Author's Note: Serious thanks to Deb, who did the full beta work on this story. Also, thanks go out to my dear friends (you know who you are) who assured me that I wasn't insane for thinking this fic was mildly hot, despite the kinky nature. This was written for our little LJ community The KinkClub and posted there earlier. The mission: Make bestiality hot. Did I do it? Well, I'll leave that ultimately up to you readers, but I've already patted myself on the back *grin*.
Gentleman Pervert
Harry stared off into the distance, unwilling to sulk even though he felt very sullen. The fact of the matter was that he should be thrilled to be here in Grimmauld Place instead of locked up in his room at the Dursleys. Although, none of that changed the fact that he was bored out of his mind.
The Order still refused to let him sit in on any of their meetings, and everyone popping in and out of the rickety manor was still treating him like a child, even though he was nearly of age. Ron and Hermione were still at the Burrow, but nobody thought it was safe enough for Harry to be there too. They'd rather him here, where they could keep their eye on him, only no one ever watched him because no one was ever around. He couldn't remember missing Sirius more than he did now.
Had he not been so excruciatingly bored, he might have been more reluctant to agree when Remus came to him with a new guest. It was raining, perfect weather for gloomy news, and when there came a knock at the door, Harry would have been pleased to hear just about anything. 'Voldemort has found you' would even be welcome words to his ears, anything to break the monotony.
As it was, there was only Remus and a thin, cloaked figure by his side. Harry ushered them through and took Lupin's coat, but was rebuked when he reached for the stranger's. "Alright, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, unable to break himself of the antiquated moniker.
"I have a favor to ask of you, and know in advance that it's a lot to ask," he began.
"Anything for you, Sir, you know that," Harry answered and regretted his words the moment his eyes flicked to the tightly robed stranger.
"This young man has been severely injured by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. He needs refuge, Harry, a place to hide and this was the only place I could think of," Remus explained.
Harry wouldn't have agreed for just anyone, but he could tell his old mentor was desperate. "I assume this is him?" Harry asked, gesturing to the man beneath the cloak.
"Yes," Remus sighed. "Please wait before you pass judgment, Harry. He has nowhere else to go and he might die if left alone or in a less suitable hiding place."
"Who is he?" Harry asked, reaching forward again to grasp the man's cloak. Again the stranger recoiled and shifted behind Remus. "I must know him for you to be treading so carefully. Tell me who he is."
Remus turned to their guest and gave a curt nod. A scoffing sound hissed from beneath the cloak and suddenly the cowl dropped to reveal brilliant blond hair and unmarred features. Harry tried to feel shocked but he simply couldn't. There were only a handful of people in Britain that Harry might refuse entry and Draco Malfoy was near the top of that list.
"Harry," Remus warned, "remember what I said."
"I remember, but he seems fine to me," Harry pointed out, narrowing his eyes at the intruder.
"His physical wounds have been healed as best they can be, but his mental wounds live on, Harry. Show me the kindness I know you for. The kindness your mother would have shown," Remus pleaded.
"There's no need to bring my mother into this," Harry snapped. "How do you know he's not faking just to get close to The Order?"
"My father's in Azkaban," Draco snarled. Harry waited to be implicated in Lucius' imprisonment as he had been all year, but the accusation never crossed his lips. "My mother was made the Death Eater's plaything and died at their hands. I have no clout with the Dark Lord. I have no reason to remain loyal to him."
Harry swallowed down a rush of emotion at Malfoy's broken confession and finally nodded. The incident at the Astronomy Tower was still fresh on his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to turn Draco away in this state. "He can stay," Harry said simply and made his way swiftly to the stairs. "You can take any room currently unspoken for, Malfoy," he called from the landing. "Remus, I'm sure you can help him settle in."
Harry didn't see Draco even once until much later that evening. Harry ate alone in the kitchen and had slipped up to bed only to be awoken by sharp keening sounds. At first he assumed it was an animal outside and went to the window, figuring he'd left it cracked open. When he found it shut tightly, Harry listened harder. It was coming from inside the house.
He was the only one home that night, since there was no order meeting and no Auror assigned a room. They apparently had their hands full with attacks at the moment, and everyone thought Harry was perfectly secure at Grimmauld Place. Then he remembered that he wasn't alone, and padded softly out into the corridor.
It seemed Malfoy had chosen the room directly across from his own, and Harry wondered briefly if he'd known Harry's proximity when he selected it. There was no indicator that this was Harry's room, however, so until Remus told him, Harry didn't see why the blond should know. Carefully he moved across the creaking floorboards and knocked. "Malfoy?" he called through the door. "Are you okay?"
"Sod off, Potter," came the expected reply.
Harry glowered at the door and made to turn away but anger stilled him. Here Harry was being perfectly generous and kind and Draco was still his same rude self. Perhaps Harry had been too hasty in allowing the man to hide here. With anger boiling through his blood, Harry yanked open the door, set of telling the Slytherin off. "Listen here, Malfoy. You're under my roof now-"
His words died sharply on the air when he looked to see Draco sweaty and writhing in his bed. A blush stole across Harry's cheeks as he thought he'd walked in on the blond wanking, but another glance showed the Slytherin in immense pain. Harry rushed to his side and held him still to the mattress. "Tell me what's wrong, Malfoy."
"It…hurts…" he rasped through gritted teeth.
"What hurts? Where does it hurt? What's going on, Malfoy?" Harry asked in a panic. He immediately scanned the blond's bare chest - marked only by the faint scar Harry had given him just a few months before – then his arms and face, but found nothing unusual, and he would be damned if he pried Malfoy out of his trousers. That was all he needed, another reason for Draco to tease him. "Please tell me what's wrong."
The sound was almost a whine, because Harry was beginning to worry that Draco might die here with no one to help him. Harry certainly wasn't a trained Healer, hell, he'd hardly paid any attention in class when they'd gone over medical charms.
Draco bit down onto his bottom lip, drawing a drop of blood that seemed to pull Harry's attention. He blinked as Draco's tongue smeared through it, laving it up with what Harry could only describe as a purr. After that, the blond seemed to settle, his muscles were still tense, but they were no longer flinging wildly across the bed either. Harry's own breathing started to slow, and Harry gave Draco a level glare. "What didn't Remus tell me?" he asked bluntly.
With a sigh, the blond turned over, showing his lithe back to Harry. That's when he saw it, the mottled skin that went from shoulder blade all the way across to his waist. It was far nastier than the one Sectumsempra had caused and clearly refused the touch of a Healer. He'd seen scars like that before and everything began to click together in his mind.
"You're a-"
"Werewolf," Draco finished for him.
"Merlin," Harry breathed, reaching out to touch the jagged scar even though etiquette was screaming for him not to in a voice that sounded a lot like Professor McGonagall. Draco flinched at the feel of Harry's fingertips, but he didn't pull away. He allowed Harry to trace the scar from one point to the other.
"Toss me out, call me a freak, do whatever you like, but can it wait until morning? I'm exhausted," Draco bit out.
"I'm not throwing you out, you prat," Harry snapped back and turned to leave. He had a million questions for the blond, but they could all wait until morning. Preferably when Draco was wearing a shirt. It wasn't the scar that bothered him, he realized as he made his way back to his own room. It was the taut, milky flesh all around it.
Harry woke up late the next morning and padded down to the kitchen with a yawn. As he neared the door, he heard and cacophony of metal on metal and rushed in, thinking that surely someone was being injured. The sight that met his eyes, however, might have been the strangest yet. There, hovering over the stove and covered in a heavy dusting of flour was Draco Malfoy. He had several pots scattered around him, some of which filled with unidentified food-like substances and some that looked like they had been filled with something at one point and then messily discarded.
"Malfoy," Harry asked tentatively, unsure if he should disturb the man or back out of the room as if he'd seen nothing. "What exactly did the kitchen do to you that you felt the need to murder it?"
The blond turned in a whirl of powdery whiteness and stared at Harry with a sheepish grin. "I was trying to make us breakfast."
Harry swallowed down a chuckle and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned casually against the doorframe – well out of range from the floury melee. "You do realize I have a house-elf for that, right?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm aware. I only just got him to stop harping on me for the mess. I was just trying to be…nice."
The fact that such a simple word seemed to stick in Draco's throat filled Harry with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Why?"
Draco turned back to his mess and cracked three eggs into a pan. Harry bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that he could see shells in the pan from where he stood across the room. If Malfoy was feeling a momentary lapse of snarkiness, Harry wasn't going to poke it back into existence. "You could have thrown me out last night," he said at last.
"Why do you keep saying that?" Harry huffed.
"My own father doesn't want me to visit him in prison because of my…affliction," Draco said.
"That's horrid," Harry gasped, stepping into the room and closer to the 'cooking' blond.
"It was to be expected, but it still hurt. My blood is tainted and no longer pure. I am no longer worthy of my title and my name," he rasped, leaning over the stove more than Harry thought was prudently needed for cooking.
"You're his son. How could he cast you aside like that? He's in prison for Merlin's sake! What right does he have to judge you?!" Harry didn't know why he was getting so flustered over Malfoys life, but something niggled in his guts, churning with the feeling of injustice. He hated to see people mistreated by someone they trusted and even loved. Perhaps it all stemmed back to his time with the Dursleys, or perhaps it was because he was so sick of having public assumptions levied against him, but what Draco was going through seemed the worst kind of wrong.
"The world isn't rainbows and kittens, Potter," Draco grumbled. "I would have thought that you of all people would realize that by now."
"I know. But some things…some things should always be safe and pure," he sighed, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Family is one of those things."
Draco laughed harshly into his burning eggs. "Says the boy who never got to know his parents?"
Harry's only response was a sharp intake of breath as he turned around and made to leave the room. He wasn't nearly as sensitive about his parents' death anymore, but that didn't mean he had to sit around and let his rival bring it up when Harry was only trying to be comforting.
"Potter, wait," he called, and Harry turned to see dried streaks in the flour that coated Draco's face. That might have been the only thing rooting him to the spot. It reminded him of a time just a few months ago when he'd observed a sobbing and vulnerable Slytherin and he didn't want things to get out of hand as they had that time. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No," Harry agreed. "You shouldn't have."
"I'm just…lost right now. I'm honestly grateful to you for letting me hide here, but…."
The blond's voice trailed off and Harry picked up the sentiment. "But you're still a Slytherin prat?"
A subtle smirk pulled at the corner of Draco's mouth and he nodded. "Exactly."
Harry rolled his eyes and moved to stand next to Malfoy, feeling his extraordinary heat radiate off of him in waves. "What do you say we banish this mess you've made and have Kreatcher whip us up something edible?"
"Oh yes, Master Potter," the house-elf squeaked from nearby, clearly eavesdropping as he tended to do. "I never thought I'd see the day that a filthy half-blood would show more logic than a Malfoy."
Draco stared incredulously at the house-elf, looking like he might rear back and kick him any moment. "Do you let him talk to you that way?"
"Kreatcher and I have struck a livable balance. I'm not interested in tipping the scales one way or the other at this moment," he explained. The house-elf seemed to ignore the exchange and was already setting to work cleaning up the disaster Draco had made of the kitchen.
"You're peculiar, Harry Potter," Draco whispered at last, his brow set into a tight frown. "Very peculiar."
Harry merely shrugged and sat down at the long table and started reading the Daily Prophet, looking for more lies about him.
Over breakfast, Harry discovered something that he and Draco could talk about without wanting to strangle one another. Quidditch. Turned out they both tended to root for the same teams. Ron would have killed him for the disparaging comments he made about the Cannons, but then again, Ron would have likely throttled him for letting Draco stay there in the first place.
But then somehow, talk of Quidditch turned to sex.
"It's the uniforms," Harry pointed out. "The Bulgarian robes are just…"
"Gryffindor red," Draco offered with a smirk.
"No," Harry huffed. "The color has nothing to do with it. They seem to fit them better, make them more aerodynamic or something."
"You like the way their robes fit, hm?" the blond asked with a suggestively waggled eyebrow.
Harry could already feel his cheeks flushing, the heat trailing down his chest. "I didn't mean it like that," he muttered.
Draco continued to smirk as he shrugged. "I'll admit to checking out a bloke or two in their Quidditch leathers."
"What?" Harry gasped, taken aback by the admission.
"It's only natural, Potter. As Quidditch players we have very toned, athletic bodies. One can't help but wonder what lies beneath all that padding and lacing, right?" he goaded.
"I suppose," Harry answered noncommittally.
"Don't tell me you've never snuck a glance in the locker rooms, even if it was just to compare," Draco teased.
"I might have," Harry replied, putting heavy emphasis on the word 'might'. He and Malfoy might be acting civil right this moment, but that didn't mean he was going to give the Slytherin blackmail ammunition.
"What if I told you that I sucked off Marcus Flint in Fourth Year?" Draco attempted.
"Well, firstly, I would call you a liar. Flint wasn't in our Fourth Year, and second I would say it was disgusting. Flint looked like he had troll blood. Surely you could do better than that," Harry replied with a scrunched up expression of loathing.
"So not disgusting that I went down on a bloke, just that it was Flint," Draco repeated.
"It's not my business what you do in your spare time, Malfoy," Harry recovered. "Besides, I think we've already established that you were lying."
"You're right. It was Harper," he smirked.
Harry grew slightly warm. Harper was a year younger than them, but he'd always been one of the better-looking Slytherin students. Harry figured because of all the pureblood inbreeding, most of the Slytherins were monstrous with the exception of Harper, Zabini and of course, Malfoy.
Malfoy's smirk twitched upward as he watched Harry's reaction. "I just wanted to see what it was like, you know?"
Harry nodded weakly. "So, er…what was it like?"
"Well," Draco said, leaning in all to closely. "I could tell you…or I could show you."
Suddenly all Harry could do was blink and swallow, blink and swallow. He opened his mouth to answer and then realized he didn't know what to say and clamped it back shut.
"Call it a thank you for letting me stay here," Draco purred, inching nearer by the moment until his breath was ghosting over Harry's cheek in an all too seductive manner.
Despite the promise of delicious things and the pull of the blond's scent, Harry pulled away. "You don't have to whore yourself out for shelter, Malfoy." Harry slid his chair out from under the table with a deafening shriek and stood. "Or food, or clothing or anything else for that matter. I'm willingly sharing my home with you. I don't require payment of any kind."
With that, Harry turned and strode from the room as quickly as his legs would carry him.
Harry was deftly not thinking about Draco or blowjobs or sex of any kind for that matter, and certainly not all of it together. No, he was thinking about Snape in a skimpy dress and Ron snogging Hermione in the background. It was working quite well until he heard a knock on his door. He ignored it, but apparently persistence is one of the many qualities a Slytherin possessed.
Finally he went over and yanked it open. "What?"
"Am I really so unappealing?" the blond blurted and Harry had to shake his head, thinking he needed to clean out his ears.
"Are you serious?" he asked incredulously.
"You were throwing out all the signals that you were likely interested in blokes, but when I offer myself, you turned me away," Draco explained, as if his words were entirely rational.
"I didn't bring you in here as my rent-boy, Malfoy. I don't need anything in return for showing you a kindness," he repeated, but Draco still looked confused. "I want to help you because it's what I want to do, not because I expect you to fall to your knees and suck my cock."
Draco's eyelids drooped slightly at the sentiment and Harry got the impression for the first time that perhaps the blond enjoyed it. "That's what everyone wants," he stated instead, shaking off the flicker of lust Harry had caught a brief glimpse of. "They want my mouth or my arse or my cock or my pretty hair or my pretty skin…" As he spoke, Draco's voice became almost shrill, as if he were trying to yell but couldn't muster the sound.
Instinctively Harry reached out and pulled Draco to him in a hug, trying very hard not to apply too much pressure to the mark on his back. He just held the blond as Draco shivered against him, still muttering about pale flesh and long fingers until Harry smothered the words with his lips.
Harry hadn't really meant to kiss him, he just couldn't hear anymore about the horrid things that were apparently forced upon him by Voldemort and his minions. But once there, attached to those glorious lips, Harry couldn't find the will to pull away, especially when he felt Draco responding to the touch. The blond parted his lips for him, giving permission for Harry to press further, plunge his tongue inside to tangle with Draco's, but Harry resisted and pulled back softly, still clinging to Draco's arms.
"I find you very desirable, Draco," he breathed across those wet lips, "but I don't use people. You can stay here as long as you like and I will never require this from you."
"What if I want it?" Draco rasped, his body tightening and responding in Harry's arms.
"I can't heal your wounds, Malfoy. I can't even begin to understand what horrors have been afflicted on you, but I won't join them. I won't just be another man in your bed that takes advantage of you," Harry told him firmly. "And I don't think you see me as anything but a debt to be repaid."
"Potter," he began, but Harry just shook his head.
"I've got some stuff to do today, but I'll see you at dinner, yeah?" he asked, and Draco gave him a reluctant nod before slipping his stoic Malfoy mask back in place. As hard as it was to see the blond shift so easily back into old habits, Harry had to admit that it gave him a slight thrill to think that he'd gotten a brief glimpse into another side of the Slytherin – one that wasn't composed entirely of hard, sharp edges that begged to cut and mar.
Harry waited for Draco to turn away before he shut the door. Part of him felt bad for leaving him out in the hall, but he couldn't be near the blond just then. His veins were filled with desire for Draco and he was afraid that prolonged exposure to this lovely, vulnerable Draco would make him do something he would regret.
That night at dinner, Draco deftly avoided Harry's gaze. Harry tried to leave it be but found his frustration mounting as the blond answered his questions with as few words as possible and wouldn't even look up to levitate over the salt, which resulted in a lapful of the tiny white granules. Harry couldn't understand how Draco could be so offended by Harry's refusal to use him for sex.
"Malfoy-" he started, snappier than he had intended, but was cut off when Draco looked up and started speaking at the same time.
"What if I told you that I've always had a crush on you?" the blond blurted, causing Harry to gape.
"What are you playing at?" he asked when his shock began to wear away.
"I'm not playing at anything," Draco bit out defensively. "I've always thought you were handsome in an awkward, gangly sort of way."
"Erm…thanks?" Harry wondered aloud, unsure what other response he could come up with.
Draco merely narrowed his eyes and pressed on. "But now you're just handsome. You're rough and powerful and stupidly trusting and like to go bounding into trouble and I like you."
"You do realize that only some of those things were compliments, right?" Harry replied blandly, but he couldn't stop a tiny grin from forming.
"The important part was the last bit," Draco pointed out, pursing his lips. "So?"
"So what? So you like me? What does that even mean?" Harry asked. "You want to be my friend? You want to date me? You want to shag me?"
"Why can't it mean all of that?" Draco pressed and Harry hadn't noticed him moving until he was directly in front of him again.
"Does being a werewolf give you super speed?" Harry asked lamely.
"Super stealth maybe," Draco replied and leaned forward rather presumptuously. He was right though, Harry welcomed the soft kiss bestowed upon his lips that grew into something stronger, deeper, but just because he was correct didn't make him any less presumptuous.
When Harry pulled back, he noticed that his hands were buried in Draco's hair, making it almost as messy as his own. He had no idea when he'd decided to do that, but he found Draco's hair silky to the touch and suddenly didn't want to relinquish his hold. A low, growling noise escaped from Draco's throat and the blond pulled back immediately, flushing profusely.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Just forget what I said. This isn't going to work." And with that, Draco fled the dining room and took the stairs up to his room two at a time.
"What the bloody hell just happened?" Harry whispered to himself as he watched Draco's swift retreat.
That night Harry was woken up again by high, keening noises, but this time he knew what it was. He immediately went to Draco's room, hoping to help him ease through the pain like he had the night before. "Draco, are you al-"
He stopped dead in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of Draco arching off the bed, fisting his cock with wanton abandon. Draco looked over, his eyes wide, pupils dilated and he came, spraying thick cords of fluid across his hands and chest. "Knocking," he gasped out as he caught his breath. "Knocking is customary in these types of situations, Potter."
"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. "I thought you were in pain again…like last night."
"Not pain," Draco assured him, slipping on a lascivious smile that made Harry's cock twitch to attention. Draco's eyes went to the growing bulge in his pajama bottoms at once, the grin turning feral and hungry. "Would you like help with that?"
"What? But you…you just ran away earlier," he balked, frustration oozing from his pores.
"I just…I have trouble controlling my beast," Draco explained. "I didn't want to scare you."
"Scare me?" Harry asked incredulously as he moved mindlessly to sit at the edge of Draco's bed. "I've gone up against Voldemort, a basilisk, an enormous spider and his thousands of children, a flock of Dementors, a gaggle of Death Eaters, your father and your crazy aunt. And that doesn't even include the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry added. "What about you is supposed to scare me?"
"I'm a werewolf, remember?" Draco bit out.
"So is Remus, so are lots of perfectly decent people," Harry countered.
"And would you care to date any of them?" Draco snarled, his eyes flashing silver in the moonlight.
"Well no," Harry agreed, "but that has nothing to do with them being werewolves…Remus was my father's friend, for Merlin's sake," Harry noted, his face scrunched in mild disgust. "I don't care that you turn fuzzy once a month."
"I can shift at will," Draco corrected.
"Bullocks," Harry huffed. "Only powerful shifters can do that."
Draco shrugged. "Well, I can. I can shift now if you like."
"Show me," Harry breathed, completely awestruck as Draco held up his hand and changed just his fingers to long, white hooking claws. "Brilliant!"
Draco gave him the strangest look, shaking his head in dismay. "This really doesn't bother you, does it?"
"I think it's sort of sexy," Harry replied.
"Pervert," Draco shot back, but he was smiling, and then he was kissing Harry wildly once more. He quickly retracted the claws and pulled Harry down to the bed with him, making the front of Harry's chest just as sticky as his own.
Harry moaned as Draco's fingers wandered along the taut paths of his flesh, and he gasped when those fingers dove beneath his trousers. "Fuck, Draco," he hissed, thrusting up against the blond's hand as nimble fingers curled around his length.
"Is that what you want?" the Slytherin purred. "To fuck my tight, hot arse?"
Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head. "No," he rasped, "I mean, yes, Godric fucking yes, but not tonight."
The softest smile played across Draco's face, reaching all the way to his eyes. "My perverted gentleman," he purred as he began to stroke Harry in long, hard movements.
Harry hissed, clutching Draco to him and ravishing his mouth as he came, his moans vibrating through them both as his release spilled up and over to mingle with Draco's. With one final shudder, Harry sagged against the blond, suddenly unsure of what would come next. Draco's eyes were alight with pleasure and his erection had already returned.
Rolling over, Harry pulled Draco on top of him, spreading wide so that the blond could take him as he wanted. The feel of Draco's thick cock pressing into the cleft of his arse made Harry shiver, but Draco quickly pulled away, curling up next to the Gryffindor instead.
"I can't control myself well enough to enter you, Harry. That can never happen," he whispered, sounding quite sorrowful.
"I'm sure you co-"
"That can. Never. Happen," he repeated more firmly. "I don't care how swept away I get in the moment, you have to stop me if I ever try it, do you understand?"
"It can't be that bad," Harry muttered.
"I'll shift and I could hurt you, even kill you, Harry," Draco growled, that feral bit of voice showing through again. It was part of him now, the wolf, and Draco was forever changed by it.
"Okay," he said. "So, does that mean we're doing this again?"
Draco broke into a cheeky grin and nodded. "Over and over and over if I get my way."
Author's Note: Stay tuned for hot Were sex.