Extra Scenes #1
Contents
1. Day 23, Wednesday, October 21, Harry, I may never stop taking this patience potion, thought Draco dazedly as he valiantly tried to ignore the sight and sounds of Potter dreaming about something... interesting.
2. Day 130, Friday, February 5, Draco, "I'm being too subtle for you, aren't I?" Cornfoot said, and Draco found himself blushing. Apparently he'd turned into Harry when he wasn't looking.
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This is not so much a deleted scene as a scene I hadn't thought of writing at all until Conny1908 got a weird little plotbunny started. So thank you, Conny1908 :)
Day 23, Wednesday
You know what you want. You know what you need, Ron says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. His rook nods vigorously, and winks at Harry's queen.
I don't want it.
You do. Look at him.
He does look incredible, and Harry's been wanting to touch him for so long, and he's been so hard for so long he's slowly going insane. And the pointy-faced git just sits there, looking like he could just wait for Harry forever. Harry can't help feeling a little angry at him. Maybe it's not fair, but the thing is, Ron's not acting normal. There is no way that Ron should be smiling at Malfoy and clapping him on the back and nudging him over to where Harry's sitting. And there's no way Ron should grin at Harry as if to say, See? I told you this would make you happy. Somewhere pigs are doing aerial cartwheels through hell, and dodging snowballs.
Harry probably shouldn't be kissing Malfoy – kissing is supposedly more for girls, isn't it? Do boys like to kiss? Damn it, this would be a lot easier if he'd had some kind of experience with this kind of thing, and not just Cho crying on him, pissed of at him for having thought she was Malfoy for a moment. Then again, she wanted Harry to be Cedric, so this kind of makes them even.
It would be really nice if Malfoy was looking more like his usual sneering self, and Harry could just push him away, but Malfoy's looking serious and telling him he's taking a patience potion. Malfoy, admitting he needs help in order to deal with Harry. Making Harry feel about three feet tall, because Malfoy's impatient with him in part because he's Malfoy, and impatience is how he reacts to Harry, but also in part because Harry is acting like a scared child and he knows it.
Somebody said Esposito means "little husband" in Latin. Which Harry's pretty sure isn't true, for all that his Latin is mostly confined to magical terms. Still, funny that she should be dealing with two little husbands, though Fred says the correct term for spouses of the same sex is "spouse," not husband or wife, no idea why. Funny that the wizarding world would have terms like that.
We're not like the Muggle world, Malfoy sneers. And then comes closer to catch Harry's mouth in a kiss, and Harry's surprised but leans into it, since Malfoy's not going to turn into Cho or cry at him. It's ridiculous, being a little husband, having people think you're married, when you're not even done school and all there is to your "marriage" is this burning need to – and Malfoy's so warm. Harry's wondered at that since they started sharing a bed, how Malfoy's body temperature is always much higher than his own. And right now his skin is burning Harry's, it's like he's in the Prefect's bathroom in the large bathtub – without Myrtle – with the water as hot as he can make it, and he wants more. Hermione looks up from her Latin dictionary and raises her eyebrows, a little shocked, and he turns away, needing to feel all of Malfoy's skin against his, their clothing disappearing in a flash, admiring the way Malfoy's hands are so incredibly sensitive and strong, and hungrily taking in the sight of Malfoy's bare body, so pale, looks so cold but the feeling is just – and he's got long, lean muscles that flex over his chest, Seeker's build, it's just...
Harry's tried so hard to not look at him very much, especially since they share a bed and he regularly sees Malfoy wearing very little. He doesn't know when he went from extreme interest in girls' cleavage, once even growing pink when Hermione noticed him staring at the way her blouse gaped open interestingly, and he'd meant to tell her to button it up-
I never believed that, you know, she smirks at him. Exactly when were you going to tell me?
Somehow sometime in the last few weeks he's lost all interest in cleavage. Now he's got an obsession with Malfoy's lips, his hair, the way he moves, all grace and strength, and fantasizing about what Hannah Abbott's small breasts feel like has ended, and he kind of misses it. It's been replaced by wondering what it would feel like to pull Malfoy close in passion, not just the innocent embrace they regularly fall asleep to. Really feel him against his body, all heat and hard angles, and he can't hold back a moan, this is way too fast but he's so close, Malfoy's arms are pulling him closer, and he's whispering in Harry's ear, things Harry can't really make out because the heat from Malfoy's body – and his own – is kind of overwhelming, what the hell is he DOING, they've become used to touching each other all the time but this is different. He's pushing against Malfoy, rubbing himself against him and Malfoy's either going to kill him or burn him up. Malfoy's grinding against him too, gasping, hard as a rock, then his hand is – oh god – and what little Harry can hear has something to do with Not even a Death Eater, I wasn't going to, I love you, and besides, the war's over, and Harry draws back, dizzy, and frowns at Malfoy.
You twit, whispers Malfoy urgently, it's been over for years, and I need you, I need you so fucking badly, it's been years, please, and Malfoy's pleading with him, saying things Harry didn't know he could say, so hungry for him it's making Harry lose all ability to breathe or reason, and he can't quite believe what he's doing, he's lying back on the bed and drawing Malfoy on top of him Don't forget what the Healer talked about, Pomfrey tells Malfoy sternly, you're going to need to prepare a little more than that.
God, yes, he's desperate for Malfoy to finally take him, to feel him inside, to seal the bond that's been between them for so long, it's been so many years and Malfoy's on top of him, hands setting him on fire, he's harder than he's ever been and he's begging Malfoy to touch him, so ready to be his, so ready to – be shaken, roughly. And have a blinding light shoved into his eyes.
"Wha?" Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared at Malfoy, not on top of him in the dark but beside him, wearing a t-shirt – wait, what?
"Potter, wake up," Malfoy said roughly. "You're having a wet dream and it's playing hell with my nerves."
A what? Harry tried to catch his breath, trying to figure out why they'd stopped. He – they weren't in their room, they were in the Gryffindor dorm – wait, was that where they were going to- "Oh. Um... oh," he blinked, slowly detaching reality from a dream that still felt so vivid, so there, Malfoy whispering all sorts of things into his ear, and he was still so hard, he was so close, still burning – he shifted a bit.
"Stop that!" Malfoy said sharply.
"You must be joking," he said weakly, turning onto his stomach and closing his eyes, and if it was possible to feel gratitude from a body part, right now one particular appendage was singing his praises for bringing sweet pressure back. "I can't just slam on the brakes," he whispered, "You've no idea how close-"
"I've a very good idea," Malfoy said tensely, and continued in a voice that was so different from the voice in his dream that Harry started to get dizzy and he clapped a hand over Malfoy's mouth without thinking.
"Shut up," Harry whispered, "I don't care what you do, take care of yourself for all I care, I can't - oh," he bit his lip, his other hand disappearing under the covers, firmly shutting up the part of his mind that popped up to inform him that wanking off in front of Malfoy wasn't something he was terribly comfortable with. Anything, anything, he was comfortable with anything that took the burning away, that brought him closer to sweet release, and it seemed Malfoy was doing the same, gasping and rustling the covers, and Harry could feel his excitement – oh, oh thank god...
OH thank GOD...
Oh...
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Oh god. What the hell had that been all about? I love you, the war's over?
Oh god. God and hell and shit and Merlin and Mordred and there weren't swear words enough for how mortified he felt. If Malfoy had picked up any of what he was dreaming...
He was sticky, and shaking, and out of breath and still so bloody hot, and if it was possible to disappear into thin air now would be exactly the right time to do it. He'd once blown up his aunt. And freed a snake. Why did his involuntary magic have to pick right now to deny him the satisfaction of an extreme, hysterical display of power, to take his mind off the extreme embarrassment flooding through him?
Well, he told himself as he tried to steady his breathing, there was at least one positive side to this situation: the day could only get better from here.
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This is a scene that got cut out of Chapter 16 before I sent it off to Kyllikki for a very good reason: it added little or nothing to the plot. I posted it over the holidays in between Chapter 15 and 16.
Day 130, Friday
Draco realized a voice had just gone up at the end, indicating a question, and looked up. His Charms partner, Stephen Cornfoot, was staring at him expectantly, and Draco had no idea what he'd just asked about, as he'd been too busy musing over the article about Parnassus McKay's messy demise to really focus on anything. Besides, Cornfoot was a Ravenclaw and seemed to have today's entire exercise memorized, so it wasn't as though he'd particularly needed Draco's input until now.
"Beg pardon?" Draco said.
"I said, fancy a shag sometime," Cornfoot said, his very casual voice covering a bit of tension.
"What?" For a moment the juxtaposition of Charms class and McKay and Cornfoot's statement made so little sense that Draco literally couldn't understand him.
"Fancy a shag, I said," Cornfoot said.
"With who?"
"With me."
Draco blinked.
Cornfoot's mouth quirked slightly and he leaned a little closer, pitching his voice a little louder but still low enough to not be overheard over the background hum of students working on their charms around them. "I am asking if you would like to engage in sexual activity."
"With you?"
"Yes," Cornfoot said patiently. "Sexual activity, with me."
"Why?"
"I'm doing research to compare and contrast gay and straight sexual intercourse."
Draco looked at him askance, and could almost hear Pansy saying "Honestly, Ravenclaws," when he told her about this at lunch.
Cornfoot rolled his eyes. "No, Mordred, not for research. Because I'd like to shag you."
Draco stared at him blankly.
"Oh god. Gryffindor thickness is contagious. Do you have any clue what I'm talking about?"
"Wait, seriously? You want to have sex with me?"
"I'm being too subtle for you, aren't I?" Cornfoot said, and Draco found himself blushing. Apparently he'd turned into Harry when he wasn't looking.
"But... why?"
Cornfoot took a deep breath, clearly summoning patience. "Because there's roughly eighty students above the age of consent in the school, and only forty are male, only six of those are gay or bi, and frankly most of those are just not to be countenanced as sexual partners." He paused. "Also, I'm gay," he said clearly, just in case Draco had missed that one.
Draco mentally ran through the list of boys he knew who went that way, and nodded thoughtfully. Cornfoot was quite right. Not an acceptable one in the lot.
"All right..."
"All right, you'll sleep with me?"
"No! No, I mean all right, I understand-"
Cornfoot started to laugh at his discomfort, and suddenly Draco was almost... intrigued. He pursed his lips, regarding Cornfoot narrowly. Not bad looking. Pureblood, thank god. Ravenclaw, which might be very convenient, as it offered no intra-house awkwardness, no entanglements with Harry's house, and no ready source for ridicule if it became known that Draco Malfoy was shagging a Hufflepuff...
And he was actually seriously considering it, he realized. "This is definitely one of the stranger moments I've had this year," he muttered.
"Really. In a year involving a forced bond, shattered windows, a honeymoon in the middle of the school year and a mysterious near-death experience, a proposition from me rates as one of the stranger moments. You do know how to sweet-talk a boy, don't you?"
"Why ask me, though?" Draco asked curiously. "I've never had the impression you fancied me."
"I don't, not really. Though you're quite fit. But you've had experience having sex with another bloke. I'd like to." Cornfoot tapped his quill on the table unconsciously, clearing his throat. "Despite our stereotype, not all Ravenclaws are convinced that all learning comes from books. I'd rather not start out completely clueless when I leave school."
"You'd like me to instruct one of the few gay members of our year in gay sex?"
"Essentially, yes."
"All right, just wanted to know what I'd be getting into."
"Me, hopefully," Cornfoot deadpanned.
Draco winced. That kind of punning was unacceptable. But as for the actual proposal...
He regarded Cornfoot thoughtfully. Really, not bad looking. A little taller than Draco, lean, well-built, nondescript face, pleasant blue eyes. A little quiet, but it wasn't necessary to be on conversational terms with a sexual partner.
This might be a somewhat better alternative than taking up with Pansy again. Though Draco had never had any qualms about casual sex with her in the past, things had changed between them this year and it no longer seemed quite... right to sleep with her and not worry about possible ramifications. He no longer had a superabundance of allies or friends in Slytherin; he couldn't really afford to jeopardize one of the only steady sources of support he had.
This was simple, uncomplicated. Not likely to lead to anything. Recreational sex for sheer tension-release.
Which he had severe need of, these days. Between the nerve-wrecking nature of his family's precarious political balance, and the yawning void of uncertainty about the future, and school, and... and the thing he tried very hard not to think about...
This would probably be fairly helpful in that area, he realized. A far better solution than wanking sessions that left him dissatisfied and missing Harry and absolutely mortified for doing so.
He'd really thought girls would be a good antidote; he'd always liked them before, and they definitely didn't remind him of Harry. But maybe what he needed was another boy to take away memories of Harry. Drive Harry out of his thoughts and fantasies.
"Right, then. When?"
Cornfoot blinked at him for a moment. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"You want to..."
Draco smirked. "Yess..."
"You want to have sex with me," Cornfoot said slowly.
"You know, I believe we've danced this one before," Draco said dryly, much more comfortable now that the tables were turned. He laughed at Cornfoot's reddening face. "Did you think I was going to turn you down?"
"Erm, frankly, yes," Cornfoot said uneasily. "I mean, I was very much hoping you wouldn't, but I know you were straight before..."
"Leave the straight and gay labels to Muggles," he waved that aside scornfully. "Do you have any experience at all? I'm not keen on deflowering yet another trembling virgin."
"Merlin, no," Cornfoot said, chuckling. "I dated Ellen Brook last year."
"She dates boys?" Draco asked, surprised.
"She dated me," Cornfoot shrugged. "I think we were both hoping we could still, you know, marry, provide pureblood children to our families, that sort of thing."
Draco nodded. That made sense. And showed that Cornfoot was discreet; this was certainly the first time he'd ever heard of Brook dating any male in the school. Which brought up another thing: "I don't particularly want this becoming common knowledge," he cautioned.
"No, nor do I. My mother would have fits because you're male, and my father because you're Lucius Malfoy's son," Cornfoot said bluntly.
Draco narrowed his eyes, stung.
"I don't particularly care who your father is, Malfoy," Cornfoot said. "It's not him I'm hoping to bed, after all."
Draco looked away, pushing down resentment and focussing on the matter at hand. "Right. When?"
Cornfoot licked his lips, whether from nervousness or anticipation Draco couldn't tell. "Tonight after dinner? There's an unused classroom Ellen and I used, fifth floor, near Boris the Bewildered-"
"Yeah, I've used it before. I've Quidditch tonight, though. I'm done at nine."
"Is this a one-time offer, or-"
Draco shrugged. "I'll let you know after tonight."
Cornfoot nodded. "Tonight at nine, then." He smiled slightly. "All right, d'you want to finish off the fourth charm set?"
Draco blinked, off-balance at the topic change. "Er - yeah, all right."
"You don't have a clue what the set is about today, though, do you?"
Draco scowled at him.
"I noticed you were a bit distracted, even before I brought this up."
Draco's scowl deepened. This was to be about a mutual exchange of favours; it certainly did not need to be complicated with intrusions into his personal thoughts and feelings.
"From the boredom of the class, I'm sure," Cornfoot said smoothly, and segued into a quick, concise review of the day's topic. Draco listened with half his attention, the other half trying very hard not to think about how... cold all of this had been. Student A wants sexual experience; Student B wants suitable distraction; they schedule a mutually convenient time, and carry on as before. No worry about motivations or politics or personalities or feelings.
Exactly what he wanted. Simple, effective, and beneficial to all involved.
And no, it didn't bother him at all.
And it didn't bother him at all later that night, as he and Cornfoot indulged in one last unhurried snog before they parted company and he headed back to the dungeon. Body still pleasantly zinging and worn out from the aftermath of their activities, nerves somewhat steadied, another assignation planned for two days hence, and no involvement of his emotions at all.
Excellent.
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Esposito actually means "little husband" in Spanish. Not being a native Latin-speaker, I have no idea whether or not it means the same thing in Latin ;)
