Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, various other
publishers, blah blah, for all intents and purposes, yada yada, now – on
with the show ...
Note: slash, not explicit, but tread with caution.
A sharp creak pierced through the peaceful snores in the seventh-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. A ghost-like figure slithered through the partially open door and stole furtively across the room, pausing every now and then at each heart-stopping creak of the floorboards. A malicious grin appeared on the figure's pale pointed face when its eyes alighted on a pair of round glasses on a nightstand beside the double-poster bed in the right corner of the room.
Draco Malfoy took a minute to assess his surroundings and congratulate himself on his ingenuity. Really, he was a genius. He had concocted his master plan for the defeat of Harry Potter at the beginning of their seventh year and, needless to say, everything had gone according to plan. Under the cover of a Disillusionment Charm, Draco had followed a Ravenclaw fourth-year, eavesdropped on the password to the Ravenclaw Common Room, sneaked inside during the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, stole a long dark hair off Padma Patil's pillow, nicked a few ingredients from Snape's office, brewed a Polyjuice Potion, morphed into Padma Patil, sneaked into Gryffindor Tower masquerading as Parvati Patil and thus cleverly gleaned the password to the Gryffindor Common Room. Lost in thought, Draco smirked, reminding himself to write down his adventures for future Malfoy generations. (Well, he might not be the Muggle genius Einstein, but one had to give him credit for his thoroughness.)
During last the Hogsmeade weekend, Draco bought the most horrendous teenage nightmare in a fancy little Zonko's box: the Pimple Powder. Give your worst enemy a nasty surprise! Sprinkle a pinch of Pimple Powder on their face when they're asleep and see them wake up with a faceful of boils, blemishes and the worst kind of acne! Guaranteed to last at least three days. In a flash of brilliance, Draco cast an Endurance Charm on the powder so that its effects won't even likely to be cured by Madam Pomfrey's skills. That was how Draco came to be standing beside Harry Potter's bed in the dead of night.
Moonlight filtered through the open windows of the dormitory. Draco took a while to look out the window. One of Slytherin Tower's flaws was its claustrophobic lack of windows. (As well as its musty smell, its bleak decorations, the bone-chilling cold during winter when one couldn't even produce an erection. But of course, Draco mustn't think disloyal thoughts about his House...). Draco's eyes lingered on a suspicious-looking piece of blank parchment and half a bar of Honeyduke's Deluxe Chocolate on Potter's bedside table. His countenance twisted into one of shock at this evidence of Potter's habit of deliberate ingestion of carbohydrates. He turned to Potter's bed.
With a flick of his wand, Draco opened the crimson hangings around Potter's bed. He almost squeaked when the parted hangings exposed the almost-nudity of Potter's (unfairly) slender body. Garbed in a simple pair of boxers, Potter was sprawled on his back, the bed-sheets pooled around his legs. For a few quiet moments, Draco was transfixed by the gentle rise and ebb of Potter's chest. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the double-poster bed, the Slytherin looked closely at Potter's smooth features, noting with some satisfaction the presence of a tiny freckle to the right of the boy's nose. Still, Draco deemed it endlessly unfair that Potter had been blessed with perfect skin when his own complexion was going to be threatened (according to Sybill Trelawney) by the appearance of an unsightly furuncle right on the tip of his nose at the end of the week (when Mars will line up Venus and horrible things will occur). Draco might have been disgusted to know that he was drooling over Potter's half-naked form like a starving man over an ambrosial spread. Eyes running over the long line of Potter's neck, the peaks of his nipples, the crisscross of his ribs, the firm muscles of his abdomen, down to his crotch, Draco felt a familiar twitch in his pyjama bottoms. Immediately, his anger for Potter (and lust) increased by ten- fold. Draco blamed his predicament on the boy whose face he'd been itching to deliver a good hard punch to for six years.
Before the start of his seventh year, Draco had been a perfectly happy and normal (at least normal) heterosexual adolescent wizard, enduring the liberties taken by Pansy Parkinson on his person. During the welcoming feast on the night of the first day of the new school year, he had made the tremendous mistake of throwing a customary smirk at Potter and his little Gryffindor posse. And in that watershed moment, he had fallen. After an agonizing second (during which he admired the pert shape of Potter's arse as the other boy stood up to reach the treacle pudding), Draco had quickly relabeled himself as a flaming queer.
Nonetheless, it was not a change that he appreciated. (Though from the magazines that Draco had found under the mattress of his father's bed, he couldn't help but be dubious about Lucius Malfoy's reaction to his newfound sexuality.) As Draco stared down at Potter's sleeping form, he grimaced at the excitement in his groin. His hands shook as he fished out the small box of Pimple Powder from the pocket of his pyjamas. He plastered a devious grin onto his face, a perfect pale Devil's apprentice, as he slowly slid the box open.
Perhaps the disfigurement of Potter's face will curb my abnormal lust for him, a small voice in his mind quipped.
Draco suppressed his inner voice. He stared at the glittering yellow powder. Suddenly, Potter gave a loud grunt and rolled over, draping his right hand over Draco's thighs and crushing Draco's left hand which had been resting on the bed right beside the sleeping boy. The Slytherin almost dropped the small box in a panic.
Draco suddenly wished very much that he were back in his cold bed in Slytherin Tower.
He set the Pimple Powder down on Harry's bedside table while he pondered how to free his arm from Harry's warm body. Draco slowly flexed his trapped hand. His heart jumped into his throat when the dark-haired boy let out a sleepy moan. He started when something twitched under the bed-sheets near Harry's mid –
Oh shit! Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a few seconds to go through his breath-in, breath-out, calming procedure for moments of extreme stress. But he couldn't shut out the schizophrenic little voice inside him that was gleefully shouting: Harry Potter's got an erection! Harry P— Harry's lips fell slightly open and he let out another guttural moan. Draco's mouth fell open as he saw Harry's eyes move rapidly underneath his closed eyelids. The entire situation was surreal. He was sitting on Harry Potter's bed witnessing the other boy having a wet dream. But the painful constriction of his underwear was certainly very real, as was, more importantly, Harry's warm hand lying right across his rudely jutting erection. Draco wondered if he could use magic to get out of this situation, but his wand was in his left pocket and he feared waking Harry (and ending his free show) if he tried to reach it with his right.
Draco watched on breathlessly as Harry twisted and writhed on his bed. Muffled moans and gasps fuelled his desire and he had to exert all his self- control not to pounce on the other boy and – Draco swallowed a groan and quickly ceased that line of thought. Harry was now mumbling something in his sleep. Draco would happily have given his left testicle to know what Harry was dreaming about.
"Yessss ... Hmmm." Harry's hand was moving ceaselessly over the Draco's erection in a wicked caress. Draco couldn't help but close his eyes and strain towards that hand. His Master Plan pushed completely to the recess of his mind, Draco rubbed himself tentatively yet desperately against Harry's hand, breaths coming out in ragged gasps. He thought absurdly of the one time he had found a stack of adult magazines in his parents' room, he had furtively started masturbating, knowing that that there'd be hell to pay if he was found out. A sliver of moonlight clearly illuminated a wet stain on the crotch of Harry's boxers.
"Hmmm, harder ... Draco!" The Slytherin almost fell off the bed. Had Harry's voice, low and oozing with sex, just gasped out his name? Before he could contemplate and wonder at this further, he convulsed in the pleasurable throes of climax. Slapping his free hand over his mouth, Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip as his hips thrust mindlessly into the air, riding out his orgasm.
Breathless and sated, mind blank from this unexpected turn of events, Draco began to recover and realize the repercussions of this moment of stolen pleasure. Harry, still apparently oblivious, shifted and freed Draco's hand. Thankfully, Draco was about to bolt out of Gryffindor Tower, to hell with his Master Plan, when Harry's startling green eyes popped open.
For several seconds, Harry and Draco stared into each other's eyes, frozen in time. Draco suddenly felt weak in the knees. Dear God, he thought, I'll see you soon. I hope you'll have a place for me up there – then he realized that Harry didn't seem to plan to gift him with a well-placed Bat-Bogey Hex. Instead, the other boy was smirking, his eyes dancing with mirth.
"'Lo, Malfoy. I don't know how and why you're in Gryffindor Tower at ... one o'clock on the morning. Come to that, I didn't know either it was so easy to make you come," Harry's tongue darted out over his lips and he punctuated his words with the sharp squeeze to Draco's cock, which jumped under his hand.
Draco let out a choked gasp as hot needles of mortification stung his cheeks. Horrified, he realized that he was blushing. He hadn't blushed since he was ten years old at one of his parents' parties when his cousin, upon Draco's refusal to dance the tango with her, (she was, after all, four years older and a foot taller than him) had vanished all of Draco's clothes with a nifty spell and exposed his little boy bits to the dozens of prying eyes of his relatives. Harry was still looking at him with that faintly amused expression. Draco later claimed that he had been thinking with the appendage between his legs. At that moment, he saw no choice but to kiss that smiling mouth. As their lips met in an open-mouthed kiss, Harry opened his arms in an invitation to his bed and Draco hoisted himself over Harry's lithe body with no hesitation. The hangings fell closed around them and consumed their passion in darkness.
Draco felt no more desire to return to Slytherin Tower that night.
A bed away, Ron Weasley woke up groggily to the suspicious sounds of creaking bed springs. A moment later, he had developed a severe tic in his left eye.
THE END. June 27, 2004 A/N: I'm not sure why anyone would want to review this crappy piece of writing, but I'd be lying if I say that feedback would not be appreciated ... so leave a comment! A thank you and a virtual hug to those who reviewed. For those who asked, there will be no further chapters.
Note: slash, not explicit, but tread with caution.
A sharp creak pierced through the peaceful snores in the seventh-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. A ghost-like figure slithered through the partially open door and stole furtively across the room, pausing every now and then at each heart-stopping creak of the floorboards. A malicious grin appeared on the figure's pale pointed face when its eyes alighted on a pair of round glasses on a nightstand beside the double-poster bed in the right corner of the room.
Draco Malfoy took a minute to assess his surroundings and congratulate himself on his ingenuity. Really, he was a genius. He had concocted his master plan for the defeat of Harry Potter at the beginning of their seventh year and, needless to say, everything had gone according to plan. Under the cover of a Disillusionment Charm, Draco had followed a Ravenclaw fourth-year, eavesdropped on the password to the Ravenclaw Common Room, sneaked inside during the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, stole a long dark hair off Padma Patil's pillow, nicked a few ingredients from Snape's office, brewed a Polyjuice Potion, morphed into Padma Patil, sneaked into Gryffindor Tower masquerading as Parvati Patil and thus cleverly gleaned the password to the Gryffindor Common Room. Lost in thought, Draco smirked, reminding himself to write down his adventures for future Malfoy generations. (Well, he might not be the Muggle genius Einstein, but one had to give him credit for his thoroughness.)
During last the Hogsmeade weekend, Draco bought the most horrendous teenage nightmare in a fancy little Zonko's box: the Pimple Powder. Give your worst enemy a nasty surprise! Sprinkle a pinch of Pimple Powder on their face when they're asleep and see them wake up with a faceful of boils, blemishes and the worst kind of acne! Guaranteed to last at least three days. In a flash of brilliance, Draco cast an Endurance Charm on the powder so that its effects won't even likely to be cured by Madam Pomfrey's skills. That was how Draco came to be standing beside Harry Potter's bed in the dead of night.
Moonlight filtered through the open windows of the dormitory. Draco took a while to look out the window. One of Slytherin Tower's flaws was its claustrophobic lack of windows. (As well as its musty smell, its bleak decorations, the bone-chilling cold during winter when one couldn't even produce an erection. But of course, Draco mustn't think disloyal thoughts about his House...). Draco's eyes lingered on a suspicious-looking piece of blank parchment and half a bar of Honeyduke's Deluxe Chocolate on Potter's bedside table. His countenance twisted into one of shock at this evidence of Potter's habit of deliberate ingestion of carbohydrates. He turned to Potter's bed.
With a flick of his wand, Draco opened the crimson hangings around Potter's bed. He almost squeaked when the parted hangings exposed the almost-nudity of Potter's (unfairly) slender body. Garbed in a simple pair of boxers, Potter was sprawled on his back, the bed-sheets pooled around his legs. For a few quiet moments, Draco was transfixed by the gentle rise and ebb of Potter's chest. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the double-poster bed, the Slytherin looked closely at Potter's smooth features, noting with some satisfaction the presence of a tiny freckle to the right of the boy's nose. Still, Draco deemed it endlessly unfair that Potter had been blessed with perfect skin when his own complexion was going to be threatened (according to Sybill Trelawney) by the appearance of an unsightly furuncle right on the tip of his nose at the end of the week (when Mars will line up Venus and horrible things will occur). Draco might have been disgusted to know that he was drooling over Potter's half-naked form like a starving man over an ambrosial spread. Eyes running over the long line of Potter's neck, the peaks of his nipples, the crisscross of his ribs, the firm muscles of his abdomen, down to his crotch, Draco felt a familiar twitch in his pyjama bottoms. Immediately, his anger for Potter (and lust) increased by ten- fold. Draco blamed his predicament on the boy whose face he'd been itching to deliver a good hard punch to for six years.
Before the start of his seventh year, Draco had been a perfectly happy and normal (at least normal) heterosexual adolescent wizard, enduring the liberties taken by Pansy Parkinson on his person. During the welcoming feast on the night of the first day of the new school year, he had made the tremendous mistake of throwing a customary smirk at Potter and his little Gryffindor posse. And in that watershed moment, he had fallen. After an agonizing second (during which he admired the pert shape of Potter's arse as the other boy stood up to reach the treacle pudding), Draco had quickly relabeled himself as a flaming queer.
Nonetheless, it was not a change that he appreciated. (Though from the magazines that Draco had found under the mattress of his father's bed, he couldn't help but be dubious about Lucius Malfoy's reaction to his newfound sexuality.) As Draco stared down at Potter's sleeping form, he grimaced at the excitement in his groin. His hands shook as he fished out the small box of Pimple Powder from the pocket of his pyjamas. He plastered a devious grin onto his face, a perfect pale Devil's apprentice, as he slowly slid the box open.
Perhaps the disfigurement of Potter's face will curb my abnormal lust for him, a small voice in his mind quipped.
Draco suppressed his inner voice. He stared at the glittering yellow powder. Suddenly, Potter gave a loud grunt and rolled over, draping his right hand over Draco's thighs and crushing Draco's left hand which had been resting on the bed right beside the sleeping boy. The Slytherin almost dropped the small box in a panic.
Draco suddenly wished very much that he were back in his cold bed in Slytherin Tower.
He set the Pimple Powder down on Harry's bedside table while he pondered how to free his arm from Harry's warm body. Draco slowly flexed his trapped hand. His heart jumped into his throat when the dark-haired boy let out a sleepy moan. He started when something twitched under the bed-sheets near Harry's mid –
Oh shit! Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a few seconds to go through his breath-in, breath-out, calming procedure for moments of extreme stress. But he couldn't shut out the schizophrenic little voice inside him that was gleefully shouting: Harry Potter's got an erection! Harry P— Harry's lips fell slightly open and he let out another guttural moan. Draco's mouth fell open as he saw Harry's eyes move rapidly underneath his closed eyelids. The entire situation was surreal. He was sitting on Harry Potter's bed witnessing the other boy having a wet dream. But the painful constriction of his underwear was certainly very real, as was, more importantly, Harry's warm hand lying right across his rudely jutting erection. Draco wondered if he could use magic to get out of this situation, but his wand was in his left pocket and he feared waking Harry (and ending his free show) if he tried to reach it with his right.
Draco watched on breathlessly as Harry twisted and writhed on his bed. Muffled moans and gasps fuelled his desire and he had to exert all his self- control not to pounce on the other boy and – Draco swallowed a groan and quickly ceased that line of thought. Harry was now mumbling something in his sleep. Draco would happily have given his left testicle to know what Harry was dreaming about.
"Yessss ... Hmmm." Harry's hand was moving ceaselessly over the Draco's erection in a wicked caress. Draco couldn't help but close his eyes and strain towards that hand. His Master Plan pushed completely to the recess of his mind, Draco rubbed himself tentatively yet desperately against Harry's hand, breaths coming out in ragged gasps. He thought absurdly of the one time he had found a stack of adult magazines in his parents' room, he had furtively started masturbating, knowing that that there'd be hell to pay if he was found out. A sliver of moonlight clearly illuminated a wet stain on the crotch of Harry's boxers.
"Hmmm, harder ... Draco!" The Slytherin almost fell off the bed. Had Harry's voice, low and oozing with sex, just gasped out his name? Before he could contemplate and wonder at this further, he convulsed in the pleasurable throes of climax. Slapping his free hand over his mouth, Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip as his hips thrust mindlessly into the air, riding out his orgasm.
Breathless and sated, mind blank from this unexpected turn of events, Draco began to recover and realize the repercussions of this moment of stolen pleasure. Harry, still apparently oblivious, shifted and freed Draco's hand. Thankfully, Draco was about to bolt out of Gryffindor Tower, to hell with his Master Plan, when Harry's startling green eyes popped open.
For several seconds, Harry and Draco stared into each other's eyes, frozen in time. Draco suddenly felt weak in the knees. Dear God, he thought, I'll see you soon. I hope you'll have a place for me up there – then he realized that Harry didn't seem to plan to gift him with a well-placed Bat-Bogey Hex. Instead, the other boy was smirking, his eyes dancing with mirth.
"'Lo, Malfoy. I don't know how and why you're in Gryffindor Tower at ... one o'clock on the morning. Come to that, I didn't know either it was so easy to make you come," Harry's tongue darted out over his lips and he punctuated his words with the sharp squeeze to Draco's cock, which jumped under his hand.
Draco let out a choked gasp as hot needles of mortification stung his cheeks. Horrified, he realized that he was blushing. He hadn't blushed since he was ten years old at one of his parents' parties when his cousin, upon Draco's refusal to dance the tango with her, (she was, after all, four years older and a foot taller than him) had vanished all of Draco's clothes with a nifty spell and exposed his little boy bits to the dozens of prying eyes of his relatives. Harry was still looking at him with that faintly amused expression. Draco later claimed that he had been thinking with the appendage between his legs. At that moment, he saw no choice but to kiss that smiling mouth. As their lips met in an open-mouthed kiss, Harry opened his arms in an invitation to his bed and Draco hoisted himself over Harry's lithe body with no hesitation. The hangings fell closed around them and consumed their passion in darkness.
Draco felt no more desire to return to Slytherin Tower that night.
A bed away, Ron Weasley woke up groggily to the suspicious sounds of creaking bed springs. A moment later, he had developed a severe tic in his left eye.
THE END. June 27, 2004 A/N: I'm not sure why anyone would want to review this crappy piece of writing, but I'd be lying if I say that feedback would not be appreciated ... so leave a comment! A thank you and a virtual hug to those who reviewed. For those who asked, there will be no further chapters.