- Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset -
Authoress Ramble: Draco has the word at the end, because he's just so much more fun to write and read than I am.
Warnings: This story has been rated for repeated use of language and eventual sexual content (none now). Also, it is slash, though I don't feel that should influence the rating ... read as your morals and inhibitions permit.
Disclaimer: Obviously Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger et cetera, et cetera, all belong to J.K. Rowling, the rich genius authoress of the entire Harry Potter series, and also her publishers, et cetera, et cetera, though all original plot lines independent of her novels and her characters belong to me as they were derived from my own twisted mind, et cetera, et cetera, so please do not sue me as I am but a poor, lonely, slash-loving girl authoress, et cetera, et cetera.
Semi-Important Note If You're Confused: Today is Friday in the story.
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Draco Malfoy was sitting rather impatiently on a certain black leather sofa, strumming his fingers irately on its top, over which his arm was stretched. He glanced at a clock on the mantle of the fireplace; it was eight minutes past ten.
That meant that Potter was eight bloody minutes late.
Probably having some kind of sick Gryffindor orgy in my pants, he thought to himself, a both disgruntled and disgusted look passing over his face. Perhaps I ought to burn them once I get them back. I certainly wouldn't want to wear them again, but damn .. finding leather pants that fit well is a fucking miracle .. damn you, you bloody attention whore .. Potter .. and where the hell are you, anyway?!
He glared at the clock. Eleven minutes past ten.
He could at least have the decency to be on time, Draco muttered under his breath, sighing quietly and continuing to stare at the freshly blazing fire. He lifted his left hand, whose fingers were curled around a red-yellow apple he'd summoned as a replacement dinner. He sunk his teeth into it, licking away a bead of juice from his lower lip as he thought, wondering if he knew any sort of scourging spells that could save his raped leather pants from certain death.
He had refused to come down to dinner despite the raving of his two friends, who both insisted that a second confrontation with Potter and his might-as-well-be-exposed arse would be bloody hilarious and hotter even than you, Drake. He hadn't gone for it. He knew that seeing Potter still wearing his clothing would either cause him to Avada from across the room or challenge him into a fight.
He wasn't fond of either option ... the second especially.
What was he playing at before? Draco sneered, taking a second bite of his apple. Unless you want to take them back now?' As if I would ever want to see more than his ugly face. He can keep his body to himself, thank you very much.
And yet, a voice in his mind reminded him ... you looked at his arse.
I thought we went over this, Draco thought to himself, mulling over his own words. He was wearing my pants. I wanted said pants back, therefore I was staring at them as I watched them walk away, being allowed to be stolen by that freak. Had he been wearing someone else's outfit, I would never have looked.
He didn't really believe, however, that this was true, and thus continued to think on it. I've looked at Pansy's arse before, after all, Draco reasoned logically, And I wouldn't screw her with a thirty-foot broomstick.
He smirked, satisfied with his reasoning, and leaned back into the sofa.
His head jerked up immediately, and he spun around, his silver eyes glowing brighter than the embers of the fire.
You're late, he spat, sneering at the newcomer.
Harry was standing near the door, a single hand on his hip and his invisibility cloak, as well as a pair of clothes, slung over his forearm. He was smirking, his face flushed and healthy from all of the heated comments he'd received from his fellow Gryffindors that evening. It was a smirk that twisted Draco's insides, making him want to stand immediately and wipe it violently off the other boy's face.
Instead, he sat patiently, narrowing his eyes further.
You look like you just got back from a long snog, the blonde muttered, looking Harry over critically, frowning as his eyes flashed with anger. Was the Ravenclaw bitch taken with my clothing?
Oh really, is that what this outfit is designed for? Harry shot back easily, bending down to carefully set his cloak and clothing on the floor. Draco sucked in his breath, glad for the shadows that filled the small room. Shagging random girls?
If you must know that is not an outfit of mine, Draco snapped in response, scowling. I have never worn that shirt with that particular pair of pants. That's your colorful creativity at work, Potter.
Is that a compliment? Harry grinned, brushing his fringe of messy raven hair away from his forehead with the back of his hand.
No, it was not, Draco snarled, feeling anger begin to once again awaken inside of himself. Now that you're here, just take it off already. The sooner I can burn them and rid them of your scent and surely reeking bodily excretions, the better.
Eager, huh? Harry answered, raising a single eyebrow, before nodding. Draco sneered to himself, his lips parting in his frustration.
Stop misinterpreting every bloody word that falls from Potter's lips, he scolded himself. It's starting to get disturbing.
Just change, Draco muttered darkly, glaring daggers at the other boy. He shrugged, bringing his fingers to his abdomen and quickly unbuttoning the first button.
he smiled, blinking his green eyes, his face calm and amused at the blonde's impatience.
He unbuttoned the remaining buttons at a reasonable speed, but for Draco, whose slightly widened eyes were locked on Harry, it seemed as if the other boy were purposefully taking his sweet, sweet time. He gaped as the pink silk finally parted, revealing a toned chest and flat stomach, an obvious reward of years of Quidditch training.
Harry asked, surprised at the blank look that had fallen over his rival's face. Draco immediately blinked several times, jolting. He turned around, having had enough.
Just give it to me, he hissed, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. I want my bloody stolen shirt.
Harry snapped again, frowning severely at the short tone in the other's voice. He let the shirt slip from his shoulders, then threw it deftly at the back of Draco's still head.
He yelped, then cursed when the pink silk suddenly fluttered over his face. His nose was immediately filled with scent: a musky blend of cinnamon and vanilla ... a warm, human scent that could only be described as that of Harry.
He stayed frozen for a second, then ripped the shirt from his head, crumpling it defiantly into a small ball and throwing it at the fire. It landed atop the mantelpiece instead, covering the clock. As Draco swore under his breath, Harry, behind him, chuckled.
Nice aim, he commented, glad that the other boy had turned toward the fire- he was feeling very self-conscious, the pit of his stomach swinging uncomfortably, at the thought of being openly topless. I can see why they made you Seeker, and not Chaser. You would have sucked in that position.
Fuck off, Potter, he growled, his teeth grinding at the insult. Just take off your bloody pants.
Excuse me? Harry repeated, his green eyes widening a bit at this.
I'm sorry, my bloody pants, Draco snapped. He let his eyes bore into the fire, determined not to turn around. He could not, under any circumstance, turn around.
Right away, the raven-haired boy answered tartly. He unzipped the fly, a sound that seemed very loud and jarring to the blonde, who jerked slightly and then frowned.
In the bathroom, Potter, he growled, pointing to its door without turning his head. Have you no fucking decency?
But you're not even looking at me, Harry protested, scowling.
It doesn't matter, just do it, he snarled, sinking deeper into the sofa in what may have looked, from the front, like a bit of a sulk. The other boy frowned, but shrugged, trailing over to the bathroom and stepping inside. Immediately, a dozen or so candles lit, filling the room with bronze-gold light.
He shut the door behind him, getting one last look at Draco, who was slouched slightly, his eyes locked on the fire. The flames reflected eerily in his silver eyes, dancing like thoughts. It was a scene he was hesitant to shut the door on, but he did none the less.
He reached down, loosening the buckle and then opening it completely. His fly being already unzipped, he simply gripped the sides of the pants, sliding them down easily.
Until he got to the top of his thighs.
He pushed and grunted, trying to shove the leather down. He only created more painful friction; they wouldn't go down an inch more. Harry began to sweat, panicking; he couldn't be bloody stuck in them!
Malfoy would kill him.
What the hell are you doing in there, Potter? a voice snarled as if on cue, muffled from being outside the door. Taking a relaxing bubble bath? How long does take to undress yourself?
Uhh ... just a minute! Harry called lamely, pushing down as hard he could. The leather bunched, sliding down perhaps a centimeter more, but nothing else.
You forgot your change of clothes by your cloak, too, the voice came again, sounding disgruntled. Accio them, would you? Just tell me before you open the door, I don't want to see any more of you than necessary.
Yes, right, Harry called again, his shout hesitant and laced with desperation. He couldn't get the pants to slid down any further; it was completely hopeless. The only thing he could think to do was cut them off, but he had no sharp objects in hand, and the bathroom seemed only to contain towels and bathrobes, not knives and loose pieces of glass. That and, cutting the leather pants off seemed a lovely way to carve into his legs.
He looked franticly around the room, his eyes wide. And then - a miracle!
He waddled over to the bar of soap, taking it into his hand and attempting to shove it roughly between the skin of his right thigh and the tight leather. He groaned, watching as the soap only flaked apart.
Unbelievable, he thought, becoming angry now. Just bleeding unbelievable.
Potter, what the hell is going on in there? Malfoy's voice called again, this time sharper and filled with deeper impatience. You're been in there ten minutes and your only goal was to take the pants off. How hard is that to do?
Harry called, wanting to explain, but then stopping himself immediately. There had to be a different way. Err ...
What did you say? Draco snapped, scowling on the couch.
I can't get them off! Harry blurted loudly, his cheeks darkening to a light red. They're stuck, okay? They're fucking stuck!
They're .. what? Draco's voice called back tersely, his voice filled first with disbelief, then vague delight.
They're stuck, Harry shouted back, grinding his teeth in humiliation. I can't get your fucking leather pants off! They must have shrunk or something!
There was a long silence from the other side of the door. Then, a moment laughter, Harry heard the muffled, yet still quite loud sound of malicious laughter.
Oh, shut the fuck up! Harry cursed through the door, his cheeks burning. It isn't funny! These are your pants, remember! You don't want them to be cut off!
Cut them off and I'll cut off particular parts of yours, Potter, came the reply, followed by another fit of delighted, twisted amusement. I can't bloody believe this, the Boy Who Lived .. can't get .. his pants off ..
Lay off, Harry protested, slumping against the bathroom wall and frowning, looking rather miserable. Just .. just help me, okay?
Help you take off my pants? Draco called back, still snickering. I'm not coming in there, if that's what you're looking forward to, Potter. No bloody way.
Any ideas, then? Harry asked, staring intently at the door from which Draco's voice emanated. He heard a soft humming sound, as though the other boy were thinking.
I know, he said, his voice dripping with cruel delight. Use a lubrication charm.
Use a what? Harry gasped, his face contorting. The only time he'd ever heard of using a lubrication charm was from overhearing conversations between Seamus and Dean and .. well .. Draco's infamous letter to Hermione, the one that came complete with an attached list.
You heard me, I can tell by the shock in your voice, Malfoy's own voice purred. He was obviously amused to the core, and it sickened Harry. He would have much preferred an infuriated, murderous Malfoy himself. It's easy. Just shove the tip of your wand in the pants and say the incantation.
Sounds fun, Harry murmured back, his blush deepening. I .. err .. don't know any incantations for .. lubrication .. though ..
What a surprise, Draco drawled, smirking royally to himself. Virgin Potter, never had to use a lubrication spell? Never encountered any squeaky doors, stubborn jars, you know .. tight situations like that?
Just tell me the incantation so that I can get the hell out of your pants, Harry snapped back, running a hand back through his messy hair and sighing. I want to get this over with.
But I thought you loved my pants, Draco sneered back. Don't you want to wear them forever and ever?
Go to hell and just tell me the incantation! Harry shouted through the door, scowling at the polished wood furiously. He heard a quiet, yet obviously over-exaggerated sigh from the other room.
Fine, Potter, he drawled. Lubridium strawticus.
Harry frowned, letting the silence settle around him before he fetched his wand from between the pants and its belt. He didn't want to do it this way, it seemed so .. inappropriate somehow, and yet, he had no choice.
He slid the wand between the pants and his skin, wincing as he closed his eyes and quietly muttered the spell.
Lubridium strawticus, he whispered, yelping when then tops of his thighs were suddenly coated in a silky-smooth, semi-thick gel-like pink substance. He pushed down on the pants tentatively; they slid down easily. He sighed with relief.
I take it the spell worked, then, Draco purred, feeling suddenly very superior. He had been listening closely to every sound Harry made, from his yelp to his relieved sigh.
Harry mumbled irately. He pushed the pants aside, disgusted. It did, but now I'm all covered in this sticky .. pink .. stuff.
How terrible for you, Potter, Draco snapped contentedly, running a hand back through his silky hair. You could have just used an enlarging charm on the pants, you know.
Harry froze, lifting his eyes to the door, green blazing with fury. He was right, he could have certainly done that .. it would have .. why didn't he think of that before?!
You twisted arsehole! Harry screamed at the door, picking at his soaked, sticky boxers in disgust. Why didn't you tell me that before, when I asked you for ideas?!
Oh, I don't know, Potter, Draco answered smoothly. It just .. slipped my mind. Until a moment ago, I mean.
I'm going to murder you when I get out of here! Harry warned, glaring daggers at the door. You .. you .. god! Thanks a lot! Now I'm all covered in this crap!
So take a shower, Draco answered, his voice steady and calm, as before. You are in a bathroom, you know.
Harry looked around, scowling, and quickly caught sight of a spacious sunk-in bathtub with a large shower faucet overlooking it.
Fine, I will, you crazy, easily amused bastard, he mumbled disgruntledly, walking toward the bath. He turned on the warm water, testing it with his fingers before using his hands to peel off his sticky boxers. He threw them aside, sighing.
A moment later, he turned on the shower, stepping into the pounding rain of water. He breathed in deeply as the water cascaded down onto him, soaking his hair into straight, tangled shiny locks and darkening the tan on his toned body.
Outside and still seated on the warm leather couch, Draco's laughter at having pulled one over on Harry had faded, replaced by the lingering presence of a single repressed thought.
He's naked in that shower.
You are sick, Draco, he thought to himself, crossing his arms in a gesture of stubbornness and allowing himself to sink deeper into the plush black leather. Sick, sick, sick ... all right, new topic. Let's think about .. ahh ... Quidditch! Yes, bloody manly Quidditch.
Actually, the reason he has that body is probably because he plays ...
All right fine, new topic, he mentally snarled. Like women .. yes, women. Like ... Pansy, yes, Panse who is my best friend .. who I .. talk with and .. sometimes scheme with .. annoying, yet oddly reliable Pansy ..
Oh, fuck this, Draco swore aloud, letting his eyes bore deeply into the fire as he listened to the steady rain of the shower. This is fucking ridiculous. I'm paying way to much attention to this .. this distorted way of thinking.
What's that, Malfoy? a voice called, strongly muffled by the pounding water. Harry had heard his ranting, and had paused in rubbing himself down to call out, thinking the other boy had been screaming at him to hurry up.
Nothing, Potter! Draco shouted back, frowning deeply, his eyebrows burrowing. He let his voice quiet.
Nothing at all.
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Draco: As Anthea (the crazy, perverted bitch who has kidnapped me against my will) is currently away seeing some new Prisoner of somewhere movie, I've decided to hack into her inbox and answer some of her kind, kind reviews. -snickers- Oh yes.
Let's begin. Here's a good one. It's from a Mel Tan.
hey! That was good! sry i did not review at all for i just started. Oh and just a little request... do u mind if u make Draco and Harry be a little more SEXY? Thanx! Oh and ROCK ON MAN!! U ROCK!
All right, first of all, SHE DOES NOT ROCK. She is an EVIL, EVIL woman with a PERVERTED, TWISTED MIND who should be LOCKED UP IN A MENTAL INSTITUTION. And secondly, I CANNOT POSSIBLY get sexier. Your imagination is just not creative enough. Moving on.
And this lovely one is from Lirimaer Malfoy.
Harry & Draco sitting in the Pitch, k-i-s-s-i-n-g
First comes lust, then comes sex, then comes, erm, both! Yeah. Right. Sorry, wasn't supposed to have coffee for lunch, but I did anyways! Love your story so far and write more soon!
Luvs n Hugs
Lirimaer
It's called de-caf, psycho. Your song is amusing, yet unrealistic: WHY would we want to do it on the Quidditch pitch when I have a BIG, EXPENSIVE FLOATING BED to orgasm in? Points for sick creativity, though. You should lend some of your obviously twisted imagination to Mel Tan. Oh yes, and another error: I WOULD NEVER SCREW HARRY POTTER. Unless, you know, I drank as much coffee as you obviously have and then thus lost my mind. Also, on a final note .. I highly doubt that I am related to you. Damn impostors!
I should also probably mention Juujinkan's review, which made Anthea swoon like a teenager girl in heat. She loves you, and that review is her pride and joy. She refused to delete it from her mailbox, and read it once before doing this chapter to inspire her. -rolls eyes- Some good that did. So anyway, thanks a lot, bastard, for encouraging her.
Anyway, yawn, this has gotten boring. I'm going to go make some raw meat for the dinner of the vegetarian bitch-captor. I hope it has Mad Cow Disease .. not that that would change much .. later much, losers. Oh, yeah.
AND REMEMBER NOT TO REVIEW! If you discourage her, maybe she'll stop! DO THE RIGHT THING. NO REVIEWING!!!
