DISCLAIMER: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

BETA READER: silverbluewords

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual situations, hard kink, mild violence, psychological trauma, and strong profanity.

NOTE: This story is dedicated to BlueRosesJane (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!), and occurs within the same universe as "Quarrels & Quaffles," an equally scandalous piece of work that provides some additional context for the casual references that are scattered throughout the chaos. Because this is an unofficial sequel, the original one-shot is not a mandatory read, but it's still highly recommended! Unless stated otherwise, the events of this story take place before the final Quidditch match of the season.


EPISODE ONE: A NOT SO SILENT NIGHT


Theodore Nott lay upon his bed, one hand on his wand and one hand on his other wand. After all, he had to be prepared. In the unlikely event that one of his gormless Housemates walked in on his after-class wank session, he had a Petrificus Totalus and an Obliviate at the ready.

But he doubted that he'd need them. Simply put, after living with the same blokes for over six years, he was feeling pretty damn confident that he'd sussed out all of their routines by now. Crabbe and Goyle were either in detention, eating, or scuttering about on Malfoy's orders, like a pair of overgrown and mentally stunted house-elves. Zabini was most likely in the common room, pretending to do his homework while amusing himself with the comings and goings of mere mortals. Either that, or Parkinson had latched upon him like a barnacle plasters itself onto an impassive rock, leaving Zabini no choice but to endure her whiny screeches about her precious Drakey-Poo and how he'd rejected her—again—because he had better things to do, and, apparently, better bitches to do them with.

Really, it was no coincidence that the recurring theme here was Malfoy. Everything revolved around Malfoy. And the pompous prick liked it that way. Ever since Drake became Head Boy and moved out into his own private quarters, Theo hardly even saw the guy anymore. Today, he was probably off with Ms Friday, or whatever he called his featured slag of the day. If only every bloke were lucky enough to have one bird for each day of the week. And some real talented birds they were, if the new spring in his friend's step was anything to go by.

They were best mates and all, but it was more than a little irritating when he couldn't even come up with a decent wank fantasy because he had to try and picture a bint that his mate hadn't fucked. He'd learned the hard way that rutting against a sloppy second who was incapable of moaning anything besides "yes" and "Draco" was, quite literally, anti-climactic. And frankly, if he eliminated blokes, that left only three options. A Weasley, a Hufflepuff, or Granger.

Alright, even he had to admit that Granger had grown very easy on the eyes over the past few years. And he supposed that there was something kinky about picturing the pert little swot on her knees and sucking him off until he came all over her pristinely pressed uniform, but it was her opening her mouth in the first place that was the ultimate anti-boner. The mere notion of her rabbiting on about Hogwarts, A History, elf rights, and international regulations was causing his hard-on to rapidly deflate. What kind of sick bastard gets off on that? That prig was never going to get fucked.

As he strained to think of a decent-looking Hufflepuff—he could hardly remember any of their names, let alone their faces—he was struck by a sudden flashback to last week, when he'd walked in late to breakfast because Goyle had dossed down on top of his Transfiguration project and he was forced to put back together six weeks' worth of work in less than six minutes. Of course, he couldn't just let the blithering troll leave without demanding proper payment, but with one less crony flanking Malfoy's sides, he'd unwittingly left his best mate wide open for attack.

Thankfully, he'd entered the Great Hall just moments after the supposedly traumatic event had occurred, but not before the fuming transfer student from Salem had torn past him with tears of hatred in her eyes, her affections evidently spurned by the seething, self-appointed Prince of Slytherin, who had proceeded to spend the remainder of breakfast casting sanitation Charms on his robes like he'd been manhandled by a rabid horde of ginger Mudbloods. From Hufflepuff.

Perhaps he ought to be more concerned about what had caused his friend's oddly disproportionate and vehement reaction to the bint, but right then, Theo couldn't care less. She was hot, she was Slytherin, and best of all, her quim was Malfoy-free. She was perfect.

Hardening with newfound inspiration, he tightened his grip upon his todger and slowly began to pump it up and down as it swelled and rose to full prominence. Oh, yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah… Blast, if only he could remember her name. He reckoned it was something really short that started with a "K." Or was it "J"? Shite, shite, shite… No, it was a definitely a "J." Maybe. Julie, Jill, Jean…

"Oh, Jane," he moaned, rubbing his thumb over his leaking tip and roughly smearing the sticky pre-cum down along his shaft, his hand sliding up and down its slick length.

He threw his head back and groaned as images of the dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty seared behind his eyelids. He'd had it with passive fucking. He wanted someone more aggressive, more uninhibited, and he just knew that the feisty, bold little American would be a right wildcat in bed, if her assault on Malfoy were anything to go by. In the back of his mind, he knew that one wank wasn't going to be enough. Thoughts of her ripping his trousers down, growling in that husky voice of hers, and deep-throating him with hungry, slavering slurps and sucks were quickly sending him over the edge. Fuck, he needed to have her.

He wagered that she wouldn't be interested in Malfoy for very long after the cruel and extremely public humiliation she'd suffered at his witless hands. Well, that pathetic arse's loss was his gain, because in Theo's opinion, letting a beaut with baps like that go to waste was a crime against the very definition of manhood. No, she needed to be filled with cock like a little whore, and he'd make dead sure that it was him stuffing her pretty cunt and stretching her out like she'd never been stretched before. He'd shove her down to her knees and make her suck him dry—suck him until he couldn't stand—and the wicked minx would relish every drop of it. He'd make her a slave to his dick, and every night, he'd send her to bed with her belly, head, and snatch full of the pleasure he could bring her.

He allowed the visions to take hold of him, as he imagined her naked and bent over his bed, her arse swaying in the air and her sleek, chestnut hair draped over her shoulder as she spread her glistening pussy lips wide for the fucking of her life. With each increasingly fevered stroke of his hand, his bollocks blistered and tensed from the burgeoning pressure, seconds away from blowing his wad all over the sheets. His hips had begun to jerk off the bed, seeking completion from the tight ring of his fist. Gods, he hoped she was a screamer. The image of him pinning her against the shower wall and ramming his long, hard cock into her as his name reverberated off the tiles, synchronising with the soapy, wet smacks of their skin, was finally his undoing.

He exploded with hoarse shouts of her name and great, wracking spurts of pearly white cum that dripped through his fingers, splashed onto his chest, and trickled down his thighs. The spasms rippled through him in gut-wrenching waves as his hips undulated in helpless, shallow thrusts, momentarily causing him to black out from the sheer ecstasy of his release. And just when he was about to finish emptying himself all over the coverlet, the door creaked open and in stumbled the Head Boy himself.

FUCK.

Theo bolted upright, reeling at the sudden rush of blood to his head and struggling to steady his aim as his vision blurred and swam in a distorted haze of shapes and colours. Taking a shot in the dark, he fired off a Stunning Spell, the resulting shatter of some unfortunate object indicating that he'd missed.

Brilliant. Not only had he made a spectacular fool out of himself and given the king of the Slytherin social hierarchy enough condemning evidence to rag on him for the rest of his days at Hogwarts, but he'd also assaulted the Head Boy. Just. Fucking. Brilliant. He groaned, bracing himself for the inevitable counterattack. Which never came.

He took several deep breaths, as if by doing so, he could somehow will his eyes to refocus, only to nearly fall off the bed in shock at the disturbing sight before him. It took him a moment to wring out his sex-soused brain and identify the intruder.

Sure enough, it was Draco. But at the same time, it wasn't Draco.

He was standing there. Just standing there, with his haunted grey eyes gazing off into some unknown dimension that was inaccessible to the living. He was wearing his Quidditch uniform, even though there wasn't a match today, and as far as Theo knew, there wasn't even practice. Draco's arms hung listlessly by his sides as his wand clattered to the ground, joining the splintered wreckage of wood and broken glass that had once framed the hideous visage of Goyle's equally troll-like mother. Theo would feel guilty, but if one looked at it from a certain perspective, he was doing his Housemates a favour, really…

Draco didn't even appear to register any of this, and with unabashed relief, Theo praised Salazar for his good fortune and hastily eradicated all traces of his misdeeds as Drake looked on with deadened, unseeing eyes. He siphoned off his ejaculate, redressed, straightened out his sheets, and cleared off the floor, even going so far as to repair Goyle's blasted picture frame and levitating it back in place before slowly approaching his friend.

Merlin's rod, he looked like a dementor had swallowed up his soul. He was staring off into the emptiness like one of those hollow shells that were depicted in his otherwise dry and dreadfully boring textbook. Clearly, something was horribly wrong.

"You alright, mate?" he checked cautiously, his wand at the ready. Draco was awfully predictable in loads of ways, yet astonishingly volatile in others. As a general rule of thumb, it always paid to be prepared.

"Brilliant," he deadpanned, and without further ado, toppled face-first into the ground.

Shite. This was serious. He inched towards Draco's seemingly lifeless form, considering his options. He could just leave him there, but there was always the chance of one of his Housemates deviating from their usual routine, and he didn't fancy himself getting lucky twice. He could also use a Concealment Charm, but he was concerned that someone might step on him. He supposed he could always move the body, but if someone walked in right then, he would be the one looking suspicious. Besides, there was no telling if or when his friend would ever awaken again. Drake was out.

This left only two options—attempt to revive Draco himself or get help.

Unfortunately, the Slytherin social code of conduct frowned upon involving the authorities in any given situation, and he only had two revival spells in his arsenal: Rennervate, which supposedly only worked on Stunned individuals, and the Cruciatus Curse, which, in short, was illegal.

Well, he reckoned that he might as well give the first one a try. If that didn't work, then… No, best not to think about that.

"Rennervate!" he commanded, pointing his wand at Draco's head. Drake gave a slight twitch, but otherwise did not respond. Theo jabbed him experimentally, still to no avail.

Very well. Time for Plan B. Or "C," if he wanted to get really technical.

With a semblance of calm, Theo rose to his feet, rolled up his sleeves, and took aim. "Sorry, Drake, but I already bought you something for Crimbo, and I am not sending out my personal house-elf just to wait in line on Boxing Day and fetch me my refund while I bring up my own breakfast, make my own bed, and do my own fucking wash. So forgive me if I'm not willing to let you die just yet," he bluntly informed the other wizard. Theo took a deep breath to steady his resolve before shouting, "Cruci—OH, SHIT!"

Theo darted back in alarm as Draco lunged to his feet, snarling, his teeth bared and his eyes darker than Theo had ever seen them. He stalked towards Theo with murder in his stance, his aristocratic face contorted with madness. Theo continued to edge away from him, doing his best to avoid confrontation with his best mate, even though he reckoned that he was a shade more skilful at duelling. Abruptly, his back hit the wall, and his Slytherin instincts screamed at him to make a run for it. But this was Malfoy, he reasoned! Malfoy! And everyone knew that Malfoys were the biggest fucking cowards in the wizarding world. Drake was all bark and no bite. He couldn't carry out a threat to save his life! Could he?

As if to answer his question, Draco smashed his fist into the wall, right where Theo's head had been only seconds before.

"What the fuck?" Theo yelled.

Draco drew back his arm, unfazed by the beads of blood that slowly began to trickle from the raw cuts upon his hand. He peered at Theo as if seeing him for the first time, cocking his head in a demented and chillingly inhuman manner. "Theodore," he mused, his voice eerily calm and detached. "What a pleasant surprise."

Theo shuddered in disgust. No one ever called him by his full name, except for his father. And hearing Drake say it was nothing short of creepy.

"What's the matter with you?" Theo hissed, rising back to his full height. They stood roughly even, although Theo reckoned he was about half an inch taller. Whatever the case, it eased his discomfort somewhat to stare his mad friend in the eye and face him on equal footing. "You're acting very… odd!"

Unexpectedly, Draco burst into peals of maniacal laughter. The sound caused his hairs to stand on end. His worst fears were confirmed. His best mate was officially unhinged and sailing over Dagenham, two stops beyond Barking Station. In Theo's haste to justify to himself that Malfoys were nothing but cowards, he'd forgotten one minor detail.

Draco wasn't a mere Malfoy. He was the nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange.

At long last, the chortling subsided, and Draco paused to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes before turning back to Theo with a disturbingly bright smile that was completely at odds with the dark shadows that writhed within his eyes, "No, Theodore, I'm not the one who's odd. But would you like to know who is?"

"Er… Sure," Theo gulped, not liking the demonic gleam he saw in his friend's eyes. Not one bit.

"GOOD!" Draco bellowed, causing Theo to jolt back a few steps. He held his wand out in front of him like a shield as Draco stormed towards him, abandoning all pretence, his face twisting into a bestial contortion of bloodlust and rage. "BECAUSE LIKE IT OR NOT, THEODORE, YOU'RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT!"

"I don't want to fight you, Drake," Theo warned, in a last-ditch attempt to rationalise with his friend, or more accurately, what remained of him. "But so help me, I will defend myself—"

"I'm not going to kill you, you fucking twat," Draco spat. "I'M GOING TO KILL THAT LITTLE CUNT FOR LEAVING ME!"

Draco had ceased advancing towards him, but this did little to convince Theo of his safety. Unrestrained bursts of raw magic erupted throughout the vicinity, crackling through the air, ripping up the floorboards, and sending a shrieking Mrs Goyle flying across the room in shards for the second time that hour. Theo kept his wand raised, struggling to decipher Draco's tirade, even as the walls creaked, the hangings came alive, and a sweeping windstorm of books, quills, unwashed pants, Crabbe's multi-coloured cupcake wrap collection, and various other shreds of collateral damage whirled overhead.

"WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT BITCH THINK SHE IS? SHE CAN'T BREAK UP WITH ME! SHE'S NOT EVEN MY GIRLFRIEND! I OWN HER!"

Ah, so this was about one of his fuck toys. But that revelation only made Theo more confused. Couldn't he just find a new girl to be Ms Friday? After all, wasn't that the point of fuck toys? That they were dispensable? Replaceable? It wasn't like Drake, or any Slytherin really, to completely lose his sanity over a bint. Ever.

"FIRST, SHE INSULTS MY LINEAGE, DECLARING ME UNFIT TO FATHER HER CHILDREN! THEN, SHE TELLS ME THAT MY HAIR IS RECEDING, CALLS ME A HOMO, CLAIMS THAT SHE'S THE DOMINANT ONE IN THIS RELA—ARRANGEMENT, AND THAT BRUNETTES TRUMP BLONDS ANY DAY!"

Brunettes, brunettes… Theo racked his brain, but no brunettes came to mind. Well, no brunettes that Drake would touch, at any rate. Oh, wait, he must mean Pansy! But that still didn't make any sense. Pans wouldn't even dare to think any of those things in Draco's presence, let alone say them to his face and walk away in one piece. Had she really been lucky enough to score an entire day with him—all to herself? Then what was all the whinging in the common room for? Come to think of it, he'd seen packs of girls down there lately, crying their eyes out over his insensitive prick of a friend.

What the devil was going on here? Had Drake gone exclusive? HA, like buggery he had! That would be like Crabbe and Goyle learning how to read—unfathomable and impossible. Not only did his friend have more commitment issues than a snake that snacked on its own hatchlings, but Theo was also convinced that no woman in her right mind could possibly want to spend more than a day attending to Drake's childish needs and his snide attitude if she wasn't getting mind-blowing sex or bags of Galleons out of the equation. There was no denying it—Draco was a selfish bastard. And he was proud of it.

So what exactly was the problem?

"HOW DARE SHE INSULT MY INTELLIGENCE? HOW DARE SHE ATTEMPT TO POISON MY MIND WITH HER INSIDIOUS TACTICS? HOW DARE SHE INSINUTE THAT MERE MUGGLES HOLD KNOWLEDGE FAR GREATER THAN MY OWN? SHE'S GONE COMPLETELY MENTAL! THE HARPY FUCKING SCREECHED AT ME FOR NO BLOODY REASON OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT I DON'T HAPPEN TO HAVE ALL OF THE EELS THAT SHE NEEDS FOR HER BLOODY CALCULATIONS! WHAT THE FUCK DOES SHE EVEN NEED EELS FOR?"

Was that supposed to be a rhetorical question? Hell, this conversation was getting stranger and stranger with each word that was spewing out of Drake's gob…

"AND THAT'S NOT ALL!" Draco roared.

Hang on, there was more?

"I OFFERED HER THE PRIVILEGE—NO, THE HONOUR—TO SPEND THE HOLIDAYS WITH ME, AND NOT ONLY DID THE UNGRATEFUL COW DECLINE, SHE HAD THE NERVE TO DEMAND THAT I ACCOMPANY HER TO HER BOG-STANDARD EXCUSE FOR A HOUSE!"

Cripes, the bint was poor! Which meant that she couldn't be a pureblood, unless she was a Weasley. And last he checked, it was physically impossible for a Weasley to be a brunette. But the fact that she was a pleb and a carrier of hereditary Muggle diseases wasn't even the most disturbing part. No, the really disturbing shite was that this could only mean one thing—Drake was serious. And not serious as in Sirius Black, but serious about a girl.

Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh.

"I REFUSED TO SUBMIT TO HER SADISTIC WHIMS! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID TO ME? SHE SAID IT DIDN'T CHANGE A SODDING THING! THAT SHE WAS LEAVING ME TO 'RESEARCH ALTERNATIVE OPTIONS,' AND THAT THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO TO STOP HER! 'ALTERNATIVE OPTIONS!' WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? THAT BETTER NOT MEAN OTHER BLOKES, BECAUSE I WILL FUCKING RIP APART ANY BASTARD THAT TOUCHES HER! SHE'S MINE! THAT TREACHEROUS BITCH HAS BEEN FUCKING POTTER BEHIND MY BACK—I JUST KNOW IT! THE LYING WHORE—"

Draco's voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands as he crumpled in defeat. He shook slightly, and the sight of him in such raw anguish was more terrifying than any rampage Theo had ever witnessed from his friend.

Without warning, Draco lurched towards the wall and compulsively smacked his head against it, letting out a horrid scream of frustration. "SHE CAN GO AHEAD AND LEAVE ME! I DON'T CARE! I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT HER! SHE'S NOTHING TO ME! NOTHING! NOTHING BUT A FILTHY, WORTHLESS MUDBLOOD!" he bellowed, hoarse with madness.

Mudblood… Mudblood, he'd said. Theo's eyes went wide as the shards fell into place. Bugger him sideways with a cucumber. He couldn't afford to just stand there any longer. He had to do something. And quick.

Right on cue, like some horribly written wizarding drama, Draco drew out his wand and pointed it at his head, and Theo knew that he had only seconds to react before something really stupid happened.

He lunged forward, tackled Draco to the ground, and Stunned the crazy bastard, like he should have from the moment that stark raving lunatic walked into the room. He could've spared himself the theatrics, not to mention the ringing in his ears. He grimaced at the unconscious heap before him. So uncivilised.

Now, instead of plotting ways to "Slytherin" with Jane, he was stuck playing nanny to this cocksucker. Again. Un-fucking-believable. This was such a fucking waste of his time. What the hell was he supposed to do with him now?

And Merlin, he'd nearly forgotten about the Mudblood! The Mudblood! As in the Mudblood! Theo didn't dare to speak or even think her name out loud. It was almost as if it were some kind of curse, the mere utterance of which would cause the Malfoy ancestors to strike him down on the spot for his sheer proximity to the sullied flesh of the last remaining heir. If Drake's condition were anything to go by, Theo was perfectly content with listening to his Slytherin sensibilities and staying the fuck out of the guy's business. He could only imagine how his father would react if it were him in that situation, and he was not going to get involved. In fact, the less he knew, the better. It was the Slytherin way. Lie. And when all else fails, deny, deny, deny…

Don't get him wrong. Drake was like the brother he never had. And when it really came down to it, there wasn't a lot he wouldn't do for him. But this was one war he would have to fight on his own.

On the other hand… Theo would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit curious. The thought of Drake, with a Mudblood, not to mention that particular Mudblood, was just so obscure, so perverse, so improbable, that he had to see it in order to believe it. Against his better judgment, he found himself edging closer and closer towards the body of his insensate friend, a dangerously tempting and exceedingly morbid fascination dancing across his mind.

Who was he kidding? There was no way he could pass this up. This was the disaster of the century. And lying on the floor in front of him was the ultimate window to the sacrilege. It was like trying not to stare at a freak on the side of a road. Or a hideous boil on someone's face. Or a naked woman. Futile.

Besides, Theo thought he deserved some entertainment after all the shite this fucker had put him through. A little peek never hurt anyone. And Drake would never have to know.

Slowly, he bent his wand towards Draco's head and muttered the incantation.

"Legilimens."


TO BE CONTINUED