Draco and I were kissing in his bed the next morning, a pile of Greek plays
tossed aside somewhere on the quilt. He suddenly stopped.
"Oh Lord," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you recall what is taking place tonight?" he asked.
I searched my memory but found only recent hours worth of kisses and embraces.
"I cannot recall," I replied.
"Miss Parkinson is coming out tonight," Draco answered. "I had completely forgotten."
"So had I," I said.
It became very clear to me at that moment that Fate would not grant Draco and me the leisure of endless kisses. I got up from Draco's bed, put my spectacles back on, and began to pace about the room.
"Draco, what are we to do about the small matter of Miss Parkinson?" I asked.
"If your tone implies murder, then I'm all ears," Draco replied. In the bottom of my heart, I could not tell whether he was serious or not.
"As tempting as that proposal sounds, I'm afraid murdering Miss Parkinson would be out of the question," I said.
"Pity," he commented. "Well, we have several weeks until she and I need even become officially engaged. An opportunity will surface."
I walked over to where he was still lying in bed and sat down on the edge.
"And in the meantime, we shall play along," I said.
Draco nodded. We said nothing for some time, only looking into one another's eyes. I could not think of anything to express fully the multitude of emotions imprisoning my tongue while so the possession of his gray eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Draco asked, noting my changed expression.
"I love you," I said finally.
He looked at me for a moment, pensive.
"I love you too," he replied.
I kissed him and crawled back into his bed. Perhaps twenty minutes thereafter, the bell rang for lunch. We rose reluctantly from the bed and walked downstairs.
"How did today's lesson go, Mister Potter?" Lucius asked.
"Better than I had expected, Mister Malfoy. I had not predicted that young Draco would express such a fondness for classical drama," I replied.
"Wonderful," he said. "And I hope you have not forgotten about the exciting events of this evening."
"How could I forget?" I told him. "Miss Parkinson's coming-out is an affair I greatly anticipate."
Our meal was, as usual, fried and drenched in grease. I could not understand how the Malfoys ate of such food and yet still retained their fine complexions.
"Do you have something suitable to wear to the ball?" Narcissa asked.
I thought for a moment about the contents of my trunk. "I am profoundly sorry, madam, but I fear I would be underdressed. I did not pack my trunk in anticipation of such high society," I replied.
"Evidently not," she said. "Well, no matter. I'm sure Mister Snape has a suit that would fit you."
"Thank you," I responded. "I shall ask him about it immediately."
I could not conceive of why a mere overseer would own suitable clothing. Nevertheless, I finished my food quickly and walked out the side door, into the fields.
I had not realized that I had spent nearly a week entirely indoors. The feeling of dirt against my shoes felt foreign. I walked up to where a group of slaves was tending the grounds and asked one of them if she knew where the overseer was. She replied that he was eating lunch in his house and pointed to me its location. I went up to the small house and knocked on the door.
"Mister Snape, it is Mister Potter," I said.
"Ah yes, Mister Potter," he said as he opened the door. "What is it?"
"I hate to intrude, but Mistress Malfoy requested I borrow a suit from you for tonight," I replied.
"Oh, no, you're not intruding," he said. "Come in."
I looked around. While Snape's house itself was very modest, its décor seemed almost lavish, as though it had once been somewhere else.
"Your furnishings are very lovely," I commented.
"Yes. They are remnants of my past, from before I came to work here," Snape replied shortly. "Let me look for a suit, then."
Snape went into his bedroom and began looking through some trunks, I remained in the main room. He returned quickly, carrying an elegant set of clothes. He pushed them into my arms and muttered something about needing to get back to the fields. I left quickly, bemused at his sudden shift in manner.
I walked back into the main house, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I placed Snape's clothes on top of my trunk, took out a book from my desk, and read for the remainder of the afternoon.
At approximately the hour of six, Lucius announced the arrival of the stagecoach. I dressed myself with the greatest speed I could muster, attempted to smooth down my hair, and walked down to the front door. Lucius and Draco were there already; Narcissa sailed down the stairs a few minutes later. Despite my unkind opinions of the women, I could see from where Draco received his fair appearance.
The ride to Parkinson Manor, although but a few miles away, felt treacherous and endless. None of us uttered a word. When we at last arrived, the front grounds at the main house were already crowded with stagecoaches.
A slave in livery showed us inside, where a good couple hundred people were milling about. Lucius offered his arm to his wife, and they went off to find old friends. Draco remained beside me.
"Any moment now," he muttered to me.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You'll see," he replied.
Just then an elegant woman with heavy-lidded eyes appeared almost from out of nowhere and embraced Draco.
"My Lord, Draco! Look at how you've grown!" she exclaimed.
"Good evening, Aunt Bellatrix. You look well," Draco replied formally.
"And who is this young man here?" Bellatrix asked.
"Harry Potter, madam. I am Master Malfoy's new tutor," I replied, kissing her offered hand.
"Bellatrix Lestrange, Mister Potter. It is a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, careening her eyes up and down my form. I began to feel quite uncomfortable. "You both simply must meet my cousin Dolores Umbridge," she continued, indicating a stout, toad-faced woman to her right, whom I hadn't before noticed.
Dolores cleared her throat with an irritating hem, hem and offered her hand, which was overly adorned with rings, to first Draco, then myself.
"Dolores is the wife of the governor's chief advisor," Bellatrix said smarmily. "Her counsel to her husband will surely preserve our interests in the government."
"Interests that are being attacked by no-good radicals," Dolores informed us. "They do not understand that America can only maintain its purity by us affirming our natural superiority over radicals, savages, and lunatics."
"Quite so," Bellatrix responded. "Why, in these chaotic times, even a man with the fits could worm his way into teaching impressionable youth! Not to mention the Indians and immigrants! Let us hope that Southern leadership will bring this country back its morals!"
By that point, those two loathsome women appeared to have forgotten about Draco and myself entirely. We used the opportunity to escape into the crowd and find a set of chairs against a shadowed wall where we were less likely to be noticed. I sat down, and Draco slipped away for a moment, returning with a filled cut-glass tumbler. He handed it to me.
"What is this?" I asked warily.
"Bourbon," he replied as though it were obvious.
"Draco, Quakers do not drink spirits," I told him.
"Temperance is a misguided cause. Besides, you'll want to relax your nerves considering the sorts of people here," he insisted.
I conceded the latter point and drank the bourbon in one gulp. It burned my innards with a ferocity that faded into a feeling of warmth and comfort. We sat for awhile in a sort of lighthearted contentment. Draco pointed out Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stuffing food into their pockets, much to our amusement.
"They were my only playmates when I was a child," Draco commented. "Thank God I'm not required to be in their company anymore."
I had not had any playmates as a child, although my cousin Dudley enjoyed practicing his boxing techniques on me. I had one friend in school: a handsome boy named Cedric Diggory, with whom I was rather smitten. He was killed two years previous to my departure when he had the misfortune of being a bystander during a violent riot.
Yet the sorrows of my childhood were rendered into mere memories by the liquor's effects. I was quite able to sit beside Draco's side and laugh at his descriptions of various party guests.
"There's Millicent Bulstrode," he said, pointing out a young lady around our age with about the grace and allure of a mule forced into a dress. "She and Vincent Crabbe recently became engaged."
"I don't know for whom I should feel more pity!" I said. We both laughed.
Suddenly, the entire room grew quiet. A man whom I presumed to be Mister Parkinson stood at the front of the main staircase.
"My friends," he began. "I am honored to have you here to surround my beautiful daughter, Pansy, tonight as she comes out to high society..." He droned on.
I didn't listen to the rest of the speech. After several minutes, the roar of applause resounded throughout the room. I looked up to see a young lady descend the stairs and take Mister Parkinson's arm. Draco motioned to me that we should join his parents at the front of the crowd.
Standing next to the Malfoys, I got a closer look at Miss Parkinson. Her costly gown and beautiful coiffure could not conceal the fact that she closely resembled a pug dog.
Lucius prodded his son discreetly in the side.
"Ask her to dance!" he whispered.
Draco walked forward from the crowd admiring Miss Parkinson and offered her his hand. Mister Parkinson motioned for the band to play, and a waltz filled the room. The crowd parted to let Draco and Pansy into the center of the room. As they began to dance, the others in attendance likewise found partners and began waltzing. I stood idly for awhile, uninterested in dancing at all, until Dolores Umbridge found me.
"Why, Mister Potter! Such a handsome young man as yourself, and you have no dancing partner?" she simpered.
"No, madam, I don't care much for dancing," I replied, praying she would leave.
"Well, I haven't got a dancing partner either. Mister Umbridge had urgent business at the capital and could not attend," she said.
"What a pity," I commented, bored.
"It is, isn't it?" she responded, pausing for a moment as though she were on the verge of tears but then suddenly brightening. "As we are both so unfortunately in solitude for this dance, you simply must be my partner!"
The thought of her odious hands with their gaudy rings on any part of my person caused me to immediately inwardly recoil. However, the fear of offending Dolores Umbridge overpowered my repulsion, so I nodded, and we began to dance.
"Why, what an interesting scar you have, Mister Potter," Dolores said, running her finger along it. Her touch made it ache considerably.
"I received it in the accident that killed my mother and father when I was very small," I responded. Keeping a 3/4 time rhythm was enough difficulty without her questions.
"Where did that take place?" she asked.
"New Surrey, in Delaware," I replied. "I was raised thereafter by my mother's sister and her family."
"Oh, my, near the university?" she asked. I nodded. "It must be a hotbed of radicalism!"
"Madam, I must be honest and tell you it is. The place is teeming with abolitionists and even a few, excuse me, sodomites," I replied.
Dolores Umbridge stiffened, her eyes filling with disbelief. "My goodness," she whispered. "The North is worse than I could have ever imagined!"
"My apologies, madam, for any shocking of your sensibilities," I said. "But I felt you must know."
Her face contorted with disgust. I struggled mightily with the urge to laugh.
"Excuse me, Mister Potter, but I have grown weary and wish to retire," she said, walking away from me and up the staircase.
I smiled privately and went to the area where Draco and I had been sitting earlier. As I sat down, a slave appeared and offered me a glass of bourbon. Having nothing better to do, I accepted it and began to drink, finding that observing the party was far more enjoyable than participating in it. When my glass became empty, there was always a slave nearby to refill it without my even asking. The whole party seemed bent on me losing my sobriety, I began to feel. I was indeed very drunk when Narcissa found where I was sitting and told me that everyone was going to bed. She led me up the stairs and into a bedroom.
"Considering the number of people here, you'll be sharing a room with Draco tonight," she said. I managed to nod, and she exited. I sank down onto the bed and listened to the door shortly afterwards opening and to Draco walking into the room and sitting beside me.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.
"I'm no longer sober, if that indicates anything," I replied. "And I caused Dolores Umbridge to retreat prematurely to her room."
"That woman... She should be thrown into the midst of a tribe of Indians!" he commented. We laughed and began to kiss. "Dear God, you reek of bourbon!"
"So do you," I replied.
"True. But the company of Pansy Parkinson is an excellent justification for drunkenness," he said.
Draco relieved us both of our shirts and cravats, we having each discarded our jackets and waistcoats upon entering the room. I undid the buttons of his trousers and then mine as he sank his teeth into the skin of my shoulder.
We paused for a moment and situated our now naked selves more comfortably on the bed. Draco's stare crept wickedly across my body. I gazed slowly at his, dreamily, mentally comparing his form to that of a fallen angel. I felt myself growing aroused. Where before I would have turned my thoughts to places distinctly non-erotic, I now let myself fall into a wave of desire as Draco seized upon my nether regions with his hands and mouth. Those who would dismiss pleasure as sinful have not known it fully.
I dug my fingernails into Draco's back as he with a swipe of his tongue pushed me past the brink of ecstasy.
"Oh, I die," I whispered, my castings exploding out from me and down his throat. He closed his eyes and swallowed.
His eyes when he reopened them were darkened with lust. "Now I wish to try something," he said.
Draco opened a drawer of the nightstand and fumbled around until he produced a small perfume bottle.
"It looks to belong to Miss Parkinson," he noted. "How amusing that we will be fucking with the aid of her hand oil."
His use of that vulgar word made me shiver. There were few times I had heard it spoken.
Draco opened the bottle and poured some of its contents onto his hands. He smeared it especially onto the fingers of his right hand.
"Lie on your back, Harry, and spread your legs," he said. "This may hurt at first."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I do not honestly know. The concept occurred to me just now," he replied.
I did as Draco asked of me, and he began to insert one of his fingers, slick with scented oil, into my anus. It was an area of my body to which I had never given thought. The penetration hurt initially, but relaxed gradually into pleasure, a pleasure that intensified as Draco inserted another finger.
"I think you're ready now," he said softly, breathing heavily.
I looked down to see that Draco was aroused considerably. He brought his body over mine and entered me. I could at first feel only pain and the wish to expel what had just invaded me, yet Draco continued thrusting until he hit a spot within me that sent jolts of pleasure through my system.
The rumors I had heard of making love in Greek fashion were far exceeded by this experience. After several minutes more, Draco expelled his castings deep within me, and we both lay exhausted in one another's embrace.
"I did not know," he said huskily. "How intense that could be. I was but conducting an experiment."
"An experiment?" I repeated in mock offense.
"To see if there were some way to simulate normalcy between two men," he replied.
"Ah," I said. "I believe in our simulation, we have improved upon the original model."
"The ancients were fond of it for a reason," Draco mused.
We fell silent for a short while, content to but lie close together. Suddenly, the door opened.
"Draco! Are you asleep?" a shrill, female voice asked. "I forgot that I left my hand oil in here. Do you mind if I fetch it now?"
The light from Pansy's candelabrum shone on our entangled bodies. She gave a little noise of shock. Draco got out of the bed, wrapped a bed sheet around himself, and walked to where Pansy stood.
"Miss Parkinson, being a young lady of good breeding, you of all people should know that it is most rude to enter the bedchamber of a gentleman, especially for an item so trivial as a bottle of hand oil," he commented coolly.
"If it is such a trivial thing, why is it smeared all about your person?" she asked.
"My use of it is of no concern of yours. Now, if you don't mind, Mister Potter and I are both trying to sleep," Draco replied.
"In one another's arms, it seems," she commented.
"What do you care?" he asked, his voice growing dangerously low.
"We are the ones getting married, Draco, not you and your tutor," she responded.
"I would sooner slit my own throat than marry you, you ill-mannered sow," he whispered.
"Then perhaps you should, for we will be getting married, your perversions notwithstanding!" Pansy retorted hotly, flouncing away.
"Just for your comfort," Draco said, closing the door. "I intend to pursue neither option."
"What option, then, do you intend to pursue?" I asked.
"One that involves you and I being together, and one that does not involve my kith and kin demanding needless things of me," he replied. "What that shall be precisely, I do not know. But let us get some sleep; I fear we may have some explaining to do in the morning."
nanono, SilverDragon, Tasha. Liliku, and cair: Thank you so much for liking my writing style! I wrote an extra-extremely-long chapter, hence why updating has taken so long. Venus Aeternus: Thanks for the tip on the html. My word processing program automatically capitalized I's, so I had to reprogram some things. Everything should be much neater now. Naynymic: I myself am not quite sure what the actual ending to this will be. I assure you that it shouldn't be sad at all, but rather a simple tying- together of things. madam-malicia: I intend to use "negro" as a general standby throughout the story, as that was the generally accepted term for black people then. About the "thee" and "thine" stuff, Quakers in that time period were just coming out of using those words (if you read Revolutionary War literature with Quaker characters, for example, you have to get used to those sorts of pronouns). As such, Sirius, being of a Quaker family, uses such language in every aspect of his life, while Harry, who is younger and more accustomed to non-Quaker speech, uses Quaker speech when communicating with Sirius and other older Quakers but ordinary speech when communicating with everyone else. So Harry and Sirius writing to each other will sound rather outdated, but being old-school Quakers, it made sense to them. PeachDancer82: I absolutely despise using racial slurs in my writing. It hurts me to have to write them in, but I don't think slaveholders of the Lucius Malfoy ilk were polite enough to not use them. As the story progresses, there will be less need for racial slurs, which delights me greatly. Thanks to all the kids who have reviewed all of my fics, and thanks to everyone who have been reading them!
"Oh Lord," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you recall what is taking place tonight?" he asked.
I searched my memory but found only recent hours worth of kisses and embraces.
"I cannot recall," I replied.
"Miss Parkinson is coming out tonight," Draco answered. "I had completely forgotten."
"So had I," I said.
It became very clear to me at that moment that Fate would not grant Draco and me the leisure of endless kisses. I got up from Draco's bed, put my spectacles back on, and began to pace about the room.
"Draco, what are we to do about the small matter of Miss Parkinson?" I asked.
"If your tone implies murder, then I'm all ears," Draco replied. In the bottom of my heart, I could not tell whether he was serious or not.
"As tempting as that proposal sounds, I'm afraid murdering Miss Parkinson would be out of the question," I said.
"Pity," he commented. "Well, we have several weeks until she and I need even become officially engaged. An opportunity will surface."
I walked over to where he was still lying in bed and sat down on the edge.
"And in the meantime, we shall play along," I said.
Draco nodded. We said nothing for some time, only looking into one another's eyes. I could not think of anything to express fully the multitude of emotions imprisoning my tongue while so the possession of his gray eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Draco asked, noting my changed expression.
"I love you," I said finally.
He looked at me for a moment, pensive.
"I love you too," he replied.
I kissed him and crawled back into his bed. Perhaps twenty minutes thereafter, the bell rang for lunch. We rose reluctantly from the bed and walked downstairs.
"How did today's lesson go, Mister Potter?" Lucius asked.
"Better than I had expected, Mister Malfoy. I had not predicted that young Draco would express such a fondness for classical drama," I replied.
"Wonderful," he said. "And I hope you have not forgotten about the exciting events of this evening."
"How could I forget?" I told him. "Miss Parkinson's coming-out is an affair I greatly anticipate."
Our meal was, as usual, fried and drenched in grease. I could not understand how the Malfoys ate of such food and yet still retained their fine complexions.
"Do you have something suitable to wear to the ball?" Narcissa asked.
I thought for a moment about the contents of my trunk. "I am profoundly sorry, madam, but I fear I would be underdressed. I did not pack my trunk in anticipation of such high society," I replied.
"Evidently not," she said. "Well, no matter. I'm sure Mister Snape has a suit that would fit you."
"Thank you," I responded. "I shall ask him about it immediately."
I could not conceive of why a mere overseer would own suitable clothing. Nevertheless, I finished my food quickly and walked out the side door, into the fields.
I had not realized that I had spent nearly a week entirely indoors. The feeling of dirt against my shoes felt foreign. I walked up to where a group of slaves was tending the grounds and asked one of them if she knew where the overseer was. She replied that he was eating lunch in his house and pointed to me its location. I went up to the small house and knocked on the door.
"Mister Snape, it is Mister Potter," I said.
"Ah yes, Mister Potter," he said as he opened the door. "What is it?"
"I hate to intrude, but Mistress Malfoy requested I borrow a suit from you for tonight," I replied.
"Oh, no, you're not intruding," he said. "Come in."
I looked around. While Snape's house itself was very modest, its décor seemed almost lavish, as though it had once been somewhere else.
"Your furnishings are very lovely," I commented.
"Yes. They are remnants of my past, from before I came to work here," Snape replied shortly. "Let me look for a suit, then."
Snape went into his bedroom and began looking through some trunks, I remained in the main room. He returned quickly, carrying an elegant set of clothes. He pushed them into my arms and muttered something about needing to get back to the fields. I left quickly, bemused at his sudden shift in manner.
I walked back into the main house, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I placed Snape's clothes on top of my trunk, took out a book from my desk, and read for the remainder of the afternoon.
At approximately the hour of six, Lucius announced the arrival of the stagecoach. I dressed myself with the greatest speed I could muster, attempted to smooth down my hair, and walked down to the front door. Lucius and Draco were there already; Narcissa sailed down the stairs a few minutes later. Despite my unkind opinions of the women, I could see from where Draco received his fair appearance.
The ride to Parkinson Manor, although but a few miles away, felt treacherous and endless. None of us uttered a word. When we at last arrived, the front grounds at the main house were already crowded with stagecoaches.
A slave in livery showed us inside, where a good couple hundred people were milling about. Lucius offered his arm to his wife, and they went off to find old friends. Draco remained beside me.
"Any moment now," he muttered to me.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You'll see," he replied.
Just then an elegant woman with heavy-lidded eyes appeared almost from out of nowhere and embraced Draco.
"My Lord, Draco! Look at how you've grown!" she exclaimed.
"Good evening, Aunt Bellatrix. You look well," Draco replied formally.
"And who is this young man here?" Bellatrix asked.
"Harry Potter, madam. I am Master Malfoy's new tutor," I replied, kissing her offered hand.
"Bellatrix Lestrange, Mister Potter. It is a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, careening her eyes up and down my form. I began to feel quite uncomfortable. "You both simply must meet my cousin Dolores Umbridge," she continued, indicating a stout, toad-faced woman to her right, whom I hadn't before noticed.
Dolores cleared her throat with an irritating hem, hem and offered her hand, which was overly adorned with rings, to first Draco, then myself.
"Dolores is the wife of the governor's chief advisor," Bellatrix said smarmily. "Her counsel to her husband will surely preserve our interests in the government."
"Interests that are being attacked by no-good radicals," Dolores informed us. "They do not understand that America can only maintain its purity by us affirming our natural superiority over radicals, savages, and lunatics."
"Quite so," Bellatrix responded. "Why, in these chaotic times, even a man with the fits could worm his way into teaching impressionable youth! Not to mention the Indians and immigrants! Let us hope that Southern leadership will bring this country back its morals!"
By that point, those two loathsome women appeared to have forgotten about Draco and myself entirely. We used the opportunity to escape into the crowd and find a set of chairs against a shadowed wall where we were less likely to be noticed. I sat down, and Draco slipped away for a moment, returning with a filled cut-glass tumbler. He handed it to me.
"What is this?" I asked warily.
"Bourbon," he replied as though it were obvious.
"Draco, Quakers do not drink spirits," I told him.
"Temperance is a misguided cause. Besides, you'll want to relax your nerves considering the sorts of people here," he insisted.
I conceded the latter point and drank the bourbon in one gulp. It burned my innards with a ferocity that faded into a feeling of warmth and comfort. We sat for awhile in a sort of lighthearted contentment. Draco pointed out Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stuffing food into their pockets, much to our amusement.
"They were my only playmates when I was a child," Draco commented. "Thank God I'm not required to be in their company anymore."
I had not had any playmates as a child, although my cousin Dudley enjoyed practicing his boxing techniques on me. I had one friend in school: a handsome boy named Cedric Diggory, with whom I was rather smitten. He was killed two years previous to my departure when he had the misfortune of being a bystander during a violent riot.
Yet the sorrows of my childhood were rendered into mere memories by the liquor's effects. I was quite able to sit beside Draco's side and laugh at his descriptions of various party guests.
"There's Millicent Bulstrode," he said, pointing out a young lady around our age with about the grace and allure of a mule forced into a dress. "She and Vincent Crabbe recently became engaged."
"I don't know for whom I should feel more pity!" I said. We both laughed.
Suddenly, the entire room grew quiet. A man whom I presumed to be Mister Parkinson stood at the front of the main staircase.
"My friends," he began. "I am honored to have you here to surround my beautiful daughter, Pansy, tonight as she comes out to high society..." He droned on.
I didn't listen to the rest of the speech. After several minutes, the roar of applause resounded throughout the room. I looked up to see a young lady descend the stairs and take Mister Parkinson's arm. Draco motioned to me that we should join his parents at the front of the crowd.
Standing next to the Malfoys, I got a closer look at Miss Parkinson. Her costly gown and beautiful coiffure could not conceal the fact that she closely resembled a pug dog.
Lucius prodded his son discreetly in the side.
"Ask her to dance!" he whispered.
Draco walked forward from the crowd admiring Miss Parkinson and offered her his hand. Mister Parkinson motioned for the band to play, and a waltz filled the room. The crowd parted to let Draco and Pansy into the center of the room. As they began to dance, the others in attendance likewise found partners and began waltzing. I stood idly for awhile, uninterested in dancing at all, until Dolores Umbridge found me.
"Why, Mister Potter! Such a handsome young man as yourself, and you have no dancing partner?" she simpered.
"No, madam, I don't care much for dancing," I replied, praying she would leave.
"Well, I haven't got a dancing partner either. Mister Umbridge had urgent business at the capital and could not attend," she said.
"What a pity," I commented, bored.
"It is, isn't it?" she responded, pausing for a moment as though she were on the verge of tears but then suddenly brightening. "As we are both so unfortunately in solitude for this dance, you simply must be my partner!"
The thought of her odious hands with their gaudy rings on any part of my person caused me to immediately inwardly recoil. However, the fear of offending Dolores Umbridge overpowered my repulsion, so I nodded, and we began to dance.
"Why, what an interesting scar you have, Mister Potter," Dolores said, running her finger along it. Her touch made it ache considerably.
"I received it in the accident that killed my mother and father when I was very small," I responded. Keeping a 3/4 time rhythm was enough difficulty without her questions.
"Where did that take place?" she asked.
"New Surrey, in Delaware," I replied. "I was raised thereafter by my mother's sister and her family."
"Oh, my, near the university?" she asked. I nodded. "It must be a hotbed of radicalism!"
"Madam, I must be honest and tell you it is. The place is teeming with abolitionists and even a few, excuse me, sodomites," I replied.
Dolores Umbridge stiffened, her eyes filling with disbelief. "My goodness," she whispered. "The North is worse than I could have ever imagined!"
"My apologies, madam, for any shocking of your sensibilities," I said. "But I felt you must know."
Her face contorted with disgust. I struggled mightily with the urge to laugh.
"Excuse me, Mister Potter, but I have grown weary and wish to retire," she said, walking away from me and up the staircase.
I smiled privately and went to the area where Draco and I had been sitting earlier. As I sat down, a slave appeared and offered me a glass of bourbon. Having nothing better to do, I accepted it and began to drink, finding that observing the party was far more enjoyable than participating in it. When my glass became empty, there was always a slave nearby to refill it without my even asking. The whole party seemed bent on me losing my sobriety, I began to feel. I was indeed very drunk when Narcissa found where I was sitting and told me that everyone was going to bed. She led me up the stairs and into a bedroom.
"Considering the number of people here, you'll be sharing a room with Draco tonight," she said. I managed to nod, and she exited. I sank down onto the bed and listened to the door shortly afterwards opening and to Draco walking into the room and sitting beside me.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.
"I'm no longer sober, if that indicates anything," I replied. "And I caused Dolores Umbridge to retreat prematurely to her room."
"That woman... She should be thrown into the midst of a tribe of Indians!" he commented. We laughed and began to kiss. "Dear God, you reek of bourbon!"
"So do you," I replied.
"True. But the company of Pansy Parkinson is an excellent justification for drunkenness," he said.
Draco relieved us both of our shirts and cravats, we having each discarded our jackets and waistcoats upon entering the room. I undid the buttons of his trousers and then mine as he sank his teeth into the skin of my shoulder.
We paused for a moment and situated our now naked selves more comfortably on the bed. Draco's stare crept wickedly across my body. I gazed slowly at his, dreamily, mentally comparing his form to that of a fallen angel. I felt myself growing aroused. Where before I would have turned my thoughts to places distinctly non-erotic, I now let myself fall into a wave of desire as Draco seized upon my nether regions with his hands and mouth. Those who would dismiss pleasure as sinful have not known it fully.
I dug my fingernails into Draco's back as he with a swipe of his tongue pushed me past the brink of ecstasy.
"Oh, I die," I whispered, my castings exploding out from me and down his throat. He closed his eyes and swallowed.
His eyes when he reopened them were darkened with lust. "Now I wish to try something," he said.
Draco opened a drawer of the nightstand and fumbled around until he produced a small perfume bottle.
"It looks to belong to Miss Parkinson," he noted. "How amusing that we will be fucking with the aid of her hand oil."
His use of that vulgar word made me shiver. There were few times I had heard it spoken.
Draco opened the bottle and poured some of its contents onto his hands. He smeared it especially onto the fingers of his right hand.
"Lie on your back, Harry, and spread your legs," he said. "This may hurt at first."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I do not honestly know. The concept occurred to me just now," he replied.
I did as Draco asked of me, and he began to insert one of his fingers, slick with scented oil, into my anus. It was an area of my body to which I had never given thought. The penetration hurt initially, but relaxed gradually into pleasure, a pleasure that intensified as Draco inserted another finger.
"I think you're ready now," he said softly, breathing heavily.
I looked down to see that Draco was aroused considerably. He brought his body over mine and entered me. I could at first feel only pain and the wish to expel what had just invaded me, yet Draco continued thrusting until he hit a spot within me that sent jolts of pleasure through my system.
The rumors I had heard of making love in Greek fashion were far exceeded by this experience. After several minutes more, Draco expelled his castings deep within me, and we both lay exhausted in one another's embrace.
"I did not know," he said huskily. "How intense that could be. I was but conducting an experiment."
"An experiment?" I repeated in mock offense.
"To see if there were some way to simulate normalcy between two men," he replied.
"Ah," I said. "I believe in our simulation, we have improved upon the original model."
"The ancients were fond of it for a reason," Draco mused.
We fell silent for a short while, content to but lie close together. Suddenly, the door opened.
"Draco! Are you asleep?" a shrill, female voice asked. "I forgot that I left my hand oil in here. Do you mind if I fetch it now?"
The light from Pansy's candelabrum shone on our entangled bodies. She gave a little noise of shock. Draco got out of the bed, wrapped a bed sheet around himself, and walked to where Pansy stood.
"Miss Parkinson, being a young lady of good breeding, you of all people should know that it is most rude to enter the bedchamber of a gentleman, especially for an item so trivial as a bottle of hand oil," he commented coolly.
"If it is such a trivial thing, why is it smeared all about your person?" she asked.
"My use of it is of no concern of yours. Now, if you don't mind, Mister Potter and I are both trying to sleep," Draco replied.
"In one another's arms, it seems," she commented.
"What do you care?" he asked, his voice growing dangerously low.
"We are the ones getting married, Draco, not you and your tutor," she responded.
"I would sooner slit my own throat than marry you, you ill-mannered sow," he whispered.
"Then perhaps you should, for we will be getting married, your perversions notwithstanding!" Pansy retorted hotly, flouncing away.
"Just for your comfort," Draco said, closing the door. "I intend to pursue neither option."
"What option, then, do you intend to pursue?" I asked.
"One that involves you and I being together, and one that does not involve my kith and kin demanding needless things of me," he replied. "What that shall be precisely, I do not know. But let us get some sleep; I fear we may have some explaining to do in the morning."
nanono, SilverDragon, Tasha. Liliku, and cair: Thank you so much for liking my writing style! I wrote an extra-extremely-long chapter, hence why updating has taken so long. Venus Aeternus: Thanks for the tip on the html. My word processing program automatically capitalized I's, so I had to reprogram some things. Everything should be much neater now. Naynymic: I myself am not quite sure what the actual ending to this will be. I assure you that it shouldn't be sad at all, but rather a simple tying- together of things. madam-malicia: I intend to use "negro" as a general standby throughout the story, as that was the generally accepted term for black people then. About the "thee" and "thine" stuff, Quakers in that time period were just coming out of using those words (if you read Revolutionary War literature with Quaker characters, for example, you have to get used to those sorts of pronouns). As such, Sirius, being of a Quaker family, uses such language in every aspect of his life, while Harry, who is younger and more accustomed to non-Quaker speech, uses Quaker speech when communicating with Sirius and other older Quakers but ordinary speech when communicating with everyone else. So Harry and Sirius writing to each other will sound rather outdated, but being old-school Quakers, it made sense to them. PeachDancer82: I absolutely despise using racial slurs in my writing. It hurts me to have to write them in, but I don't think slaveholders of the Lucius Malfoy ilk were polite enough to not use them. As the story progresses, there will be less need for racial slurs, which delights me greatly. Thanks to all the kids who have reviewed all of my fics, and thanks to everyone who have been reading them!