The sun glistened off the lake's crystalline surface, playing lightly
across Harry's upturned face. The summer air emboldening my actions,
stirring me into confidently capturing his soft lips. His reaction was
instantaneous; arms wrapping securely around my neck, stretching his short
body as far as he could. My hands wandered lazily through his messy hair,
down the smooth column of his neck, along the ridge of his spine, and back
up again. After a few poignant moments, our mouths parted, my eyes still
closed as I savored the taste of him still on my tongue. His fingers
brushed soothing circuits upon my forearm. When I opened my eyes, it was
to look into tender, silver eyes with wisps of yellow hair delicately
framing his pale forehead.
"Draco," I breathed in wonder. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you, love," he gently replied, eyes shining in silent laughter.
"What do you want?"
"I… Wanna rock you steady baby!
Come on now, lets go crazy
You know the time is right
So lets get funky tonight!"
His voice had swiftly transformed from its usual aristocratic suave to a boisterous Irish brogue, singing off key and obnoxiously. Startled, I jolted from my dream to find Seamus jumping from bed to bed, endeavoring to wake the dorm with his jovial attics. He was the epitome of a morning person and flaunted this trait as much as humanly possible. To my horror, he leaped on to my bed, continuing his sour singing, unaware of the other boys as they stealthily crept up behind him. With a signal from Dean, we pelted him with pillows until he collapsed into a cackling heap at the foot of my bed.
When our laughter finally subsided, Harry asked in a voice still breathless, "Where do you find such God- awful music?"
"Its an American Muggle group, called Dreamstreet. Bloody brilliant if you ask me!"
"Well we didn't, you git!" I teased, playfully smacking his head with a stray pillow.
By the time I had readied myself for a day of classes, everyone was just returning from the showers. Turning to ask Harry a question, I caught a glimpse of his nude backside. My lungs dispelled all oxygen as my heart slammed painfully in my chest, stopping for a moment, only to resume beating at an accelerated pace. Mumbling that I would meet him in the common room, I hastily departed, stumbling down the stairs and settling myself, dumbly, on a scarlet couch. With visions of a certain Gryffindor in the full monty dancing across my vision, I scarcely noticed Hermione settling next to me until she began to speak.
"What was that noise coming from your room this morning? It sounded like someone was in pain."
"Naw, just Seamus serenading us."
"Well, I was close," she saucily retorted. I snorted in amusement. A silence overtook our conversation as we watched sixth year Hill Stanton, crouched by the fireplace, idly extinguishing and igniting a fire with graceful flicks of his wand.
"You know my uncle is gay," Hermione stated unexpectedly. With a puzzled expression, I glanced over to see her still watching Hill.
"Um… Okay…." I replied, not understanding where the conversation was going, but certain I wasn't going to enjoy it.
"Just thought you should know that I don't have any problems with homosexuality. In case you need someone to talk to or anything like that." At the last, she glanced at me, knowingly. Speechless, I gaped at her, struggling to find something to say. Fortunately, I was saved from responding by the arrival of Harry. Without any further said on the subject, we made our way to breakfast.
***
Half sprawled across one of the wooden tabletops in Potions class, I glared daggers at the unaware Vincent and Gregory who sat sharing a desk. They had sat next to one another in every previous class, leaving me alone to partner with any courageous enough to brave my disagreeable temperament. However, that's hardly my fault as I had gotten only a scant few hours sleep and, when true morning did arise, I found myself waking to Vincent and Gregory's sickening rendition of cooing pillow talk. Certainly not a great way to begin any day, least of all a Monday.
When someone settled into the chair next to mine, I glanced up uninterestedly, only to find it was none other than one Ronald Weasely. A sly smirk touched my lips as I straightened in my seat. Before I could say anything, he hastily mumbled, never taking his eyes from the desk Granger and Potter shared, "There aren't anymore seats."
I was unable to respond as Professor Snape had just entered the room, robes billowing dramatically behind him, as he swiftly brought the class to focus, beginning a complex lecture on the potion we were to brew. Initially, I attempted to pay attention, however my lack of sleep from the previous night took its toll; befuddling my thoughts and slurring my concentration. My mind wandered aimlessly from thoughts of the preceding week to wonderings of how my hair might look dyed cobalt. Or perhaps black with slight streaks of sapphire. Alas, there is no way I might experiment with either possibility as both my father and Carlos would have some…choice words to say. My musings continued until I was jarred to alacrity by a pair of emerald eyes looking at me quizzically. Realizing Weasely had just asked me a question, I asked him to repeat himself.
"Do you want to cut the ingredients or stir the potion?"
Shaking my head, I said with a light smile, "You'll have to do both as I wasn't paying the least bit of attention."
With a muttered string of curses, he set to work, assiduously slicing an Adder's Fork. Sitting back, I looked around the room, observing each pair of students as they diligently began their potions. When my eyes settled on Gregory and Vincent anew, I realized Vincent had one discreet hand on Gregory's thigh as they worked. At the sight, a impish idea began to take form in my mind. I looked, calculating, at Weasely as he held a beaker of a violet liquid to the light before pouring it, cautiously, into his cauldron. Deciding this was, quite possibly, my only form of entertainment for this class, I set my plan into motion.
Fixing my gaze at a point in the front of the room, I casually placed my hand on Weasley's knee. With a surprised gasp, I saw him snap his wide- eyed bewilderment to me out of the corner of my eye. Keeping my vision forward, I traced patterns on his leg, delicately at first, then gradually firmer, while keeping a façade of pure listlessness. I could almost hear his thoughts as he went from bafflement to indignant fuming, until finally he attempted to match my nonchalant attitude.
His hands shaking slightly, he scrapped the final ingredients into the cauldron. Eyes narrowing at his endeavor of levity, I brought my hand brazenly betwixt his thighs. I could practically taste the increased heat rolling from his pores as he dipped a silver ladle into the thick mauve sludge. When I languidly slide my hands more intimately up his thigh to more personal areas, he resolutely began to stir the potion, the only indication of out interchange was the pink hues tingeing his ears. Creeping my hand further up, he stirred the potion with renewed vigor until, without warning, the potion let out a shrill keening sound and detonated, liquid leaping, staining his robes and hands. Snickering, I drew my hand away as Snape appeared at our desk, berating Weasley and deducting points for failing to stir the potion counterclockwise. When Snape ceased his reprimands, moving on to bark at Longbottom for botching yet another concoction, I was unable to resist adding insult to his already injured pride.
Leaning in to Weasley's ear so only he would hear my silky murmur, I whispered seductively. "I knew I could make you explode."
Instantaneously a rush of scarlet leaped to his face as he buried his burning cheeks in his arms.
"Draco," I breathed in wonder. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you, love," he gently replied, eyes shining in silent laughter.
"What do you want?"
"I… Wanna rock you steady baby!
Come on now, lets go crazy
You know the time is right
So lets get funky tonight!"
His voice had swiftly transformed from its usual aristocratic suave to a boisterous Irish brogue, singing off key and obnoxiously. Startled, I jolted from my dream to find Seamus jumping from bed to bed, endeavoring to wake the dorm with his jovial attics. He was the epitome of a morning person and flaunted this trait as much as humanly possible. To my horror, he leaped on to my bed, continuing his sour singing, unaware of the other boys as they stealthily crept up behind him. With a signal from Dean, we pelted him with pillows until he collapsed into a cackling heap at the foot of my bed.
When our laughter finally subsided, Harry asked in a voice still breathless, "Where do you find such God- awful music?"
"Its an American Muggle group, called Dreamstreet. Bloody brilliant if you ask me!"
"Well we didn't, you git!" I teased, playfully smacking his head with a stray pillow.
By the time I had readied myself for a day of classes, everyone was just returning from the showers. Turning to ask Harry a question, I caught a glimpse of his nude backside. My lungs dispelled all oxygen as my heart slammed painfully in my chest, stopping for a moment, only to resume beating at an accelerated pace. Mumbling that I would meet him in the common room, I hastily departed, stumbling down the stairs and settling myself, dumbly, on a scarlet couch. With visions of a certain Gryffindor in the full monty dancing across my vision, I scarcely noticed Hermione settling next to me until she began to speak.
"What was that noise coming from your room this morning? It sounded like someone was in pain."
"Naw, just Seamus serenading us."
"Well, I was close," she saucily retorted. I snorted in amusement. A silence overtook our conversation as we watched sixth year Hill Stanton, crouched by the fireplace, idly extinguishing and igniting a fire with graceful flicks of his wand.
"You know my uncle is gay," Hermione stated unexpectedly. With a puzzled expression, I glanced over to see her still watching Hill.
"Um… Okay…." I replied, not understanding where the conversation was going, but certain I wasn't going to enjoy it.
"Just thought you should know that I don't have any problems with homosexuality. In case you need someone to talk to or anything like that." At the last, she glanced at me, knowingly. Speechless, I gaped at her, struggling to find something to say. Fortunately, I was saved from responding by the arrival of Harry. Without any further said on the subject, we made our way to breakfast.
***
Half sprawled across one of the wooden tabletops in Potions class, I glared daggers at the unaware Vincent and Gregory who sat sharing a desk. They had sat next to one another in every previous class, leaving me alone to partner with any courageous enough to brave my disagreeable temperament. However, that's hardly my fault as I had gotten only a scant few hours sleep and, when true morning did arise, I found myself waking to Vincent and Gregory's sickening rendition of cooing pillow talk. Certainly not a great way to begin any day, least of all a Monday.
When someone settled into the chair next to mine, I glanced up uninterestedly, only to find it was none other than one Ronald Weasely. A sly smirk touched my lips as I straightened in my seat. Before I could say anything, he hastily mumbled, never taking his eyes from the desk Granger and Potter shared, "There aren't anymore seats."
I was unable to respond as Professor Snape had just entered the room, robes billowing dramatically behind him, as he swiftly brought the class to focus, beginning a complex lecture on the potion we were to brew. Initially, I attempted to pay attention, however my lack of sleep from the previous night took its toll; befuddling my thoughts and slurring my concentration. My mind wandered aimlessly from thoughts of the preceding week to wonderings of how my hair might look dyed cobalt. Or perhaps black with slight streaks of sapphire. Alas, there is no way I might experiment with either possibility as both my father and Carlos would have some…choice words to say. My musings continued until I was jarred to alacrity by a pair of emerald eyes looking at me quizzically. Realizing Weasely had just asked me a question, I asked him to repeat himself.
"Do you want to cut the ingredients or stir the potion?"
Shaking my head, I said with a light smile, "You'll have to do both as I wasn't paying the least bit of attention."
With a muttered string of curses, he set to work, assiduously slicing an Adder's Fork. Sitting back, I looked around the room, observing each pair of students as they diligently began their potions. When my eyes settled on Gregory and Vincent anew, I realized Vincent had one discreet hand on Gregory's thigh as they worked. At the sight, a impish idea began to take form in my mind. I looked, calculating, at Weasely as he held a beaker of a violet liquid to the light before pouring it, cautiously, into his cauldron. Deciding this was, quite possibly, my only form of entertainment for this class, I set my plan into motion.
Fixing my gaze at a point in the front of the room, I casually placed my hand on Weasley's knee. With a surprised gasp, I saw him snap his wide- eyed bewilderment to me out of the corner of my eye. Keeping my vision forward, I traced patterns on his leg, delicately at first, then gradually firmer, while keeping a façade of pure listlessness. I could almost hear his thoughts as he went from bafflement to indignant fuming, until finally he attempted to match my nonchalant attitude.
His hands shaking slightly, he scrapped the final ingredients into the cauldron. Eyes narrowing at his endeavor of levity, I brought my hand brazenly betwixt his thighs. I could practically taste the increased heat rolling from his pores as he dipped a silver ladle into the thick mauve sludge. When I languidly slide my hands more intimately up his thigh to more personal areas, he resolutely began to stir the potion, the only indication of out interchange was the pink hues tingeing his ears. Creeping my hand further up, he stirred the potion with renewed vigor until, without warning, the potion let out a shrill keening sound and detonated, liquid leaping, staining his robes and hands. Snickering, I drew my hand away as Snape appeared at our desk, berating Weasley and deducting points for failing to stir the potion counterclockwise. When Snape ceased his reprimands, moving on to bark at Longbottom for botching yet another concoction, I was unable to resist adding insult to his already injured pride.
Leaning in to Weasley's ear so only he would hear my silky murmur, I whispered seductively. "I knew I could make you explode."
Instantaneously a rush of scarlet leaped to his face as he buried his burning cheeks in his arms.