Harry awoke knowing something was off. He’d dreamed that he was handcuffed to a wall made of mirrors, tall mirrors that stretched to the sky, and he was pressed up against the wall, which was curiously warm and soft. As he slowly came back to consciousness, he recognized a few very important details: he was pressed against something warm and soft, he was naked, and there was something cutting off the circulation in his wrist.
Experimentally, Harry moved back. It was a body he was pressed against. A male body, judging by the erection thrusting gently against his ass. He was very warm. It was quite pleasant.
The sleepy haze had yet to lift from his mind. Harry had never been much of a morning person, and it always took him a few moments to figure out where he was and what was going on. Curiously, he looked down at his wrist. A Slytherin tie was wrapped tightly around it, the ends threaded through his fingers. A hand was sliding slowly up his hip and then over his own erection, gripping it tightly.
Harry opened his mouth with a sigh, pushing back against the other person. It was starting to come back to him: the night before, Draco Malfoy, the sex. Yes, there had definitely been sex. Really fantastic sex, he remembered, closing his eyes and appreciating the sudden barrage of mental images. Really really fantastic.
“Good morning,” Draco whispered, biting gently at Harry’s earlobe.
Harry realized, with a vague little thrill of anticipation, that there would be more sex very soon.
Draco brushed his knuckles over Harry’s bound hand. “You know, auto-erotic asphyxiation doesn’t work quite like that.”
“Shuttup,” Harry muttered, aware that he had been insulted but still too fuzzy to figure out how.
“Just a tie fetish, then?” Draco inquired.
Harry covered Draco’s hand with his own, encouraging him to stroke it faster. Obligingly, Draco sped up the rhythm.
“Not much of a morning person, are you?”
Groggily, Harry turned around to face him, thrusting his hips gently upward as Draco adjusted his grip. “Shh,” he murmured, and took Draco’s erection in his hand.
Draco looked at him, amused, and brought their hips together, rubbing their cocks lazily against each other, tangling his legs with Harry’s. Harry shivered and began to slowly stroke Draco’s cock.
His glasses were somewhere among the tangled sheets, Harry knew, but it seemed like it would be an awful lot of effort to find them. Draco was kind of lovely all blurry anyway, all pale skin and silvery blond hair, mussed and gleaming. Harry rolled his hips as Draco fisted his cock slowly, rhythmically until he was panting. Gasping quietly, Harry climaxed, come spilling onto his stomach and over Draco’s fist, and as he shuddered he stroked Draco just a little bit faster. It didn’t take much to finish him off, and soon Draco was biting his lower lip as he came onto Harry’s stomach as well.
Harry raised an eyebrow, already on the verge of falling back asleep. Cheekily, Draco grinned at him and then pushed Harry onto his back and licked up every drop, his tongue tracing each muscle of Harry’s stomach, sliding up to suck lightly at his nipples.
Harry stared down at him, feeling a slight ache in his temples from focusing so hard. It seemed important, though, to have a clear picture of this in his mind for future reference. He wanted to remember everything: Draco’s eyes, wide and bright, his hair, tousled and tangled, the sheets bunched up around his waist, the manic grin on his lips as he waited for Harry’s reaction. There was no hope of going back to sleep now, of that Harry was certain.
“I’m guessing this means I can’t pawn last night off as a fluke,” said Harry, biting his lip as the full import of what they’d done began to penetrate his pleasantly fogged brain.
“You’d be guessing correctly, then,” Draco said, his satisfied smirk changing to a look of annoyance very, very quickly.
“Look, Malfoy-“ Harry started.
“Oh, fuck off,” Draco interrupted. “We are not going back to last names, Harry.”
Harry sat up, clutching his temples. “Are my glasses somewhere around here?” he muttered.
“Probably,” said Draco dismissively. “What were you going to say?”
“I don’t know.” Harry groped around the sheets, feeling for his glasses. “This would work better if I could see.”
Draco made a frustrated noise, grabbed the glasses off the edge of the bed where they’d been teetering precariously, and flung them in Harry’s general direction.
Harry put them on, looking slightly wounded. “I feel naked without them,” he said.
“You are naked,” Draco said, exasperated.
Harry crossed his arms, a distinctly sulky expression overtaking his face. “This was a bad idea.”
“It was your idea,” Draco pointed out.
“You tied me up!” Harry, had he possessed any maidenly virtue, would have at that moment been clutching at it desperately.
“You were in my room! Breaking and entering, Potter, not your most shining moment! And you- you were the one all ‘oh, please untie me so I can lick your nipples, Draco!’ Don’t lie! This was all you!” Draco said accusingly.
Harry, defenseless in the face of actual logic, seized on the most minor thing he could. “I thought we were on a first name basis now, Draco. Or is that only when you want something from me?”
“Hardly,” Draco snarled, “As if there could possibly be anything of yours worth having.”
Harry stared at him. “Then what the hell was this, Malfoy?”
“Nothing,” Draco said bitterly. “Obviously, nothing.” He threw off the sheets, standing and stalking nakedly over to the wardrobe. As Harry watched, mouth slightly open from shock, Draco pulled on a pair of trousers and then spun back around. “You know, I knew there was a reason I hated you. In fact, I could have listed them for you, had you only asked, had you only bothered to notice that I was there. I never wanted to be your enemy, Harry. That was your choice.”
“Oh, because you made such a big show of trying to get on my good side, right?” said Harry, furious now. “How could I possibly resist all that Malfoy charm, what with the way you insulted my friends and my parents and my house and everything you could possibly think of, just for your own twisted amusement!”
“I stopped, didn’t I? I’ve done my best to pretend you didn’t even exist, to ignore you entirely! But of course I haven’t changed! Forget all that, I’m obviously still the very same person that I was when I was eleven!”
“Shut up! Why should I trust you? It was only a few months ago that we were leaving and you came in, insulting Cedric and telling me I was on the losing side! Has that changed? Are we on the same side now?” Harry said, clutching the sheets around his waist.
“It’s more complicated than that-“
“How is it complicated, Draco? How? I know you’re not a Death Eater— not yet, anyway. Are you going to become one? What about your father? It’s not just us, you know, the world’s not going to change because you have a crush-“
“I do not have a crush-“ Draco broke in, but Harry ignored him.
“Just because you’ve been less antagonistic lately doesn’t mean we’re friends, and just because we had sex doesn’t mean-,” he stopped, taking a breath. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said slowly.
Draco looked at him, aghast. When he spoke his voice was barely controlled, and Harry could see that his hands were shaking just enough to be noticeable. “Get out.”
Harry’s shoulders sagged, and he suddenly felt very, very tired. “I didn’t mean-“
“I don’t really care what you meant, Potter,” Draco said quietly, bending down to pick Harry’s trousers up off the floor and tossing them toward the bed. “Take your clothes,” he threw Harry’s shirt at him, “get dressed, and get out of my room.” He turned back to the wardrobe to finish getting his own clothes on.
Looking pained, Harry shrugged his shirt on, then slid out of the bed and put on the rest of his clothes. At the doorway, he paused, his hand on the doorknob.
“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Potter,” Draco said, his back still turned. “We hate each other. This was a mistake. It ends here.”
Harry bit his lower lip, struggling with himself. After a moment, he opened the door. “Good,” he said, quiet and emotionless, and walked out.
When he reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, he realized he’d forgotten his invisibility cloak. Also, he’d neglected to check a mirror before he looked, and he had the sudden thought that he had had sex the night before and probably looked it.
“Lambchops,” he muttered at the Fat Lady.
“Yes dear,” she replied as the portrait moved aside. “A little disheveled there, are you?”
Harry grunted something unintelligible at her and hurried inside, hoping that no one would be up yet.
“Good morning, Harry!” the Creevey brothers said simultaneously, popping up from the couch and regarding Harry with eerily similar grins.
Harry twitched, startled. “Colin. Dennis. What are you doing up this early?”
“We were just playing Exploding Snap. D’you want to join us, Harry?” Dennis said eagerly.
“No, I should probably be getting back,” Harry said nervously, heading for the steps.
“Some other time, then!” Colin’s voice echoed behind Harry as he walked upstairs.
Harry supposed he should have at least been grateful that Colin didn’t have his camera. The grateful feeling didn’t last, though, because as soon as he entered his room he was accosted by a frightened-looking Neville.
“Harry, where’ve you been?” Neville asked, wide-eyed. “Ron was worried sick! He thought you were dead!”
“I did not,” Ron said, elbowing Neville out of the way. “Where were you, huh? I thought You Know Who had kidnapped you or something!”
“I don’t think he would ever be that straightforward about it,” Harry said thoughtfully. “He’d probably just send a few Death Eaters after me to do the kidnapping.”
“Right, okay! That makes me feel better, cheers, Harry!” Ron said, goggling at him. “What were you doing all night?”
“Sleeping,” Harry said evasively.
“Oh. Alright, I’ll just drop it then. Sleeping, of course. Unlike myself, since I was too busy with the whole scared-to-death-on-your-behalf thing. But don’t worry about it, Harry.” Ron looked at him disbelievingly. “As long as you got a good night’s sleep.”
“I was just...thinking,” said Harry, trying desperately to come up with a good explanation. “I was thinking, and then I fell asleep.”
“Where?” Ron asked, putting on a show of patience.
“Um. There was just. A room. Yeah, I was walking along, and I took a wrong turn, and then one of the walls shifted and there was a door, and I went through the door and there was a room, and it had a couch and a nice view of the grounds, so. I sat down to think, and then I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was morning.” Harry scratched his head, trying to look sincere, honest, and trustworthy.
Ron eyed him suspiciously. “Then why are you all,” he gestured to Harry’s general state of disarray, “ravished-looking?”
“I slept on a couch, Ron.”
“Then why aren’t your clothes more wrinkled?” asked Ron, eyes narrowed.
“Anti-wrinkling charm,” Harry said quickly. “Enchanted right into the cloth. Amazing what modern technology can do, huh? Right, I’m going to take a shower, then.” He smiled at Ron and Neville while backing up and heading for his dresser.
He was just at the door to the bathroom when Ron spoke again.
“Hey Harry? What were you thinking about? In the room with the couch?”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I was thinking about. People.” He paused. “Wondering if they can change.”
“And?” Ron looked at him expectantly. “Can they?”
Harry shrugged. “I fell asleep before I could figure it out for certain.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.
It was probably not a good thing that he had slept with Draco Malfoy. Harry reflected on this, turning the water on as hot as he could stand it and standing disconsolately beneath it. Of course it wasn’t a good thing. Which wasn’t to say that it hadn’t been good, but. It was a stupid thing, that was it.
Closing his eyes, Harry tried to replay the scene in his mind. Suspicion, yeah, justified suspicion even, and then a stupid plan and then he got caught. Unconsciously, he rubbed his wrists, recalling the feel of the thick satin ties that had bound him. Funny that Draco had skipped over the expected torture and gone straight for the bondage. Funnier still that it hadn’t been so much alarming as a bit of a turn on. No. Not funny. Disturbing.
Yes, disturbing, that’s what it was. Disturbing and wrong, even.
He’d thought about Draco often enough, in several different contexts. The most pertinent of these being that he was a Death Eater, and that someday he might end up in Voldemort’s clutches with Draco standing on the sidelines, pointing and laughing and gloating and generally being himself. He thought about this almost obsessively, playing out a number of scenarios in his mind. Captured with Draco standing guard over him, held down and forced to watch Voldemort hurt his friends while Draco smirked in the background. Chained in some awful dungeon with only Draco for company, most often a Draco armed with a wand and various torture devices.
On his knees in front of Draco, hands cuffed behind his back. The cruel smirk twisting Draco’s lips as he tugged Harry forward by his hair, unzipped his trousers and forced Harry to suck him off, hard and fast. So vivid and real that he could feel the hard length of Draco’s cock thrusting down his throat, and the hot tears that would run down his cheeks even as he tried to stop them. The humiliating fact that every time he let himself think about it for too long he ended up trembling and desperately trying to resist the urge to jerk himself off, and always, always failing.
Harry shuddered as the hot water pounded against the back of his neck, scalding his skin red. It was just a fantasy, that was all. A strange misguided fantasy that he never, ever wanted to come true.
Except that he had slept with Draco last night. Not just one-off sex that he could blame on circumstances and bondage kink, either. Because there had been sex again this morning, and Draco had pulled him close, and then he’d gotten all stupid and inarticulate and now Draco had his invisibility cloak.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the water to run down his face, stinging his eyelids and beading on his lips. It wasn’t even like he could blame it entirely on Draco, despite all the uninvited straddling and grinding. Because when it came right down to it, Harry had been the one to lean forward and touch his tongue to Draco’s skin.
Harry shook his head. That was nonsense; of course it was Draco’s fault, with his soft pale skin and sudden stripping, not to mention his complete inability to fathom personal space boundaries. All Draco’s fault. Definitely.
At least Draco wasn’t a Death Eater. Well. Not yet anyway.
With a sigh, Harry shut the water off. He had a Herbology test in an hour that he felt he should probably do some last minute studying for. The Malfoy problem would have to wait.
He ended up a few minutes late for the lesson, having taken a little too much time looking over his notes. When he stepped into the greenhouse, Hermione shot him a slightly annoyed look and muttered something about talking to him later. His pulse raced at this, but there was no way she could have known what had happened. Except maybe there was. He didn’t even know for certain. Maybe all the prefect’s rooms were spelled like Draco’s. Maybe they were all connected, like some sort of mad spy network. Maybe there were recording devices in the corners, maybe-
Harry stopped. That wasn’t a good train of thought, nor was it particularly sensible. Right. He knew this.
Mandy Brocklehurst came around, passing out the test papers, her sweater-clad arms extended in front of her, and Harry was suddenly and forcibly reminded of his previous efforts with the spell to ferret out Death Eaters. He’d still only seen a handful of students, and it was quite possible that there were still students out there whose names he didn’t know, the upperclassmen maybe, that had the Dark Mark. Blankly, he stared at the quiz, having already forgotten the names of the plants he had spent the previous hour memorizing.
1. Crab apple blossoms can be combined with crocodile mint to create what sort of potion?
Harry blinked, sure he knew that one. Memory potions? No. Pepperup potions, that was it. Memory potions, those needed willow bark and asphodel. Willow bark to fog the mind, asphodel to make one forget. Add cherry stems and lime juice and you had the base ingredients for a powerful memory replacement potion.
There was a part of Harry that wished he could forget the previous day entirely, just slot in some other memories. He’d been more paranoid, true, but that seemed a small price to pay for his blessed ignorance of the softness of Malfoy’s skin, or the sweet wet warmth of Malfoy’s mouth. Harry shivered, his quill sliding clumsily across the parchment and marking an unsightly line through one of the questions. He scribbled it out, which only made more of a mess. That didn’t even include Cho, whose inner arm was hidden beneath a tight swath of bandages. He wasn’t particularly happy to know that, either.
Mechanically, he finished up the quiz, the answers coming back to him as he scrawled out lists of ingredients. Listing, that was something he was good at. He thought of the crumpled pieces of parchment crammed in his trunk. He needed to make new lists, clearly. Seventh year students. Professors, even.
He had to focus. He had to do something, in any case, lest he be caught between overwhelming feelings of helplessness and mental pictures of Draco writhing on the sheets beneath him. Distraction would be nice. Necessary even.
Carefully, he charmed away the smudge of ink blurring the question as he tried to recall the base for the lucky charm potion. Ground ginger roots, maybe; no, that was for bad luck. Harry frowned. Four leaf clovers, that was it. He should have known that. Grimacing, he finished up the test, pushing it out in front of him. Most of the rest of the class seemed to be finished already.
Hermione eyed him from across the table. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her and she looked as if she were planning exactly how to begin interrogating Harry.
At the front of the room, Professor Sprout smiled and said that those who were finished could go early. Nervously, Harry stood up and walked to the door, waiting for Hermione and Ron to join him.
They exited the greenhouse together, Harry trying to suppress a twitch. Hermione still had that calculating look, like she was waiting for the most vulnerable moment to strike.
“I’ll see you later,” Ron said to them both. “I’ve got to meet Ginny in the library and help her with her Transfigurations project.” He headed off.
“So, Harry,” Hermione said pleasantly.
Harry gulped. “What’s up?” he asked, feeling a flush rising in his cheeks.
“Ron said you didn’t come home last night,” she said, staring at Ron’s retreating figure in a seemingly casual manner.
“I assume he also told you why?” Harry said inquiringly.
Hermione smiled. “Let’s take a walk.”
Quietly, they turned in the direction of the lake. It was a fairly nice day, the sky slightly more blue than grey, the weather cool but not offensively so. Harry stared at the grass and willed his heart not to leap out of his throat and run screaming back to Gryffindor Tower to hide under his bed.
“He said you fell asleep in some mysterious room,” Hermione said, breaking the silence and resuming the conversation as before.
“Yes,” Harry said carefully.
Hermione stopped and looked at him. Harry, caught off guard, stumbled a bit in his haste to stop with her.
“That’s certainly an interesting story, Harry.” She examined him thoughtfully. “Is it true?”
Harry bit his lip. That wasn’t very fair, he felt. It was hard enough lying to Ron, but lying to Hermione, well. He felt guilty just considering it. And he was plagued by the fear that Hermione could tell when he was lying.
But it wasn’t like he could tell her the truth.
“I just fell asleep, Hermione. It was some room I’d never been in before, and I foolishly got comfortable, and when I woke up it was morning,” said Harry. Which was true. Technically.
Hermione sighed and resumed walking. She remained silent until they reached the edge of the lake, where she sat down on a wooden bench and gestured for Harry to join her. “Do we have limits?” she asked, gazing out across the lake.
Awkwardly, Harry shifted, turning to face her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean our friendship. Are there certain things we just don’t talk about?”
“No!” Harry said immediately. He thought about it. “I don’t think there are. Should there be?” he said worriedly.
“I don’t want there to be.” She looked at him. “I want to feel like I can tell you anything, Harry. And I want you to feel the same way toward me.”
“We can.”
“Really?”
Harry shrugged. “Well. What don’t we talk about?”
Sighing, Hermione looked away from him. “Viktor wants me to stay with him over the holidays. He’s invited me to his parents’ estate in Bulgaria.”
“Oh.” Uncertainly, Harry eyed her. “Are you going to go?”
“I might. I want to. I had a wonderful time there this summer. But.” She swallowed. “I don’t even know how to say this.”
“What is it?” Harry asked, concerned. It was unlike Hermione to be at a loss for words. Hesitantly, he touched her shoulder. “You can tell me.” A thought occurred to him. “Viktor’s not.” He paused. “He’s not overstepping his bounds, is he?”
Hermione laughed softly. “No. Not Viktor.”
Confused, Harry frowned. “Then who-“
Hermione looked at him pointedly.
“Oh!” Harry said again. The full realization hit him. “Oh,” he said more quietly.
“See?” Hermione threw up her hands. “I knew there were limits! You’re nervous now! I’ve made you uncomfortable!”
“No!” Harry said hurriedly. “I mean. Yes. But. Just give me a moment to get used to the idea. Keep talking. I’ll listen. I’ll nod. I can be helpful, really!”
“Oh, Harry.” She sighed. “I am a teenager, you know. The crazed hormones thing isn’t exclusive to boys. You know Viktor’s my boyfriend.”
“I know. I guess I just figured you were, um. Celibate and virtuous?”
“Harry Potter!” Hermione said, eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Just because I don’t go on about it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it! Honestly!”
“Well you never mentioned it before! I thought you were, I don’t know, too smart for it!”
Hermione stared at him. “Did that make sense in your head? Seriously.”
“Hey!” Harry huffed. “Just give me a minute, okay? I’m still trying to deal with the idea of you as a normal teenager like the rest of us, it’s a little disconcerting. Why didn’t you ever say anything about this?”
“What was I supposed to say? Oh, by the way Harry, while you’re over there growing up, I am too! I’m not static and unchanging! I have overactive hormones just like you do! Yes, I think about sex!”
Harry cringed.
“That’s right!” Hermione said, her cheeks reddening. “I said it! Sex! I think about it! I want to have it even! And not just someday either! Soon! Now even!”
“Hermione!” Alarmed, Harry scooted away from her.
“Not with you, Harry, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of sullying your virtue.”
“Hey! How do you know I have virtue, anyway?” he demanded. “You don’t! I might not! I could be running around virtue-free and you wouldn’t even know it!”
“Oh, please. If you were with somebody, I would know.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Right?”
Harry drew back even further. “Of course,” he said, willing his voice not to shake.
She glared at him, looking like she was on the verge of saying something scathing, but then her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“It was not,” Harry said firmly. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just a little weird.”
“I know.”
They sat together in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Harry spoke up again.
“So you’re pressuring your boyfriend to go further, huh? I don’t whether to be alarmed or amused,” he said lightly.
Hermione smiled, just a little. “Well you’ve already done alarmed, so. Try amused, see how it works out for you.”
“I have a feeling this is where I’m supposed to give you advice on how to seduce Viktor Krum,” Harry said, smiling back. “But every time I try and think in that direction I start hearing voices in my head going ‘Danger, danger! Step away from the bad thoughts! Run away, run away!’” He shrugged apologetically. “So all I can really tell you is just take it easy, I guess. He’ll be ready eventually. In the meantime, send him vaguely suggestive letters and enclose pictures of yourself smiling coyly. You’ll wear him down.”
Hermione giggled. “That’s actually not bad advice.”
Triumphantly, Harry grinned. “See? You can talk to me. I’m even kind of useful.”
“That you are.” Hermione looked at him fondly.
“Come on, let’s head back. It’s a bit too cold out here, and I can hear the common room fire calling my name.”
“Don’t give it ideas, Harry, you never know about the allegedly inanimate objects around here. And I don’t think you’d want to get too closely acquainted with anything flaming. You might get burned.” She stood, taking Harry’s hand and pulling him up along with her.
“Wouldn’t want that,” Harry murmured, suddenly struck by the memory of Draco astride him, skin gold in the flickering candlelight. Soberly, he followed Hermione back to the castle. Sure, it was great that he could talk about sex with her now. Of course, he wasn’t sure of her stance on sex with the enemy. Nor was he in too much of a hurry to find out.
“I’m going to head up to my room, Harry,” Hermione told him when they reached the common room. Smiling slightly, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for listening.”
“Sure,” Harry said easily. As soon as she was out of sight, he slouched down into the armchair nearest the fire and contemplated what he was going to do next. There was almost certainly some homework that he should finish, but there was always homework, and he figured that he had more pressing problems at the moment. He wanted to see Draco again. No, he needed to. He needed his cloak back. He needed to figure things out. He needed to stop picturing Draco naked.
Harry leaned against the side of the chair, trying not to cling too obviously. He remembered waking up with Draco, pressed so tightly against him that every inch of his skin left bare felt unbearably cold and bereft. He remembered the warmth of Draco’s lips, and the way Draco’s tongue would tease at the corners of his mouth before sliding inside to kiss him leisurely. Suddenly shivering, Harry squirmed in the chair, snuggling into the wide velvet back and curling up.
It was early yet, and Harry didn’t particularly fancy going to see Draco while it was still daylight out. He sighed. There wasn’t really that much he could do then but wait. He supposed he also had the option of doing his Charms essay, but that seemed awfully proactive.
“Accio pillow,” he said absently, pointing vaguely in the direction of the couch. A large velvet pillow flew through the air and landed on the armrest. He tucked it carefully behind his head, running a hand over the maroon fabric. A little nap wouldn’t kill him, surely. There were only a few other people in the common room and they were all reading or writing quietly. He would just rest his eyes for a few minutes, and then wake up refreshed and ready to tackle Draco. No. Not tackle Draco. The essay, that’s what he would tackle. Draco he would converse with in a civilized manner, and definitely not get too close to.
Satisfied with his plan, Harry closed his eyes and settled deeper into the chair.
An indeterminate number of hours later, he was awakened by a dim flash of light and the sound of shutter clicking. Harry blinked sleepily awake, to face an abashed-looking Colin Creevey making a sad and useless effort to hide his camera.
“Colin,” Harry said, with the infinite patience of the newly-awakened, “what are you doing?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Harry,” Colin said, looking desperately and pathetically sorry.
“Did you just take a picture of me sleeping?” asked Harry, sitting up straight and slowly stretching.
“Yes.” A tremor of fear had entered Colin’s voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be so loud. We were trying to be quiet, all of us.” He gestured to the other inhabitants of the common room, most of whom were watching with barely-veiled interest.
Harry took a deep breath, unsure what to be more horrified at: Colin taking a picture of him asleep (what was he going to do with it?) or that the twenty or so other students had tried to stay quiet just for him. The common room was usually alive with chatter no matter who was catching a bit of sleep; it was generally assumed that if you couldn’t be bothered to drag your lazy arse up to bed, you would just have to deal with noise.
Harry’s silence seemed to unnerve Colin even further. “I didn’t mean it, Harry, really. I’m sorry, truly I am. It’s just, you were lying there, and you looked so peaceful, and your glasses had slipped down to the tip of your nose and your cheeks were all pink, and.” Colin sniffled, just a little. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” said Harry, noting that for all Colin’s apologies, he still hadn’t offered to give up the film to Harry. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to wake me. But Colin? What exactly were you planning on doing with the picture?”
“Nothing!” Colin said hurriedly. “It’s just for my private collection, that’s all,” he added in a tone that seemed to find nothing remotely objectionable about the concept.
Harry stared at the younger boy, crouched on his knees in front of Harry’s chair, his blond hair ruffled, fair skin tinged red. “Your private collection?” he asked tentatively, though he was fairly sure he didn’t want to know.
“It’s not really-“ Colin stopped, swallowing nervously. “It’s just some pictures. My favorites,” he muttered somewhere in the vicinity of Harry’s left knee, which he seemed to be focusing on in lieu of Harry’s face. “Just.” He frowned, and when he spoke again it was almost a whisper. “The beautiful ones.”
Harry gaped at him. “Colin, that’s-“ he started, not entirely sure what he wanted to say.
Colin cut him off. “Well, sorry for waking you. I have to go now.” He stood and smiled brightly at Harry, looking impossibly young, his cheerful expression tempered by the look of tortured innocence in his blue eyes. “I’ll see you later, Harry.”
“See you later, Colin,” said Harry. He watched Colin go, clutching his camera tightly in two hands.
He felt like he had when he first entered Diagon Alley, and the wizarding section of London suddenly opened up to him. What had once been everyday life was suddenly tempered by magic everywhere he looked. The walls moved, the mirrors spoke, and bruises disappeared with the touch of a wand. Once he’d seen it, learned it, it had seeped into every aspect of his life and it sprang out at him from the oddest places, leading him to wonder if it had been there all along, but he’d never thought to notice. Like learning of glitter and then suddenly seeing the sparkle in everything.
Everything that had happened to him was now hopelessly entwined with sex. Yesterday’s innocent memories of demure underclothes and unsullied inner arms were crushed in favor of the smooth pale curves of Cho’s breasts held up in red satin. Each time he tried to recall Draco’s behavior in years past the incidents dissolved into sense memories of touch and taste, and he could feel his fingers threading into blond locks and digging into white shoulders, and see Draco’s malicious sneer turned into swollen lips wet and parted.
Even Hermione, who wasn’t even a sister figure so much as a sexless, only vaguely girlish person, was suddenly and irreparably sexualized. Harry wondered if it was just the newfound lens of sexuality through which he was viewing everything, or if he wasn’t projecting and Colin Creevey did actually have a crush on him.
He was attempting to process that thought when Ron and Ginny came laughing into the room, startling Harry out of his reverie. Ron spotted him and waved, bounding over with his sister.
“Oi, Harry! You missed dinner! Fell asleep, did you?” he asked, crouching down next to Harry and resting his elbows on the arm of the chair. “Didn’t get enough sleep last night, huh?” he observed shrewdly.
“Long day,” Harry said dismissively, smiling at Ginny.
“We brought you some food,” Ginny said shyly, holding out a napkin full of mint chocolate chip cookies and several baby strawberries, bright red and fragile looking.
“Thanks,” Harry said warmly. He popped one of the strawberries into his mouth. “I can’t believe I missed dinner.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Ron said, nodding his head contemplatively. “Well, I’m off. I’ve got that Charms essay, and I’d much rather procrastinate in the comfort of my room.”
“Right, the essay!” said Harry. “I should head off to the library and see about that.”
“Good luck.” With that, Ron exited.
Ginny waved her goodbyes and went off to talk to a few of the girls in her year, leaving Harry to stand and stretch and plot the best way to ambush Malfoy. The straight and simple approach seemed like the plan to go with. He would just march on it, demand his cloak, get it and leave. It was a great plan, or it would be if Draco followed the script. Sadly, Draco was predictable in that he almost always did exactly what you didn’t want him to. It was like a gift. A very, very annoying gift.
Pensively, Harry slipped out of the portrait hole and walked down the hall toward Draco’s room. He had two definite goals: get his cloak back, and avoid doing anything foolish, like pushing Draco up against a wall and touching him. A lot. It would be fine, though, because Harry had restraint. No, he did, really. As long as Draco kept his shirt on.
Harry reached Draco’s doorway and stood in front of it for a few moments, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say. Something straight and to the point. Give me my cloak back. Please. Should he say please? Would Draco respond to that? Give me my cloak back now. Aggression might work better. Or it could backfire horribly and end with a door slammed in Harry’s face. Get on your knees, Malfoy. No! No. That was not a productive line of thought. No.
As Harry attempted to move past the image of Draco on his knees, the doorknob turned. He glanced up, surprised, as the door opened and Draco glared him, looking absolutely furious.
“Do you want someone to see you, Potter?” Draco demanded. He grabbed Harry by his shirtfront and pulled him forward, dragging him into the room.
Harry stumbled as Draco released him, and when he took a moment to focus he realized that Draco’s slight dishevelment was almost certainly a result of him undressing. He knew this because Draco was shirtless, and that was pretty much the only reason, as Harry was really unable to move beyond that concept. “How did you know I was out there?” Harry asked. He was having trouble lifting his gaze past Draco’s collarbone, where there was a small bruise that Harry didn’t remember causing but mostly likely had.
Draco rolled his eyes, shutting the door firmly behind them and snapping the lock shut. “I could practically hear you thinking. What were you doing, practicing what to say to me?”
“No!” Harry said automatically.
Draco raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Maybe,” Harry admitted, drawing himself up to his full height. “I want my cloak back.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco said smoothly.
Grimacing, Harry leaned against the wall, making himself focus on the section of the wardrobe just past Draco’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected to get cut off quite so soon, but clearly Draco was bent on being even more intolerable than usual. “Don’t lie to me, Malfoy. My invisibility cloak. I left it here last night.” He bit his lip. “I mean this morning. Give it back.”
“No,” said Draco curtly.
Harry stared at him. “No?”
“That’s right.”
“This is ridiculous,” Harry said flatly. “Give me back my cloak. Now, please.”
“Oh! Well, now that you’ve said please.” Draco paused dramatically. “No.”
Harry took a deep, calming breath. “Why?”
“Because,” Draco crossed his arms, “you’re irritating, and you’re obnoxious, and we had good sex and then you became a total wanker. I tried to be nice to you-“
“You did not!” Harry interjected.
“-and you treated me very badly and therefore I am wounded and bitter,” Draco continued. “Also, I hate you. Of course, I hated you before the sex, but now I have even more reason to hate you. So I’m going to keep the cloak, just to spite you. That’s what enemies do: make grand but ultimately pointless gestures of pettiness and hatred.”
“You practiced that,” Harry accused.
Draco flushed. “I did not!”
“There’s no way that was spontaneous. And you say I’m obnoxious. Listen to yourself, you pompous little prat.”
“Right! Okay,” Draco said, nodding agreeably. “Your cloak? I’m burning it.”
“No you’re not,” Harry said flatly.
Draco examined his nails idly. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he informed Harry, who was on his twentieth deep calming breath and starting to feel slightly light-headed.
Irritated, Harry stepped toward Draco. “Just stop this, okay? Give me the cloak.”
Draco tilted his head to the side, examining Harry. “No.”
Harry snapped, and when he spoke again his voice was raised, the frustration showing through in every word. “Just give it to me, Draco!”
Draco advanced quickly, forcing Harry to back up almost to the wall. “Oh, I’ll give it to you, Harry.” His eyes shone with malice, lips twisting in cruel mockery of a smile. He fisted his hand in Harry’s sweater, pushing the other boy hard into the wall. “But you’ll have to beg me for it.”
“I will never. Ever. Beg you,” Harry bit off.
Roughly, Draco tugged Harry forward only to slam him harder against the cold stone. He shoved his knee between Harry’s, his hands stealing beneath Harry’s sweater.
Harry flinched away, turning his cheek to the wall.
“You will,” Draco said furiously into Harry’s ear, “if I have to force you.”
Harry shuddered, feeling an involuntary jolt run through his cock as Draco ground against him, thumbs rubbing over Harry’s hipbones. “We shouldn’t do this,” Harry rasped, thrusting back against the insistent pressure of Draco’s body against his.
“Why?” Draco insisted. “Why the fuck not?”
“Because,” Harry said, his eyes sliding shut, “I want it too much.” He ran his hands up Draco’s sides, then abruptly pushed him away, reversing their positions and slamming Draco into the wall.
“Potter, what-“ Draco started, doing an unspectacular job of hiding his shock.
Harry fumbled with Draco’s trousers, undoing the fastenings and tugging them down. “Just shut up,” he said distractedly, and fell to his knees. The stones were smooth and unyielding beneath him as he took Draco’s cock in hand, sliding his fingers over it slowly before encircling it with his fist and stroking lightly up and down.
Above him, Draco shuddered and moaned, pushing into Harry’s grasp. Harry leaned forward and licked lightly at the head of Draco’s cock, his other hand exploring Draco’s thighs and moving around to his ass, squeezing softly. The slightly bitter taste of Draco’s pre-come on the tip of his tongue reminded him suddenly and absurdly of the peppermint and butterscotch candies he had stealthily purloined from Mrs. Figg’s candy dish whenever she babysat him. He remembered unwrapping them, wincing at every tell-tale cellophane crackle before popping each dusty, cracked candy into his mouth.
It was never the taste, really, though they did hold a certain aged sweetness. It was the forbidden aspect of it, the way his heart pounded and his fingers froze as he worked up the courage to reach for the etched crystal bowl, cringing to himself as he lifted the lid as quietly as possible. The sharp sting of peppermint couldn’t compare to the adrenaline-spiked rush of getting away with it.
Which wasn’t to say that Draco tasted like candy, because he certainly didn’t. But the adrenaline was there, the pounding in his temples that said he was doing something very very wrong that could only lead to trouble. He felt, alarmingly, like giggling, but instead he just tightened his lips around the length of Draco’s cock and pushed his head forward, taking Draco into his throat until his ability to breathe came into question.
Draco was gasping out something, swear words or pleas to an indeterminate deity, but Harry chose to focus on how far down his throat he could take Draco before his gag reflex kicked in. A little farther in each time, Harry noted proudly, mentally patting himself on the back. The back of his throat was beginning to feel a bit worn, and he rather dreaded what his voice would sound like by the time he was finished. It certainly didn’t help that Draco was thrusting now, his hand resting on the back of Harry’s head as his hips pushed forward a bit too aggressively for Harry’s liking. Harry pulled back a little to say so but the problem was solved as Draco came, catching Harry off guard and making him choke.
Hurriedly, Harry swallowed, fingers catching stray drops at the corners of his mouth. He sat back on his heels and looked up at Draco, who was looking at him with something akin to awe.
“You taste kind of like salt and vinegar crisps,” Harry informed him.
Draco stared at him, then slumped down onto the floor. “Why are you the only person in the world who’s ever been able to leave me at a loss for words?” he asked.
Harry shrugged. “I guess I’m just special.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” muttered Draco. “And what the hell did you mean, you want it too much?”
“Was my clever code too difficult for you to decipher?”
Draco narrowed his eyes but let that one pass. “I’m trying to be serious, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I mind. Otherwise I would respond in kind, instead of skillfully avoiding your every attempt to discuss our relationship, not that we have one,” Harry said, beginning to worry that his own erection was going to be ignored in favor of Draco’s personal issues.
“You can’t say dramatic things like that and expect me not to want elaboration. That’s not fair,” said Draco, glaring now.
“Life’s not fair,” Harry said shortly.
“Right!” Draco said, as if suddenly remembering something that had slipped his mind. “That’s why we’re enemies. Because I can’t stand you.”
“Not that listening to you whine incessantly isn’t a turn-on,” Harry began in a tone that implied it wasn’t, really, “but if you could perhaps attend to my needs, and then remind me of why I tried to hex your mouth shut last year, I would appreciate it.” Helpfully, he took Draco’s hand in his own and tugged it toward his erection, undoing and pushing down his trousers with his free hand.
“You are so bloody romantic it may kill me,” Draco said flatly, fisting his hand around Harry’s cock but stubbornly keeping it still.
“There will be killing in the near future if you don’t bring me off,” stated Harry, reaching for his wand, the effect only slightly ruined by the post-blowjob rasp in his voice.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Obligingly, Harry spread his hands flat on the ground, squirming into Draco’s grasp. Draco began lightly stroking up and down, watching Harry intently for any sign of threatening movement.
“Is this good?” Draco asked.
“What is it with you and talking?” Harry muttered. “There are much better things to do with your mouth.”
“And I won’t show you any of them if you don’t indulge me on this,” Draco threatened.
Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance, until Draco did something particularly pleasant with his index finger that had Harry’s eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Yes, it’s good,” Harry gasped. “Really. Very good. Please don’t stop.”
Draco placed a hand on Harry’s back, bringing him closer. His lips hovered a few inches from Harry’s. “Say it again.”
“Augh.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s good. Don’t stop. Please.”
“Again,” whispered Draco, his lips brushing against Harry’s as he spoke.
“Don’t stop,” Harry murmured, shuddering as Draco stroked faster while roughly dragging his fingertips over Harry’s back, up his spine to dig into the space between his shoulder blades. “Please don’t stop. Please. Please.”
Draco quieted him then, permitting him to stop speaking by way of hard kisses in the general vicinity of Harry’s lips, sucking on his lower lip before pressing softer kisses to the corners of his mouth. His movements knocked Harry’s glasses askew, prompting Harry to tug them off and send them skittering along the floor. Harry shook and shuddered in his grasp, moving steadily closer to completion, and as Draco stroked and Harry trembled, Draco licked at Harry’s lips and gasped, “I knew I could get you to beg me,” every other word punctuated by a hard stroke and an indrawn breath.
Orgasm hit Harry like a punch in the face, his back arching and hips thrusting roughly in Draco’s hand as his hands came up from where they’d been gripping futilely at the floor to slam into the wall on each side of Draco’s head. He leaned forward, trapping Draco’s hand, now slick and sticky with his come, between their bodies. When he kissed Draco again it was hard enough to bruise, his own reddened lips pushing aggressively at Draco’s swollen mouth. “You tricked me,” he muttered between kisses.
“You begged me,” Draco said smugly.
Caught between irritation and the post-sex happy place, Harry could only indistinctly mutter unflattering things about Draco’s lineage. He sagged against Draco, longing for the bed while trying to ignore the large warning sign in his head flashing “No! No! Bad idea!” in bright red neon letters.
Finally, Harry spoke. “I suppose I should-“
“We need to-“ Draco said at the same time.
They paused and looked at each other, then both spoke again.
“I should go.”
“We should talk.”
“No we shouldn’t,” Harry disagreed, already disentangling himself from Draco’s embrace.
“You should stay,” Draco insisted, talking over him.
Harry stood, straightening his clothes and glancing around for his glasses. “No I shouldn’t.”
“Dammit, Potter.” Draco glared at him, wiping his hand off on the floor. He stood as well, getting his clothes back on, which really only entailed doing up his pants as he had entered the encounter shirtless.
“It’s really weird that we just had sex and you’re reverting back to last names,” Harry pointed out.
“It’s really weird that two days ago I wanted you dead and now I want you naked!” Draco said, exasperated. “I’m getting used to the name thing! A five year habit is hard to break!”
“Excuses.” Harry waved him off and headed for the door, having located his glasses and deemed himself sufficiently straightened.
“Stop it! Stop distracting me with your stupid distractions! We need to talk!” Draco was almost, but not quite, flailing.
“I can’t, I have an essay to write,” Harry said, giving him a ‘what can you do?’ sort of shrug.
Draco gritted his teeth. “Are you just using me for sex?”
“No!” Harry said, surprised.
“Because if you are, that’s fine, at least it’s good sex! But I think I should know, if you are, Harry!”
“Draco,” Harry said soothingly, “I’m not using you.”
“Then why are you avoiding actual conversation?”
“Because I haven’t actually figured out what I’m doing here, and I’d like to have my emotional breakdown in private, if you don’t mind.”
Draco looked suddenly and disturbingly delighted. “I’m worth a breakdown then?”
“Figure of speech,” Harry said hurriedly. “So I’m going to go do that essay now, and maybe confront my inner turmoil.” He paused. “Have a good night.” With a perfunctory wave, he was out the door, leaving Draco staring after him.
It wasn’t until Harry was tucked into bed for the night and mentally replaying the encounter in his mind that he realized Draco still had his invisibility cloak.