MEMORY VIAL 39: AN UNCHASTE SPELL (YEAR 6)
Dark water pressed in on Harry from every side. It felt like a liquid blanket, impeding his movement. He tried to dislodge the algae-coated stones weighting Draco to the bottom of the Great Lake by his robes, but they were too slick and heavy, and Harry was still no good at nonverbal spells, although he had his wand at hand. Merpeople watched from terraced gardens and muddy hovels woven out of crinkled lakeweed, their demeanors unkind, as if they meant to watch the Slytherin drown and be eaten by the tiny nibblers of their domain.
Draco's skin was as luminous as the moon. It glowed dimly white like veinless marble, his lambent locks of hair churning in silvery whorls as the muted sun touched him with a diffusion of green color. There seemed to be no life in the relaxed set of his jaw or in the way he floated limply in the current, but he looked perfectly at peace, no longer haggard, gray, and horribly beclouded—but vacant, like a porcelain doll who had never known the sting of pain.
Harry opened his mouth to shout for help, but no sound came out. He drew his wand, intent on swimming to the surface and sending red sparks into the air, but it tumbled clumsily out of his fingers, and a ghost-pale mermaid snatched it up mid-fall and pelted off into an overgrowth of black fronds.
Her eyes refracted like mirrors through the foliage surrounding her. She was daring Harry to give chase, but he would never catch up to her, even with the Gillyweed's help, which he had no recollection of swallowing.
The thunder of water filled his ears, and an eerie, high-pitched song rang loud inside his head, the mermaid's call, but Harry ignored her. He had to help Draco first, or else go on living a dull life without his influence.
The kiss of life, thought Harry, mind jumping to what a Muggle would do to save him. But it wouldn't work unless he got Draco out of the water, which was impossible with him pinned down the way he was. Even if they'd been out on the shoreline, however, he had no idea how to perform mouth-to-mouth. He had to bank on a miracle then, if either of them was to survive this bizarre reiteration of the Triwizard Tournament.
Harry clawed his way down, grappling with Draco's pinned clothes, then forced their mouths together, deciding that magic didn't have to make sense, it simply had to work. But Draco's lips were as cold and stiff as death.
No, thought Harry, clinging onto him in pure panic. Breathe, you insufferable prat! You can't just slither off into the rocks down here and die—WAKE UP!
It shouldn't have worked, but it did.
Draco yielded to his touch, not with a cough like Harry would have expected, but with a soft and pliant kiss of his own.
Breath entered Harry's mouth, and it was warm. I love you, idiot, he thought fiercely, emboldened all of a sudden. You're staying with me, y'hear? Whether you like it or not, I'm not leaving you down here all on your own!
Harry tore the clasp of Draco's robes open and maneuvered his body out of them. After getting him free of the pinned robes, Harry kicked the loose garment away and left it to billow like the empty remains of a drowned dementor. He held Draco by the front of his shirt and kissed him again, not knowing and not caring how it was possible for them to be exchanging breath like this in the heart of the Great Lake.
You're my treasure, he thought profoundly, as if it were a revelation to himself.
Pale hands gripped the dark weed of his hair and drew him further down. Draco had heard Harry's thoughts loud and clear, and Harry's heart burned like Everlasting Fire while they drifted weightlessly in the current.
I mean it… Professor McGonagall didn't know the first time around, did she? She wouldn't have known to pick you. Ron's important to me—and I had to learn how much I love him. But you're it… the overpriced thing I just can't live without.
Draco's tongue lapped up these unspoken words like honeywater, making Harry's stomach burst with happiness.
You're the love I hid from everyone, including myself. And you love me too, which is why you're hiding down here, isn't it? Snape mentioned you learned Occlumency, but you're still afraid someone will overpower your defenses, aren't you?
A groan reverberated into Harry's throat; it was the sound of Draco attempting to say yes.
It's alright, thought Harry. I'll hide us forever if I have to… You don't have to be afraid.
They would never resurface. Harry knew he'd abandon life Above, if it meant he could be with Draco in the dark waters Below. But the dark, sweet dream ended on a discordant and embarrassing note…
Harry was roused by the sniggering of several Slytherins, and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. Then he realized, with a cold jolt of reality, that his cheek was plastered to the desk, and Hermione was hissing reproachfully at him while tugging on his shoulder.
Slightly bleary-eyed, Harry sat straight at once.
"T…tell me I wasn't muttering anything, Hermione," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Not Parseltongue again, I hope?"
"Not Parseltongue," she said, just loud enough for him to hear. "Something about Ron and Draco, though, and it sounded really weird. Like you wanted them to kiss."
Harry pictured that scenario too vividly and choked. It'd be a cold, watery day in hell before Ron and Draco ever locked lips with each other—although Harry would pay a handful of Galleons to see something like that play out, and he wouldn't feel jealous about it at all. After what Ron had said about Colin Creevey before Christmas, Harry believed he deserved the sloppiest, wettest kiss from Malfoy as punishment for his unfair prejudice.
"I didn't mean that we should kill bent wizards," Ron had clarified a few months back before Slughorn's party. "I just think You-Know-Who's got the right idea about them, is all. I think we should make it as if they've been gotten rid of: make it so they can't do anything in public, right? C'mon, Harry… Could you imagine seeing two blokes going at it?"
"You didn't have a problem with those two witches in that magazine I lent you," Harry had said bitterly. "But I guess you're right, Ron. A bent wizard doing anything in public is a right scandal, like being in love? Call the Aurors!"
"I'm only saying I don't want to have to see it," Ron had said in the most reasonable voice that he could muster. "They should be driven out of sight is all. It's weird as hell."
"Then don't look and pay them no mind," Neville had broken in sharply, much to Harry's surprise. "Colin wanted privacy, from what he and Dennis told me, but it was everyone else who got involved and made a big deal out of it."
The awful memory faded when Professor Snape slammed a tome onto Harry's desk with a stern face. He said, in a delicately suave voice, "Since you find my lectures so dull, Potter… you should find your new in-class assignment more to your level of intellect."
The surrounding Slytherins continued to snicker and snort, and even a couple of Ravenclaws laughed softly as Snape proceeded to explain Harry's assignment.
"Write out the instructions for each of these elementary Shield Charms word for word on page forty-five. Draw the corresponding wand movements in accurate detail. Yes—you heard me, Potter… I said draw. And I expect nothing less than precision from 'the Chosen One'. Unless, of course, you wish to repeat the assignment?"
Snape's eyebrow twitched at Harry, daring him to gainsay.
In a rare moment of calm and collectedness, Harry swallowed back the colorful words he would rather have said, and went with a mildly insolent: "Of course, sir. Nothing says 'Chosen One' like sketching stick figures for the latest teacher of Defense."
Snape glowered as the entire classroom went uncomfortably silent. "I look forward to grading you on your artistic and intellectual prowess…"
With that, Snape swept back up to the front of the classroom and resumed his tenderly spoken lecture on Night-gaunts and how they were related to dementors.
Meanwhile, Harry turned his head down to look over the second-year book he'd been given. The in-class assignment was tedious, useless, and humiliating. But he knew its only purpose was to serve as a pointed reminder of where he stood in Snape's estimation, as far as his character and magical abilities were concerned.
Before getting started with it, Harry glanced up at the blackboard. Unexpectedly, Draco's eyes roved back toward him, reminding Harry of the dream he had just had, except this version of Draco wasn't nearly as healthy-looking as the Draco at the bottom of the lake.
Draco's shoulders jerked humorlessly, and he turned back around to face the front of the class. The lesson droned on, and Harry simmered resentfully as he glared between Draco and Snape. Half an hour later, Harry was roused from his assignment by something tugging at the hem of his robes between his feet. Peering down, he spotted a note that had been folded into the geometric shape of a rat.
It couldn't be, thought Harry, looking up at the back of Draco's white-blond head.
He glanced furtively around the room, but no one was looking. He opened his hand beneath the desk with his palm turned up. All the while, the paper rat was clambering up his leg, and when it scurried into his hand, Harry thumbed the jagged edges apart with impatient urgency.
As the paper unfolded, he suddenly remembered today was Valentine's Day…
Draco had to be sending him something, if for no other reason than out of respect for how meaningful their relationship had once been. This was his first note from Draco all year, after all. He hadn't received a single threat or nasty joke, not even once—so he certainly wouldn't be getting one of those right now.
Harry waited for Hermione to continue scribbling along with Snape's lecture, then peered down into his lap. He frowned at the note and tried to read it. It was illegible—beautifully scrawled, but completely meaningless. There were squiggling, cursive-like characters on the page, but none could be deciphered.
Harry glanced at Professor Snape, Hermione, and then the parchment again. He turned it over—then flipped it back around when he thought he saw some of the characters meander about the page. It's bewitched, he realized. Perhaps it was an encoded message that would reveal itself to his eyes only, and so he waited…
Harry stared intently at the twisting, bending letters, hoping to catch on to a pattern he might be able to decode, but the words refused to settle into anything coherent. After several minutes of following the hypnotic flow of script across the page, he began to feel drowsy… but also wonderfully, deliciously aroused.
At his side, Hermione cast him an odd look. She craned to see what he was looking at, but Harry blocked her with his arm.
It's mine, he wanted to snap at her. Draco meant it only for me!
Hermione scoffed under her breath, then returned to Snape's lecture with a haughty expression.
Harry knew he could have gone to the bathroom to relieve himself, but decided to allow the note's effects to take hold of him right there, in the public way Draco had meant. He did not want to fight whatever was happening, but was determined to face it head on and enjoy the feelings that were coming over him.
Harry pushed his wrist down on the throbbing erection that was taking shape under his robes. His eyes fluttered shut for only a moment, but then he opened them again, unwilling to stop watching the writhing of the Slytherin's uncannily erotic handwriting…
It was as if a scene were being animated in sublime detail by the black letters on the parchment. It was a piece of moving art:
An ink-drawn Draco lifted Harry onto Snape's desk while they divested themselves, until at last they were able to rub their cocks for each other's viewing pleasure. They gazed between their half-clothed bodies, then kissed, gently at first, but then hungrily when Draco started grinding their cocks together. Harry opened his legs around Draco and pulled him up over the desk, so they were both lying on top of it, and piles of homework from their fellow classmates scattered haphazardly to the floor… The ink-drawn Draco took his time entering Harry… and when Harry looked comfortable enough, they began to fuck in the ink-darkened room, Harry losing all sense of himself as that elusive spot inside him was beaten raw to the point of ecstasy…
Harry watched the enchanted scene play out to its end. He could feel everything the drawn version of himself was feeling, including the hot breath that was apparently wafting down his neck. The real Harry's throat tightened as he tried with all his might to hold back from moaning out loud, and by some miracle succeeded.
Draco, he could hear himself begging as his arms wrapped around the other boy's neck. Please don't stop… I'm getting close…
He imagined catching sight of the Dark Mark he knew was on Draco's arm, and a hot, liquidy sensation pulsed up through his cock, tickling him so badly that the real Harry fidgeted in his seat.
Fuck me! he could hear himself chanting, while his hole drank up the slippery heat of the other boy's cock. Gimme your cum… Please, Malfoy… make it a part of me forever…
The real Harry shifted woodenly and squeezed down on the involuntary twitching in his cock. He tried to rub himself discreetly, without anyone noticing, but the more he did, the more he wanted to jerk off properly until every last drop of himself was spent. Hot jets of fluid oozed over his thigh, pooling in the confines of his pants. Harry bit down on his lip and shifted restlessly. His eyes were closed now, but he could still see the images in his mind: Draco shoving into him with a finality in his movements that made Harry stretch across the desk with an ecstatic smile on his face…
When it was over, Harry took a shivery breath, then smiled to himself. All that was missing now was the real Draco going down on him, cleaning up the filthy mess he had forced Harry to make inside his robes.
Hermione looked at Harry again, curious as to why he was breathing so hard and had apparently stopped working.
Atta boy, Potter… Missed feeling all that, didn't you?
The image in Harry's mind faded as the ink-drawn Draco ran his fingers up Harry's thigh, then kissed him slowly, lovingly on the lips.
Harry folded the note several times between his legs, deciding he would keep it forever, as long as it didn't prove to be a cruel joke from someone else like Pansy Parkinson. He wondered what on earth Draco had just done to violate him in the middle of their lecture, and if Snape would be able to recognize what the strange letters signified just by looking at them.
When Draco looked over his shoulder at Harry again, Harry met his gaze, then froze, unable to hide the flush under his eyes. Draco smirked knowingly, then turned around.
So it was you, Harry thought feverishly. Talk about mixed signals! He bristled somewhat, but then decided he didn't have the energy to stay angry.
Trying to cool his brain, Harry shoved the encrypted note into his pocket. The words might have been illegible, but he knew a spell had just been cast over him somehow. Harry was only excited that Draco had prepared this complex bit of magic beforehand at some point, which was proof Draco was continuing to think of him—even right now.
After class, Harry decided it was safe enough to show Ron and Hermione the note and ask if they had heard of the type of magic that had been placed on it. Ron likely wouldn't know, since he hardly paid any more attention in their classes than Harry did. But, as expected, Hermione reacted right away by snatching the parchment out of his fingers and examining the strange handwriting.
"It's an Unchaste Spell," she said, after a minute of observing the ebb and flow of scriptwork on the page. "I read about how magic is used in more salacious ways, but… This isn't taught at Hogwarts, Harry, and I doubt any of the books in the library teach on it."
"Unchaste, you say?" Ron remarked with interest. "Well, send me to whichever school it's taught at then, because I'd love to know how to cast something like that." This comment earned him a withering look from Hermione.
Meanwhile, Harry remembered Draco mentioning the vulgar spellbooks he liked to study whenever his parents weren't home. It seemed unlikely that he didn't practice Unchaste magic at least as often as he dabbled in Dark magic.
"Who gave this to you, Harry?" Hermione's forehead was creased with worry. "It's tantamount to rape if it isn't asked for."
"Rape?" Harry laughed nervously. "It's a piece of paper, Hermione. It's even less sinister than those love potions Fred and George are selling."
"Those potions are threatening, I'll remind you." Hermione folded her arms.
Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tried to tell himself that Hermione was only looking out for him, like she had done with Romilda Vane who had wanted to smuggle him a love potion. He wasn't about to tell her who he thought the Unchaste Spell was from, however, especially since it would only make him look more paranoid. He also wanted Malfoy to get in trouble for the right reason—that is to say, for cursing Katie—and not for doing something Harry sincerely wanted more of.
"Must've been from one of those girls who're in love with Harry," Ron said unhelpfully, pointing out the obvious.
"It can't have been, because Harry opened it in Snape's class. I don't know of any girls that have a crush on him in there."
"So we finally came across something you don't know?" Ron murmured to himself. He made a pained expression when he saw the flash in Hermione's eyes.
"Harry," she said, deciding not to dignify Ron's comment with a retort, "you have to tell us who gave you this."
"I dunno," Harry lied.
"I don't believe you." Hermione's eyes probed him like daggers.
"I seriously don't know, alright?" But the contrived way he exclaimed this came off as even more unbelievable.
"It was Draco, wasn't it?"
Shocked, Harry opened his mouth, stammered, but could not speak.
Ron took a bracing step back and looked between them. "Malfoy?" he said to Harry in a high-pitched voice. "She thinks Malfoy is trying to get at you? When he hates you? But he's a—"
"Bloke," Harry finished irritably. "Thanks. We were all unaware of his sex until you pointed it out." He cast Hermione the same unforgiving look Draco had given him during detention two months prior. "It wasn't Malfoy, Ron. Hermione's just adopted my so-called 'obsession' with him, I think."
"He might be trying to humiliate you," Hermione explained, trying to soften the blow of having almost exposed everything.
Ron scrunched his forehead thoughtfully. "Why doesn't a girl humiliate me like that?"
Without bothering to look at him, Hermione muttered, "Be careful what you wish for, Won-Won."
"Alright!" Harry said, interrupting them before the conversation could explode into an argument. "It was someone in Snape's class, and I know who it was, but I'm not telling either of you, because I also happen to know it was a joke. I don't want them getting expelled, given how strict the rules are this year."
"Joke?" Hermione shouted this in a whisper, practically jumping onto her tiptoes. "Something like that…that Rape Spell isn't a joke! It could have seriously messed with you—and I rather think it did from what I saw."
Harry blushed at this. He had done a fairly good job concealing his reactions, but not a perfect job, it seemed. The sex had felt so real, that it was very possible he had lost track of himself at some point.
"It was all in fun, Hermione, alright? Like that Levicorpus spell. And it was from another boy, so you know it wasn't meant to be taken seriously." Harry appealed to Ron on this count, since Hermione already knew Harry did not discriminate when it came to boys and girls. But when Ron offered no support, he said darkly, "Let's drop it… alright?"
As if by a sudden realization, Ron's jaw dropped, and he pointed at Harry. "It's from Colin Creevey!"
Harry let out a groan of irritation. "He's not even in our year, you complete moron."
Ron glanced up and down the passageway, before saying, "Well, you never know how they might bend over backwards to get what they want. And he really did have a liking for you, remember?"
Harry would have loved to knock Ron in the head with a Bludger, but took a slow breath instead, to ease his temper. These sideswipes at bent wizards—especially Colin—was becoming tiresome, and so he was extremely thankful for Hermione's intervention.
"That was hero worship," she told Ron, exasperated. "And Colin still looks up to Harry without having feelings for him like that. But so what if he did? I'd appreciate if you stopped talking about boys like him as if they're diseased, you're starting to sound like Crabbe and Goyle!"
"Crabbe and Goyle?" Ron exclaimed. But Hermione was already marching off to her next class. Ron pointed after her, looking helplessly at Harry—but Harry merely shrugged and said, "She has a point."
That evening in the Gryffindor common room, after Ron was dragged away by the groping claws of Lavender Brown, Hermione glanced up from her homework at Harry, who was working on the same reading assignment as her.
"It's unfortunate you two stopped dating," she said unexpectedly.
Harry looked at her. Her honey-brown eyes were flecked with gold that seemed to brighten in the hearth's firelight. The smile she put on was so subtle—almost conniving—that he decided it was a good thing she had dropped Divination a long time ago. Given her penchant for reading minds, she would have been a nightmare with Professor Trelawney guiding her into mastering the Sight, or whatever it was.
"Why do you say so?" he asked, feeling no need to defend himself.
"Well… after everything you've suspected of him this year, he would tell you, if no one else. If you were dating… If the trust was there, you'd know for sure."
Harry pondered this.
Would Malfoy have really told him what was going on, considering he had refused to tell his own friends, from what Harry had overheard during their first Apparition lesson? It didn't seem likely. But last year they had talked (or argued) about everything under the sun during their dates—that is, until Harry had brought up his idea of the Pledging Chalk.
Again, almost as if she could read his mind, Hermione's eyes glittered in the firelight before returning to her book.
Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked across the common room at Ginny, to distract himself from Draco. She was studying with her friends, and he wondered, almost wistfully, what might have happened if he had entertained her crush on him several years ago.