A Series of Drarry Clichés
This was written as one of a collection, based on scenes and scenarios that always turn up in Harry/Draco slash. I am open to new suggestions.
A Series of Drarry Clichés was originally created for my best friend Jennie Wilson. Usually I only have to open my mouth to make her laugh, but these were written to make her smile.
I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. I just stick them in awkward, and predictable, situations.
Midnight Wanderings
Harry stole from his bed, slipping his feet easily into inviting slippers, pulled his invisibility cloak from where he had stashed it under his pillow, and with no more than a backwards glance, snuck from the dorm.
The castle was cold at night, and so dark that Harry was nothing more than a small light on the tip of a wand hanging in mid air.
He had just turned a corner in the east wing when he hastily shoved his wand back under the cloak and tried to keep his breathing silent and steady.
There was someone else there; he could feel them with every hair that rose on the back of his neck. They were breathing out heavy clouds into the air, the mist catching the moonlight from the nearest window.
From where he was stood Harry couldn't see his face, but soon knew who the boy was. Harry's eyes lingered on the broad shoulders, the pale hair that stretched down to the sweet nape of his neck. A neck Harry wanted to touch, to press his lips to; to gather within his mouth the skin so soft.
Wanted to run his hands down the lean body, bring them to rest beneath the Slytherin's robes and scoop the other's tongue into his mouth as he pushed him hard against the wall, allowing his hands to creep lower into darker territory.
Stealthily Harry crept along the wall, the stones coarse beneath his fingertips, until he was standing, invisible, next to them; his breath mingling with theirs in the air before him.
Malfoy spun round, and in one swift move had thrown the cloak from over Harry's head, gathered Harry's face in a soft palm and began to kiss his mouth, running his tongue over the dark boy's lips, sliding his long fingers into his hair.
Harry responded silently, finding Malfoy's teeth to taste and trailing his hands appreciatively down the body in front of him, pulling the t-shirt from loose sweat pants and roaming the territory there, leaving invisible fingerprints dancing across Malfoy's chest.
Malfoy slid one hand expertly down Harry's back and lowered him to the floor; opening the boy's cloak and flannel shirt to plant kisses down the exposed flesh before him; the surface smooth and clear, like a pond by midnight.
With nothing more than eyes and fingers to coax, Malfoy stripped for him, waiting a few minutes for the other boy to look at him appreciatively, before removing Harry's clothing also; silencing every protest with a kiss.
Mouth's warm and wet, they lay on their clothes beneath the cloak, visible to nobody but each other – hands ripening across each other's skin, which flushed at the touch.
The boys lay side by side, watching the other, legs intertwined and lips slightly parted – meeting secretly in the dark. They stayed this way for a while, Harry knowing that to say anything would be to say too much; Malfoy would only stay as long as nobody could know about them – not even aloud to themselves.
Sometimes Harry would lie in bed at night picturing Malfoy's body beneath him; lost and bewildered under the power of Harry's mouth. Tucked away in a corner of the castle, in a dream of their own; away from the world.
Soon an owl hooted from outside the window, breaking the spell, causing Harry to cling tighter to his lover. But it was too late – already Malfoy had stiffened and then removed himself to dress, leaving Harry alone on the cold floor.
The next day, as always, there would be no mention of before; the Slytherin's jibes and taunts would be worse. The bullying would be cold and calculated, coming from a Malfoy angry at himself.
A Malfoy who was ashamed.