**Background: Voldemort was captured in the Ministry of Magic in The Order of the Phoenix. Lucius Malfoy claimed he was under the Imperius curse, which did not work and he was sent to Azkaban where he killed Voldemort with a well placed pillow over his deformed face while he slept. This convinced the Ministry that Lucius was in fact wrongly convicted. Harry no longer had to visit Privet Drive to maintain his safety. He alternated his off-term time between Hogwarts and the Weasleys'. Hermione tried to offer him a place as well, but her parents were uncomfortable with a teenage boy under the same roof as their daughter, however platonic their relationship was.**
Like any other school, Hogwarts had a summer study program to replace credits missed during the year. Those who failed during the year were welcomed back for intensive remedial classes, each subject only lasting two weeks but taking up the entire day. Summer instructors differed from the regular school year, alleviating the pain, frustration, and stagnation of repeating the exact lessons that didn't go so well the first time.
Unlike other schools, though, Hogwarts offered summer residency for students with difficult or interesting home lives. Student signed up for summer residency were required to partake in school upkeep-projects and a book club. They were allowed to participate in summer school should they require it or if they just wanted to practice.
The castle wasn't very crowded during the summer. Just one house was open for occupancy during the summer months. It rotated each year. This year it was Hufflepuff. Only a few students were staying all summer. The first night after all the other students left, Dumbledore held a banquet (albeit a small one) for the students who would be spending the next few months in close proximity. There was only one table set up in the Great Hall, and it was shrunk down to force the students to sit together. For some this was a welcome way to meet everyone they didn't know or didn't know well. For others it was a terrible injustice that forced unwanted social interaction.
Harry arrived first. He sat directly at the end of the table. Despite the year that had elapsed since he'd had to play The-Boy-Who-Lived, many of the younger students knew only that he was famous and on the Gryffindor quidditch team. It was as awkward with them as it had been with Colin Creevey and his camera. He tried to handle it with grace, but often he felt annoyed. He hoped that the students staying would be of his year or at least other Gryffindors. The first student who entered after him was a younger girl that he didn't recognize. She looked with trepidation at the empty seats. She took the seat across from Harry.
"I hope you don't mind if I sit here," she said shyly. She looked a little scared and not the least bit hero-worshippy. Harry decided instantly that she was a good choice for a dinner companion.
"I'm Harry. I don't recognize you. Did you just finish your first year?"
"Second. I'm Barbara Goldman. I would have thought you'd have lots of places to be other than here," she said. Then she blushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't pry like that."
"It's ok," Harry said. "My aunt and uncle don't like me very much. What about you?"
"My father is the cultural attaché to Greece. There's a lot o—"
"Sorry," Harry interrupted, "but what is a cultural attaché?"
"It's sort of like a diplomatic position. There's a lot of civil unrest in Greece and the crime rate is up. My father thinks it's unsafe for me to go." She finished her sentence and waved at a pair of red-headed twins. Harry smiled. He recognized them as a the beaters for the Hufflepuff quidditch team.
"Hi, Hallie, Annie," he said when they sat down beside Barbara.
"Hi, Harry," the greeted him in unison. They reminded him so much of Fred and George, though he had yet to see either pull a practical joke or sell a Skiving Snackbox.
The group of four watched the others filter in. Eric, a fourth year Gryffindor, sat down right beside them. He was of the outgoing persuasion and he gladly introduced himself and told how he'd ended up at Hogwarts for the summer. His father, prince of some obscure, small island off the coast was juggling his political duties and caring for his mother. Barbara offered her quiet hopes that his mother would be ok.
"She's fine. It's not that serious. Well, it's serious, but not like life-threatening."
"Isn't your mother a mer-person?" Hallie asked. She looked as though she had a million questions to ask about his being a half-human. Eric was semi-famous around the castle as the only person with weirder parentage than Hagrid.
"Yeah," Eric said. "A whole team of Mediwitches and Potions masters got together years ago to give her legs. They're kind of dissolving back into a tail when it rains."
Dumbledore tapped his goblet with a spoon once everyone had come in. The room quieted, much quicker than when it was full at the start of term.
"I'm glad to see all of you here. You're all here for a variety of reasons which I encourage, but do not require, you to share. This group is your substitute family for the summer. Please treat each other as such. Since you may not know everyone, you'll go around and introduce yourselves. Name, what year you finished, house, and should you choose, why you're with us for the summer. We'll start with you, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm Harry, sixth year Gryffindor. My aunt and uncle hate me and magic. Was this really necessary?"
Dumbledore ignored the comment and pointed to Barbara.
"Barbara. Second year Hufflepuff. Greece has a high crime rate."
"Hallie. Third year Hufflepuff. Our stepmother prefers when we're not around."
"Eric. Fourth year Gryffindor. My mother has a tail."
Laughter echoed.
"Annie. Third year Hufflepuff. Hallie and I have the same stepmother."
"Bert, and this is my younger brother Ernest. I'm a fourth year Ravenclaw; he's a second year Slytherin. Our parents are opening a magical cooking school called Sesame, but it's a construction nightmare."
"Eleanor Woods. First year Ravenclaw. My parents are in muggle law school."
"Georgia Dolohov. I go by Gia. Third year Ravenclaw. My parents are in Azkaban and my grandfather is old."
"Spencer Shawn. Fifth year Slytherin. My dad's a cop. That's a Muggle auror for you magic-folk. He's chasing a serial killer."
"Draco. Sixth year Slytherin. You don't seriously expect me to answer that, do you?"
Harry turned to look at the end of the table, startled at hearing Malfoy's voice. While they were still avid quidditch rivals, they were no longer staunch enemies. The got along mostly like civil acquaintances, though petty bickering was still often to be heard. Harry wondered what it would be like sharing a dormitory with Malfoy. A dormitory that he had never seen. Would the beds have curtains like in Gryffindor? How private would the showers be? Which other boys from their year would come and go as classes changed?
Harry and the twins discussed their respective relatives. Harry expected a Cinderella story, two girls forced to do the chores the way he did at the Dursley's. He was surprised to find that the stepmother loathed then so much they were practically forbidden from being in the communal parts of the house. They took solace in each other and expressed how bitter they were, not at the treatment they received but at how she stole their father from them.
Hallie tired quickly of the conversation and turned her attention to Eric. She plied him with a thousand questions. Was he like a tadpole as a baby, swimming with a tail until he grew legs like a frog? Did the Mediwitch and Potions masters bewitch away his tail? Could he breath under water? Could he speak Mermish? Did he ever talk about being half-human with Hagrid? What happened when his mother's tail came back? Did she have to stay in the bathtub? Eric answered them all.
Dessert was over by the time Hallie finished her interrogation. Everyone walked back to the Hufflepuff house together. There was no password as everyone was staying there. The common room was cozy. There was a fireplace at each end, unlit as it was already rather warm. Large sofas surrounded them. Oak tables of varying sizes lined the walls.
Two doors led off in opposite directions, one to the girls' dormitory and one to the boys'. Harry, Eric, Bert, Ernest, Spencer, and Draco went through the door on the left. The hallway had doors along each side, each with a large number on it, one through seven. The boys split off into their respective rooms. Harry envied Ernest and Spencer who had rooms to themselves.
Harry looked around curiously as he entered the narrow room. The beds were not curtained like in Gryffindor, but they were nestled in little alcoves. Each held a bed, a small dresser, and a chair. The bathroom was through a door at the far end of the room. Their trunks were set neatly in the center, allowing them to choose their own beds. Harry dragged his trunk over to an alcove on the left side. Draco had not yet chosen a bed when Harry went through the swinging door to investigate the bathroom.
A row of sinks lined the wall to the right of the door, and Harry was facing a row of three cubicles and three urinals. He went through an opening on the right wall. He made two sharp lefts and found that directly behind the toilets were the shower stalls. There were four, each separated by a thick tile wall. There were towel hooks outside each, but Harry was dismayed to see that none had curtains. He turned back and exited the bathroom.
Draco was lying on the bed directly opposite Harry's belongings with his feet propped up and a smirk on his face. Harry couldn't fathom why Draco would want that spot nor what was so amusing about it.
"Why are you here anyway?" Harry asked, gathering his showering things from his trunk.
"Lucius kicked me out."
"What'd you do? Call him a worthless Death Eater?"
"He found my reading material."
"So in addition to being against basic human decency, he's also against literacy?"
"He objected to the pictures."
"So, what, things aren't worth reading if they have illustrations?"
"Not illustrations, Potter."
"Photos? What's so wrong about photos?"
"Pornography, Potter. Damn, you're denser than Longbottom."
"Is that really a disowning offense in the Wizarding world? Muggle parents just take it away and lecture about how real women don't look like that."
"Is that what happened to you?"
"No," Harry blushed. "Happened to Peter Polkiss, a friend of my cousin. He was very angry about it. Decided he would just take mine instead. I told him I didn't have any. He wanted to search my room, but Dudley said no. He was afraid Polkiss would find my wand."
"It's not that I had porn that bothered Lucius so much. He was quite appalled by what was in it."
"Bloody hell, Malfoy. What kind of creepy fetish porn do you have? You know what, nevermind. I don't want to know."
"It's not creepy fetish porn, Potter," Malfoy said, closing the distance between them. "It's gay porn. Well-hung, muscled men with their cocks out, sucking and fucking."
Harry felt a flutter behind his navel. He mentally stomped on it. There was no way he was going to wander down that road. He might be gay, but he was not going to be hot for Malfoy. Malfoy eyed him up and down, a lascivious look on his face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You'll admit it to yourself before the week is over. And then you'll admit it to me."
Harry turned away without a word and headed for the shower, Malfoy's words of sucking and fucking ringing in his ears. The shower was not at all soothing or relaxing. Harry had taken the farthest stall, determined that he should not have to suffer the indignity of Malfoy walking past him. The water echoed around him. He cringed as he soaped himself, trying to push the thoughts of Malfoy and Malfoy's porn from his head. He almost groaned in frustration as he stopped his hand from getting too friendly. After rinsing, he turned the water off and grabbed his towel from the hook.
The water in another stall spurted to life as he was drying off. Harry frowned in dismay. He did not want to walk past a naked Malfoy. There didn't seem to be much of an option though. He couldn't very well pretend to dry off for the duration of Malfoy's entire shower. Harry walked through looking straight ahead, refusing to let his gaze stray to the side as he passed the sound of running water.
It was going to be a long summer.
XXX
Curfew was earlier during the summer than it was during term. With no need for late nights in the library and fewer teachers supervising, students were required back to Hufflepuff house by 7:30. Though Harry was determined to stay as far away from Malfoy as possible, he was doing a piss poor job of it. Malfoy was taking great pleasure in following him around and giving him lewd looks.
By the fifth day, Harry was desperately wishing for lessons to start so that someone, anyone, would join their dormitory and take the pressure off. Even Crabbe or Goyle would be an improvement over the way Malfoy was trying to goad him. Draco's shower had started immediately after he, Harry, had turned the water off each night, and it could not possibly be passed off as a coincidence.
Each evening Harry battled with himself. The first shower stall would prevent him having to walk by naked Malfoy, with the obvious downside of Malfoy walking past him. In the end, Harry always chose the fourth shower, trusting that he could avert his gaze more than Malfoy could.
That particular evening, the sound of a second stream of water echoed up as Harry was just beginning his shower. It startled him, and he dropped his shampoo bottle. He heard Malfoy laugh. Believing that he could shower for longer than Malfoy, Harry finally relaxed.
The hot water pelted him between the shoulder blades. He washed his hair thoroughly. He gladly washed away the grime and sweat from working in Greenhouse 4 all day. He was scrubbing the last of the dirt from around his sock line when he heard it. A low, throaty moan emanated from the other stall. Then another. And another. Harry shook his head, hoping desperately that it was his imagination.
But, alas, none of the horrors in Harry's life were ever imaginary. And listening to Draco Malfoy wank in the shower was definitely horrifying. Harry hurried through the last moments of his shower. He dried off in record time and was speeding his way out, eyes straight ahead. He, however, had not accounted for the lack of friction on the floor in his haste. One foot slid out from under him. In his wild attempt to regain his footing he forgot to maintain his forward line of sight. He crash landed on his backside and found himself staring straight at…
Oh. My. God. Harry jerked his gaze away, making the mistake of looking up instead of the side. Malfoy stared down at him, an infuriating smirk upon his pale face. Harry's face burned redder than the stripes on a Gryffindor tie.
"Like what you see, Potter?" Malfoy taunted.
Harry ignored the gibe. He rose cautiously, trying not to slip. And also trying not to let Malfoy cop an eyeful. How much he liked what he saw would be plainly evident should his towel move the wrong way.
Harry tossed restlessly in bed that night. Every time he closed his eyes he was plagued with images of Malfoy with that beautiful anatomy in hand. He buried his face in his pillow. He couldn't deny it any longer. He had the hots for Malfoy. But what infuriated him more than that lapse in judgment and self control was that it had taken only five days. Malfoy had said within a week Harry would admit it to himself. And Malfoy being right stung more than his stupid infatuation.
XXX
Day six dawned worse than day five. The sound of Malfoy rustling in his trunk woke Harry from his tenuous sleep. He put his glasses on and wished he hadn't. Sort of. He was getting a long look at Malfoy's pale backside as he rummaged for clothes. Look away, he thought. While you still have some shred of self control.
Self control is overrated, he argued with himself.
You can't let him win. Go back to denial.
It's not like he knows.
You are so pathetic.
I might be pathetic, but I'm pathetic with a view of a really nice backside.
It's not that nice of a backside.
Seriously? Are we looking at the same backside? Harry warred with himself. It's so pale and muscular and…
And Malfoy turned around. And although the morning wood was fading and Malfoy was only half-hard, Harry's gaze was completely transfixed and his mind was perilously blank.
"Staring is quite rude, Potter," Malfoy said blandly.
Harry blinked and looked away. He tried to find a rebuttal but came up with nothing. At that point, even a crappy rebuttal would have been better than the awkward silence. The silence stretched on. Malfoy's smirk got bigger with each passing second.
"Speechless, Potter? I know I'm a flawless specimen, but I figured even you could find words to deny how enraptured you are."
"I'm not enraptured," Harry spat out. "I'm disturbed by the way you strut around like you own the place."
"I'm only strutting around my half. You're the one whose gaze wanders the entire space," Malfoy gloated.
"Put some damn clothes on, you conceited bastard," Harry growled.
"I'll admit that I'm conceited if you admit you're attracted to me."
"I don't need you to admit that you're conceited. It's plainer than the grease in Snape's hair."
"Fine. But notice that you didn't deny that you're attracted to me."
"I don't have to defend myself against your delusional fantasies."
"Wouldn't work anyway. You're staring at me again."
"I'm not staring at you. I'm arguing with you. And generally, when two people speak, they look at each other."
"Yeah, in the face. You're not exactly looking at my face."
"Your face is stupid."
"So the rest of me isn't stupid? Good to know."
"I'm going back to sleep. It wasn't very thoughtful of you to wake me up in the first place."
Harry took his glasses off and rolled over to face the wall. That had not gone well. That had gone absolutely terribly. Only eleven more weeks of summer to go.
XXX
Day six did not progress any better than it had started. Harry and Malfoy were assigned to work together. Their task of polishing the school brooms thankfully required no interaction, but the proximity was distracting to say the least. Draco made a great show of making lewd expressions while suggestively rubbing polish onto the broom handles.
Try as he might, Harry could not stop his mind from traveling down the dark road to dirty thoughts of Malfoy. He remembered quite vividly the same hand motions during that ill-fated shower incident. And for a brief second, a micro second really, he imagined that hand touching his own body.
Harry wrenched his train of thought away from that dangerous territory and focused his attention on something else. He tried counting the tail twigs of the brooms as he went along. He found the tangles and criss-crossing infuriating. He moved on to another form of distraction.
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it to Malfoy, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-seven bottles of beer. Take one down, watch Malfoy's lips on it, ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall.
It did not work. What started as a distraction from his god-forsaken attraction to Malfoy had turned into a Malfoy fantasy. Harry looked down at his watch. Another hour until lunch. At the rate he was going, that was another five brooms' worth of time. As he picked up the next broom, Harry began counting the seconds. It proved to be a much better plan than his previous efforts.
Lunch arrived without any more runaway thoughts. Harry squeezed onto the bench between Barbara and Hallie. Bert and Ernest were across from them, leaving no room for Malfoy. Harry breathed a little easier, knowing that he had a break from the constant torment of his hormones. He chatted quidditch with Hallie and Annie. Barbara wasn't very quidditch-savvy and Annie kept up a helpful stream of explanation as Hallie and Harry got into the more involved tactics and strategies. Bert expressed his desire to be on the Ravenclaw team as the keeper, but admitted he lacked the skills. Harry offered to work with him in the evenings to practice.
Harry kept his eyes on his own brooms during the afternoon. He finished his half of the brooms first and went in search of Bert to see if he was ready to practice a little early. As it turned out, Bert had finished weeding out the school's cabbage patch a few minutes before Harry caught up with him.
Bert went to the broom shed to pick out a school broom while Harry went up to the dormitory to retrieve his. When Harry walked onto the pitch, he saw Malfoy standing with Bert.
"Do you know Draco?" Bert asked. "He was in the broom shed and asked if he could play with us."
"Yes, Potter," Malfoy chimed in. "I was hoping I could play with you. You don't mind, do you?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. The dark haired Ravenclaw seemed oblivious to the double entendre. "I suppose it's fine. I guess you don't have anything better to do than watch me out-class you on a broomstick."
"We'll see about that. I've handled my fair share of broomsticks," Malfoy smirked.
That damned smirk! Harry thought. It's so intriguing and irritating. And just how many broomsticks has he handled?
Harry continued to ponder that question as he and Malfoy teamed up as chasers to help Bert practice his keeping skills. It didn't help that he had to keep eyes on Malfoy to pass and catch the quaffle. Somehow Malfoy made sitting astride a broom look sexy and powerful. And Harry was sure the subtle strokes of the handle were for his benefit. Bert was finally starting to improve when they broke for dinner.
Dinner was a strained affair. Bert had asked Harry and Malfoy to sit with him and talk about their game of quidditch. Harry sat to Bert's right and Malfoy sat across the table. Malfoy's ability to provide constructive criticism to the younger student surprised Harry. He had honestly expected a litany of berating and admonishing. Harry was ruminating on this revelation when a foot brushed against his leg. Thinking he had extended his legs too far, Harry tucked them closer and pushed his attention back to the conversation.
"You tend to hover on the left hoop. You should stay toward the middle," Harry remarked helpfully. Bert nodded, his mouth too full of mashed potato to reply properly. The foot brushed Harry's leg again. It was subtle, but annoying. How hard is it to keep your legs on your side of the damn table? The foot brushed up his calf and pressed between his knees. Startled, he dropped his fork.
He looked up sharply and saw Malfoy's characteristic smirk. Harry scowled and gave a sharp kick to the leg that wasn't taking liberties. Malfoy winced, but ultimately his smirk widened. He did, however, pull his foot back to his side of the table. Harry excused himself early and skipped dessert.
XXX
Harry awoke the next morning, Saturday, in perhaps the most uncomfortable state of arousal he'd ever experienced in a morning. He'd had dreams about Malfoy's foot teasing him higher and higher under the table in the Great Hall. It seemed to Harry like such a disproportionate reaction to such a simple dream. Knowing that there were no school chores to be done and that Malfoy would do his best to follow and pester, Harry decided that a bit of relief in the shower was necessary for him to withstand the day. He checked that Malfoy was still sleeping, grabbed his towel, and headed for the showers.
Inside the fourth stall, Harry shucked off his pajamas and hung them on the hook with his towel. He turned the water on and waited for the spray to warm before stepping into it. He was tense and apprehensive about what he was about to do. While the furthest shower stall while Malfoy was sleeping seemed the best circumstance, Harry still felt exposed. Knowing that Malfoy would follow him with lascivious looks all day, Harry took a deep breath and went for it anyway. There was no way he could make it through the day without some sort of release.
His hand closed around his erection. The hot water was soothing and he relaxed into a pleasant masturbation. Water burst to life in another stall. Harry cursed internally, furious at being interrupted.
"I would have left you to wank in peace, but not showering last night left me feeling quite dirty this morning."
"Who said I was wanking?"
"No one actually said it, Potter. But I've been leisurely undressing over here and I haven't heard the sound of your nearly-empty shampoo bottle attempting to thwart your clear need to do something about the mess you call your hair… and you may have been gasping a little."
"Your imagination's gotten away from you, Malfoy. Just because you wank in the shower when others are around doesn't mean I do."
"I suppose you have a point," Malfoy conceded in a conspiratorial tone. "I'll just be over here, wanking in the shower while others are around while you go back to not washing your hair."
Despite Malfoy's assertion, he made none of the moaning sounds that had alerted Harry last time. Harry stood, one hand still grasping himself, listening for any signs that Malfoy was getting off. It was no use. It didn't matter if Malfoy was actually doing it, Harry couldn't get the thought out of his head. Harry then heard a low 'mmmmmm' and his resolve crumbled. He didn't think about what he was doing. The lust he had been tamping down bubbled to the surface and that was the end of rational thought.
"You stupid, smirking, manipulative son of a bitch," he cried out, practically stomping out of his shower and into the one occupied by Malfoy. Harry crashed their lips together. Malfoy pressed his tongue past Harry's lips. The pair fought for control of the kiss. Hands grabbed at each other, caressing arms, and hips, and the gentle swell of a buttock, but neither going for the prize.
Malfoy pushed forward and pinned Harry, who yelped from the cold tile, against the wall. He pushed a thigh between the shorter boy's legs. Harry let out a low groan, breaking the kiss and gulping desperately for air. Malfoy attacked Harry's neck, kissing and biting and sucking. Harry dug his fingers into Malfoy's back, pulling him as close as possible.
Malfoy bit down on Harry's shoulder. In retaliation, Harry grabbed Malfoy by the hair and jerked his head back. He kissed Malfoy harshly, keeping a good grip on the blond strands between his fingers. Malfoy shoved a hand between them, grabbing a fistful of Harry.
"Fuck," Harry gasped out, his voice ragged with need.
"Yes," Malfoy replied matter-of-factly. Harry's eyes shot open.
"What?!"
"Yes, fucking," Malfoy breathed hotly into Harry's ear.
Harry stilled, fingers releasing Malfoy's hair. "Malfoy, I…"
"You can say no, Potter. I might be a manipulative son of a bitch, as you so eloquently put it, but I would never push you to have sex."
"It's not that. Well, not exactly. I just don't want to…bottom," Harry admitted sheepishly. The hand wanking him was making it hard to think.
"I'll bottom," Malfoy whispered. "You can fuck me into the mattress."
"Mattress?"
"Well, I don't exactly have lube in here. And shower sex isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Malfoy turned the water off. He led a dripping Harry back to the dormitory. They collapsed onto Malfoy's bed, lips pressed together. Malfoy reached blindly to grab the lube off his dresser. Still attached to Harry by the lips, he prepared himself. He coated Harry with a slick hand and was rewarded with a gratuitous moan.
"How do you want me?" Malfoy asked, nipping at Harry's earlobe.
"Whatever way you want. I don't want to hurt you."
Malfoy laughed. "I'm not a virgin, Potter. You're not going to hurt me."
"Excuse me for caring," Harry muttered, rolling them around so Malfoy was on his back. He settled himself and guided his way to Malfoy's entrance. He pushed in slowly, marveling at just how good it felt. Malfoy hooked his feet together behind Harry's back and pulled him the rest of the way. Harry thrust back and forth at what he felt was a moderate pace.
For the first time in their encounter, Malfoy let out an uninhibited moan. Harry hoped the relief he felt at knowing he was doing it correctly didn't show on his face. There was no way he was going to tell Malfoy that this was his first.
"I can take anything you can dish out," Malfoy said.
Harry took that for the challenge it was. He moved harder, faster, reciting the alphabet in his head to keep from coming too soon. The slap-slap-slap of their bodies meeting was driving him insane. Malfoy's hand was rough on his own cock and Harry could feel his knuckles brushing his stomach. Harry shifted his weight a bit to the left.
Malfoy sobbed out a broken, "Yes."
Malfoy descended to incoherent panting and muttering as Harry forgot his insecurities and pounded into him. Harry had a brief moment where he wondered if he was perhaps being too rough, but his orgasm ripped out of nowhere and pushed the thought from his mind. Malfoy wasn't far behind.
"I told you, Potter," he said in the afterglow, "one week."