WARNING: Here begins the explicit sex warned in the story summary. It is ALL going to be slash. That means boy/boy. If this offends you, don't read it. Simple as that.
Chapter 08 – Silver Serpent
Later that evening in the common room, almost one hour after Harry had learn to control the thoughts flowing through his head, he had created over a dozen doors, each with a different name on it. While Ron finished Snape's essay and Hermione researched different kinds of mind reading, Harry sat back and explored his new talent. He found it refreshing to leave his own life behind in favor of experiencing someone else's.
For a while he had merely listened to Ron and Hermione. He'd felt scrupulous about prying into another person's privacy without their knowledge. After his boredom reached such a peak that he actually became angry with his best friends' dull minds he made an agreement with himself. As long as he never shared anyone's secrets, their privacy was still in tact. All would be none the wiser.
So he had begun rifling through the heads spread throughout the common room.
Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were thinking about the same thing—boys. A group of third years had their brains packed with facts about Grindylows for Lupin's class. Colin Creevey had his forehead pressed against the window, watching Hagrid digging up the earth in front of his hut and wondering what he was doing. All of these people and more now had their own personal doors in Harry's head and all were sealed shut for the time being.
Currently, Harry was having trouble prying himself out of the head of his beater, Jimmy Peakes. He had discovered that Peakes was, like Harry, a closeted gay. More than that, Peakes was having a secret affair with a Slytherin seventh year; none other than Blaise Zabini, known best friend to Draco Malfoy. At the moment, Peakes was reliving his latest tryst with Zabini instead of finishing his homework. Harry was mesmerized by the image...
"Oh, god, Blaise," Peakes moaned, arching up into Zabini's mouth.
Zabini smirked around him and Peakes shuddered when he received an extra tongue stroke down the vein on the bottom side of his shaft. By now, Zabini knew just what he liked and gave it to him. Within moments, Peakes could feel his balls tightening and just when he was about to explode, Zabini wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the base of his erection.
Peakes groaned. "No," he gasped. "Let me—"
His words were caught in his throat when Zabini nipped at his knob, his teeth grazing over the skin there.
"Shh," Zabini breathed as he slid up Peakes's body, still holding his orgasm at bay.
He covered Peakes's mouth with his own and kissed him hard, probing his mouth dominatingly. Then, when Peakes had just forgotten about the cruel teasing, Zabini slammed home.
Peakes cried out, his shout smothered by Zabini's mouth. He should have known—should have been ready—but somehow Zabini always caught him off guard. It had happened so many times now. Zabini never liked to prepare Peakes, preferring the fresh tightness of a rested arse, as he said. At first it hurt like hell. Now the majority of the pain came from the shock, because Zabini was so good at distracting Peakes—/isoi good.
"That's it," Zabini grunted. "Take it."
"Ahh," Peakes moaned, pain tingling into pleasure as Zabini thrust into him over and over, rocking his body forward and back.
Zabini leaned his head down and latched his mouth over Peakes's nipple, biting down hard. Peakes gasped at the mingled feelings mixing in him. He slid his fingers up Zabini's back, enjoying the sensation of working muscles flexing and relaxing under his hands. Then he tangled them in Zabini's hair, tugging and pushing as Zabini came and went.
Suddenly, Zabini pulled all the way out. But before Peakes could protest, strong hands were prying under him, flipping him over. He obeyed, rolling, propping up on his hands and knees.
Zabini's right hand landed on Peakes's neck, pushing until his elbows were forced to collapse so his forehead was pressed into the mattress. At the same time, his left hand came down hard on his arse, stinging his skin and—he was sure—turning it red. Without hesitation Zabini slammed back into him.
Bent in half, Zabini flattened himself over Peakes's sloping back. He bit his neck, bit between his shoulder blades, nipped down his spine, all the while bucking in tiny little thrusts that shook Peakes tantalizingly.
When Zabini reached the top of his arse he straightened up on his knees and began thrusting in full, replacing his hand around the base of Peakes's aching cock. Peakes couldn't even find his voice to protest. Zabini was fully seated inside him, balls to balls. Then he was gone, the ridge of his head catching achingly good on the tight ring of Peakes's arsehole. Back again, his rigid prick jabbing Peakes's sweet spot ruthlessly.
Then, without warning, Zabini ripped out and exploded over Peakes's back and arse, dripping down over his sac. For a short minute, Zabini graced Peakes with his tongue, jabbing it through the mess and into his abused hole.
"God, please!" Peakes cried.
Zabini pushed him over onto his back again, his hand still denying Peakes his release.
"That's right," Zabini said in a husky voice. "I'm your god."
Then his fingers released Peakes and slid down, caressing his perineum with two knuckles—
Uh oh.
Harry looked up suddenly, eyes wide, and just barely caught sight of Peakes's cloak whipping out of sight as he ran for his dormitory. Harry would have snickered...if he hadn't been in the exact same situation.
Frantically, he dropped his mind barrier as he rearranged his trousers, desperately hoping for distractions. He was thrashed from all sides by thoughts. Some embarrassing, some tedious, one intriguing.
—wish Madame Pomfrey could have spared more time. This bite still looks pretty nasty. Damn Filch and his dumb cat. And damn Malfoy for hogging the nurse!
"Huh," Harry said in a quiet voice, his previous problem all but forgotten. "Apparently Malfoy's in the hospital wing."
"How'd you know that?" Ron asked, looking up. Hermione did too.
Harry nodded over his shoulder. "Mrs. Norris bit that third year over there—Abercrombie, I think."
Ron looked boggled. Hermione asked "what does that have to do with Malfoy?"
"He went to the hospital wing to have it healed," explained Harry. "And Madame Pomfrey couldn't spare much time for him. Said she was busy with Malfoy."
Hermione pursed her lips at Harry's apparent prying but Ron looked awed and curious. "What's wrong with him, then?" he asked.
Harry shrugged. "Abercrombie doesn't know. The curtains were drawn. Listen," he dropped his voice and bent his head closer. "I'm going to get my dad's cloak and find out—"
"Harry," Hermione protested. "It's almost past curfew."
Ron rolled his eyes. "What happened to No-Worries-Hermione?"
Hermione looked unusually abashed as she turned back to her research. When she looked away, Ron flushed in embarrassment. If Harry hadn't been so curious about Malfoy he might have peered into their minds to discover the cause of their odd behavior.
"I'll tap you on the shoulder when I'm ready," he said to Ron instead, then bolted up the staircase for his cloak.
A minute later, Ron let him out of the common room so he wouldn't attract attention.
"Thought I heard someone out there," he heard Ron say by way of explanation for opening the portrait hole but not leaving. Then Harry was out of earshot and racing silently down the corridor.
Because he hadn't thought to bring the Marauders' Map, he experimented with a new way of protection. Dropping his brick wall, he reached out with his mind, encouraging any foreign thoughts to join his, hoping he could hear them before their owners could hear him. Then—
—loosen chandeliers? Check. Upturn dustbins? Check. Peevesy, wee Peevesy. You naughty boy, you! You scare all the children and what do they do?
Harry dodged behind a suit of armor just before Peeves came spiraling around the corner, squealing and screaming like a frightened child. Then he zoomed out of sight and Harry continued down the corridor, grinning at the discovery of this new use of his skills.
When he reached the hospital wing the doors were closed and locked.
"Alohomora," he whispered, tapping his wand on the lock. The doors clicked open and he slid in through the smallest gap he could manage.
The wing was empty and dim, the only light provided by the moonlight streaming in through the high windows. The light touched everything—except for one cot, around which the curtains were drawn. Harry crept silently forward and slid into the hidden space.
There lay the elusive Draco Malfoy, pale as bone and with a peacefulness on his face that Harry had never seen before. Sleep transformed the evil boy into an angel and Harry had to catch his breath. How could he have never noticed Malfoy's beauty before this?
He drank him in; his lavender eyelids, his pink lips, his silky hair, his pointy nose, his sharp collarbones, his narrow waist. And then Harry noticed that the waist seemed too narrow, his collarbones too sharp, and—though it was alluring—his skin was too pale. He looked wasted and tired, even in sleep, with evidence of a good sized dinner on the bedside table.
What illness ails him, Harry wondered. Then he created a new door, and with meticulous care, etched the name 'Draco Malfoy' into it.
When he cracked it, golden light flooded through it and warmed him from the inside out, heating his cheek, ear, temple. He knew it was only his imagination—it was an imaginary door. But mysteriously, this was the only change between door closed and door open—this strange, beautiful light. There was no noise, no thought.
Harry couldn't figure it out. He had two guesses. Either this was the effect of sleep on the mind, or Malfoy was brain damaged.
With light, wary fingers, Harry touched Malfoy's wrist, trying to wake him without startling him into suspicion. He reeled back at two sensations of incredible warmth and terrible pain shooting down the side of his face. Why was Malfoy's skin so warm when lately, everyone else's had felt so cool? And why did Malfoy give him a headache?
"Who's there?" Malfoy croaked, slitting his eyes open and staring in the completely wrong direction. "I heard you."
That was a lie. Malfoy should have said 'I felt you' because Harry had made no noise.
"I heard you," he said again, as if arguing Harry's thoughts.
With paranoia, Harry slammed Malfoy's door closed—it had remained silent anyway—and put a dead bolt on it, satisfying in the click that echoed in his head when he turned it.
You didn't hear me, Harry thought stubbornly, sure that Malfoy could no longer hear him, even if he somehow miraculously had before.
And yet again: "I heard you. Show yourself!"
With that, Harry turned and fled, not bothering to hide the pounding of his footsteps or the slamming of the door.
"Figure it out, Hermione," Harry panted, throwing off the invisibility cloak, thankful that the common room was now empty.
Hermione gasped at his sudden appearance. She was the only one still awake, still studying the books she'd found in the library on mind reading.
"What?" she asked.
Harry lurched over to her, clutched her wrists hysterically. "I need you to figure it out—this out. What I can do and why I can—"
"Harry!" cried Hermione, interrupting him. She jumped up, yanking her hand out of his and laying it across his forehead, then over his cheek. "You're burning up! Harry, you're on fire!"
Harry jerked back and spun around, looking at his back over his shoulder, looking down his front, holding up his arms. He looked at Hermione in confusion. "No I'm not."
She moved forward, touching his cheek again. She trailed her fingers up, pushing his hair away, until they caressed his right temple—the spot that had been throbbing unpleasantly since he'd touched Malfoy. Her eyes were alight with wonder as she stared at the place she stroked.
"What's this?" she breathed. "I recognize it."
"What?" Harry said, scrutinizing her face warily.
"There's something here."
"What is it?" asked Harry, his fingers joining hers, touching his skin. Nothing felt out of the ordinary.
"I don't know," admitted Hermione.
Quickly, she spun and dug through her book back. She pulled out a compact mirror and held it up for Harry. He adjusted the angle of it, turning her and him until the light of the dying embers lit his face.
There, tattooed in liquid silver over his right temple, twisting fluidly around the corner of his eye, was a three-tailed serpent, its tongue tasting the air. In the firelight it flickered and gleamed and gyrated erotically.
"What am I becoming?" Harry breathed, eyes wide in shock and horror.
Hermione laid her hand over his then cringed away as if she was burned. She rested it on his clothed elbow instead. "I'll find out," she promised. "But first, you have to tell me everything."
