Clinical B-Day, Zero Hour
Draco Malfoy strolled into Headmistress McGonagall's office with not a care in the world, the very epitome of casual elegance and sparkling Veela good health. Harry, tagging along at his side, moved a bit more gingerly and was perhaps slightly favouring his still wobbly extremities and his pleasantly aching arse, but he was yet positively jaunty. Glad of the hand casually poised at his elbow, though.
Felt like a million Galleons, actually, though admittedly he was a bit irked at being dragged away from the comfortable confines of Malfoy's bed - his bed, too, of course - but he'd something to prove and too, there was that daring, familiar urge to flip the proverbial two fingers at authority. They'd said to wait, all these learnéd professionals, and to be cautious and namby-pamby. Hah! He and Malfoy had more than demonstrated that some acts required sheer naked nerve—bollocks of steel. And, also, on a softer, soppier note...being Malfoy's had to be the best thing, ever.
Harry admitted he was a bit smitten, privately. Not that arse Malfoy couldn't see it written all over him, just from looking, the daft, proud git.
"Good morning, ladies," Malfoy smiled, courteous as always. "How are you this brilliant morning? Lovely weather, isn't it?"
Harry nodded politely enough all 'round at Madame Pomfrey, the Headmistress and the ancient nosy Veela Leader, Madame D'Argent, feeling very smug. All the portrait frames, he noticed, were conspicuously empty; the details of their Rite were still top-secret, then, and likely at Madame D'Argent's orders.
"Hi, there," he burbled, grinning as wide as any Cheshire. Knowledge was bloody power! "Everyone ready to go, then? Iam."
"And a pleasant good morning to you both, Draco, Harry," Poppy Pomfrey replied, a faint blush staining her apple cheeks. "You seem to be in fine fettle, boys; all to the good, yes? You'll no doubt be in need of that energy."
McGonagall allowed them her usual curt nod and murmured something along the same lines as Pomfrey, but the Veela Leader, the dried-up old puss Harry hadn't ever quite managed to feel easy with, she favoured them both a crocodilian grin, which only grew wider and longer and more toothy as she gazed knowingly at Harry's slight list and barely repressed air of triumph.
He straightened up, automatically, standing proud and stuffing it back, his justifiable sense of pride, just as he and Malfoy had discussed earlier that morning. If nothing else, though, the old bitch certainly couldn't claim he smelt bad!
"Ahhh," she said, tilted her head at them provocatively, and was that a bloody wink? Oh! It was! Harry clamped down upon his own rather confused response with sheer willpower; couldn't let on what they'd been up to, no! No. The name of the game, Malfoy had told him, was tact. They should just gloss it over, their deviation from script. P'raps no one would notice. "Yessss," she hissed, "I see," and the white teeth seemed to multiply as she quite deliberately looked the two of them over, thoroughly, from head to heel and back again. "Hum. I knew it, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter. Mmm...interesting. Can't say I didn't expect as much." Then she, too, nodded, just as Headmistress had, but it wasn't a polite 'good morning', that. More of a...challenge, perhaps? Approval? Or not? Harry wasn't sure, but – stupid Veela with their extra-sensory perception!
He did his best to appear excessively innocent, all the same.
"Malfoy – we're both Malfoy, Ma'am," Malfoy interposed quickly enough, twigging instantly. He stepped slightly before Harry, edging him back with a subtle shove. "As of this morning's Bonding rite, naturally," he added carefully, ever the Ministry employee and therefore versed in double-talk. "It will be Malfoy, after. Naturally."
Headmistress and Pomfrey were chatting idly off to the side as Poppy flipped through her charts one last time, no doubt searching for any detail left unattended. With a sidelong sly glance at them, Madame D'Argent's horridly off-putting lip-stretch segued into an expression far more charming.
Harry blinked, perplexed. He'd never felt any particular air of Allure from the 'revered Leader'; she scared the sodding pants off him, honestly, on a good day. But now—what with that teasing look to her—she wasn't quite as bad. Maybe.
"But of course it is, boy." The Veela chuckled softly, and came up to them; entirely too close, Harry thought. She was practically sniffing them! "Both Malfoy. As it was well before this morning's Bonding rite, young man," she murmured, chiding. She bobbed her quite pointy chin at Harry, the very faint wrinkles she sported tightening across her long scarf-bedecked throat. "Don't, please, think you're fooling me, either of you. I know very well what's gone on here - ah!"
Harry flushed, as did even Malfoy, the imperturbable Unspeakable firmly fastened to his side. Madame spread her hands wide with a gracious wave. The other two ladies still paid no heed.
"But, all the same, a warm welcome to our Nation, young Harry. You've gone and had your way, then? Mates will do that - yes. It happens." She shrugged her thin shoulders, bony and rigid under the most expensive of robes. "C'est vie. My most sincere congratulations to you two, all the same. It is most gratifying to see, this new contentment you share. Nearly palpable." She waved her manicured talons at them once more, expressing what Harry hoped was actual honest-to-gods approval. He'd rather like that, actually. Be nice to be on the harridan's good side for once...if she owned one. Pomfrey he knew well, McGonigall for all her native stern demeanour, was an old friend and compatriot, well-trusted, but Madame D'Argent was a bloody severe stickler and he'd been...well, he'd been concerned on Malfoy's behalf, for all his assurances they'd be forgiven.
Harry wouldn't be a'tall pleased if the Veela cow tore strips off Malfoy. He might be forced to do something drastic about it, if pressed. Good to know it was now unlikely, that scenario.
Poppy Pomfrey, who wasn't quite close enough to have caught the Veela Healer's murmur, turned her starched-cap topped grey head their way and narrowed her eyes at them, peering. She sent an enquiring glances, both at Headmistress's bland mien and Madame D'Argent's smirk, and promptly assumed a somewhat suspicious pout. Her perpetual clipboard was held at the fore and quite, quite rigid with notated parchment reams. Stick-ums of stray coloured parchment stuck out at odd edges; Harry noted she'd a easel floating quietly at her heels, already laden with a huge pasteboard chart.
"Something amiss, gentlemen? Madame D'Argent?"
"Not at all, Poppy, dear." Madame D'Argent folded her thin vermillion painted lips into a tucked-up smile; feline, this time, in place of the reptilian one. "Nothing amiss; all is very well, indeed. In fact, I suggest we proceed with the formalities of the rite, straight away. Time is a precious commodity, is it not? We should not be standing about, frittering it away."
Poppy quirked her brows at them, looking not particularly assured.
"There is nothing to delay us then, boys? No physical abnormalities or issues? Because of course we can reschedule if need be, though we've really verylittle lee—"
"Oh, no, Madame Pomfrey!" Harry assured her airily, all over the utter ingénue in spades, but still really rather eager not to be found out by either of the other ladies present right off the bat. Poppy would, of course, eventually forgive them both and let bygones be bygones, as no harm had been done (Malfoy looked fucking fabulously fit, the arse; a dead-to-rights giveaway!) but Minerva McGonagall was another matter, yes, indeed. Ship-shape and letter-perfect, the Headmistress; she'd not likely appreciate their hasty anticipation of their vows, no. Well…he didn't think...she had said clearly enough she was well-versed in Veela lore and knew what newlyweds did, so…mayhap. Perhaps he was fretting over nothing, but still…best to have this out of the way. "Everything's super, except, um...could we actually get this ball rolling, as Madame D'Argent says? I'm - er, I ama little...fatigued, that's all. Run down. Haven't been sleeping soundly, lately. Though I'm sure I don't know why."
At his side (always, now) Malfoy stifled a tiny muffled snort.
Oh, he knew well enough why Harry was, er, 'fatigued', the prat! Harry fumed, feeling at once quite trenchant. He was the problem, the great big prick...and the sole cause! Who knew Veela were that…were that energetic? Merlin!
Harry was lucky he could walk at all!
"Of course everything is alright, Madame Pomfrey; we are quite well and hale," the git chimed in, smooth as all the silks that bedecked his huge bed. "Potter here is certainly healthy enough to continue, as am I. We're more than prepared to, uh, ah, perform, as it were. Every single preparation we could make is in most excellent order." Hand stationed at Harry's sore back, he allowed them all a smile of great and sanguine charm before continuing, at his most urbane. "As is to be expected, what with such excellent tutelage. We're decidedly more than eager to do this, in fact, unless, ah...there's any last minute advice to be given before we begin? Ladies?"
He glanced meaningfully round the room. Headmistress only tilted the tartan hat, lips pursed; the Veela Healer simply twinkled at them.
"Oh, no, boys," Pomfrey tapped her charts hurriedly. "No, no, I do believe we've covered it all, soup to, um, nuts...erm. Ahem! But, Draco, dear, you mustn't forget the initial preparation procedure. Most important, that part! Really amazingly crucial. I've taken the liberty of bringing along a visual aide, just for that purpose." She reached behind her blinding, giving the easel a good solid pat. "Because, remember, we always need to be safe and not- "
"'Notsorry,'" Harry finished her usual mantra right along with and did have the courtesy to blush, after; this was still a most humiliating experience, what lay before them. Malfoy blinked at their old school Healer- slowly, hypnotically, likely emitting great waves of soothing Allure in her direction. Like the Veela he was, the git. "It's alright, Poppy—really. I trust him."
"Of course not, Madame Pomfrey," Malfoy chimed in, right on queue. "We, er, shan't. Forget, that is. It'll go swimmingly; you'll see."
"Oh!" Madame D'Argent grinned that nasty grin of hers. "We will see, won't we. Poppy dear? Every gratuitous detail, I should think. For the purposes of medical science, of course."
Speaking of Allure and other Veela tricks of trade, Harry noticed there was rather a boatload of it, suddenly floating about the stern atmosphere of the Headmistress's office.
"Ahem!"
Pomfrey went red as blazes—no, as scarlet as her namesake, poor woman! Panting furiously, was she, and waving her clipboard about vigorously to cool her heated face. Obviously, a fully-fledged Veela male on the hoof was quite a bit more potent than an unMated one—or a well-respected matron-Healer, like D'Argent...but then, she wouldn't necessarily expect that, would she? Harry thought. He'd not.
…But then hewas only truly susceptible to the berk at his side and that...that was different again. Very different. That wasn't Allure; that was Malfoy.
"Mmm, I see how it is," Madame D'Argent had apparently given them her specialist's canny eye and arrived at an executive decision. "I think…the sooner the better, yes?" She dipped her sharp, pointy chin abruptly and stepped well back, flapping a cursory hand. The office door slammed open with an awful bang. "No, Poppy, Minnie, I think we've conveyed everything we can to these dear young gentlemen; to delay will be harmful. Let them begin." She waved a hand tipped with scarlet claws. "At once, if you please. To the Infirmary, boys - your stage awaits you."
"Stage, Priss?" McGonagall was the one with her ears perked now, her sharp eyes squinting behind her wire-rimmed spectacles. "What 'stage'? How do you mean that? Exactly?"
"Oh…you'll see soon enough, Min." The Veela chuckled richly; she seemed to be finding much enjoyment in this, the Binding of Malfoy and Potter. Harry eyed her warily as he trotted along after his mate, wondering if she, too, was as much of a bloody tease as his blasted Veela. "Only in that they are, in fact, performing - for us, in a way. Are they not, Poppy? Minerva? It is a stage, that room, for the private screening of their Bond as they consummate it. But forgive me, do – t'is merely a flight of silly fancy from an old woman, m'dears. Nothing more. I fear I do not get about as much as I used to these days. I am sadly out of touch with the realities of modern-day romance."
"Er...right, Priss. If you say so, dear. You do know best in these matters." McGonagall seemed a bit put off by all this talk of 'stage' and 'performance', but willing enough to move on with matters. No doubt she thought of the Rite as she thought of Transfiguration—a matter of will over raw material. "Hmm. Alright, Harry, Draco, I can't think of a single thing we've overlooked and there's no earthly reason to wait about, so if you'd please proceed us to the Infirmary? Everything is in readiness there. Or—so I'm told."
"Yes, yes," Pomfrey burst in to second, heartily. "It is, yes!" She waved her ever-present clipboard and seemed still a tad flustered; the faint blush was now two definite spots of red blazoned across her cheekbones. Perhaps she was feeling left out of the ages-old rapport that existed between D'Argent and McGonagall. Or perhaps she was simply impatient to have this long drawn-out procedure over and done with, just as Harry was. "We should just - just get on with it, now. Best thing, I think, is not to dawdle."
"Right you are, Madame Pomfrey," Harry grinned at her cheerily over his shoulder. "Leave it to us, alright? Nothing to worry about."
Poor dear Poppy was nervous! He could've advised her there was nothing to be nervous over; they were old hands at it now, thank Merlin! He nearly winked at her, to let her in on the not-so-secret, but fortunately Malfoy glared at him sideways, slant-eyed, scowling, and gave him a little warning pinch on the one arsecheek for good measure. No point in giving the game away now, his grey gaze communicated clearly. Pot-ter.
Harry nodded in return, discreetly. But his lurking grin was impossible to be rid of; felt like it had taken him over, that smile. He couldn't fucking wait to show off to Poppy what they'd - er. Learned. If, ah, she could bear knowing, that was.
What a far cry from his reaction just the six weeks before, yeah?
Their specially warded private room in the Infirmary, when they arrived, all bustling along in a rush excepting Harry, a bit gimpy yet, was hardly a bower of marital celebration, not as the Weasley's Burrow would be some few weeks hence, when Molly and Arthur would host their grand after-party.
The Charmed four-poster, which resembled nothing so much as the ancient old dorm bed Harry had slept in back in Gryffindor Tower, though this one was swagged purely in sterile white linens, stood at the ready and patiently waiting. There were spick-and-span hand towels aplenty and a selection of lubes, oils and unguents placed in a kidney-shaped metal tray, all placed just-so upon the small table that stood by the Transfigured cot. Thankfully, though, Pomfrey hadn't included any of the 'toys' she'd spent one session reviewing with them. They, as Harry recalled from his notes and Malfoy's Quik Quill commentary, were normally kept reserved for the more advanced couples.
Wizarding ones, he supposed. Veelas didn't require much in the way of sexual aids. Um—he blushed so hard he felt dizzy—no! Definitely not!
Malfoy, after a scant moment of lingering over Harry's person quite closely, fingertips skating here and there-perhaps to ensure Harry truly was steady on his pins—immediately began the process of stripping down, quite methodically. Robes, shirt, loafers, belt and trousers all discarded neatly and set to floating, folded precisely. Harry followed his example, in a much more leisurely fashion.
The three women, having entered in a loose pack, stood well back to the one side of the room, in an elderly female version of a Quidditch huddle, stationed close by the locked and warded door. Pomfrey whipped out a different pair of golden-framed bi-focals after a hasty exchange with the other two and used her Healer's wand to wave a decidedly difficult to ignore placquard into existence. It was planted firmly on the obedient easel and turned so that the occupants of the four poster couldn't possibly not see it. And it was positively covered in bits and pieces of Latin verse, writ huge and neatly in her familiar copperplate script, and those phrases then festooned with several huge scarlet arrows, brilliant yellow asterisks and DayGlo-hued stars.
Headmistress hovered the closest to the doorway. She discreetly drew Madame D'Argent into a very hush-hush confab whilst their primary Healer bustled away at her task. Pomfrey, to Harry's eye, still seemed oddly alert and on edge, at least to Harry's covert eye, as her eyes continually darted over to check on Malfoy's calm striptease and Harry's languid struggles with his expensive new garb far too often to be really necessary. They were only undressing! Harry snorted to himself. Surely she trusted them to manage that much! Still, she was clearly controlling any excess personal curiosity she harboured, busying herself with finely adjusting the large chart so it could be even more easily viewed from the bed.
Perhaps the poster she fiddled with was meant for their ready reference, Harry concluded, carelessly ripping his raw silk tunic over his head and wriggling out of his shorts and Italian lightweight woollen trousers in one fell swoop. He kicked away the shiny dragonhide half-boots Malfoy had presented him yesterday and dropped his clothes in an untidy heap.
…That is…in the unlikely event he and Malfoy should somehow forget what went where!
Not bloody likely, what? Oh, no!
She glanced their way yet again when she was finishing up her last-minute surge of fussing, waggling her brows at them and clearly assessing their overall state and condition. He was down to just his socks by then and Malfoy past that stage and at full starkers. The Headmistress naturally chose just that particular embarrassing moment to stride forward and pull up before them, addressing he and Malfoy on the confidential QT, as it were, though she kindly kept her eyes affixed to the level of their ankles. At least, that's where it seemed she was gazing so intently, bless her. Harry sincerely hoped it was no higher.
"Ahem. I find you don't really require me present, boys, not for this bit, so I'll only wish you the best of luck and take myself out of the way. I'll be just outside the door, of course, waiting for the all clear, since class is, naturally enough, in session. We wouldn't want some unknowing Firstie blundering in, now would we?" Bemused, Harry shook his head slowly at her, frowning. No, that wouldn't be exactly smart! "I thought not."
"Right, then. Champagne in my office for afters, don't forget, and a cold collation, should you be peckish. Oh, and I do believe both Severus and Albus's portraits would like the favour of a few words with you two, Harry, Draco. Afterwards, of course. To wish you well and all that. They are most...sincerely…pleased. Really. So I have been told—er, Albus, especially."
"Ummm…" Harry blushed, nodding. "M'kay." Malfoy raised his arching eyebrows at her, leveling a stare.
"How…thoughtful."
She, in turn, quirked her narrow lips wryly at the collection of toes, socked and not, wriggling impatiently on the chill stone flooring and leant just a hint closer to them both, though the next was apparently directed at Harry, alone.
"Um, ah. Potter. Don't cock it up, alright? Poor Poppy is fretting you'll, er, refuse the fence. In a manner of speaking. Alright, Harry?"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry agreed willingly enough. "But no fear. I won't." He grinned at her, unable to keep the excitement bubbling up in his veins contained. Cleared his throat, because he'd always rather had a soft spot for her and she, at least, had the good sense to leave them alone. "Wouldn't dream of it, Minerva." He cast his eyes down as Malfoy (right at his elbow, always) twitched suddenly. He could feel the git's silent laughter. "Erm, it's okay, really and...and thanks for - well, thanks for everything, Professor. Being here—and letting us, in private. All that. You, ah…you do know, right?"
The fabled McGonagall twinkle - as rare as hen's teeth, but much nicer - was most definitely in residence. She knew. She knew very well indeed what they'd gone ahead and done, just as much as did the bloody hawk-eyed Veela Leader. Evidently, the only one still floundering about in the dark was their poor, dear Healer Poppy Pomfrey, who currently had her head buried deep in her copious case notes...and was wearing very pink cheeks indeed for a medical professional.
"Of course I know, Harry. Ever the impetuous rapscallion, you are. I've learnt to expect it...oh, and Draco, dear, I trust you will, er?" McGonagall sent a highly speaking look at the Unspeakably upright man that pipsqueak Slytherin brat had become. "Ahem," she cleared her throat in a most meaningful way. "About our Harry."
"Yes, ma'am, absolutely," Malfoy smiled kindly in return, instantly finding Harry's lax fingers and linking hands with him. There was a quiet pride and confidence in every line of him and not a scrap of the evil, pointy git of yesteryear. "You may rest easy; I swear it. My word as a Malfoy."
Harry flushed with quick pleasure; it seemed he'd been changing colour all morning, what with first one thing and then another.
McGonagall twinkled at them again, well satisfied with the situation. "Very well, I'll leave it to you."
With a last hushed word to the other two ladies she withdrew, the door locked tight and well-warded behind her.
"Ready, boys?" Pomfrey looked up from her chart, and raised an inquiring brow. "You should begin this immediately, you know. Better to set a good, steady pace from the start, yes?"
"Absolutely," Harry replied gaily, yanking the curtains out of the way. "Count on us, ma'am!"
"More than that raft of nonsense," Malfoy muttered, "we'll go as slow as we need, Potter. Bugger the Rite's pacing, what?" He barely bit back a smarmy grin when Harry scowled disapprovingly at him. "You're sore, aren't you? We've all the time in the world, now."
Oh, but-he looked every inch a superb creature, at least to Harry's admittedly biased gaze: shiny and gleaming pure as a new fall of snow, bathed bright in the white reflections that bounced off every surface of the hospital room. And…rather giddy with it, if Harry did say so himself.
"On the bed then, Potter, if you please. Spit spot."
"Right-oh," Harry agreed easily and clambered right up and over, positioning himself carefully upon the spelled mattress. Malfoy swept off Harry's forgotten socks at the very last moment, smiling at Harry's narrow feet flexing free, all ten toes spread. Those were quite sensitive digits they'd found, after exploration; he could, in fact, orgasm merely from having Malfoy's long tongue laid wet and hot between the joints, curling salaciously into the thin web of skin that connected them. The mere recollection was enough to make his dick stiffen. "Go on, then, slow top," he dared, smirking. "Let's make this bloody ritual happen for real, yeah?"
"Um-hmm." Malfoy, clearly not be rushed, took up a bottle of lube after looking the selection over thoroughly. He wafted the opened vial under Harry's nose; it was a strawberry scented concoction and somewhat thicker than the almond oil they'd made such good use of, prior. "Edible, Potter. Alright with that?"
Harry quivered. He nodded eagerly, his cock swelling between his thighs unbidden. As was Malfoy's and didn't that look just delicious? Would be even better with strawberry, no doubt!
"Just shift your arse, prat. I'm famished enough. We've skipped breakfast for this, remember?"
"Right, certainly," Malfoy glinted at him. "Can't have you passing out on me, Potter, not from malnutrition. Leave a bad impression, that. On your knees, from the rear, then? Front-facing? Or would you prefer-?"
"Lap, Malfoy," Harry was adamant. "Want to be upright. That way you can hang on to me if I go dizzy." Also, though he wasn't mentioning it, that happened to be by far his favourite position of the several they'd tried; it allowed for a degree of penetration he found quite addictive.
"Got it, Potter." Malfoy hmm'd, settling himself on the bed. "Let me just...begin with this, then. Lie back for now, will you?" Harry obliged and Malfoy bent to beginning 'this' with a will, notching a forefinger into Harry's loosened-from-recent use sphincter and wiggling it 'round with comfortable ease, as if Harry were a bloody years-long pro at this instead of supposed first-timer. Which of course he was not, not at all, but likely he would be, in short order.
A professional.
Harry smiled at the fancy whilst gasping at the intrusion, and followed that with a sigh of heady satisfaction after, rolling his eyes back in his head and relaxing in a supine sprawl. The curtains were partially undone; the room was quiet enough and he couldn't really distinguish the sounds of the elder ladies breathing and shifting about where they patiently waited. There was a far distant hum, which likely indicated the presence of many, many young people - the students, plus the venerable staff of Hogwarts, naturally, beavering away at their work - and there was, as wel, the light waft of a sunny breeze stirring the sheer curtains at the far window.
Birdsong and bees; a beautiful day to be Bonded, Harry concluded gleefully, to be sure. Not that he wasn't already that, he crowed silently, sinking further down into the heaped pillows, freshly starched in their cases. Thank fucking Merlin for that!
Malfoy, meanwhile, had got his regulation three fingers up Harry's hole readily enough. A last little reach-and-jab put them in blissful touch with Harry's well-used prostate.
"Oooh!" Harry flinched happily and huffed loudly. "Ah!" he exclaimed, and Malfoy twitched the corner of a lip at him, fond as anything.
"Enough?"
"More than. Mmmm, yes. Shall we?"
"Mmm-hmm. Sit up now, Potter - here, let me help - good, yes. There, I've got you."
Malfoy capably drew him forward and arranged Harry's arsecheeks across his waiting thighs, Harry helpfully clamping his upper legs 'round the narrow waist for balance. He squeezed for an instant, teasing, tightening them a tad more firmly than necessary, and grinned rather idiotically when Malfoy glared. This was so much easier to manage, now he knew what was coming. Malfoy continue to stare him down for anoth long moment, forehead dark as thunder, before giving in to a rather rueful chuckle.
"Pisspot Potter. Always the same. Stop, please - or you'll make me laugh, twit. There's the vibe, remember? Infirmary—Rite to managed. Must maintain a proper attitude. Be serious, now. Concentrate."
Harry smirked. "Just...some encouragement, Malfoy; that's all. In, now?"
"Snog a little first, yeah? For verisimilitude-naturally. We've an audience to impress, don't forget."
Malfoy was all glints and airs, completely at his arrogant ease and bloody gorgeous to gaze upon, and Harry draped his arms familiarly 'round those wide shoulders of his, leaning toward the git's waiting lips.
They'd hastily spelt all the many love bites and fingernail scratches off the both of them but a bare hour before Apparating to Hogwart's gate; he dearly hoped they'd not missed any in their hurry. Dead giveaway, those—at least the location of some-and he didn't want Pomfrey on a tear over Bonding protocol. Bad enough they were likely to hear about it from D'Argent, who - when Harry peered sideways past the half-drawn white curtains - was watching them avidly. Her thin brows were raised at a sardonic, knowing angle, as if she were a ruddy connoisseur of Veela Mating...and perhaps she was, at that. She'd moved closer to the four-poster; Pomfrey, however, had her eyes glued firmly to her medical chart and seemed to be edging decidedly in the opposite direction.
"Mmm, Potter..." Malfoy murmured in Harry's ear. "Eyes on me, please. Eyes always on me."
"Boys?" their Healer called out uncertainly, even as Harry suppressed a tiny triumphant snort. He'd not thought she'd actually dare stand over them, not really—but this was purely comical, her discreet crabways sidle. The Veela Healer, of course, might still take a few liberties with their semi-privacy...but Malfoy could deal with her, Harry hoped. No, he knew. Those wings!
"Are you...I mean to say, are you both arrived at that point so soon?" She cocked her chin, clearly trying to peer in without being obvious about it. "P-Penetration already? Shouldn't there be more...more foreplay to this? If you'll recall, we've reviewed it in detail- "
"It's fine, Madame Pomfrey," Malfoy sang out, and promptly bit Harry's neck, replacing the missing love bites with a fresh one. Harry groaned, arching into it. "Really. Just - just perfect."
"Umph! Yes - all good, Madame!" his mate agreed dreamily, tilting his rumpled head back for access. "Very!"
"And…and you're positive of that? Boys? Not rushing through or anything?"
Madame Pomfrey didn't sound quite so convinced, but Malfoy had already claimed Harry's full attention; Pomfrey was the last bloody thing on his mind at the moment. Fingers slick with strawberries crushed in cream - or so the thick lotion was scented - trailed down Harry's ribs and flanks, lulling him. He flinched as they crept down his crack to dip inside, tipping his head way back in a happy loll over it, and allowed Malfoy to urge him up. A little jounce and he was balanced on his flexed knees, floating between Malfoy's guiding hands atop the springy mattress and sinking ever so slowly, like melted wax, down Malfoy's rigid spur of a stiffie. An impressive prick, too; Malfoys did nothing by mere halves!
"We've - been - practicing - intimacy - Madame!" Malfoy gasped a very long time after—or so it seemed to Harry, who'd lost track, somewhere along the way. His handsome face was screwed into some form of quasi-ecstasy as he pumped up and Harry would've given him points for coherency, had he been coherent enough to assign them. Or more so. "Religiously!"
Harry awarded his Veela points anyway, for bothering with what was happening beyond their small circle at all. Veela were awesome like that.
"Oh-gods-gods-gods..." he breathed, caught up in the slow glide of his fall and his rise, and Malfoy licked the tiny, fretful wince right off his brow. Every thrust pulled a bit at muscles and flesh already panging. It was a pain the arse, honestly—but a damned fine one. "You're so fucking big, you rotter!" he complained into Malfoy's ear, meaning none of it, not a word. He'd found he adored that Malfoy was...built on the larger side, physically. Large meant more, and more meant mind-blowing. "Nuurgh!"
The git drew back just enough to smirk back, pleased as punch, the silly goose. So easy, Malfoy, once one had a handle on what made him tick.
"Easy, Potter." There was no sign of the sharpish, prickly git currently; it was all opposite. "Take it easy...nice and slow...perfect. Merlin - you're all fire inside, Potter - so hot, all velvet. All - perfect - perfect, Potter!"
Even Unspeakables—those pattern-cards of propriety and sobriety—could evince a little enthusiasm, when it was necessary.
"Potter?"
With a grunt and a slow hiss, and grinning like a loon now and again, Harry took all that rigid length deep inside him. Now he ground his hips down, digging his kneecaps into the mattress and huffing with effort. The bollocks nudged hot and tight alongside one another; Malfoy's wide-spread palms clasped Harry's clavicles, rubbing slowly.
The unimaginable, once. This—all of this. He stilled himself at last, adjusting internally, and Malfoy took a deep breath and waited patiently for his signal.
That had been the extant of it, Poppy's foreplay. Now came the real show—and Malfoy would be properly merciless, Harry knew.
"Potter—ready yet?"
He wanted that. He could give a flying fuck who knew it, too.
"Nnnn-hhnnn," Harry managed after a tiny gap of hurried 'in-nose, out-mouth' respiration, and Malfoy somehow realized that really meant he was still to hold up - give Harry another moment more to grow accustomed. They weren't so practiced at this yet that he could simply give in to the flow; there'd been those times that had been truly hair-raising, even frightening. Twinges that left him sure he'd been ripped to pieces; occasions when Malfoy drove in too damned fast or at the wrong angle and dull pain or jackknife jabs tolled like curses within Harry's insides. But they were seldom, now, and fewer still than they'd been those first hours of trial-and-error. Not every experience had been stellar—not every one had left him sodding high on life, either.
Which sort were a blur now; a bloody brilliant blur of feasting his eyes on a Malfoy well recovered. Healthy, hearty—the git from the Ministry gym, the sleek and powerful Wizard. It had been the right thing to do, Harry knew that. He'd do it again in an instant.
"Boys? Boys!"
Madame's voice intruded once again; Harry could hear her worriment mounting.
"Harry? Draco, dear? Everything all right in there? You should be in the process of readying Harry slowly, Draco; you've not gone and skipped too far ahead, have you? That would be...notadvisable, dear. There's the chart right here, should you need it. Recall the earlier diagrammes, Draco - oh, do!"
"Poppy?" Madame D'Argent snapped. "Poppy, do be silent, dear. I'm trying to observe this—and you're not helping matters."
"Oh, really? Well…!"
Harry heard his old school nurse grumbling quietly over that and was hard pressed to respond for the smile that had overtaken his cheeks. Malfoy simply ignored everyone else present in the room with them, all his entire person solely concentrated upon his mate.
"Alright there, Potter?" He eased his damp palms up Harry's ribcage and barely wisped the question, nibbling little kisses down the length of Harry's throat. "Are you...? Mmm…you taste so-"
"Mmmm," Harry hummed tentatively, still unsure. He ached a bit; he was actually in need of breakfast. "Nnnn..."
"Damn those idiot curtains!" A fretful outburst was heard. "I knew I should've have simply widened the cot and left it as it was!" Madame Pomfrey was muttering in the distance. "Can't even-Priscilla, can you see them from where you stand? Because I cannot."
Harry tuned her out completely, with a last fervent hope they really couldn't. See the details, at least, like the way he was draped all over Malfoy like a bloody barnacle.
"Most annoying," Pomfrey snorted. "Bloody irksome. However am I supposed to record this?"
"Hush, dear," Madame D'Argent replied, "shhhh!" And there was silence in the room again, excepting the faraway noises that never ceased.
"Mmm. Uhh-hmm, I...think...so," he muttered in Malfoy's convenient ear; a Malfoy who instantly took affirmative action.
"No, really." A cabinet door slammed; the easel was jerked aside. "I can't see! And I'm supposed to be—"
"I can, Poppy," Madame D'Argent was heard to hiss as she ably positioned her very well-turned out person between Pomfrey and the fourposter. "Shush, now! Quiet! All is proceeding to plan and very nicely - oh, but Mr. Malfoy?"
"Ah?" Malfoy's pale head jerked up; his nostrils quivered, scenting. "Er - Ma'am?"
He'd his hands clamped firmly to Harry's ribs; was raising him ever so gently, and then letting him subside, just as. Harry struggled fitfully now it had finally begun, but not in protest. He wanted more, faster, and he wanted it now. But he knew, too, he shouldn't. Poppy's advice, for all its seeming inanity and ill-timing, wasn't so bad, really. Better 'safe', really.
Harry wasn't sorry, though. That he was not!
"The first incantation of Binding would be quite appropriate now, Mr. Malfoy. You know the drill, surely."
"Oh...um. Potter, remember that?" Malfoy, blinking himself, jiggled Harry into abrupt awareness. "We went over it, just yesterday."
"Huh? What? Now, Malfoy?" Harry scowled. The Rite was old hat—how many times now had he said it, 'Te amo'? "But, I'm - I'm –I'm just now—"
"Yes, now! Start it, Potter, will you? And are you...ready, yet? Need a moment more?"
"Mmm...no. It's alright, I think. Go faster...but go slow. At first."
"Uh-huh," Malfoy pulled a face at him. "You prat; that makes perfect sense. The spell, Potter?"
"Right, ah...'vicimus et meus est' - "[3]
"'Vicimus et meus est'," Malfoy echoed, and thrust up, his eyes closed.
The sterile white swirled away into colour. The curtains flapped wildly at the window and a rush resounded.
"Ahh!" Harry heard the Veela Leader's satisfied exclamation, but only barely. He heard Malfoy's voice, first and foremost, always in his heart.
"'Denique nitentem contra elabique volentem'," Malfoy moaned, gulped for air and going on in a gasp, "'inplicat ut serpens, quam regia sustinet ales sublimemque rapit'...Pot-ter!"
Harry rolled up and back, dancing to the force within, and kept to his beat only by the thud of his thighs against Malfoy's.
"'Pendens caput illa pedesque adligat et cauda spatiantes inplicat alas; utve solent hederae longos intexere truncos, utque sub aequoribus deprensum polypus hostem continet ex omni dimissis parte flagellis!'" [4]
"I amyours, you know," he added, with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever; Harry had no doubts of his Veela.
"I know."
"The Second, boys - quickly now!" Madame D'Argent urged, an eagle eye fixed full upon them. She raised her hands high and they curled like claws before her—just like the eagle's, from which a poor, unwary serpent might easily dangle, caught. Pomfrey gasped, staggering backwards, and went ghastly pale, but no one noticed.
A great wave of something sweetly odoured and very powerful indeed boomed silently about the small Infirmary room. The very air particles glistened with it.
"'...Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit, cras amet,'"[5] Malfoy muttered, and Harry's throat tingled.
Here were the wings he craved, and so lovely before him. About him. They wrapped him up in care and concern, trembling and rusting like leaves of aspen.
Malfoy's cock took him up and up, drawing every last ounce of he-that-was-only-Harry to thin edge—seared. He flew.
"'Amor vincit omnia',"[6] he moaned in response and this, he knew.
"Boys? Are you nearly through it already?" Madame Pomfrey's tone was near hysterical. "You can't be! This is not nearly enough time! You mustfollow the guidelines!"
"Poppy, stuff it!" Madame D'Argent hissed. "Shut your trap, dear-you're interrupting! The Third and final incantation, Draco Malfoy - Harry Potter! Use it now!"
"'Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens', Potter." [7] The third lunge did the trick; Malfoy panted the syllables and never took his eyes from Harry's, not even to blink—to inhale. "'Te amo, te amo, te amo!'" [8]
"'Te amo...'" Harry groaned, and there it was, again, something indescribable. His.
When he fell, he went no further than Malfoy's tight grip allowed him, and then it was all about sweat, come and strawberries and the lingering scent of almonds, left over from the very early morning.
00o0o0o0o0o00
[1] 'So when the wrigling snake is snatcht on high
In Eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky,
Around the foe his twirling tail he flings,
And twists her legs, and wriths about her wings...'
from: Ovid, The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus
OVIDI NASONIS METAMORPHOSEN LIBER QVARTVS (Latin), Metamorphoses (English translation)
[2] 'I want to live, and die with you.' (Horace)
from: Latin Phrases: love
[3] "'He is mine!' quoth the NaWad."
from: Ovid, The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus
[4] "So when the wrigling snake is snatcht on high
In Eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky,
Around the foe his twirling tail he flings,
And twists her legs, and wriths about her wings..."
from: Ovid, The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus
[5] 'May he love tomorrow who has never loved before;
And may he who has loved, love tomorrow as well.'
from: Latin Phrases: love
[6] 'Love conquers all.'
from: Latin Phrases: love
[7] 'I want to live, and die with you.' (Horace)
from: Latin Phrases: love
[8] 'I love you.'