dense, you know that? You see everything in black and white. Well, I’ve got news for you – it’s grey. You can’t just see things the way you want to see them.”
“What if I want to see you differently?” Harry said quietly.
“What?” Draco was taken aback.
“All this is very new to me. I… hadn’t ever tried seeing you as, well, a person really. But after all this…”
“Don’t go bloody soft on me, Potter. I’m not going to be your boyfriend or some right shit like that, just because we’ve fucked.”
“But we haven’t fucked.”
“Whatever.”
“But you did just say that you love me.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You definitely did. You love me and want to be with me all the time.” Harry grinned, teasing him again. “You like me. That’s what you said.”
“No – I… I really don’t… fuck you, Potter!”
Harry ignored his outburst, pressing on. “And you don’t support Voldemort?”
“What the fuck does that matter?”
“It matters. Please, tell me. Do you support Voldemort?”
“Don’t think I’m on your bloody side, Potter, cheering for bloody Dumbledore and his mighty avengers. But I’m not on his side either.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Mine. It’s black and white with you again. There aren’t just two sides to everything.”
“I think this is a case where there are. You either support evil or you don’t. You support me or you don’t.”
“What do you have to do with it?”
“I’m the one who has to die, fighting him. It’s him or me. One of us has to die.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s true. There was a prophecy. It’s why Voldemort came after me. I have to fight him, and one of us has to die. That’s what your father was after in the Ministry of Magic. He wanted the prophecy.”
Harry let it all out in one big breath, amazed after the fact that he’d just told Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, something he hadn’t even told his friends yet. His stomach fluttered nervously, yet Harry felt an overall calm. He trusted Malfoy for some reason. Now he would have to pray his inexplicable faith in Malfoy had not been misplaced.
“Oh,” was Malfoy’s quiet reply.
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh, as in ‘non-committal noise’ oh.”
“Oh.”
Draco snorted, suppressing a laugh. Harry glanced over at him and began to laugh himself. They really were ridiculous sometimes. Their giggling fit (was Malfoy really giggling?) lasted for another moment before they dissolved into silence again.
“No one’s ever said they love me, you know,” Harry said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s true. But you…”
“I didn’t say I loved you.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Um, sorry.”
“No one’s ever told you they loved you? Ever? Not even your parents?”
“If they did, I don’t remember it. But as long as I can remember… no one.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re Harry Potter, surely your legions of fans have declared their never-ending love for you.”
“No, really. You’re the first person who’s ever said it to me…”
“Potter, I’m not going to argue with you about this!”
“Okay, Okay!” Harry turned from Draco and smiled to himself.
Somebody loved him, and even if it was Malfoy, it was still something. Harry settled down for sleep, burrowing under the warm covers. Peering over his shoulder, Harry saw Malfoy was sitting against the headboard tensely.
“You can stay the night, you know. I don’t mind. And nobody will really notice.”
Draco huffed. “Fine. But I’m only staying because I’m not sure where my clothes were banished to and I don’t feel like searching for them. Not because I want to spend the night with you or anything.”
“Whatever you say, Malfoy. Just don’t hog the covers.”
“I don’t hog the covers!”
“Why do you think I was snuggling with you the other night? I was freezing.” Harry baited Malfoy playfully.
“Aha! So you were snuggling with me! You admit it!”
“I never denied it.”
“Yes you did.”
“Did not!”
“You did Potter, for Christ’s sake. Don’t argue with me. Go to sleep,” Draco demanded.
Flipping dramatically onto his side, Draco gathered his fair share of covers around him, demonstrating his lack of cover stealing.
“Uh huh,” Harry muttered sleepily, already drifting off. “Good night, Malfoy.”
“Night, Potter,” Malfoy’s comparatively lucid voice answered him.
Unlike Harry, Draco was suddenly wide awake.
Snape was helping Potter defend himself against the Dark Lord, and the odds were, therefore, increased that Snape was a spy. Potter knew Snape was a Death Eater, but did nothing about it. And Harry Potter was going to die. What’s more, he’d trusted Draco enough to tell him all of this, despite who he was.
The whole world had flipped upside down. Worst of all, Draco realised, as he felt a pang in his heart and his stomach churned with nausea; it was true. He loved Harry Potter, in a difficult to place, unfamiliar way.
This was going to be a problem.
End Chapter Fifteen
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