Title: The Sofa
Author: Katie
Rating: R, just in case.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and co. belong to JK Rowling, and all the other
guys like Bloomsbury and Warner Brothers. DFS belongs to themselves. One
True Voice belonged to Pete Waterman or maybe Louis Walsh, I can't remember
which, but I'm sure that neither would admit to that now.
Summary: Draco has formulated a hypothesis about Trelawney. And, what's
this? Trelawney's a what?
Warnings for non-slashers: This story contains slash.
Warnings for slashers: This story contains a teensie, tiny little hint of
Het. Because Ron and Hermione are married. But they don't do anything, I
promise.
The Sofa
"Draco, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."
Now, that statement was not entirely correct. Harry had heard many ridiculous things in his time and, although Draco's hypothesis that Sybil Trelawney would be the next vice-Minister for Magic was definitely, without a doubt within the top fifty, it was far from the top of the charts. A little like One True Voice in that respect. Before they split up, that is, which came not a nanosecond too soon. After all, you have to take into consideration that Harry was friends with both Luna Lovegood and Ron Weasley.
"It's true," Draco countered imaginatively.
Harry refused to grace that insult to comebacks with even a glare.
"Listen." Draco settled himself on the sofa behind them. It was a one-of-a- kind, white leather two seater, and the inanimate object had witnessed many an argument. In fact, even the selection of the sofa itself had been a trial. Harry, in his easily satisfied, advertisement driven way would have gladly settled with a half price settee from DFS purchased on Bank Holiday Weekend during a sale that would have ended the following Monday, only for a new one to start the next day. In his defence, the sofa he liked did have washable covers. Draco, however, had been brought up amongst expensive things. He had had class bred into his very blood. Therefore, naturally, Draco desired more. After an entire weekend of searching the world's most expensive boutiques, this sofa had been discovered in a Parisian back street store. Which had, typically, been the last place the couple had tried. Funny, that.
If only soft furnishings could talk.
"Trelawney is strategically in a very strong position within the politics of this country," Draco began. Harry, sensing a lengthy one-sided discussion, settled himself on the sofa next to Draco and tucked his feet up beneath him.
"It has been proven and recognised that Trelawney has made three correct and entirely accurate prophecies. Feet off the sofa Harry. Were she to use this to her advantage like a true Slytherin, she could quickly gain a position of great importance."
"But why would a Hufflepuff act like a true Slyth.she wasn't? Trelawney wasn't a Hufflepuff?"
"No. Not one of our better specimens, but she was a Slytherin none the less. She's a pureblood, of course, from a respectable old money family. Cassandra Trelawney was her grandmother."
"Yeah, I knew that Draco," Harry interrupted in an effort to sound a little more observant than he appeared to be. How could anyone mistake a Slytherin for a Hufflepuff?
"It's 'yes', Harry, not 'yeah'. And don't interrupt. It's rude." Harry rolled his eyes. "I saw that, Potter. Trelawney has always been hostile towards muggleborns. You'll remember how she treated Granger, of course?"
Harry scowled.
"Now, she could have 'premonitions' about everybody between herself and her goal, and could easily persuade each and every one of them to promote her. Of course, why she failed to try this while that prat Fudge was in office I'll never understand. Perhaps it presented no challenge."
Draco was always proving Harry wrong when it came to politics. And when it came to power. Dark Arts. Gossip. Current affairs. Cooking. Anything of any real importance, and some things of little importance at all. But then Harry had his own ways of getting his own back.
Harry leant over and kissed Draco firmly. Draco's tongue immediately responded and probed gently into Harry's mouth, and the two men began a viscous battle of the tongues, hands exploring the opposite body and all arguments forgotten.
Harry leant back as Draco leant forwards, and both shirts were on the floor within seconds. Hands roamed over familiar naked torsos, pausing at every sensitive spot before moving on to the next. Trousers soon became tented at the front and crotches rubbed together aggressively, only serving to make the trousers ever more constricting.
Finally giving in to animal instincts and primal urges, hands reached lower and lower, and soon two pairs of trousers had joined the pile of fabric on the floor.
Draco's mouth began to follow the trail down his partner's body that his hands had previously traced, and Harry's hands moved increasingly quickly in anticipation of what was to come. Draco's tongue reached the waistband of Harry's underpants and, gripping with his teeth, he began to peel the underwear off, releasing his lover's fully erect.
*
"Daddy! They're doing it again!" a little voice shouted.
"Who're doing wh." A tall, freckled man skidded to a halt next to his small son, and quickly covered the child's eyes with his hands. "Bloody hell."
Ron pushed his son into the kitchen and into the waiting arms of his wife, and rushed out of the room and back into the hallway. Rolling his eyes and somehow carefully averting his gaze at the exact same time, Ron pulled the curtains closed over the portrait and turned his back on the lovers. From experience, he was well aware that once the two men had begun their.pelvic exercise.there was no stopping the course of justice.
Why Draco had had the portrait of himself and Harry permanently fixed to the wall in Ron and Hermione's house for their Paper Wedding Anniversary, Ron would never know.
Fine
The Sofa
"Draco, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."
Now, that statement was not entirely correct. Harry had heard many ridiculous things in his time and, although Draco's hypothesis that Sybil Trelawney would be the next vice-Minister for Magic was definitely, without a doubt within the top fifty, it was far from the top of the charts. A little like One True Voice in that respect. Before they split up, that is, which came not a nanosecond too soon. After all, you have to take into consideration that Harry was friends with both Luna Lovegood and Ron Weasley.
"It's true," Draco countered imaginatively.
Harry refused to grace that insult to comebacks with even a glare.
"Listen." Draco settled himself on the sofa behind them. It was a one-of-a- kind, white leather two seater, and the inanimate object had witnessed many an argument. In fact, even the selection of the sofa itself had been a trial. Harry, in his easily satisfied, advertisement driven way would have gladly settled with a half price settee from DFS purchased on Bank Holiday Weekend during a sale that would have ended the following Monday, only for a new one to start the next day. In his defence, the sofa he liked did have washable covers. Draco, however, had been brought up amongst expensive things. He had had class bred into his very blood. Therefore, naturally, Draco desired more. After an entire weekend of searching the world's most expensive boutiques, this sofa had been discovered in a Parisian back street store. Which had, typically, been the last place the couple had tried. Funny, that.
If only soft furnishings could talk.
"Trelawney is strategically in a very strong position within the politics of this country," Draco began. Harry, sensing a lengthy one-sided discussion, settled himself on the sofa next to Draco and tucked his feet up beneath him.
"It has been proven and recognised that Trelawney has made three correct and entirely accurate prophecies. Feet off the sofa Harry. Were she to use this to her advantage like a true Slytherin, she could quickly gain a position of great importance."
"But why would a Hufflepuff act like a true Slyth.she wasn't? Trelawney wasn't a Hufflepuff?"
"No. Not one of our better specimens, but she was a Slytherin none the less. She's a pureblood, of course, from a respectable old money family. Cassandra Trelawney was her grandmother."
"Yeah, I knew that Draco," Harry interrupted in an effort to sound a little more observant than he appeared to be. How could anyone mistake a Slytherin for a Hufflepuff?
"It's 'yes', Harry, not 'yeah'. And don't interrupt. It's rude." Harry rolled his eyes. "I saw that, Potter. Trelawney has always been hostile towards muggleborns. You'll remember how she treated Granger, of course?"
Harry scowled.
"Now, she could have 'premonitions' about everybody between herself and her goal, and could easily persuade each and every one of them to promote her. Of course, why she failed to try this while that prat Fudge was in office I'll never understand. Perhaps it presented no challenge."
Draco was always proving Harry wrong when it came to politics. And when it came to power. Dark Arts. Gossip. Current affairs. Cooking. Anything of any real importance, and some things of little importance at all. But then Harry had his own ways of getting his own back.
Harry leant over and kissed Draco firmly. Draco's tongue immediately responded and probed gently into Harry's mouth, and the two men began a viscous battle of the tongues, hands exploring the opposite body and all arguments forgotten.
Harry leant back as Draco leant forwards, and both shirts were on the floor within seconds. Hands roamed over familiar naked torsos, pausing at every sensitive spot before moving on to the next. Trousers soon became tented at the front and crotches rubbed together aggressively, only serving to make the trousers ever more constricting.
Finally giving in to animal instincts and primal urges, hands reached lower and lower, and soon two pairs of trousers had joined the pile of fabric on the floor.
Draco's mouth began to follow the trail down his partner's body that his hands had previously traced, and Harry's hands moved increasingly quickly in anticipation of what was to come. Draco's tongue reached the waistband of Harry's underpants and, gripping with his teeth, he began to peel the underwear off, releasing his lover's fully erect.
*
"Daddy! They're doing it again!" a little voice shouted.
"Who're doing wh." A tall, freckled man skidded to a halt next to his small son, and quickly covered the child's eyes with his hands. "Bloody hell."
Ron pushed his son into the kitchen and into the waiting arms of his wife, and rushed out of the room and back into the hallway. Rolling his eyes and somehow carefully averting his gaze at the exact same time, Ron pulled the curtains closed over the portrait and turned his back on the lovers. From experience, he was well aware that once the two men had begun their.pelvic exercise.there was no stopping the course of justice.
Why Draco had had the portrait of himself and Harry permanently fixed to the wall in Ron and Hermione's house for their Paper Wedding Anniversary, Ron would never know.
Fine