Killer Rabbit: Thank for your generous praise. I'm glad you're still enjoying it.

NX-Loveless-XN: Yeah, it's fun to write Draco's translation of Snape's attempts at human interaction, although I always sort of figured that Dumbledore understands him like that, too. And maybe Lupin, in my twisted universe.

retrocirce: Thank you! I hope to be able to keep it till it's finished.

So, a little more smut - because there won't be much chance for it once over the holidays.

Warning/Enticement: This chapter includes some rather graphic boy-on-boy stuff.

Chapter 29: HogEx

Draco woke up in a fog the next morning and realized he'd overslept and would have to rush to get his things packed in time for the Hogwarts Express.

He tossed everything into his usually very neat trunk, threw on his robes, ran his hands through his hair, and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. He looked… worn. Well, there was nothing for it. He hurriedly tied his tie and pocketed the flask with the potion that would hopefully hold a protean charm – his project for the holidays.

He strolled into breakfast as though he had every intention of being late, and immediately walked up to Blaise, who looked up as though prepared to move over with as little fuss as possible, but Draco merely walked past him around to the other side of the table and sat in his usual seat.

Much though he enjoyed annoying Blaise with their new arrangement, today he wanted a view of the Gryffindors. And specifically, of Potter.

Last night still burned vividly in his mind. Draco had surprised himself by how very erotic the experience had been for him. He'd never have believed he was likely to be especially generous – but he had felt so powerful, so in-control, last night. Potter's entire body had shuddered at his slightest touch. Potter had moaned and whimpered and called out his name. Just the thought of that tight ring twitching and opening under his touch was enough to make him hard again. He had already tossed off twice last night thinking about all the sordid things he still wanted to do.

It was almost enough to make him wish they weren't leaving on holiday, but the promise of his own, warm bed in his own, beautiful house, decorated for Christmas and filled with his favourite foods and mounds of gifts… he could wait for the rest of it.

He glanced across the great hall at Potter, who caught his eyes and immediately blushed bright red and squirmed in his seat. Draco smirked at him.

In rush of trunks and books and forgotten items, the students trooped down to the train station. Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Greg, Vincent, and Nott found one of the large luxury compartments in the back and immediately claimed it. They changed out of their school robes and Draco made sure to transfer the flask into the pockets of his robes. Draco listened to the cabin politics and sneered at Blaise and Pansy, who were entwined. But once they'd gone about halfway to London, Draco got restless and decided to go looking for Hufflepuffs to terrorize.

Not ten feet out of his compartment, he walked right into something warm and invisible, and gasped when he felt a hot breath in his ear and a strong hand on his crotch. Draco sneered but grabbed the hand and pulled it after him into an empty compartment – easier to find over the holidays when many of the students stay behind in the castle. He closed the door and locked it behind him and with a flick of his wand, dropped all the blinds and shutters until the little room was obscured from view and rather darker. But Potter didn't remove his cloak.

Draco leaned against the locked door and glared into the blank space where he knew Potter to be, listening to the rustling of fabric. He nearly jumped when he looked down and saw his belt opening and the tips of disembodied fingers unzipping his trousers and tucking down his pants to reveal his rapidly growing erection. He gasped as warm, callused fingers wrapped around him and squeezed. Suddenly, he felt lips against his, and he kissed back urgently, thrusting into the tight ring of Potter's hand, his own hands moving to grip Potter's hips.

But too soon, the kiss was withdrawn, and he shivered at the sound of rustling fabric and the whoosh of air that told him Potter had dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes and bit his hand to stifle a moan when suddenly his felt something warm and wet running a line up his shaft, and then he felt himself surrounded by hot wet heat and a felt tongue writhing and encircling his cock.

Draco realized that he wanted to see. He wanted to watch. He reached out and yanked the cloak off, revealing bright green eyes gazing up at him through messy bangs and red lips stretched around his swollen member, and a powerful shudder ran through him at the sight. He had expected to feel vulnerable like this but all he could feel was the abject pleasure and heat and urgency of Potter's mouth.

Potter began bobbing his head up and down, sucking in earnest now, and Draco reached out to bury his fist into that shock of messy brown hair. He found it surprisingly soft and fluffy. He threaded his fingers through it, allowing his fingernails to graze the scalp and earning his a moan from Potter that vibrated down the length of his cock. He was soclose, he barely noticed the slick fingers dancing around his sac and probing further back until Potter pressed tentatively against his entrance and the sudden thrill of that cold, wet touch shook through him. Draco felt his orgasm torn from his body at the same instant that a harsh, shooting pain ran through his left arm and he pumped jerkily into Potter's mouth, collapsing on the floor of the compartment and gripping his arm and trying to catch his breath.

Potter swallowed noisily and crouched down in front of him, looking annoyingly worried, but Draco couldn't really worry about him right now. He sat huddled on the floor leaning against the door and panting and gripping his arm as the throbbing pain grew to a crescendo and gradually fell away to a more nagging, but manageable sting.

Finally, he opened his eyes, aware that Potter was watching him.

"Are you…? Did I… hurt you?" Potter looked horrified and frightened, which made Draco furiously impatient.

"No, Potter," he answered. "You didn't. It was… quite adequate." In other words, wow, Draco thought, as he tucked himself away gingerly and closed his trousers. Potter looked doubtful, kneeling in front of him, his hands fiddling nervously.

Draco sighed in exasperation and pulled him in for a quick but firm kiss. Potter's lips were swollen and red, and Draco could taste himself in Potter's mouth – bitter but not unpleasant, he thought. He rose to stand, but faltered, and to his incredible annoyance, Potter reached out to help him. Draco shoved him off. He might let Potter suck him off, but help him stand up? That was too much for his pride to handle. And he needed to get out of there – or better yet, get Potter out of there, because he knew Potter was going to cotton on eventually. He might be slow, but he's not completely dense, Draco was willing to admit, though only to himself.

Indeed, Potter was now openly staring at Draco right hand, which still held his left forearm. Draco followed his eyes and released his hand immediately.

"He's calling you, isn't he?" Potter said, his tone a mixture of concern and revulsion.

Draco looked away. Potter had no proof. He'd never seen the Mark, Draco had never actually said he was a Death Eater. But he'd never really denied it, either. Because Potter didn't deserve to be protected from the truth. Not the truth about others, or the truth about himself, the 'Chosen One,' who had just gotten down on his knees for a Death Eater.

Potter sighed and said, "You don't have to do this. Whatever he's threatening you with, you don't have to give in."

"No, I don't." Draco answered, sounding more bitter than he had intended. He looked up to see a look of incredulity and disgust in Potter's face that stung him unexpectedly. "Just… fuck off, Potter."

Potter didn't answer, but threw on his cloak and disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him. Draco winced, and sank heavily into the nearest seat. Fuck.

The rest of the ride passed in a haze of pain and disorientation, and Draco barely managed to keep his mask of grim determination in place long enough to find his mother and grip her arm and she apparated them back to the manor.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he was so happy to see Professor Snape standing in his foyer.

"Severus indicated that you would need to leave promptly," his mother said, her tone blank and impossible to read.

Snape nodded to her and she swept out of the room. Draco looked up expectantly, but there was something like fierce concern on Snape's face that made him unsure. Snape led him silently into the parlor and flicked his wands to close the blinds.

"Why…?" Draco asked, trying to put his thoughts into order to care about anything other than going right now. Snape simply stepped up to him and pointed his wand at Draco's temple, and Draco should probably have been more concerned about that, but he was beyond caring now.

Then Snape said, "Potter," and Draco stomach lurched as visions of their fumbling kisses, their secret meetings, their fights, Potter watching Draco, Draco watching Potter, Potter eating breakfast, Draco eating Potter, Potter on his knees – flooded to the front of his mind and were yanked away from him. He watched the swirling memories – silvery wisps – pulled by Snape's wand and guiding gently into a vial he held at the ready.

Draco didn't understand and wanted to ask, but Snape pre-empted him.

"The Dark Lord is a powerful legimens. If you want to survive this Summons, he cannot know."

Draco nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn't even thought about that. What would have if the Dark Lord knew? The thought was terrifying. Snape was watching him carefully, and at length he asked, slowly, "Is there anything else I need to remove?"

Draco thought about it. Yes. The cabinet. Everything about the cabinet. But he couldn't be sure he could really trust Snape not to expose him. Whatever reason for his sympathy about the whole Potter-fiasco, and Draco thought he now knew the reason for it, that surely would not extend so far that he would overlook an obvious plot to undermine his own mission.

"What if he finds out you helped me hide this?" Draco asked, although he was at that moment too disoriented to really know why he was asking… why he was probing Snape's loyalty.

"I'll tell him I extracted it for him to see," he answered simply, and Draco understood, though he didn't not know why this disappointed him. "Is there anything else?"

Draco shook his head, and Snape exhaled, then deposited the memories into his robes and led them to the side door. Draco felt the sucking squeeze of apparition followed by the flood of relief of having finally answered the summons.

Draco conjured his mask and entered the dark room to find the Dark Lord in conversation with only two or three others, including his Aunt Bella. Snape walked up to announce their arrival, but Draco was not asked to approach, and so he waited by the door. Gradually more and more Death Eaters arrived, until a circle had formed. The tension was palpable, and Draco's mouth was suddenly dry and his hands were sweaty. He took deep, calming breaths as he joined the circle, hoping not be called out, but knowing it was inevitable.

The Dark Lord made him wait. Two or three others were called first, and each was ridiculed and punished in turn. Finally, he heard the high, cold voice call him and he stepped forward and looked into cold, red eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, you have not succeeded in your task."

"My Lord, I have tried…" Draco began, sweeping off his mask and fully expecting the burning slice of his throat and the flood of blood into his mouth, but it didn't come.

Instead, he felt himself dropping to his knees as images of his semester flooded past him – the letters, the threats, the necklace, the polyjuice, the coins, the poisoned mead, the party, the fight with Snape, and then – no! , Draco thought, as the image of the flask in his pocket floated to the surface. As soon as he felt the Dark Lord's mind retreating out his own, he felt the flask in his pocket flying away from him and he looked up to see it plucked delicately out of the air by a long-fingered white hand.