Ist nicht mein.
Draco slid down the halls after Sunday morning Quiddich practice. His body was flushed warm and he itched inside his haphazard clothes. They'd be coming off soon anyway, so he didn't think it mattered what he looked like. Potter never seemed to care.
It wasn't as if Draco cared what Potter looked like. Of course not.
He slipped into the room of requirement and toed off his shoes. He noticed that the floor had changed, that the light was less dingy. "Potter," he greeted, without looking up at the other boy.
Springs creaked and he heard Potter climb to his feet. Draco arched an eyebrow. They had a bed now?
Potter stopped inches away from Draco. "You're flushed," he said in a teasing lilt. "Practicing hard so we can kick your ass next week?"
It wasn't often that they exchanged words. Usually just pleasantries without engagement or meaning. They conversed in the language of touch, a rushed conversation of hands and tongues and hips pressed seamlessly together.
"You wish, Potter." Draco dropped his bag on the floor. He didn't move to undress, not until Potter did, because there was something that made his toes curl at the thought of breaking the tension between them.
Potter leaned forward and pressed his mouth up against Draco's. The kiss demanded the Slytherin's attention but nothing else, coaxed his hands to rest on the small of Potter's back, and made his belly buzz with pleasure. Potter tucked strands of hair behind Draco's ears to keep them from tickling his cheeks.
They broke apart when they ran out of air.
Potter grabbed Draco by the hand —the wrist, really— and tugged him over to the flat, muggle bed. It had creaky springs and a floral print duvet and even though Draco had never been inside a muggle motel room, it felt seedy and dingy and dirty.
Not as dirty as the pink couch had been.
Draco let Potter push him back onto the crisp, white pillows. Potter's mouth was on his mouth, then on his jaw, then on his neck, biting into the thin skin until it broke. Draco's back arched as his mouth fell open; his hips ground up as Potter made his way to Draco's collarbone and bit it with his sharp, straight teeth.
Eyes squeezing shut, Draco slid his hands into Potter's unruly hair.
Potter straddled his hips and began to methodically remove Draco's clothing. He was easily distracted by different parts of Draco's body, mouthing the blond teenager at random intervals. Draco cried out, arching off the bed and against Potter, grinding hopelessly, desperately seeking more contact. His fingernails scraped against the quilt, tangling up in the sheets they disheveled.
"Malfoy," Potter breathed as his mouth ghosted over Draco's ear. "You're beautiful."
Even if he'd heard it before, hearing Potter say that made Draco's skin flush dark and his groin grow hotter. He slid his hands into Potter's back pockets, using the leverage to fuse their hips together. The friction of the denim made his breath hitch.
Potter laughed in the back of his throat. His fingernails dug into Draco's thighs as he spread the blond boy's legs. He slid down, tongue tracing the dips and curves of Draco's body. His mouth —warm, the way all of Potter was warm— pressed gently against the juncture of Draco's hips. He nuzzled Draco's erection, tongue pressing from between his pert lips to lick the hot flesh.
Draco gasped, arching off the bed again. One hand strayed into Potter's hair, and he lifted his hips, demanding. "Don't be a fucking tease, Potter. It's unbecoming." He pushed Potter's head down.
Potter pushed Draco into his mouth, lips circling the erection tightly. His tongue brushed along the underside gently and Draco bit his lip until it stung.
Toes curling, Draco spread his legs a little wider. His spine tingled. His tongue ran over his swollen, bleeding mouth.
Potter pressed slick fingers, one at a time, into Draco's quivering body. Draco cried out. His breath came in sharp pants.
"Potter!"
Potter pulled back his mouth, lips forming into a wry grin. "Draco Malfoy? Shouting at me to hurry up and fuck him? I never thought I'd live to see it."
Hearing his first name come out of Potter's mouth made Draco's body flood with pleasure. He felt Potter's fingers twist and crook inside of him, and he panted shamelessly as he pressed back against them. Had he been capable of full sentences, he might have replied snappishly, but instead he just moaned aloud, breath hitching as Potter pressed in another finger.
Draco's legs fell apart. His hand disentangled itself from Potter's hair and moved to brush over his erection. Potter slapped his hand away. "No," he growled, and Draco felt his heart flutter again.
The brunet kissed Draco's belly gently and pulled his fingers out. He settled between Draco's thighs, folding the blond boy in half so sharply that Draco cried out in ecstatic pain. Smile twitching at his lip, Potter guided his cock into Draco, pushed forward until their ribs brushed together. The contact made Draco's toes curl and he bit down on his mouth again. The sting of the cut made him squirm.
Potter thrust into him again. He curled Draco's body painfully, pressing their mouths together until Draco felt dizzy from lack of air. Draco's chest rose and fall erratically.
"Potter!"
It wasn't just a demand that time: it was need. Draco's entire body hitched as those stupid fingers pinched his pert nipples, his eyes fluttered shut as Potter bit down on the skin he could reach.
White-hot pleasure danced through Draco's skin and bones, lighting the backs of his eyelids bright. He slammed his head back against the pillows until he saw flashing red stars. His spine cracked in three places.
He screamed shamelessly when he came, followed by a low, throaty moan when he felt Potter spill inside of him. He wrapped both arms around Potter's neck and pulled their bodies close together, held Potter still because like fuck he was going there. God he was warm.
They fell into panicky, exhausted breathing, lying crosswise on the bed. Their limbs tangled together, slick with sweat and cum.
Get up, hissed Lucius' voice. Why are you still here? You're cuddling with the person who destroyed your family.
Potter pressed his mouth carefully against Draco's neck. "You're shaking," he said. "Did I hurt you?"
Draco sat up and shook his head. "No," he murmured. "I'm not hurt. I'm fine."
You're a liar.
And he was.
"Let's meet up again," Draco said absently. After he had cast a quick cleaning spell, he picked up his clothing and began to redress. "What're you doing Tuesday?"
"Quidditch practice," Potter replied.
Draco winced and bit his lip. It tasted metallic. "Oh. No problem then."
Potter sat up. He got his own clothes on without speaking: sliding on jeans and buttoning up his shirt.
"After that though," he ran his hands through his hair and didn't look up, "I'm free."
"I'll see you then?"
"Of course."
Potter did not look back as he left.
Draco heard his spine crack as he sat down and stretched. The sound made him wince, but the relief was sweet. Spiteri wasn't in the classroom yet, so he was blessedly free of her accent. Just the thought made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Potter wandered in after a few minutes. His eyes scanned the room, looking for someone to sit beside. Spiteri would undoubtedly have them working on something complicated.
Draco winced at the thought that he wanted Potter to be his partner just because. The wince didn't stop him straightening in his seat, half of him hoping to be noticed. The other half was joining Lucius in his sneering.
You pathetic creature. What kind of Malfoy needs a Potter to help them in Potions?
As it turned out, a Malfoy whose nerves were shot, whose concentration was lost, whose hands shook somtimes even if he didn't want them to.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Potter traipsed over to him and sat down.
He didn't quite want to acknowledge the fact that he wanted to be close to Potter again. No, he didn't want to acknowledge that at all, and as Spiteri entered the classroom, chirping something in that accent, Draco's moan as he let his head fall down onto the table was resigned.
Potter's chuckle sent shivers down his spine. Draco had never wanted to spontaneously Disapparate more.
Not even under the Cruciatus.
Spiteri was telling them about the potion they would be making --it had something to do with glamour-- and Potter was sitting beside him, laughing to himself and to the girl in the desk beside them.
Draco inched away.
Lucius laughed in his head. You should have been born a girl, Draco, getting jealous and jumpy like this.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply. He couldn't afford to lose it in Potions class. Not with Spiteri, not with the Gryffindors and especially not with Potter.
"Are you okay?" Potter asked, with a certain air of detachment that made Draco wonder if he cared at all. "You look like hell."
Draco didn't look over. "I'm fine, Potter. Let's just get this potion done."
Potter snorted and set about chopping the appropriate materials. "You're useless to me if you look like you're going to hurl," he said.
Draco cringed and pulled the frankincense towards himself, carefully crushing it.
Potter rolled his eyes. "Malfoy, calm the fuck down. You're jittery as hell."
Draco scowled at him. "I'm always jiterry, Potter. It's what happens to people. Just stop talking to me."
Potter sighed. "Fine. Be careful with that myrrh."
Draco wrinkled his eyebrows and looked down. This was myrrh? "I am," he replied sharply. He paused to still his hands before resuming the preparation.
Don't you remember when you were the star pupil, Draco? Lucius asked. Don't you remember when you were the best at potions and Potter could barely keep up with his Mudblood friend? For shame.
He looked carefully and realised Potter meant the myrrh that was the next ingredient to go in. He shook his head in an effort to clear the fog that was making it difficult to think.
The prissy Gryffindor girl in front of them leaned back in her chair and balanced against their table. "Do you think you can do that a little bit more awkwardly? I don't think the chunks are uneven enough."
Draco ignored her and focused on his cutting.
"Your potions should be a lovely deep blue at this stage," Spiteri sang. Draco didn't look up from the myrrh he was concentrating on, but he could imagine the way the batty woman would be prancing around the classroom.
Potter shrank a little beside him and Draco snickered inwardly.
Spiteri zeroed in like a hawk.
"Mister Potter!" she crowed cheerfully. "Let's have a look at your potion."
A moment later. "Oh, but it's perfect!" she cried.
Draco cringed.
"Um..." Harry mumbled. "Malfoy really put in a good effort. You should really be complimenting him."
Spiteri's eyebrows nearly hit her ratty green hairline. "Well. Good work there, Malfoy. Do keep it up."
She pranced off.
Potter scooped up the myrrh and dumped it into the cauldron. He didn't look over.
Draco straightened a little. Lucius sneered. Nothing to be proud of there, or are you turning into a Hufflepuff?
Finally, Potter glanced over. "Are you chopping, or just staring off into space?" He slid closer to Draco. "Because it looks like you're just staring off into space."
Draco shivered as Potter's elbow brushed his side. "Chopping," he said quickly. A little too quickly.
Potter smirked.
For one horrible moment, Draco was afraid Potter would say something incriminating.
"You coming to Hogsmeade with us next weekend?" he said instead.
Draco was rendered speechless for a long moment.
"Um." Seemed to be the only sound that'd leave his mouth. It was followed by a "Well. Okay."
"Luna asked me to ask you," Potter offered by way of explanation. His hands moved faster, straighter and more efficient than Draco's could, and he could stir with one hand and take notes in his potions book with the other. Draco's gut tightened. "She likes you. So she'll be glad you're coming."
Draco slouched in his seat and said nothing more for the rest of the period.
Draco's posture would have signalled to anyone that cared to look that he wasn't quite in the mood for chitchat. Most Slytherins picked up on that right off and left him well enough alone, but that damn Martyrwood would not leave him be, despite the pointed concentration on his Ancient Runes homework that Draco was displaying.
The overexcitable first year perched in the chair kittycorner from Draco, babbling about their 'win' over Ravenclaw. Draco was quite sure the boy's head was liable to explode with excitement at any moment. Draco personally hated the fact Ravenclaw had forfeited. It took any honour Slytherin could have gained from the game away.
Try telling Marius that, though.
"Is there something you needed?" Draco asked finally.
Marius smiled, and Draco wondered if he imagined the predatory flash. When he blinked, it was gone, so he pushed the thought away.
Pansy slipped into the Slytherin common room. No one looked up but Draco, and thankful for the distraction, he darted over to her. "Pansy," he greeted quickly. God, she looked thin. "Are you okay?"
She met his eyes and he was startled to see red-rimmed eyes contrasting violently with ivory pale skin. "Draco," she murmured. Her voice was unsteady and Draco's breath caught. "Can you get Blaise and meet me in your dorm?"
Draco nodded quickly and scanned the room for Blaise. He didn't see him at first. "I'll find him," he said.
Pansy swallowed thickly. "Actually, I'll tell you now, we'll find him later," she said. She turned and started towards the boy's dormitory.
Draco followed, his stomach sinking and chest tightening. "Pleaseletherbeokay," he breathed out in a rush.
Who's listening? Lucius inquired coldly. Who're you talking to?
Draco squeezed his hands into fists and struggled to ignore his father's voice.
Pansy was waiting in their dorm. Draco struggled to keep moving— Pansy was dwarfed by Draco's bed. She looked like a child: skinny and shrinking and pale. Small. Draco climbed onto his bed and sat cross-legged on it, facing her so he could look into her eyes.
Pansy wrung her hands in her lap. Draco reached forward and took them between his own to stop their repetitive movements.
"Pansy," Draco said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. He wasn't much good at comforting people, not by a long shot. All he could think was Pansy shouldn't look like that Pansy shouldn't look like that what's wrong with Pansy? "Tell us what's wrong."
Pansy looked up and her eyes were so clouded that it made Draco's heart skip a beat. A whimpering sound escaped her throat.
Tentatively, Draco smoothed down her dark hair, tucking strands of it behind her ear. Draco felt alone in the terror that swallowed him because Pansy shouldn't look like that.
Another whimpering sound and Draco thought that sharp stab might be his heart breaking. "I've been fucking Anthony Goldstein. For a while now," she said.
"The prefect?" Draco narrowed his eyes. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, no," Pansy's voice was still shaky and there was horror in her eyes.
Draco's blood boiled over.
"That's not it," Pansy snapped. Her chest heaved. "That's not it. Swear it. He didn't hurt me."
Draco's eyes narrowed further. She wasn't lying, he knew her well enough to figure that out. Then... "Pansy. Oh god."
Pansy, pureblood Pansy with all her hate and ferocity and perfect track record, was going to have some mudblood baby.
"It was foolish," she said. "I know it is. And now Blaise will be so angry and I'm going to be in so much trouble. I was supposed to get married to someone with power. Good blood. Secure our standing again."
It wasn't like this was the first time this had happened. Girls got pregnant all the time, and some of them stayed pregnant and some of them didn't and some of them just disappeared and came back thin and empty and no one ever spoke of it again. "It'll be okay," he said, as if he believed it. "Blaise will be fine. And you can get married still."
"I'm damaged goods."
The words hit him like streaks of bright lightning. He stared into her face and she looked fragile like a broken-winged sparrow, crushed beneath expectations. "I'll find Blaise," he whispered.
The gratitude in Pansy's eyes worried Draco even more than her lack of colour and red eyes. He watched her cross the room and slip into the hallway leading to the boys dorms and then looked around again, from right to left. Right to left made everything easier to process than left to right.
He found Blaise in a corner, parchment spread all over a table before him.
"Hi," Blaise said, looking up at Draco. "What do you need?"
Draco's eyes flicked back and forth nervously. "Pansy wants to talk to you. She said to go get you. It's...important."
Blaise straightened up, hands darting out to gather his parchment. Draco breathed a little easier at the spark of awareness in the other Slytherin's eyes.
"Where?"
"Our dorm." Draco slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.
Blaise shoved his parchment into a bag. He stood up, and made towards the dorm.
Pansy had situated herself on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and arms crossed. Over her belly that was still flat or she had charmed it flat. "Blaise," she said, eyes down. She wiggled her fingers at him.
Draco sat down next to her and watched their interaction for a moment, trying to tune out the words.
I've been fucking Anthony Goldstein.
"Did he hurt you? We can hurt him for you, Pansy," Blaise offered quickly. "There's nothing a couple of quick curses can't fix." The thought almost made him purr with pleasure.
She shook her head. "That wasn't it." Her eyes flicked over to Draco, pleading and wordless and please.
Pansy shouldn't look like that.
So Draco opened his mouth and told the secret she wanted him to tell.
His gaze flicked between Draco and Pansy for a moment before realization lit over Blaise's face. "A fucking mudblood knocked you up, Pansy?"
Pansy drew in a deep, ragged breath. "Yes, Blaise."
Blaise went rigid. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Obviously not," Pansy sneered. Draco felt himself relax a little. At least she was capable of that. "You're just as loose as I am, and you know it."
Blaise's lip curled. "At least I'm careful."
Pansy bristled, and Draco's breath came even easier. Despite the seriousness, this was more of the old Pansy. "It was an accident," she spat.
"Of course it was an accident. Bloody half-blood Goldstein is not someone you plan to have children with. Or marry. What are you even going to do now, Pansy? Your parents will probably disown you or something."
What colour Pansy had regained in her brief fit of anger drained from her face. "I know, Blaise. You don't think I know that?"
Her hands were shaking slightly in Draco's. He squeezed them comfortingly. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed back.
"Shut up Blaise," Draco said. He studied the span of white skin uninterrupted. Her body bore no ink. "Everybody fucks up sometimes. Even you."
Blaise snarled, low in his throat. "Goldstein, Draco. Goldstein." His dark eyes flashed with fury, and he strode from the dorm without a backwards glance.
A quiet sob left Pansy, but that was all.
Whoa, Pansy = pregnant? Who was expecting that?! (Besides us. And the people who guessed it.)
We promise Pansy's indiscretion has larger bearing on the plot. It's more than just a lame, cliche thread. Fersrs.
Blaise, Pansy, and Draco are officially the sluttiest kids in school ._.
Thank you to all of our fantastic reviewers!
