Draco Malfoy and his Unknown Fate:

Author's Notes: FF.net ruins my fonts yet again! *Shakes fist* Moving on… this chapter is definitely an R so don't read it if you're young and corruptible. However, for those of you smutty people out there, you'll definitely like this chapter. And I advise you to read the chapter through instead of jumping to the good stuff. And tell me how I did with it.

Warnings for this chapter: *blushes* Right then. Um. Masturbation.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This will be slash (eventually). Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.

Christmas Eve was a cheery thing, though Draco spent most of his time lobbing the ribbons and confetti from his crackers at Potter and dodging the ones he tossed back. Dumbledore spirits seemed to soar at their almost friendly squabbling, his eyes sparkling brighter than ever. Lupin and Black were so busy whispering to each other they hardly noticed until Potter accidentally hit his godfather in the side of the head with a handful of glitter. Snape, on the other hand, was a black hole of bah-humbugging gloom. He did pause to exchange words with the Headmaster, McGonagall, and Draco, though everyone else received looks of scorn at their jolly cheer.

Draco took the opportunity to slip Longbottom his experimental potion via the pumpkin juice. He had already tried it on a school owl, but since the thing had feathers the only way he'd been able to tell was by its feet. At least it hadn't died though, so Longbottom was in no danger. McGonagall docked him ten points from Slytherin, but Snape turned around and gave him fifteen for the successful attempt at a new potion and offered to help him get a copyright and a patent on it from the Ministry of Magic. They spent the rest of the meal chatting about the effects of temperature changes during the brewing process of certain potions, boring everyone else within earshot.

Not that those nimrods would understand the beauty of brewing a perfect potion.

After dinner it was off to his room where he finished up an Ancient Runes essay he'd been putting off and then he read a bit before going to sleep. Christmas morning dawned bright and early, but Draco ignored it and stayed in bed until noon, snoozing away. When he finally managed to crawl out of bed, he collected his gifts and took them into his sitting room, plopping down on the leather couch and scratching his bare chest as he counted out his presents. It was a very small amount in comparison to the piles and piles of gifts he usually received. There was only a paltry six, but it was, at the very least, better than nothing at all. He rubbed his hands together and dug in, ripping open his presents with glee.

Snape had sent him Everything an Aspiring Potions Master Needs to Know by Bartholomew Bogtrotter as well as Ten-thousand Tricks of the Potions Trade by Alfalfa Hayseed. They had been wrapped together in plain brown paper, the sort used to bag up potions ingredients, which Draco was both amused and slightly offended by. Really, how much effort did it take to get something decent looking to wrap it in? But it was a very Snape-like thing to do, so he decided not to be too upset about it. The books themselves were charmed against decay and spills, which was a thoughtful convenience. Throughout both books there were many annotations in Snape's bold handwriting that were both informative and amusing. Draco set them on his bookshelf carefully, grinning with delight at his new acquisitions.

Pansy's gift was next, though Draco hesitated a moment because of its appearance. It was wrapped in a bright silver paper that glittered blindingly and there was a bouquet of green ribbons that almost covered the package entirely. It took some effort to rip away the frou-frou packaging, but it was more than worth it. Inside was a luxurious Ever-Changing Cloak, spelled to change for each occasion so that Draco would never be without a cloak to match his numerous outfits. In the box it was a dark black velvet, but when Draco put it on it slowly faded to a dark gray and silver runes embroidered on the borders appeared. Of course, Draco would have preferred an invisibility cloak, but they were so rare even the Parkinsons wouldn't think of giving one away if they ever managed to procure one. At any rate, he was more than happy with this new sartorial addition. His old cloak had been getting a bit threadbare anyway.

Goyle's offerings were, as usual, painstakingly practical, though Draco liked them all the same. The first was a snitch with a tiny dragon in flight etched into the gold casing between the wings. Madam Hooch was notorious for keeping the Quidditch equipment under close watch and insisting they only be used during scheduled team practices and that using them for anything else had dire consequences. Draco had been forced in the past to resort to having Crabbe or Goyle throw small objects in the air for him to catch or to having Snape charm one to move independently. Of course, Snape's 'wand-waving' wasn't really up to par and more than once the object had dropped out of the sky as soon as Draco spotted it. Now Draco would be able to practice on his own with a real snitch, which could only mean good things for Slytherin's prospects at winning the Quidditch Cup. Greg had also gotten him a nice chamois cloth and a special oil manufactured by the Quicksilver Corporation especially for their brooms.

The next gift was a small, jittery rodent with a large tag tied to its cage. The familiar handwriting read:

Malfoy,

Professor Lupin suggested I replace your lab rat, seeing as how the last one was Peter Pettigrew and I did sort of take him away. So, here's his new replacement. because I don't want Neville to be accidentally poisoned by you one of these days, though I have to admit that potion was sort of cool. Just try not to kill the poor thing.

Harry

Laughing to himself, he poked the toffee colored rodent. It sniffed his finger, whiskers all atremble. "Right then. I suppose I should come up with a name for you. Hmm. How do you like Mortimer? I have an Great Uncle Mortimer, you know. He's got the same beady little eyes you do." The rat sniffed a bit more and scuttled around the cage a bit. "Well, that's settled, then. Mortimer it is." Draco set it to the side, secure in the knowledge Dobby or some other house elf would make sure it was fed and watered.

The next present was from Crabbe. It was a small bound book of his sketches and drawings, featuring everything from the Great Hall during the Halloween feast to Draco catching the snitch. They were superbly detailed and quite riveting. Crabbe had a tremendous talent for art that Draco really did envy, which was why the other boy provided a collection of his works he thought the former Malfoy heir might like whenever Christmas rolled around. Draco tucked it away in his trunk, resolving to look through it later when he had time to really pursue them more carefully.

The last present was the smallest and Draco examined it for a moment, shaking it and guessing at what it might be. Finally, he gave in and ripped off the green paper, prying open the small box that held it. It was a heavy silver ring; a serpent with emeralds for eyes eating its own tail in the symbol for eternity. Obviously, it was charmed somehow and there was a note explaining what it did. It allowed the one who wore it to speak Parseltongue, though it would only work for someone who was Slytherin to the core. Draco was surprised Blaise hadn't kept it for himself, but the other boy went on to explain that he couldn't use it. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had mulled over whether to stick him in Ravenclaw for a while, but even though Slytherin had won out, he himself could not use it. All in all, it was a very Slytherin gift and, utterly delighted with it, Draco put it on his left thumb since all his other fingers were too slender and his left hand was the hand he wrote with so it would be more noticeable there.

Draco shoved all the wrapping paper in a corner for the house elves to clean up and collected his cloak, hanging it up carefully so it wouldn't get wrinkled or dusty. With a yawn, he sprawled back on his bed, feeling rather lethargic. He was surprised Potter had even thought to give him a gift, though of course it wasn't a very personal gift at all, merely a way to keep Draco from tormenting Longbottom any more than usual. He clasped his hands behind his head and thought about the Gryffindor, the way he managed to infuriate Draco with a single indifferent glance or how he always seemed to come out on top no matter what.

Draco snickered. Come out on top indeed.

It was painfully obvious the Boy Who Lived was perfectly happy being heterosexual. And even if he wasn't and even if he did feel the tiniest bit of attraction towards Draco like the Slytherin suspected he did, Potter certainly had no intention to act on the attraction he felt towards the 'ferret' that had spent all of his childhood bullying him. But really, all Draco had wanted was to have Potter's attention and respect. He'd only wanted to be recognized as the other boy's equal. Eventually, those intense feelings, negative though they were, had morphed into a tiny crush and from there a full blown fancy for the Gryffindor that never seemed to go away. Draco didn't like to think about it, but the only things in the room were him and his own thoughts right now. There was no need for denial. He could admit that he was hot for Potter, despite the fact he really didn't want to feel that way towards him.

It was understandable though.

Harry Potter was handsome, brave, and reasonably intelligent, though Draco would never admit it aloud. The Gryffindor was incredibly lucky to the point of ridiculousness and a damn good flyer. And Potter looked positively yummy flying on his Firebolt. Mmm, Potter in full Quidditch gear with that glint of determination in his brilliant green eyes was quite a sight. No wonder Draco hadn't ever caught the snitch during a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match, even when it was fluttering right near his head. And hadn't that been humiliating? Draco pushed it from his mind and focused on more pleasant thoughts, like Potter in the Gyffindor showers. The mental images of that mop of hair dripping wet and that tan, lean body with rivulets of water running down it distracted him quite thoroughly.

Draco closed his eyes to better savor the image, drawing his hand across his chest to circle a pale, pink nipple with one finger. He ran the fingertips of his other hand over his chest lightly, smiling a little to himself as he settled in for a nice wank. Draco could tell Potter was lean and toned. Rumor had it that Snape had been forced to brew the orphan Up's-a-Daisy Extract to counteract the effects of malnourishment during his childhood on his growth. No matter how he'd come by it, the Gryffindor was quite a delicious specimen of the male species. Draco particularly liked his shoulders which were broad without making him bulky.

Draco's hand slipped under the waistband of his pajama bottoms and he rubbed his half-hard cock slowly. He paused to wriggle out of the restrictive clothing and lay down on his bed to get comfortable. He got a better grip on himself and pumped his erection, still plucking at his nipples occasionally with his other hand and squirming at the jolts of pleasure it gave him. He wondered if Potter's nipples were as sensitive, remembering the eyeful he'd gotten that odd morning he'd roused to find himself in Potter's bed. All that golden skin on display… Draco groaned, spreading his legs a little and abandoning his nipples to cup his balls gently and roll them in his hand. His pubic hair was a bright golden color, only a tad darker than the platinum hair he slicked back everyday.

He admired his own cock, pleased at the flushed pink color and the perfect shape of it. Large, but not ridiculously so and quite pretty if he did say so himself. Potter would probably be nicely hung; Draco was sure of it. It was too bad Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't shower together. Draco imagined what it would be like if they did and exactly how he'd take advantage of it as he played with his foreskin, swiping at the head of his cock with his thumb and spreading the precum down the shaft. His breathing was becoming a bit heavier. He wriggled, pleased at the warm sensations spreading throughout his body. Draco hesitated for a moment, his hand pausing, and reached for his nightstand to dig through his things. He dumped the ring he'd recently received on the nightstand and turned his attention back to more important things. Draco wanked regularly, like any sixteen year old boy, but recently he'd been wanting to try something new out. Now seemed as good a time as any.

He finally managed to sort through the clutter and locate the slick lubrication he'd brewed up in Snape's classroom. Grinning to himself at the thought of sneaking it right under his Head of House's nose, he uncorked it and poured a bit on his flat stomach, watching it pool and leak down towards his cock. Draco set the bottle aside and smeared the oil on his hand and then on his cock. He made sure the fingers on his left hand, which was his wand hand, had oil on them too and lightly traced them down his balls, pausing to cup them before moving to the sweet spot of skin directly behind them that was so sensitive. He played there for a bit, his other hand still stroking himself hard, before reaching back to circle his entrance.

He paused for more lube and started again, circling back and forth to get used to the sensation. His eyes fluttered closed and he decided it wasn't too bad at all. Then he probed gently, working one finger inside and wiggling at the odd sensation. It wasn't bad; it just felt weird. Like he was full where before he'd been empty. He managed to get the one finger all the way inside and pumped it in and out in time with the way he was working his cock. Draco's breathing was erratic now, coming in loud pants and he was almost constantly shifting on the bed.

With a bit of time and patience, not to mention control, he managed to get both his index and middle finger inside him. It felt so good, he didn't know why all boys didn't do it, or perhaps it was just that he was simply more sensitive than most. His fingers bumped up against something, some little spot directly hardwired to his cock that made sparks go off behind his eyes, and Draco whimpered. He didn't know if he could stand it, it felt so good. Like the pleasurable twin of the Cruciatus Curse. "Oh! Oh fuck. Right there, oh yeah." Draco made sure to work the spot as often as possible, his head thrown back as his hands worked rapidly within and on his body. It felt so good it almost hurt, but Draco couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to.

His hips were thrusting off the bed and then back on his fingers, working himself between his hands roughly so that no matter how he moved he was heading towards orgasm. Draco was making tiny involuntary sounds despite himself, completely beyond controlling his voice at this point. His mouth was open, lips wet from where he'd licked them, and his face was set an expression that conveyed something close to ecstasy. It felt so good he didn't ever want to stop. With a hoarse shout, Draco's hips snapped up one last time, his back arched, and he came harder than he ever had before.

Draco came for what felt like forever, his toes curling at the intense experience as his whole body shuddered, but eventually he sank back onto the bed, worn out. His muscles were lax and his mind hazy, his eyes only at half mast. He felt very, very good, though he suspected when he could feel his limbs again he'd have a leg cramp. Draco snickered, wiping himself off with his sheet and twitching when his sensitive bits came into contact with the material. "Happy Christmas to me." He rolled over and out of the wet spot, snuggling down for a post-orgasm nap. Draco found himself drifting off into the realm of dreams while his body hummed with satisfaction. "Bes' presen' ever." He murmured to himself with a last chuckle before sleep claimed him completely.

To be Continued

Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.