Harry and Malfoy circled each other, vultures looking for a catch. Well, Malfoy was a vulture; Harry preferred to think of himself as something cooler. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the snitch glinting in the sunlight- and Malfoy turned and dived towards it. Harry took off, urging his broom faster, his hand almost closing around the Snitch. Malfoy made an almost careless gesture with his hand, and Harry took his eyes off the snitch, just for a second, to see what the ferret was doing. Harry heard a loud thwack, and the tell-tale whistling of a bludger coming towards his head.

--switch of POV. I like doing those --

It's typical, isn't it? The one time I manage to catch the snitch before Potter, the one time I win against him, he has to upstage me. Bludger to the head, fall from 75ft off his broom, and unconscious in the hospital wing, ensuring everyone spends more time worrying about the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Dodge that they do congratulating me.

Honestly, normally I couldn't care less if Potter falls and hurts himself. No, tell a lie, I'm usually pleased. And it cheers me up greatly, normally, Potter in the hospital wing would make my day. Week.

Unfortunately, this time, Potters injuries are enough to merit constant supervision. And whilst this would usually fall to Pomfrey to take care of, the useless woman has a fucking cold, and is 'too ill' to watch him. And so it falls to me, since McGonagall, Dumbledore, Hooch, and close to every other person watching the game saw me signal to Crabbe to hit the Bludger at Potter. I firmly blame Potter for the 'accident', as if he had been half as good as he likes to think, he would have dodged. However, Dumbledore has decided it's my fault, and so I have to sit and watch the little git until he wakes up, before going to get Pomfrey, instead of celebrating with my team, like I should be. Wanker.

'It's just like you, you selfish bugger.' I tell Potter blithely. He's so much more fun to talk to when he's unconscious. Doesn't argue back at all. 'You've ruined my victory. I should be drunk and fucking by now, rather than watching you. Anyway, why did anyone think I would keep you safe? Surely the Weasel, Mudblood or Weaselette would be better. Or even Pomfrey, she's paid to deal with you! What sort of crap healer can fix broken bones, and de-petrify people, but can't even get rid of her own fucking cold?! Hey, are you waking up?" I jab Potter in the ribs. Hard. 'Come on Potter, the sooner you're awake the sooner I can go! Move!" I jab him again.

Finally, I get a response. 'Fhhnumph.'

'No, Potter. "Fhhnumph" is not a word. You say "Malfoy, what idiocy's have I committed that have resulted in me being in the hospital wing yet again?"' I smile encouragingly at the idiot. Well, maybe not smile. Sneer is probably more accurate. I sneered encouragingly at him. Of course, Potter doesn't even have the decency to look; he still has his face buried in the pillow.

'Nurrrgh-'

'No Potter. We just tried this. 'Nurrrgh' is not a word either.'

'Draco? What are you doing in my bedroom?' and that simple sentence rasped by potter is enough to completely freeze me. Since when am I Draco?

'It's Malfoy, potter. To you, anyway. And you're in the hospital wing. Kindly shut up, so I can fetch Pomfrey and get out of here.'

'NO!' that was not a rasp. That was a squeal. And enough to have me looking at potter more carefully, seeing the huge pupils, and the flushed skin. I snatch the medicine Pomfrey had poured into him when he arrived, and look at the side effects carefully. Joy.

Subject may become delirious, bi-polar, sexually aroused or childish in behavior temporarily.

Merlin, I pray he's only childish.

'Don't touch my juice, Draco!'

'It's not your damn juice Potter, its medicine. And it's not Draco, its Malfoy!'

Silence.

'Don't touch my Malfoy, medicine!' the moron just giggled. No exaggeration, he giggled.

'Potter you're fucked up in the head. Seriously. Now, not that I don't enjoy listening to you babble, I'm going to find someone more equipped to deal with your weirdness. So just lie there and don't die, ok?' I move away from the still giggling boy.

'No! I have to tell you something!' Potter is sitting up in his bed, clutching the blanket towards him. I know I'm going to regret asking, but... what the hell.

'It's a secret! I have to whisper!' he giggles. I smirk at this. Potter has a secret?! One he's willing to share. This, I can already tell, will be something I can torment him with. I sauntered over to him, careful not to look like I actually wanted to hear his secret.

'Draco…' he whispers. It would be almost cute, if it wasn't Potter and his stinky Gryffindor breath.

'Potter…' I mock, using the same breathless tone as him.

'I have an erection!' He announced with a flourish, throwing off the cover and proudly displaying the evidence.

If I was drinking pumpkin juice, I would have spat it all out them. It takes all of my Malfoy skill not to faint at the sight of Little Potter in red pajamas. I am this close to passing out. Ok Draco, you are a Malfoy. You feel no shock, only mild disgust, and perhaps some incredulity. It doesn't surprise me that it is my father's voice in my head, reminding me of proper Malfoy behaviors.

'That's lovely Potter. Put the covers back on, there's a good little exhibitionist.' Thankfully, Potter has stopped giggling like a school girl. However, now he is pouting like a three year old.

'But Draco…it hurts!' he whines. This is pathetic. Why haven't I gone to Pomfrey yet? 'Make it go away!'

'Picture Snape in a corset.' I suggest. Patiently, I might add. 'Or McGonagall and Dumbledore shagging. Or even Filch. He's better than ten cold showers.' I don't think I like the look on Potters face. He's grinning at me. Not that I ever like the look on his face, I hasten to add.

'You could just make it disappear…' I think Potter just winked at me. Well, tried to. Either that or he has developed a nervous twitch.

'What, you want me to vanish your dick? I'd love to Potter, honestly, nothing would give me greater pleasure than sparing to world from possible Potter-babies, but you won't thank me for it in the morning.'

'No, Drakie' he whines. 'Touch it for me! It hurts!' I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

'For the love of Merlin Potter, wank yourself! I'll walk slowly to get Pomfrey, you should have time for a quick tug.' This is disgusting. I'd rather be anywhere else than having this talk with Potter. So why the hell haven't I moved? My gods. Potter actually looks like he is about to cry. When did those tears fucking start? I'll never forgive myself- or him- for this.

'Potter, get your kit off. I'll do this for you, on several conditions.'

'Yeah!' he's pathetically eager. Fucking demented little puppy. Did I mention I loathe puppies? Some people punch pillows as anger management, I kick puppies. Less interesting, and easier to replace.

'One, we never speak of this to anyone, ever. Two. You never mention this to me, ever. Three, you get your cum on me, and I'll make you eat it. I am not leaving all sticky and Potter-fied. Four. Once it's over, we pretend it never happened. Six, don't touch me. At all. You have Potter-lurgi-germs, and I don't want them. Ok?'

He nods. Calm down Malfoy. It's just a wank, the quicker you do this, the quicker you can leave him. Oh, fuck this, just go and get Pomfrey. Leave Potter sitting there like a hurt, helpless and horny child. Fuck. I never say fuck so much. I'm leaving. Fuck.

I sit back down by Potters bed, and take his cock in my hand. Its pride more than anything which has me stroking him gently, rather than just doing it hard. Christ, there's already pre-cum. I use this as lube, smearing it around his dick, then pumping. It's a nice steady motion. Potter starts thrusting into my fist, fucking my hand. Fucking barbarian. It's not how I like to wank, but if it floats his boat… I don't care, the quicker he gets off, the quicker I go off. His moaning isn't an improvement on his whining. I can't believe I'm actually getting bored whilst giving someone a hand job. That can't be allowed. This isn't actually as bad as I thought it was going to be; all I have to do is sit here and grasp his dick; he's doing all the moving.

Crap. I take it back. It was worse than I thought it would be.

'Potter, did you even listen to the third rule? No cumming on me!' he just looks at me with those damn puppy eyes, pleased with himself. Fuck him.

'What's this for?' he looks at the cum-soaked hand I've just thrust under his nose.

'What did I say you'd have to do?'

'Eat it?' he's unsure, uncertain. Good. Serves the randy bugger right.

'That's right, Potter. Lick.' He doesn't look as put out by this suggestion as I'd like him to. Fuck. If this was a story, I'd be describing now how good and right it felt to have my finger in his mouth, to have him lick every finger clean. Fortunately, I'm not a lovesick poetic hero, and Potter is not a masterful, sensuous lover. He is a medicine-high boy, who is slobbering all over my hand with his fat, wet tongue. This is even worse than touching his cock.

'I think you've drooled on me quite enough now. Do I have your permission to leave and fetch Pomfrey now? Or would you like a foot rub, or something of the sort?' I put as much disgust, scorn and sarcasm in my voice as possible. It's not difficult. Potter only sighs slightly, and wriggles down into his bed, completely sated. Merlin, the resemblance to a puppy is endless. I still hate puppies. Glaring at his blissfully happy face, I leave him.

Royally fucked.