Fic: Spin the Bottle (R)
Author: maroonladybug
Title: Spin the Bottle
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R (I think)
Summary: Draco is dying of boredom and Pansy sets out to do something about it. A game of Spin the Bottle amongst a group of Seventh years ensues and Draco finds himself occupied in ways that he would never admit to imagining.
Warnings: Sexy boys kissing, groping, frilly knickers, laced drinks (read in between the lines people!) and very bad come on lines. AU seventh-year.
Total word count: 8,272 … *Wipes brow* WOW.
Original prompt request number: 72
Fourth prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: This is the longest fanfic I have ever written. Sorry. Please do muck through all the possibly unnecessary crap to get to the smut ... it’s my first attempt so be critical. If there is a plot somewhere, someone please notify me.
Spin the Bottle
“Dear God I’m bored.”
And that is how the madness began.
Voldemort was dead - thanks to one bumbling Harry J. Potter who claimed he really hadn’t known that Voldie was allergic to his own nose cartilage - and all of the really bad Death Eaters including but not limited to the senior Malfoy (his pimp cane in tow) and the lovely, illustrious and insane Bellatrix Lestrange, had been rounded up and shipped off to Azkaban. Again.
The adult Wizarding World, unsure of what to do in a universe without Voldemort, celebrated for two weeks with mass partying and excessive drinking. Only after the stores of damn near every wine and whisky connoisseur had been drained successfully did they go back to work, hangovers in tow.
With the threat of random imminent death, and all the Firewhisky, gone, not to mention the fact that most of their teachers were fighting off alcohol poisoning in the infirmary, the majority of the Hogwarts student body (as in everyone except Hermione Granger and the entire house of Ravenclaw) didn’t know what to do with themselves after the school re-opened its gates on September 1st.
Idle aristocratic boys especially.
“Let me repeat,” Draco Malfoy said from where he lay gazing at the ceiling on the largest couch available in the near empty Slytherin common room, “I am bored.”
He could literally feel his brain cells dying slowly and oh so tragically one by one by ridiculously handsome one.
“I did hear you, Draco,” replied Pansy from where she sat sprawled across an overstuffed armchair, reading one of her favourite, well-thumbed romance novels. She was unaware of the untimely and continual demise going on three steps away from her.
“Then do something about it! I may expire from the lack of anything to do,” Draco whined. The massacre had reached an all time high and Draco felt his brain go numb as it was assaulted by another wave of microscopic, enemy boredom units.
“If you had slept in like everyone else, you wouldn’t be having this problem.” Draco opened his mouth to respond but Pansy ignored him and shifted so that her book was poised in front of her face. “The fact that you woke me up at the ungodly hour of twelve to entertain you means that I now get to ignore you, foiling your un-carefully formed plan. Really Draco, you’re getting senile in your old age. Why didn’t you wake up one of the boys?”
Draco rolled his eyes, not that Pansy could see him, and sighed heavily. He chose not to harp on her about the fact that she was eighteen while he was still quite a few months her junior and therefore she would have to be ancient for him to be old. He tried flattery instead. “ Love, I did not wake any of those obnoxious brutes because none of them have the witty approach to conversation that you seem to possess.”
Pansy let out a huff of air. “Bull. I know you only want me for my body. Now, stop talking. You’re ruining the best part of my book.”
Draco laughed aloud at the highly unlikely probability that he would want anything to do with Pansy’s mind, let alone her body. “What page are you on?”
“One-hundred and eighty-three.”
“After the mysterious fire at the castle?”
“Yes.”
“But before the stable hand tries to run off with Fay?”
“No, after.”
Draco smirked. “You have read this book about fifty times Pansy. Klaine is hexed horribly by the stable hand, who is actually an evil Sorcerer set on claiming Fay as his own, and barely manages to save her in the nick of time. Klaine, wand slashing through the air, rescues Fay just as she is about to be molested by the Sorcerer, murders him with a well-aimed hex and then beds her repeatedly before the final chapter. The end.”
Pansy removed her book from in front of her face so that she could giggle at Draco more directly, “You are such a closet romantic.”
“Am not.” But Draco was smiling. It was true. If only they had romance novels of the gay variety, he would be happy. Then he wouldn’t have to spell the names differently every time he snuck off to read one of Pansy’s blasted books.
“Are too.” She countered before glancing half-heartedly at the text that she could recite by heart. “Now, go flying or something. You can practice with the Snitch I gave you for Christmas.”
Draco reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the aforementioned golden ball before waving it at Pansy’s book.
“I did that this morning. After breakfast. For three hours! If I practice anymore I’ll get broom calluses.”
Pansy let out another impatient huff, marked her page and stood, “Fine. Wouldn’t want you ruining your perfect hands now, would we?”
She moved towards a door, half-concealed between a large set of bookshelves, in the corner of the room.
Draco sat up. Students typically stayed away from that door unless they were in trouble or needed guidance. “What are you doing?”
Pansy looked over her shoulder and bared her teeth in a smile. “Curing you of your boredom.”
As Pansy knocked on the door to Snape’s private labs Draco thought that his brain cells just might make a successful comeback after all.
***
Though Snape had never been one for parties, he supported Pansy’s idea wholeheartedly simply because Draco was starting to annoy the shit out of him too.
“Fifty points to Slytherin,” he drawled over the lumpy green potion he was stirring, “for keeping Mr. Malfoy, and his preternatural affinity for awakening at dawn, out of my hair. The boy chopped nearly half of my store of monkshood for this blasted potion when he came in to help yesterday morning. I shall now have to come up with an even more unsavory task for Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley to undergo during their detention tomorrow evening.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Pansy, full of excitement had been halfway to the door when Snape called to her, “And Miss Parkinson.”
She stopped mid step and spun to face her Head of House, “Sir?”
“Kindly tell Draco that I expect better eavesdropping from him in the future, especially since I taught him amplification spells when he was eight.”
Pansy’s confused, “Yes, Professor,” was almost entirely drowned out by Draco’s laughter which was more than audible through the wood of the door.
***
A few hours of mixing, bottling and chatting with his godson later Snape met Dumbledore in his office for their biweekly Saturday afternoon tea. Typically they would have discussed Voldemort’s newest plots and bits of information that Snape was to let slip during the next meeting of Death Eaters, all over bits of chocolate cake and brandy laced Earl Grey. Now - regardless of the fact that Voldemort and his spirit had been permanently removed from the fabric of life - they continued their ritual, speaking of the students, faculty and everyday happenings instead.
“ - and Ms. Parkinson asked for my permission in throwing a party for my house. I agreed, naturally.”
Dumbledore swallowed his sip of tea before reaching for his salad bowl of lemon drops. Snape had purchased him an entire barrel of the Muggle candy after his miraculous reappearance four days post Voldemort’s deathly allergic reaction in penitence for his actions that night on the tower. He - Dumbledore that is - found keeping a few hundred in a large receptacle close at hand meant he had to refill his smaller crystal one for guests less often.
“Of course, Severus. I have no idea as to why I did not think of it before. A ball to celebrate the final demise of Voldemort seems to be in order.”
Snape watched as the unnatural twinkle in his mentor's faded blue eyes made an appearance and quickly cut in before a plan of decorating action could be formulated, “Headmaster, I believe this was to be an informal event. No dress robes necessary, just a small gathering of the seventh year Slytherins and choice others.”
If possible, that damned twinkle seemed to grow even brighter, “A seventh year Informal you say? Hmm,” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I am sure that the other seventh years would enjoy a good end of war celebration. One student in particular.”
Snape blinked once and placed his empty cup on the edge of the Dumbledore’s desk lest he shatter it in his growing rage. His voice was deathly calm when he spoke a moment later, “Albus, I do not think it is wise to throw a party, planned by Slytherins, in Harry Potter’s honor. The idiot boy was not even controlling his magic when he killed the Dark Lord! The snout that killed him appeared as Potter was screaming about what a -”
Dumbledore laughed heartily, “Yes, yes, I am aware of the story. Harry did show me his memory of the event, Severus. His fantastic display of wild magic aside, I was not speaking of Harry. I, for one, know that he would like nothing more than to find a home where his name is unknown to all,” Dumbledore took another lazy sip of his tea, keeping Snape in suspense for just a moment longer than necessary, “No, I was speaking of Ms. Granger. She has been eager to put her title of Head Girl to proper use since the beginning of term, perhaps she and Ms. Parkinson could work together to plan a seventh year … shindig?”
Snape blinked once and sighed in relief as he stood to leave, “Of course. I will inform Ms. Parkinson at once.”
It wasn’t until Snape had closed the office door and was a quarter of the way down the tower's rotating steps that he realized he had been manipulated into giving his approval when he really hadn’t felt at all like giving it.
He mentally cursed Dumbledore’s name all the way to the dungeons, secretly glad that while war could change some things, others stayed exactly the same.
***
Pansy wasn’t happy on Saturday night when Snape informed her of the change to her original plans. She was even angrier when he told her to meet Ms. Granger in the library after school on Monday to discuss said plans. Though they sat beside one another, two people couldn’t have been farther apart in the sparsely populated library. Neutral territory be damned; they had been arguing steadily for over an hour.
“I don’t want to be cooped up in your bloody tower!” Pansy nearly screamed before realizing that Madam Pince was glaring in their direction, “I’m sure that all the other Slytherins invited won’t want to do anything in that scarlet and gold monstrosity either.”
Hermione pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and crossed the Common Room off her list of potential places to throw the gathering. “Well, we have already determined that the Great Hall and all the other Common Rooms are either too big, too small, too tasteless, or completely off limits. Where else is there? I know it will be too cold to do it on the Astronomy Tower so that location is out too.”
Pansy wanted to rip Hermione’s carefully written list into little snowflake-sized pieces and then throw them at her. She crossed her arms and mocked the other girl instead. “This is a magic castle, you twit. Why don’t we just wish up a destination and be done with it?”
Hermione threw her quill onto the table in indignation, splattering both herself and the table with ink, “We can’t very well do that you stupid - wait! That’s it!” She grinned and wiped a smudge of ink from her cheek, “You were in the Inquisitorial Squad in our fifth year right?”
Pansy scoffed, “Of course, every self respecting Slytherin was.” She uncrossed her arms, curious. “Why?”
“Were you present when Umbridge broke up the D.A.?”
“Yes, but I don’t see where this is going.”
Hermione smiled, “Have you been up to the seventh floor lately?”
Pansy shook her head slowly, trying to piece together why Hermione was so ecstatic. “No. Just get on with it already. I know you like lording over other people with just how brilliant you are but, really, this is getting annoying.”
Hermione’s smile widened even further at the unintended compliment, “We used to meet in the Room of Requirement. That was the room where you all caught us! It’s also known as the Come and Go Room. We could have the party there! We wouldn’t even have to decorate or plan anything else. The room will do it for us!”
Pansy was skeptical, “I don’t believe you.”
“You did say that this was a magic castle. If you are so unsure, meet me on the seventh floor in front of that weird tapestry an hour before the party is supposed to start on Friday night, all right?”
Pansy glanced at her watch before nodding. “Fine. I just don’t think it could be that easy. Nothing ever is. What about fliers? I can get the house-elves to put up one in each seventh year’s room but we need someone to design one first.”
“Dean Thomas can do it for us. He’s really talented when it comes to art.”
Pansy’s eyebrow rose in a perfect imitation of Draco’s. “Fine. Make sure you tell him it’s casual dress.”
Hermione nodded, gathered her ink-splattered parchment and quill and then stood to leave. “I’ll meet you back here, same time on Wednesday, to look over them.”
“Fine.” Pansy collected her bag from off the floor and walked out of the library with Hermione. The two girls glanced at each other, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways without another word. Cooperation didn’t necessarily have to mean friendship. Yet.
***
“Pansy, love, you have outdone yourself.”
Draco stood, in as close to awe as his Malfoy pride would let him get, lounging against the wall right inside of the Room of Requirement.
In one corner of the room, taking up half of the back wall, there was a dark, highly polished dance floor and D.J. booth illuminated by strobe lights of every color and rotating shape. Across from that sat a high bar of the same make, stocked full of every soft drink and, Draco quirked an eyebrow when he inspected them more closely, a ridiculous amount of cooking sherry.
But that wasn’t what caught his eye, the odd abundance of alcohol aside.
In the very middle of the room, after you navigated your way through the comfortable scattering of over large chairs and low tables covered in food and various board games, all of which where illuminated by a myriad of floating candles, there was a large dip in the floor where a fire was set beneath an enormous round slab of light blue glass. The circular seating, seemingly built into the ground surrounding the center of the room, was the deepest shade of maroon Draco had ever seen and covered in pillows. The ceiling was even swathed in a twinkling sky of stars, making the room all the more breathtaking and beautifully neutral because really, who didn’t like bright, twinkly things?
“Granger and I thought there should be something in here for everyone to entertain themselves. There is even a built-in bathroom through that wall of beads.” She pointed to an opening in the wall beside the bar and Draco nodded before moving to take a seat close to the fire pit.
“That is for conversation I suppose, or larger group games,” Pansy smiled, “I figured you would either head there or onto the dance floor.”
“You know me too well.” Draco smirked and then sighed heavily. “Pity. Now I have to kill you.”
Pansy lowered herself into the pit and sat beside Draco to await the next wave of guests, “Don’t do that. I won’t tell you what games we're going to play if you do.”
Hermione’s head appeared from behind the bar, her bushy brown hair flattened and pulled back into a neat braid.
“You will do no such thing, Pansy. No one is supposed to know what we have planned.”
Draco froze in shock. Granger was using Pansy’s first name? Had swine become aviators when he hadn’t been paying attention? Draco shook his head, positive that the other-white-meat had not delivered his paper this morning. He must have imagined it then.
“Muggle games aren’t exactly something we Slytherins take pride in playing in our Common Room, Hermione. I was just going to enlighten Draco a bit.”
He hadn’t imagined it! The female members of two of the most well known rival groups ever at Hogwarts were speaking to each other as equals? There had to be some mistake for Draco knew he wasn’t senile enough to ignore the flight of a pig through the Great Hall. Draco opened his mouth to speak. Hermione did the same.
Both were interrupted by the abrupt crash of the only wooden door into the room as it was flung open and sent swinging against the wall.
“Yes, Hermione is going to like your shirt. Now stop being such a coward,” Harry was saying as he entered with his back to the room. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to drag Ron through the doorway. Draco could see the laughing faces of Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas out in the hall doing the best they could to push the Weasel in from their side. His heart skipped a beat. Just a tiny one.
“I still think I should have changed into the blue one. You know how I hate burgundy,” Ron whined as he gripped the doorjamb even tighter. Draco could see his knuckles whitening and wondered when Weasley would figure out that the object of his affections was hearing every word spoken.
Seamus glanced over Ron’s straining shoulder to look into the room and smiled. “Why don’t you just ask her?”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Draco drawled. Ron and Harry snapped their heads towards the familiarly irritating voice before laying eyes upon Hermione who had wandered out from behind the bar to get a closer look at what was going on.
Harry smiled and stepped aside as Ron straightened his shirt with several sharp tugs, his face burning almost as red as his hair. Draco glanced over at Hermione and laughed aloud when he realized she too was flushed an almost becoming shade of pink. Pansy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow before nodding towards the door, the laughing roommates of the Weasel the sole focus of her calculating glare. One in particular anyway.
Draco stopped laughing abruptly and glared at Pansy as she leaned towards him, her eyes glittering with mischief, “Is that why you look so delicious? You want to impress a certain Gryffindor?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” It was just a tiny crush! Really! Nothing too deep - just a shallow sort of admiration was all.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Pansy stared at Draco, daring him to lie again.
“Out of the way Gryffindorks!”
Pansy broke her gaze away from Draco’s just as Blaise pushed his way into the room, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott hot on his heels.
***
Several rounds of laughter, intertwined with a few inventive curse words, and a couple of scandalized gasps later the Room of Requirement was filled with every seventh year student underneath the many tiered roof of Hogwarts and the party was in full swing.
The dance floor was packed with writhing bodies, the food was being devoured by a few timid Hufflepuffs and Neville, the Ravenclaws were measuring the alcohol content of several drinks sitting atop the bar with odd potions that they found from Merlin only knew where, and an argument was brewing in the conversation pit.
“ … but I want to play Spin the Bottle,” Seamus yelled from where he sat across from Draco.
“Half of us don’t even know what that is, you Irish brogue.” Pansy spat.
“Hey!”
“Calm down, everyone. Please.”
“Don’t call him a brogue, you pug-faced cow!”
“Ron!”
“Don’t call her a cow, you retarded Weasel!”
“Who the hell are you calling a Weasel, Ferret?”
“Harry!”
“Your lover, you Scar-faced, four-eyed orphan!”
“WHAT?”
“Umm…”
“YOU HEARD ME, YOU BLOODY POOF!”
“Hello?”
“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?”
“Guys …”
“WHAT? DO I NEED TO SPELL IT OUT? P-O-O -”
“WOULD YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
All eyes fell upon Hermione’s shaking form and the music came to a screeching halt.
“Now, Harry, put your wand away and sit down.” Hermione’s tone brooked no arguments and he sat with a scowl beside an aghast Ron. Just as Draco was about to taunt Harry for being so whipped, she spoke again, “You too please, Malfoy.”
Draco raised an eyebrow in her general direction but Pansy pulled him off the raised glass in the middle of the floor and nearly sat on him. Now they were working in unison? Forget flying pigs, hell had surely frozen over! Some part of Draco’s mind idly wondered if Voldemort owned snowshoes …
“Thank you.” Hermione smiled at the room at large until all former activity resumed its previous pace and then, patting her hair needlessly back into place, turned to Seamus. “Would you care to explain to everyone how to play Spin the Bottle? I need a drink.”
Seamus smiled smugly at Hermione’s retreating form. “It’s simple, really. Normally, someone spins a bottle and, whoever it lands on, the person who spun has to kiss them.”
“That’s stupid!” Blaise snapped.
Seamus scowled. “Let me finish. I said that that was the normal way of playing it.” Here he paused for dramatic effect. “I say we play the riskier version.”
When he didn’t continue, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Which would be?”
Seamus winked at Harry, the only other boy who knew anything about the game. Not that he wanted to remember the very first, and last, time he had been forced to play it amongst a group of Dudley’s inebriated friends.
“In my version, one person thinks up a dare, says it aloud and then spins the bottle twice. Whichever two people the bottle lands on can either kiss or they both have to do the dare.”
“I agree with Blaise, that’s stupid,” Pansy said, frowning.
Ron stood abruptly. “It is not! Just because you don’t want to risk -”
“So,” Draco cut in rudely, “If I spin the bottle and it lands on Millicent and then the Weasel, they have to kiss one another?”
“Yes.”
Ron spluttered incoherently as Draco continued, “And, if he refuses, he has to do the dare that I stated before spinning? Even if it is horribly embarrassing?”
“Pretty much.” Seamus nodded. “But to make it fair, Bulstrode has to do the dare too.”
Draco grinned widely. “I do think this could be amusing.”
“You may not be able to feel it, but I am boring a hole into your lovely blond head with my eyes as we speak,” Pansy hissed from beside Draco.
Draco patted her gently on her knee. “Don’t be so upset, love. There is a possibility that I may just have to kiss you. And I do know how much you would enjoy that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Ha! Well I highly doubt you would enjoy it Mr. Heterosexual-activities-may-induce-vomiting.” Pansy frowned. “And now that I think of it, vomiting and kissing aren’t all that conducive to one another so I may not enjoy it all that much either.”
Draco laughed as Hermione stepped into the pit and sat in between Ron and Harry, depositing an empty glass gin bottle in the middle of the table of sorts before doing so, deciding once and for all that Spin the Bottle was indeed going to be the first game they played. She passed her dainty, liquid-filled glass to Harry before pulling her wand out of her sleeve, pointing it at the bottle and intoning, “Perpetuo Pendere.”
The bottle lifted itself three feet into the air above the table and hovered there. Hermione took her drink back from Harry and sipped at it for a moment before speaking, “There. Whomever goes first just has to point at the bottle to spin it. Lower your hand and it will stop automatically.”
Seamus smiled and lifted his hand, setting the bottle spinning, “I’ll go first then. I dare the people picked to show off their knickers if they refuse to kiss.” When the bottle first stopped on Pansy, and then the sandy-haired boy himself, the entire group round the fire burst into laughter.
Pansy huffed and stood in her seat as Seamus’ eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Since I refuse to kiss a Gryffindork like yourself …” Pansy lifted her black and green vertically stripped mini skirt and flashed everyone looking. “ You can all just take a gander.”
What Pansy lacked in the face, she more than made up for in body. Her skirt was hiked up so high that her petite waist was visible over the frill of her matching black silk underwear and thigh high stockings. There was little left to the imagination and the wolf-whistles came from every corner of the room. She posed lewdly for several moments before pulling her skirt back into place and dropping down beside Draco once more.
Pansy haughtily turned to Seamus. “Your turn.”
Seamus ummed and ahhed for about two seconds before Dean shoved him into a standing position, chuckling quietly. When Seamus finally dropped his trousers several things happened all at once-
Ron rushed to the bathroom before he could pee himself from laughing so hard, Blaise fell onto the floor cackling, and Hermione spit nearly half of her drink into Finch-Fletchley’s curly hair because not only were Seamus’ briefs tight but they where also covered in hideous little leprechauns and four leafed clovers.
After several long moments Seamus redid his buttons with fumbling hands and sat, a blush that could have put Professor Sprout's roses to shame gracing his boyish features. The laugher died away slowly and, when Ron finally returned from the bathroom, Harry lifted his hand towards the bottle rotating lazily in the air.
“I dare the couple picked to …” Ron leaned over to whisper something into his best-mate's ear. Harry let out a burst of laughter. “Use one of the most ridiculous pick up lines they have ever heard on someone in the room if they don’t want to kiss!”
The bottle landed on Blaise and then Dean. The Gryffindors fell oddly quiet, all eyes locked on their tall artistic friend as the other houses laughed loudly at the dare. Draco frowned at Blaise, mentally growling at him not to go through with the kiss. When Harry softly apologized to Dean a second later, his frown deepened. Why would the git apologize?
Before Draco could contemplate any farther Dean spoke up, his soft voice catching everyone’s attention, “Since Lee Jordan would have a fit if I even thought of kissing another boy…” he rose and walked away from the conversation pit and towards the bar where Padma Patil stood. Hermione threw a quick Amplification Charm at his back before he had the opportunity to speak.
As everyone watched, Dean leaned against the bar tapped the more serious of the two Indian twins on the shoulder and said, “If looks could kill Padma, you would be an Uzi.”
The charm worked like a …charm … and sent Dean’s horrid line across the entire room which exploded into gales of laughter.
Dean left a confused Padma and returned to his seat where he was slapped on the back by each of his roommates.
Draco was still frowning as Blaise rose and whispered something along the lines of, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?” into the ear of a Hufflepuff named Hannah Abbot. He was still trying to work out the implications of Dean’s statement when Hannah slapped Blaise, leaving a rather large imprint across his face as she stalked away, her blonde pigtails swinging behind her.
“What does he mean ‘Lee Jordan would have a fit’?” Draco asked of no one in particular. What did the loud-mouthed announcer cum graduate and friend of the insufferable Weasley Twins have to do with anything?
Dean turned towards Draco and smiled shyly, “Lee Jordan is my boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
And that was the end of that. Pansy, just as surprised as Draco, rubbed his back discreetly through his snug-fitting, green T-shirt and asked, “You alright, love?” Draco nodded.
Draco couldn’t have known that over the course of Lee Jordan’s last four years at Hogwarts, Dean had developed a crush on the other boy. Draco also couldn’t have known that Dean’s feelings were reciprocated. Though, now that he thought of it, he did recall seeing Jordan and Dean together at the Triwizard Tournament’s Yule Ball. He just hadn’t thought that they were together like that since Jordan had gone on and on about Angelina - or was it Angelica - Baby Shampoo Namesake throughout his entire first year.
Ah, such was life.
He shrugged Pansy’s hand away and moved to rise. “Like I said, it was just a little crush. Not like I lusted after him or anything.”
Draco drifted towards the bar thinking that the one person he had ever lusted after would probably slap him if he should decide to one day proposition them. He asked the Ravenclaw manning the bar for a drink and turned to watch a pair of Hufflepuffs grinding on the dance floor.
Eww. His corneas where never going to forgive him.
Without another thought Draco grabbed the closest drink at hand and walked hurriedly back towards the pit where much giggling and snorting and noises of disgust were being made. Only after he had lowered himself into his seat and taken a swallow of the slightly bitter drink in his hand did Draco notice what all the smiling Slytherin faces were for.
Crabbe was leaning over a blissful looking Millicent, his mouth attached to her neck. If Draco had found the Hufflepuffs bad, this was worse in an its-about-time-they-finally-stopped-dancing-around-each-other sort of way.
“What the hell?”
“I spun that thing and dared the people it landed on to give the person beside them a hickey if they didn’t feel up for a snog. It landed on Crabbe and then Hermione.”
Draco choked on his drink at that piece of information but then looked up and did a weird laughing cough instead. Granger and the Weasel were blushing, yet again.
“And Granger did it?” Draco was about to turn to Hermione and tell her that he had expected better from her when Pansy laughed.
“Not yet. She has to wait until Crabbe is finished.”
The bruise left on Millicent’s neck when Crabbe finally finished was examined by every Slytherin present before the cheering began. Then everyone turned expectantly to watch Hermione who, at least in Draco’s opinion, looked much more at ease than normal.
Must have been the liquor.
After passing her empty glass to Potter, Hermione stood, removed her navy blue half jacket which she set in her seat and then sat cross ways on a stunned Ron’s lap, her feet dangling a good six inches from the floor.
“Close your mouth, Ronald.” His mouth shut with a snap and Hermione tilted her head sideways to better clasp Weasley’s flesh with her teeth. Potter, who had gotten over his initial shock, smiled goofily as Weasel, eyes closed, let out a moan the size of Wales, his face clasped in Hermione’s hands. Draco watched aghast as Hermione’s cheeks hollowed with each of half a dozen sucks before she removed herself from the nook between his shoulder and neck. Applause erupted from every one in the pit, Pansy and, by extended default Draco, included.
Several spins later the Weasel was still rubbing absentmindedly at his neck and Crabbe and Millicent had flown for one of the more private corners of the large room leaving two empty spaces to be filled on the edge of the Slytherin seating by Luna Lovegood and a curious Neville.
Pansy, who had been sitting beside Millicent, scowled and scooted towards Draco, successfully squishing him between her bosom and Blaise.
“I’d like to go next,” Luna said as soon as she sat cross-legged in a set of pillows that everybody else had simply tossed onto the floor.
Understandably almost everyone was a tad apprehensive. Draco took another gulp of his drink and felt all his inhibitions slip away. Luna lifted her hand towards the bottle, “I think that the people who are picked should say five nice things about one another if they don’t want to share a kiss.” A few people turned to their friends in confusion and others sneered at the ridiculously simple request. The spinning bottle first landed on Harry who was laughing good naturedly at Luna’s dare by the time the bottle began spinning again.
Draco finished off his glass of nameless liquid and placed the empty cup on the table before him, which was a good thing too because he would have thrown it when the bottle landed on him next.
Just my bleeding luck.
If the laughter of everyone present had been loud before, it was cacophonous now. The music had lowered considerably and Draco felt a tingle run up his spine as someone cast an Amplification Charm at him. Potter glared at him from across the fire, as he was nudged by several people to get on with the dare.
Pansy giggled madly as she shoved Draco out of his seat, “Either say something nice Draco or kiss him. You might like it if you try it you know … release some of the sexual tension you’ve been harboring for him.”
Draco turned his glare onto his closest friend as she successfully pushed him into a standing position. “How dare you insinuate that I would find that bespectacled arse even slightly -”
Pansy slapped his backside. “Yes, uh huh, whatever you say …” She knew when she was striking too close to home for Draco’s comfort and it just wouldn’t do to back him into a corner now.
Ron was guffawing madly and clutching at his sides while Hermione tried to hold up her end of the deal on the other side of the fire.
“Harry, just make something up. It shouldn’t be that hard to …” she dissolved into a fit of laughter at the apoplectic look on Harry’s face.
Blaise propelled Draco towards the seething Gryffindor and, in a fit of dignity, Draco decided to be the bigger man. Understandably his inner eleven year old was throwing a conniption fit.
After a loud cough to attract the attention of the laughing crowd that had gathered round the pit to watch, Draco began through gritted teeth. “Potter, you were fucking born on a broom.” Harry looked like he had been slapped.
“You should try to reciprocate, Potter.” Draco scowled, not willing to give another inch if Harry was going to sit there looking dumbfounded.
“Umm,” Harry blushed, “You have nice hair.”
One of Draco’s pale eyebrows lifted of its own accord.
“That isn’t a compliment, Potter, that’s a fact.”
Harry frowned and looked like he wanted to haul back and punch the boy before him, “Can I please not do this Hermione?” he whined. “He’s a prick.”
Hermione smiled at Pansy behind Draco’s back and shook her head. “You have to either compliment him five times or kiss him. We all did our dares. You have to do yours.”
“I’m waiting, Potter,” Draco drawled as he examined his nails.
Harry was furious. “I would rather die than compliment you again.”
Draco shrugged. “And I would rather Lucius be released from Azkaban than have to kiss you.” Well, not really. Potter did have very kissable looking lips.
Gasps sounded round the room. Few had known that Draco did indeed wish that his father would rot in prison. Hitting him, the Malfoy heir for being a failure and a shirt-lifter had been one thing, but the moment his father had turned on Narcissa, the one person Draco loved more than himself, he had had quite enough.
“Now. I’m still waiting on my compliment, Potter.”
Harry’s wide eyes narrowed quickly into slits, “If I remember correctly, it is your turn to compliment me.”
Draco’s other eyebrow joined the first, “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. I disagree. Everyone knows I have nice - bloody brilliant actually - hair. Therefore you stated a fact, not a compliment, and I am still waiting.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded towards Pansy who had moved over into Draco’s seat so that she could aim properly.
“Contrudo!”
A sliver of purple light shot out of the end of Pansy’s wand and hit Draco square in the back, pushing him viciously forward onto Harry’s lap, his legs to either side of a pair of slim hips and his arms extended to catch himself on the edge of the wall behind unruly black hair. Harry’s hands came up to rest on Draco’s waist instinctually, preventing a painful clash of foreheads.
Draco turned to look over his shoulder at Pansy, a few choice words on his lips but a silky little voice interrupted him before he could even begin and told him to turn around. Draco faced slowly forward and froze, immobilized by a tinge of fear.
What the fuck are you playing at, Potter?
I‘m not playing at anything, Malfoy.
Then get out of my head, you arse!
Don’t wanna. Harry shook his head and tightened his grip on Draco as he tried to struggle away. The entire room had gone quiet for the umpteenth time that evening. When had Potter managed to slip into his mind anyway?
Let me go or I will hex off your balls.
No, and I have it on good authority that you would do no such thing. And with that Harry leaned forward and kissed him.
At first Draco was so angry and confused that it was as though a Stunning Spell had hit him full force and he couldn’t pull away. Then, Harry’s soft - possibly contented? - humming filtered through his mind and he felt himself slacken … just a bit.
Harry took Draco’s minimal relaxation as some sort of signal and increased the pressure of his lips, running his tongue gently across the tight seam of Draco’s mouth, begging for entrance. Draco let loose a strangled gasp from somewhere in the back of his throat and then he was kissing Harry back, his hands flying from the low wall behind the Gryffindor’s head and into his soft black hair, pressing insistently until Harry’s tongue delved into his mouth and slipped tantalizingly along each individual tooth. Lust? This was a fucking fire at the base of his stomach, not some flimsy hormone-induced emotion. Draco found himself so wrapped up in the molten heat of the kiss that he didn’t notice the pull of Harry’s Quidditch-calloused hands until he was fully seated on his rival’s lap, twitching groin pressed to twitching groin. Someone moaned and Draco wriggled even closer until their heaving chests were pressed flush against one another. This was odd, but too goddamned perfect and Draco knew that he wouldn’t be reacting like this if he hadn’t wanted it but -
“BLOODY HELL!”
Draco didn’t so much as pull away from Harry as stumble off of his lap in shock. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’tbe happening. He was dreaming. This type of unmentionable shit just didn’t happen anywhere but in his most sordid little fantasies.
Potter was straight. Right? His relationship with that Weasley bint during their sixth year was proof of that. A large part of Draco’s mind took in the indisputable physical evidence of Potter’s arousal - the swollen lips and conspicuously non-wand-shaped bulge in his trousers - and scoffed at the mere idea of a straight Harry Potter. He had to at least be bisexual.
What straight man, possibly bisexual man got an erection from a kiss anyway? Draco shifted to stand and felt his own erection throb uncomfortably.
Great, now I’m a freaking hypocrite too. Will wonders never cease?
Loud clapping and hooting broke the silence that had settled as soon as the boys had begun snogging. Draco paled noticeably and then whirled on the part of the crowed that was howling the loudest and singled Pansy out of the group of cheering Slytherins. She looked pleased, despite Draco’s livid demeanor.
“Happy now?”
And without even waiting for a response, Draco did the one thing that the much smaller and obviously still sane part of his mind was telling him to do. He ran.
***
Draco was halfway down the hallway leading to the main staircase when Harry, ever the faster Seeker, caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
“Unhand me, Potter.” Draco’s quiet words were filled with malice and ice.
Harry didn’t let go. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” He scowled.
Draco spun on him then, his eyes blazing. “Why would it matter if I had.”
Before Harry could answer, a cackling voice filled the corridor. Harry glanced towards the entrance to the staircase to see Peeves swooping into the hall.
“Fuck.” Harry turned to gauge just how far the Room of Requirement was from where he stood, still grasping Draco’s wrist, and decided that they wouldn’t be able to outrun the poltergeist. Another quick scan of the hallway and then Harry was dragging Draco, his mouth covered with a swift hand before he had a chance to scream, into a dark nook behind a suit of armor that Draco was positive hadn’t been there a moment before.
As the darkness of the alcove consumed the boys, however, all thoughts of previously non-existent, ancient battle gear vanished because Harry - bloody - Potter had his arm wrapped around him and, though Draco was loathe to admit it, he was relaxing against the warm body behind him instead of struggling out of its undignified grip.
Peeves came into view then, just over the shoulder of the suit of armor, before Draco could pick apart the implications of the trust his body had so freely given moments before, and he pushed back into Harry’s chest. If Peeves saw him, Slytherin or no, he would probably be attacked. The annoying ghost was equal-opportunity like that when the Bloody Baron wasn’t around.
The chortling of a half bat-shit insane ghost didn’t manage to drown out the low moan from behind Draco’s left ear as he tried to meld into something that Peeves couldn’t torment, causing him to freeze, his arse pressed rather intimately to Potter’s crotch.
Correction - Potter’s bulging crotch.
Draco didn’t know what to do. If he moved forward and away from Potter, Peeves was bound to see him. Then again, if he moved away from the poltergeist, which seemed to be setting a rather intricate trap for whomever decided to walk down the hall next, he would practically be asking for Potter to shag him.
And Potter was not touching his arse.
More than he had anyway.
For the second time that night, Harry took Draco’s silence and almost inactive position as a sign of encouragement. “If I let go will you swear not to scream?”
Harry’s breath washed over Draco’s ear, causing him to shudder in a way that he hoped was imperceptible. He nodded slowly.
Harry dropped his hand to Draco’s waist, holding him firmly in place. Draco absently noted that his lips now felt rather cold but was distracted by the fact that Ha -Potter was stroking his hip through the thin material of his shirt.
“What now?” Draco was surprised at how calm his voice was. Having the freaking Hero-of-the-Wizarding-World practically fondling him - twice! - should have been quite disconcerting. And why exactly wasn’t he moving Potter’s hand away?
“We,” had Draco imagined the emphasis on that one word? “Wait until Peeves finishes up.” Potter’s middle finger found its way beneath the hem of Draco’s shirt just as the fingers of his other hand brushed across a nipple that Draco thought had no bloody right to be hard. He couldn’t even help the soft gasp that accompanied the non-touch. When did Potter’s hand reach nipple level anyway?
“But … what are you doing?” Draco’s question came out strangled as Harry traced his tongue along the outer shell of his ear. Oh, but that felt brilliant. Harry’s middle finger toyed with the edge of Draco’s waistband before slipping into his pants. A few other fingers followed suit.
“Hmm?”
Draco gasped aloud as Harry pinched his aching nipple between forefinger and thumb, the cotton of his shirt heightening the sensation while Harry’s whole hand slipped into his boxers.
“Potter …”
Harry stopped his ministrations and turned Draco around so quickly that his head would have spun had it not been careening too and fro upon its axis already. Harry pulled Draco sharply towards him, his gaze heavy on those pale, familiar features and his cock hot through the fabric of his jeans.
“My name is Harry, Draco.” Draco couldn’t even nod. Harry’s hands had slipped back into his boxers and were massaging his arse in a way that had Draco’s cock hardening even more so that it lay pressed and throbbing against Harry’s. He let out what he hoped was an affirmative grunt.
“Say it, Draco.” Harry’s voice was more growl than anything else.
“H … Harry.” The silver eyes that Harry had grown to love fluttered shut as he slipped a finger into the crack of Draco’s arse.
Harry smiled, whispered a wandless Lubrication Charm and tilted his head to capture the parted lips before him. Draco moaned loudly into Harry’s mouth as very skilled, very slick fingers circled his entrance with a set of lazy sweeps. Draco grasped the back of Harry’s head with both hands, hoping to anchor himself as a tongue slipped into his mouth to mimic the action going on near his entrance. He would surely die if Harry didn’t put something into him.
A fingertip breached Draco as his tongue was chased back into his mouth. The ripple and grind of Harry’s hips as he slowly impaled Draco with his finger had the blond pulling away to gasp for air.
“God, more ...”
Harry groaned as Draco nipped along his jaw and lips. If only he could …“Your pants are too damn tight.”
Draco snorted - there was no such thing - and thrust his hips against Harry’s, causing logical speech to dissolve in another fiery kiss. Harry wiggled the finger he had buried within Draco, hitting his prostate and causing him to yelp in surprise as he tried to add his index finger to no avail. He couldn’t move his hand anymore than he already had within the restrictive clothing and settled for mimicking the action he really wanted to perform with his tongue, thrusting into Draco’s mouth rapidly and repeatedly while stroking the sensitive mound within him.
“So good …” Draco’s hands slipped from the nape of Harry’s neck and scored down his back until they were gripping his arse and pulling him fiercely towards and into each tilt of Draco’s hips. Harry had better come soon because he really couldn’t take much more of this and he would be damned if he seemed less than the attentive lover. Harry’s guttural moan as he came sent Draco careening over the edge much sooner than he had expected, his writhing body keeping Draco suspended in his orgasm for seconds, minutes, decades before he finally relaxed in a boneless lump against the smug and equally relaxed Gryffindork.
Harry gently pulled his finger from Draco’s arse and shifted his hands to rest on his waist while nuzzling his sexily mussed hair, “We are definitely doing that aga -”
“AGGAHHA!?!?!?! SOMEONE HELP!!!”
Draco’s head snapped up from where it had been lying on Harry’s shoulder. Leave it to Longbottom to interrupt such an important sentence.
Wait. Longbottom? Were in the hell was … Peeves! Oh, fucktard. Draco turned in Harry’s loose grip and sure enough, there was Longbottom hanging from the enchanted candelabra that illuminated the hall by his ears. It looked painful.
Not that Draco cared of course.
Sadly Harry cared enough for the both of them. “Neville!”
Draco cast two hasty Cleansing Charms before he was being manhandled out into the hall. Neville saw them emerge from their little cubby just as a group of their fellow seventh years began trickling out to see what all the noise was about, a particularly smug Pansy, Hermione not a step behind her, in the lead.
Understanding dawned on Draco quickly as he met the dark brown eyes of both girls in turn. He then spun on Harry his trademark smirk in place, “Potter, I think we have been had.”
Harry cut Neville out of the magical trap Peeves had set in place and then lowered him to safety before smiling sheepishly at Draco his wand hand rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his head, “I know.” Pansy chuckled evilly and Draco turned to face her, unbridled awe and a smidgen of worship crossing his features.
“Still bored Draco?”
~fin
Title: Spin the Bottle
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R (I think)
Summary: Draco is dying of boredom and Pansy sets out to do something about it. A game of Spin the Bottle amongst a group of Seventh years ensues and Draco finds himself occupied in ways that he would never admit to imagining.
Warnings: Sexy boys kissing, groping, frilly knickers, laced drinks (read in between the lines people!) and very bad come on lines. AU seventh-year.
Total word count: 8,272 … *Wipes brow* WOW.
Original prompt request number: 72
Fourth prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: This is the longest fanfic I have ever written. Sorry. Please do muck through all the possibly unnecessary crap to get to the smut ... it’s my first attempt so be critical. If there is a plot somewhere, someone please notify me.
Spin the Bottle
“Dear God I’m bored.”
And that is how the madness began.
Voldemort was dead - thanks to one bumbling Harry J. Potter who claimed he really hadn’t known that Voldie was allergic to his own nose cartilage - and all of the really bad Death Eaters including but not limited to the senior Malfoy (his pimp cane in tow) and the lovely, illustrious and insane Bellatrix Lestrange, had been rounded up and shipped off to Azkaban. Again.
The adult Wizarding World, unsure of what to do in a universe without Voldemort, celebrated for two weeks with mass partying and excessive drinking. Only after the stores of damn near every wine and whisky connoisseur had been drained successfully did they go back to work, hangovers in tow.
With the threat of random imminent death, and all the Firewhisky, gone, not to mention the fact that most of their teachers were fighting off alcohol poisoning in the infirmary, the majority of the Hogwarts student body (as in everyone except Hermione Granger and the entire house of Ravenclaw) didn’t know what to do with themselves after the school re-opened its gates on September 1st.
Idle aristocratic boys especially.
“Let me repeat,” Draco Malfoy said from where he lay gazing at the ceiling on the largest couch available in the near empty Slytherin common room, “I am bored.”
He could literally feel his brain cells dying slowly and oh so tragically one by one by ridiculously handsome one.
“I did hear you, Draco,” replied Pansy from where she sat sprawled across an overstuffed armchair, reading one of her favourite, well-thumbed romance novels. She was unaware of the untimely and continual demise going on three steps away from her.
“Then do something about it! I may expire from the lack of anything to do,” Draco whined. The massacre had reached an all time high and Draco felt his brain go numb as it was assaulted by another wave of microscopic, enemy boredom units.
“If you had slept in like everyone else, you wouldn’t be having this problem.” Draco opened his mouth to respond but Pansy ignored him and shifted so that her book was poised in front of her face. “The fact that you woke me up at the ungodly hour of twelve to entertain you means that I now get to ignore you, foiling your un-carefully formed plan. Really Draco, you’re getting senile in your old age. Why didn’t you wake up one of the boys?”
Draco rolled his eyes, not that Pansy could see him, and sighed heavily. He chose not to harp on her about the fact that she was eighteen while he was still quite a few months her junior and therefore she would have to be ancient for him to be old. He tried flattery instead. “ Love, I did not wake any of those obnoxious brutes because none of them have the witty approach to conversation that you seem to possess.”
Pansy let out a huff of air. “Bull. I know you only want me for my body. Now, stop talking. You’re ruining the best part of my book.”
Draco laughed aloud at the highly unlikely probability that he would want anything to do with Pansy’s mind, let alone her body. “What page are you on?”
“One-hundred and eighty-three.”
“After the mysterious fire at the castle?”
“Yes.”
“But before the stable hand tries to run off with Fay?”
“No, after.”
Draco smirked. “You have read this book about fifty times Pansy. Klaine is hexed horribly by the stable hand, who is actually an evil Sorcerer set on claiming Fay as his own, and barely manages to save her in the nick of time. Klaine, wand slashing through the air, rescues Fay just as she is about to be molested by the Sorcerer, murders him with a well-aimed hex and then beds her repeatedly before the final chapter. The end.”
Pansy removed her book from in front of her face so that she could giggle at Draco more directly, “You are such a closet romantic.”
“Am not.” But Draco was smiling. It was true. If only they had romance novels of the gay variety, he would be happy. Then he wouldn’t have to spell the names differently every time he snuck off to read one of Pansy’s blasted books.
“Are too.” She countered before glancing half-heartedly at the text that she could recite by heart. “Now, go flying or something. You can practice with the Snitch I gave you for Christmas.”
Draco reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the aforementioned golden ball before waving it at Pansy’s book.
“I did that this morning. After breakfast. For three hours! If I practice anymore I’ll get broom calluses.”
Pansy let out another impatient huff, marked her page and stood, “Fine. Wouldn’t want you ruining your perfect hands now, would we?”
She moved towards a door, half-concealed between a large set of bookshelves, in the corner of the room.
Draco sat up. Students typically stayed away from that door unless they were in trouble or needed guidance. “What are you doing?”
Pansy looked over her shoulder and bared her teeth in a smile. “Curing you of your boredom.”
As Pansy knocked on the door to Snape’s private labs Draco thought that his brain cells just might make a successful comeback after all.
***
Though Snape had never been one for parties, he supported Pansy’s idea wholeheartedly simply because Draco was starting to annoy the shit out of him too.
“Fifty points to Slytherin,” he drawled over the lumpy green potion he was stirring, “for keeping Mr. Malfoy, and his preternatural affinity for awakening at dawn, out of my hair. The boy chopped nearly half of my store of monkshood for this blasted potion when he came in to help yesterday morning. I shall now have to come up with an even more unsavory task for Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley to undergo during their detention tomorrow evening.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Pansy, full of excitement had been halfway to the door when Snape called to her, “And Miss Parkinson.”
She stopped mid step and spun to face her Head of House, “Sir?”
“Kindly tell Draco that I expect better eavesdropping from him in the future, especially since I taught him amplification spells when he was eight.”
Pansy’s confused, “Yes, Professor,” was almost entirely drowned out by Draco’s laughter which was more than audible through the wood of the door.
***
A few hours of mixing, bottling and chatting with his godson later Snape met Dumbledore in his office for their biweekly Saturday afternoon tea. Typically they would have discussed Voldemort’s newest plots and bits of information that Snape was to let slip during the next meeting of Death Eaters, all over bits of chocolate cake and brandy laced Earl Grey. Now - regardless of the fact that Voldemort and his spirit had been permanently removed from the fabric of life - they continued their ritual, speaking of the students, faculty and everyday happenings instead.
“ - and Ms. Parkinson asked for my permission in throwing a party for my house. I agreed, naturally.”
Dumbledore swallowed his sip of tea before reaching for his salad bowl of lemon drops. Snape had purchased him an entire barrel of the Muggle candy after his miraculous reappearance four days post Voldemort’s deathly allergic reaction in penitence for his actions that night on the tower. He - Dumbledore that is - found keeping a few hundred in a large receptacle close at hand meant he had to refill his smaller crystal one for guests less often.
“Of course, Severus. I have no idea as to why I did not think of it before. A ball to celebrate the final demise of Voldemort seems to be in order.”
Snape watched as the unnatural twinkle in his mentor's faded blue eyes made an appearance and quickly cut in before a plan of decorating action could be formulated, “Headmaster, I believe this was to be an informal event. No dress robes necessary, just a small gathering of the seventh year Slytherins and choice others.”
If possible, that damned twinkle seemed to grow even brighter, “A seventh year Informal you say? Hmm,” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I am sure that the other seventh years would enjoy a good end of war celebration. One student in particular.”
Snape blinked once and placed his empty cup on the edge of the Dumbledore’s desk lest he shatter it in his growing rage. His voice was deathly calm when he spoke a moment later, “Albus, I do not think it is wise to throw a party, planned by Slytherins, in Harry Potter’s honor. The idiot boy was not even controlling his magic when he killed the Dark Lord! The snout that killed him appeared as Potter was screaming about what a -”
Dumbledore laughed heartily, “Yes, yes, I am aware of the story. Harry did show me his memory of the event, Severus. His fantastic display of wild magic aside, I was not speaking of Harry. I, for one, know that he would like nothing more than to find a home where his name is unknown to all,” Dumbledore took another lazy sip of his tea, keeping Snape in suspense for just a moment longer than necessary, “No, I was speaking of Ms. Granger. She has been eager to put her title of Head Girl to proper use since the beginning of term, perhaps she and Ms. Parkinson could work together to plan a seventh year … shindig?”
Snape blinked once and sighed in relief as he stood to leave, “Of course. I will inform Ms. Parkinson at once.”
It wasn’t until Snape had closed the office door and was a quarter of the way down the tower's rotating steps that he realized he had been manipulated into giving his approval when he really hadn’t felt at all like giving it.
He mentally cursed Dumbledore’s name all the way to the dungeons, secretly glad that while war could change some things, others stayed exactly the same.
***
Pansy wasn’t happy on Saturday night when Snape informed her of the change to her original plans. She was even angrier when he told her to meet Ms. Granger in the library after school on Monday to discuss said plans. Though they sat beside one another, two people couldn’t have been farther apart in the sparsely populated library. Neutral territory be damned; they had been arguing steadily for over an hour.
“I don’t want to be cooped up in your bloody tower!” Pansy nearly screamed before realizing that Madam Pince was glaring in their direction, “I’m sure that all the other Slytherins invited won’t want to do anything in that scarlet and gold monstrosity either.”
Hermione pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and crossed the Common Room off her list of potential places to throw the gathering. “Well, we have already determined that the Great Hall and all the other Common Rooms are either too big, too small, too tasteless, or completely off limits. Where else is there? I know it will be too cold to do it on the Astronomy Tower so that location is out too.”
Pansy wanted to rip Hermione’s carefully written list into little snowflake-sized pieces and then throw them at her. She crossed her arms and mocked the other girl instead. “This is a magic castle, you twit. Why don’t we just wish up a destination and be done with it?”
Hermione threw her quill onto the table in indignation, splattering both herself and the table with ink, “We can’t very well do that you stupid - wait! That’s it!” She grinned and wiped a smudge of ink from her cheek, “You were in the Inquisitorial Squad in our fifth year right?”
Pansy scoffed, “Of course, every self respecting Slytherin was.” She uncrossed her arms, curious. “Why?”
“Were you present when Umbridge broke up the D.A.?”
“Yes, but I don’t see where this is going.”
Hermione smiled, “Have you been up to the seventh floor lately?”
Pansy shook her head slowly, trying to piece together why Hermione was so ecstatic. “No. Just get on with it already. I know you like lording over other people with just how brilliant you are but, really, this is getting annoying.”
Hermione’s smile widened even further at the unintended compliment, “We used to meet in the Room of Requirement. That was the room where you all caught us! It’s also known as the Come and Go Room. We could have the party there! We wouldn’t even have to decorate or plan anything else. The room will do it for us!”
Pansy was skeptical, “I don’t believe you.”
“You did say that this was a magic castle. If you are so unsure, meet me on the seventh floor in front of that weird tapestry an hour before the party is supposed to start on Friday night, all right?”
Pansy glanced at her watch before nodding. “Fine. I just don’t think it could be that easy. Nothing ever is. What about fliers? I can get the house-elves to put up one in each seventh year’s room but we need someone to design one first.”
“Dean Thomas can do it for us. He’s really talented when it comes to art.”
Pansy’s eyebrow rose in a perfect imitation of Draco’s. “Fine. Make sure you tell him it’s casual dress.”
Hermione nodded, gathered her ink-splattered parchment and quill and then stood to leave. “I’ll meet you back here, same time on Wednesday, to look over them.”
“Fine.” Pansy collected her bag from off the floor and walked out of the library with Hermione. The two girls glanced at each other, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways without another word. Cooperation didn’t necessarily have to mean friendship. Yet.
***
“Pansy, love, you have outdone yourself.”
Draco stood, in as close to awe as his Malfoy pride would let him get, lounging against the wall right inside of the Room of Requirement.
In one corner of the room, taking up half of the back wall, there was a dark, highly polished dance floor and D.J. booth illuminated by strobe lights of every color and rotating shape. Across from that sat a high bar of the same make, stocked full of every soft drink and, Draco quirked an eyebrow when he inspected them more closely, a ridiculous amount of cooking sherry.
But that wasn’t what caught his eye, the odd abundance of alcohol aside.
In the very middle of the room, after you navigated your way through the comfortable scattering of over large chairs and low tables covered in food and various board games, all of which where illuminated by a myriad of floating candles, there was a large dip in the floor where a fire was set beneath an enormous round slab of light blue glass. The circular seating, seemingly built into the ground surrounding the center of the room, was the deepest shade of maroon Draco had ever seen and covered in pillows. The ceiling was even swathed in a twinkling sky of stars, making the room all the more breathtaking and beautifully neutral because really, who didn’t like bright, twinkly things?
“Granger and I thought there should be something in here for everyone to entertain themselves. There is even a built-in bathroom through that wall of beads.” She pointed to an opening in the wall beside the bar and Draco nodded before moving to take a seat close to the fire pit.
“That is for conversation I suppose, or larger group games,” Pansy smiled, “I figured you would either head there or onto the dance floor.”
“You know me too well.” Draco smirked and then sighed heavily. “Pity. Now I have to kill you.”
Pansy lowered herself into the pit and sat beside Draco to await the next wave of guests, “Don’t do that. I won’t tell you what games we're going to play if you do.”
Hermione’s head appeared from behind the bar, her bushy brown hair flattened and pulled back into a neat braid.
“You will do no such thing, Pansy. No one is supposed to know what we have planned.”
Draco froze in shock. Granger was using Pansy’s first name? Had swine become aviators when he hadn’t been paying attention? Draco shook his head, positive that the other-white-meat had not delivered his paper this morning. He must have imagined it then.
“Muggle games aren’t exactly something we Slytherins take pride in playing in our Common Room, Hermione. I was just going to enlighten Draco a bit.”
He hadn’t imagined it! The female members of two of the most well known rival groups ever at Hogwarts were speaking to each other as equals? There had to be some mistake for Draco knew he wasn’t senile enough to ignore the flight of a pig through the Great Hall. Draco opened his mouth to speak. Hermione did the same.
Both were interrupted by the abrupt crash of the only wooden door into the room as it was flung open and sent swinging against the wall.
“Yes, Hermione is going to like your shirt. Now stop being such a coward,” Harry was saying as he entered with his back to the room. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to drag Ron through the doorway. Draco could see the laughing faces of Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas out in the hall doing the best they could to push the Weasel in from their side. His heart skipped a beat. Just a tiny one.
“I still think I should have changed into the blue one. You know how I hate burgundy,” Ron whined as he gripped the doorjamb even tighter. Draco could see his knuckles whitening and wondered when Weasley would figure out that the object of his affections was hearing every word spoken.
Seamus glanced over Ron’s straining shoulder to look into the room and smiled. “Why don’t you just ask her?”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Draco drawled. Ron and Harry snapped their heads towards the familiarly irritating voice before laying eyes upon Hermione who had wandered out from behind the bar to get a closer look at what was going on.
Harry smiled and stepped aside as Ron straightened his shirt with several sharp tugs, his face burning almost as red as his hair. Draco glanced over at Hermione and laughed aloud when he realized she too was flushed an almost becoming shade of pink. Pansy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow before nodding towards the door, the laughing roommates of the Weasel the sole focus of her calculating glare. One in particular anyway.
Draco stopped laughing abruptly and glared at Pansy as she leaned towards him, her eyes glittering with mischief, “Is that why you look so delicious? You want to impress a certain Gryffindor?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” It was just a tiny crush! Really! Nothing too deep - just a shallow sort of admiration was all.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Pansy stared at Draco, daring him to lie again.
“Out of the way Gryffindorks!”
Pansy broke her gaze away from Draco’s just as Blaise pushed his way into the room, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott hot on his heels.
***
Several rounds of laughter, intertwined with a few inventive curse words, and a couple of scandalized gasps later the Room of Requirement was filled with every seventh year student underneath the many tiered roof of Hogwarts and the party was in full swing.
The dance floor was packed with writhing bodies, the food was being devoured by a few timid Hufflepuffs and Neville, the Ravenclaws were measuring the alcohol content of several drinks sitting atop the bar with odd potions that they found from Merlin only knew where, and an argument was brewing in the conversation pit.
“ … but I want to play Spin the Bottle,” Seamus yelled from where he sat across from Draco.
“Half of us don’t even know what that is, you Irish brogue.” Pansy spat.
“Hey!”
“Calm down, everyone. Please.”
“Don’t call him a brogue, you pug-faced cow!”
“Ron!”
“Don’t call her a cow, you retarded Weasel!”
“Who the hell are you calling a Weasel, Ferret?”
“Harry!”
“Your lover, you Scar-faced, four-eyed orphan!”
“WHAT?”
“Umm…”
“YOU HEARD ME, YOU BLOODY POOF!”
“Hello?”
“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?”
“Guys …”
“WHAT? DO I NEED TO SPELL IT OUT? P-O-O -”
“WOULD YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
All eyes fell upon Hermione’s shaking form and the music came to a screeching halt.
“Now, Harry, put your wand away and sit down.” Hermione’s tone brooked no arguments and he sat with a scowl beside an aghast Ron. Just as Draco was about to taunt Harry for being so whipped, she spoke again, “You too please, Malfoy.”
Draco raised an eyebrow in her general direction but Pansy pulled him off the raised glass in the middle of the floor and nearly sat on him. Now they were working in unison? Forget flying pigs, hell had surely frozen over! Some part of Draco’s mind idly wondered if Voldemort owned snowshoes …
“Thank you.” Hermione smiled at the room at large until all former activity resumed its previous pace and then, patting her hair needlessly back into place, turned to Seamus. “Would you care to explain to everyone how to play Spin the Bottle? I need a drink.”
Seamus smiled smugly at Hermione’s retreating form. “It’s simple, really. Normally, someone spins a bottle and, whoever it lands on, the person who spun has to kiss them.”
“That’s stupid!” Blaise snapped.
Seamus scowled. “Let me finish. I said that that was the normal way of playing it.” Here he paused for dramatic effect. “I say we play the riskier version.”
When he didn’t continue, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Which would be?”
Seamus winked at Harry, the only other boy who knew anything about the game. Not that he wanted to remember the very first, and last, time he had been forced to play it amongst a group of Dudley’s inebriated friends.
“In my version, one person thinks up a dare, says it aloud and then spins the bottle twice. Whichever two people the bottle lands on can either kiss or they both have to do the dare.”
“I agree with Blaise, that’s stupid,” Pansy said, frowning.
Ron stood abruptly. “It is not! Just because you don’t want to risk -”
“So,” Draco cut in rudely, “If I spin the bottle and it lands on Millicent and then the Weasel, they have to kiss one another?”
“Yes.”
Ron spluttered incoherently as Draco continued, “And, if he refuses, he has to do the dare that I stated before spinning? Even if it is horribly embarrassing?”
“Pretty much.” Seamus nodded. “But to make it fair, Bulstrode has to do the dare too.”
Draco grinned widely. “I do think this could be amusing.”
“You may not be able to feel it, but I am boring a hole into your lovely blond head with my eyes as we speak,” Pansy hissed from beside Draco.
Draco patted her gently on her knee. “Don’t be so upset, love. There is a possibility that I may just have to kiss you. And I do know how much you would enjoy that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Ha! Well I highly doubt you would enjoy it Mr. Heterosexual-activities-may-induce-vomiting.” Pansy frowned. “And now that I think of it, vomiting and kissing aren’t all that conducive to one another so I may not enjoy it all that much either.”
Draco laughed as Hermione stepped into the pit and sat in between Ron and Harry, depositing an empty glass gin bottle in the middle of the table of sorts before doing so, deciding once and for all that Spin the Bottle was indeed going to be the first game they played. She passed her dainty, liquid-filled glass to Harry before pulling her wand out of her sleeve, pointing it at the bottle and intoning, “Perpetuo Pendere.”
The bottle lifted itself three feet into the air above the table and hovered there. Hermione took her drink back from Harry and sipped at it for a moment before speaking, “There. Whomever goes first just has to point at the bottle to spin it. Lower your hand and it will stop automatically.”
Seamus smiled and lifted his hand, setting the bottle spinning, “I’ll go first then. I dare the people picked to show off their knickers if they refuse to kiss.” When the bottle first stopped on Pansy, and then the sandy-haired boy himself, the entire group round the fire burst into laughter.
Pansy huffed and stood in her seat as Seamus’ eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Since I refuse to kiss a Gryffindork like yourself …” Pansy lifted her black and green vertically stripped mini skirt and flashed everyone looking. “ You can all just take a gander.”
What Pansy lacked in the face, she more than made up for in body. Her skirt was hiked up so high that her petite waist was visible over the frill of her matching black silk underwear and thigh high stockings. There was little left to the imagination and the wolf-whistles came from every corner of the room. She posed lewdly for several moments before pulling her skirt back into place and dropping down beside Draco once more.
Pansy haughtily turned to Seamus. “Your turn.”
Seamus ummed and ahhed for about two seconds before Dean shoved him into a standing position, chuckling quietly. When Seamus finally dropped his trousers several things happened all at once-
Ron rushed to the bathroom before he could pee himself from laughing so hard, Blaise fell onto the floor cackling, and Hermione spit nearly half of her drink into Finch-Fletchley’s curly hair because not only were Seamus’ briefs tight but they where also covered in hideous little leprechauns and four leafed clovers.
After several long moments Seamus redid his buttons with fumbling hands and sat, a blush that could have put Professor Sprout's roses to shame gracing his boyish features. The laugher died away slowly and, when Ron finally returned from the bathroom, Harry lifted his hand towards the bottle rotating lazily in the air.
“I dare the couple picked to …” Ron leaned over to whisper something into his best-mate's ear. Harry let out a burst of laughter. “Use one of the most ridiculous pick up lines they have ever heard on someone in the room if they don’t want to kiss!”
The bottle landed on Blaise and then Dean. The Gryffindors fell oddly quiet, all eyes locked on their tall artistic friend as the other houses laughed loudly at the dare. Draco frowned at Blaise, mentally growling at him not to go through with the kiss. When Harry softly apologized to Dean a second later, his frown deepened. Why would the git apologize?
Before Draco could contemplate any farther Dean spoke up, his soft voice catching everyone’s attention, “Since Lee Jordan would have a fit if I even thought of kissing another boy…” he rose and walked away from the conversation pit and towards the bar where Padma Patil stood. Hermione threw a quick Amplification Charm at his back before he had the opportunity to speak.
As everyone watched, Dean leaned against the bar tapped the more serious of the two Indian twins on the shoulder and said, “If looks could kill Padma, you would be an Uzi.”
The charm worked like a …charm … and sent Dean’s horrid line across the entire room which exploded into gales of laughter.
Dean left a confused Padma and returned to his seat where he was slapped on the back by each of his roommates.
Draco was still frowning as Blaise rose and whispered something along the lines of, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?” into the ear of a Hufflepuff named Hannah Abbot. He was still trying to work out the implications of Dean’s statement when Hannah slapped Blaise, leaving a rather large imprint across his face as she stalked away, her blonde pigtails swinging behind her.
“What does he mean ‘Lee Jordan would have a fit’?” Draco asked of no one in particular. What did the loud-mouthed announcer cum graduate and friend of the insufferable Weasley Twins have to do with anything?
Dean turned towards Draco and smiled shyly, “Lee Jordan is my boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
And that was the end of that. Pansy, just as surprised as Draco, rubbed his back discreetly through his snug-fitting, green T-shirt and asked, “You alright, love?” Draco nodded.
Draco couldn’t have known that over the course of Lee Jordan’s last four years at Hogwarts, Dean had developed a crush on the other boy. Draco also couldn’t have known that Dean’s feelings were reciprocated. Though, now that he thought of it, he did recall seeing Jordan and Dean together at the Triwizard Tournament’s Yule Ball. He just hadn’t thought that they were together like that since Jordan had gone on and on about Angelina - or was it Angelica - Baby Shampoo Namesake throughout his entire first year.
Ah, such was life.
He shrugged Pansy’s hand away and moved to rise. “Like I said, it was just a little crush. Not like I lusted after him or anything.”
Draco drifted towards the bar thinking that the one person he had ever lusted after would probably slap him if he should decide to one day proposition them. He asked the Ravenclaw manning the bar for a drink and turned to watch a pair of Hufflepuffs grinding on the dance floor.
Eww. His corneas where never going to forgive him.
Without another thought Draco grabbed the closest drink at hand and walked hurriedly back towards the pit where much giggling and snorting and noises of disgust were being made. Only after he had lowered himself into his seat and taken a swallow of the slightly bitter drink in his hand did Draco notice what all the smiling Slytherin faces were for.
Crabbe was leaning over a blissful looking Millicent, his mouth attached to her neck. If Draco had found the Hufflepuffs bad, this was worse in an its-about-time-they-finally-stopped-dancing-around-each-other sort of way.
“What the hell?”
“I spun that thing and dared the people it landed on to give the person beside them a hickey if they didn’t feel up for a snog. It landed on Crabbe and then Hermione.”
Draco choked on his drink at that piece of information but then looked up and did a weird laughing cough instead. Granger and the Weasel were blushing, yet again.
“And Granger did it?” Draco was about to turn to Hermione and tell her that he had expected better from her when Pansy laughed.
“Not yet. She has to wait until Crabbe is finished.”
The bruise left on Millicent’s neck when Crabbe finally finished was examined by every Slytherin present before the cheering began. Then everyone turned expectantly to watch Hermione who, at least in Draco’s opinion, looked much more at ease than normal.
Must have been the liquor.
After passing her empty glass to Potter, Hermione stood, removed her navy blue half jacket which she set in her seat and then sat cross ways on a stunned Ron’s lap, her feet dangling a good six inches from the floor.
“Close your mouth, Ronald.” His mouth shut with a snap and Hermione tilted her head sideways to better clasp Weasley’s flesh with her teeth. Potter, who had gotten over his initial shock, smiled goofily as Weasel, eyes closed, let out a moan the size of Wales, his face clasped in Hermione’s hands. Draco watched aghast as Hermione’s cheeks hollowed with each of half a dozen sucks before she removed herself from the nook between his shoulder and neck. Applause erupted from every one in the pit, Pansy and, by extended default Draco, included.
Several spins later the Weasel was still rubbing absentmindedly at his neck and Crabbe and Millicent had flown for one of the more private corners of the large room leaving two empty spaces to be filled on the edge of the Slytherin seating by Luna Lovegood and a curious Neville.
Pansy, who had been sitting beside Millicent, scowled and scooted towards Draco, successfully squishing him between her bosom and Blaise.
“I’d like to go next,” Luna said as soon as she sat cross-legged in a set of pillows that everybody else had simply tossed onto the floor.
Understandably almost everyone was a tad apprehensive. Draco took another gulp of his drink and felt all his inhibitions slip away. Luna lifted her hand towards the bottle, “I think that the people who are picked should say five nice things about one another if they don’t want to share a kiss.” A few people turned to their friends in confusion and others sneered at the ridiculously simple request. The spinning bottle first landed on Harry who was laughing good naturedly at Luna’s dare by the time the bottle began spinning again.
Draco finished off his glass of nameless liquid and placed the empty cup on the table before him, which was a good thing too because he would have thrown it when the bottle landed on him next.
Just my bleeding luck.
If the laughter of everyone present had been loud before, it was cacophonous now. The music had lowered considerably and Draco felt a tingle run up his spine as someone cast an Amplification Charm at him. Potter glared at him from across the fire, as he was nudged by several people to get on with the dare.
Pansy giggled madly as she shoved Draco out of his seat, “Either say something nice Draco or kiss him. You might like it if you try it you know … release some of the sexual tension you’ve been harboring for him.”
Draco turned his glare onto his closest friend as she successfully pushed him into a standing position. “How dare you insinuate that I would find that bespectacled arse even slightly -”
Pansy slapped his backside. “Yes, uh huh, whatever you say …” She knew when she was striking too close to home for Draco’s comfort and it just wouldn’t do to back him into a corner now.
Ron was guffawing madly and clutching at his sides while Hermione tried to hold up her end of the deal on the other side of the fire.
“Harry, just make something up. It shouldn’t be that hard to …” she dissolved into a fit of laughter at the apoplectic look on Harry’s face.
Blaise propelled Draco towards the seething Gryffindor and, in a fit of dignity, Draco decided to be the bigger man. Understandably his inner eleven year old was throwing a conniption fit.
After a loud cough to attract the attention of the laughing crowd that had gathered round the pit to watch, Draco began through gritted teeth. “Potter, you were fucking born on a broom.” Harry looked like he had been slapped.
“You should try to reciprocate, Potter.” Draco scowled, not willing to give another inch if Harry was going to sit there looking dumbfounded.
“Umm,” Harry blushed, “You have nice hair.”
One of Draco’s pale eyebrows lifted of its own accord.
“That isn’t a compliment, Potter, that’s a fact.”
Harry frowned and looked like he wanted to haul back and punch the boy before him, “Can I please not do this Hermione?” he whined. “He’s a prick.”
Hermione smiled at Pansy behind Draco’s back and shook her head. “You have to either compliment him five times or kiss him. We all did our dares. You have to do yours.”
“I’m waiting, Potter,” Draco drawled as he examined his nails.
Harry was furious. “I would rather die than compliment you again.”
Draco shrugged. “And I would rather Lucius be released from Azkaban than have to kiss you.” Well, not really. Potter did have very kissable looking lips.
Gasps sounded round the room. Few had known that Draco did indeed wish that his father would rot in prison. Hitting him, the Malfoy heir for being a failure and a shirt-lifter had been one thing, but the moment his father had turned on Narcissa, the one person Draco loved more than himself, he had had quite enough.
“Now. I’m still waiting on my compliment, Potter.”
Harry’s wide eyes narrowed quickly into slits, “If I remember correctly, it is your turn to compliment me.”
Draco’s other eyebrow joined the first, “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. I disagree. Everyone knows I have nice - bloody brilliant actually - hair. Therefore you stated a fact, not a compliment, and I am still waiting.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded towards Pansy who had moved over into Draco’s seat so that she could aim properly.
“Contrudo!”
A sliver of purple light shot out of the end of Pansy’s wand and hit Draco square in the back, pushing him viciously forward onto Harry’s lap, his legs to either side of a pair of slim hips and his arms extended to catch himself on the edge of the wall behind unruly black hair. Harry’s hands came up to rest on Draco’s waist instinctually, preventing a painful clash of foreheads.
Draco turned to look over his shoulder at Pansy, a few choice words on his lips but a silky little voice interrupted him before he could even begin and told him to turn around. Draco faced slowly forward and froze, immobilized by a tinge of fear.
What the fuck are you playing at, Potter?
I‘m not playing at anything, Malfoy.
Then get out of my head, you arse!
Don’t wanna. Harry shook his head and tightened his grip on Draco as he tried to struggle away. The entire room had gone quiet for the umpteenth time that evening. When had Potter managed to slip into his mind anyway?
Let me go or I will hex off your balls.
No, and I have it on good authority that you would do no such thing. And with that Harry leaned forward and kissed him.
At first Draco was so angry and confused that it was as though a Stunning Spell had hit him full force and he couldn’t pull away. Then, Harry’s soft - possibly contented? - humming filtered through his mind and he felt himself slacken … just a bit.
Harry took Draco’s minimal relaxation as some sort of signal and increased the pressure of his lips, running his tongue gently across the tight seam of Draco’s mouth, begging for entrance. Draco let loose a strangled gasp from somewhere in the back of his throat and then he was kissing Harry back, his hands flying from the low wall behind the Gryffindor’s head and into his soft black hair, pressing insistently until Harry’s tongue delved into his mouth and slipped tantalizingly along each individual tooth. Lust? This was a fucking fire at the base of his stomach, not some flimsy hormone-induced emotion. Draco found himself so wrapped up in the molten heat of the kiss that he didn’t notice the pull of Harry’s Quidditch-calloused hands until he was fully seated on his rival’s lap, twitching groin pressed to twitching groin. Someone moaned and Draco wriggled even closer until their heaving chests were pressed flush against one another. This was odd, but too goddamned perfect and Draco knew that he wouldn’t be reacting like this if he hadn’t wanted it but -
“BLOODY HELL!”
Draco didn’t so much as pull away from Harry as stumble off of his lap in shock. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’tbe happening. He was dreaming. This type of unmentionable shit just didn’t happen anywhere but in his most sordid little fantasies.
Potter was straight. Right? His relationship with that Weasley bint during their sixth year was proof of that. A large part of Draco’s mind took in the indisputable physical evidence of Potter’s arousal - the swollen lips and conspicuously non-wand-shaped bulge in his trousers - and scoffed at the mere idea of a straight Harry Potter. He had to at least be bisexual.
What straight man, possibly bisexual man got an erection from a kiss anyway? Draco shifted to stand and felt his own erection throb uncomfortably.
Great, now I’m a freaking hypocrite too. Will wonders never cease?
Loud clapping and hooting broke the silence that had settled as soon as the boys had begun snogging. Draco paled noticeably and then whirled on the part of the crowed that was howling the loudest and singled Pansy out of the group of cheering Slytherins. She looked pleased, despite Draco’s livid demeanor.
“Happy now?”
And without even waiting for a response, Draco did the one thing that the much smaller and obviously still sane part of his mind was telling him to do. He ran.
***
Draco was halfway down the hallway leading to the main staircase when Harry, ever the faster Seeker, caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
“Unhand me, Potter.” Draco’s quiet words were filled with malice and ice.
Harry didn’t let go. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” He scowled.
Draco spun on him then, his eyes blazing. “Why would it matter if I had.”
Before Harry could answer, a cackling voice filled the corridor. Harry glanced towards the entrance to the staircase to see Peeves swooping into the hall.
“Fuck.” Harry turned to gauge just how far the Room of Requirement was from where he stood, still grasping Draco’s wrist, and decided that they wouldn’t be able to outrun the poltergeist. Another quick scan of the hallway and then Harry was dragging Draco, his mouth covered with a swift hand before he had a chance to scream, into a dark nook behind a suit of armor that Draco was positive hadn’t been there a moment before.
As the darkness of the alcove consumed the boys, however, all thoughts of previously non-existent, ancient battle gear vanished because Harry - bloody - Potter had his arm wrapped around him and, though Draco was loathe to admit it, he was relaxing against the warm body behind him instead of struggling out of its undignified grip.
Peeves came into view then, just over the shoulder of the suit of armor, before Draco could pick apart the implications of the trust his body had so freely given moments before, and he pushed back into Harry’s chest. If Peeves saw him, Slytherin or no, he would probably be attacked. The annoying ghost was equal-opportunity like that when the Bloody Baron wasn’t around.
The chortling of a half bat-shit insane ghost didn’t manage to drown out the low moan from behind Draco’s left ear as he tried to meld into something that Peeves couldn’t torment, causing him to freeze, his arse pressed rather intimately to Potter’s crotch.
Correction - Potter’s bulging crotch.
Draco didn’t know what to do. If he moved forward and away from Potter, Peeves was bound to see him. Then again, if he moved away from the poltergeist, which seemed to be setting a rather intricate trap for whomever decided to walk down the hall next, he would practically be asking for Potter to shag him.
And Potter was not touching his arse.
More than he had anyway.
For the second time that night, Harry took Draco’s silence and almost inactive position as a sign of encouragement. “If I let go will you swear not to scream?”
Harry’s breath washed over Draco’s ear, causing him to shudder in a way that he hoped was imperceptible. He nodded slowly.
Harry dropped his hand to Draco’s waist, holding him firmly in place. Draco absently noted that his lips now felt rather cold but was distracted by the fact that Ha -Potter was stroking his hip through the thin material of his shirt.
“What now?” Draco was surprised at how calm his voice was. Having the freaking Hero-of-the-Wizarding-World practically fondling him - twice! - should have been quite disconcerting. And why exactly wasn’t he moving Potter’s hand away?
“We,” had Draco imagined the emphasis on that one word? “Wait until Peeves finishes up.” Potter’s middle finger found its way beneath the hem of Draco’s shirt just as the fingers of his other hand brushed across a nipple that Draco thought had no bloody right to be hard. He couldn’t even help the soft gasp that accompanied the non-touch. When did Potter’s hand reach nipple level anyway?
“But … what are you doing?” Draco’s question came out strangled as Harry traced his tongue along the outer shell of his ear. Oh, but that felt brilliant. Harry’s middle finger toyed with the edge of Draco’s waistband before slipping into his pants. A few other fingers followed suit.
“Hmm?”
Draco gasped aloud as Harry pinched his aching nipple between forefinger and thumb, the cotton of his shirt heightening the sensation while Harry’s whole hand slipped into his boxers.
“Potter …”
Harry stopped his ministrations and turned Draco around so quickly that his head would have spun had it not been careening too and fro upon its axis already. Harry pulled Draco sharply towards him, his gaze heavy on those pale, familiar features and his cock hot through the fabric of his jeans.
“My name is Harry, Draco.” Draco couldn’t even nod. Harry’s hands had slipped back into his boxers and were massaging his arse in a way that had Draco’s cock hardening even more so that it lay pressed and throbbing against Harry’s. He let out what he hoped was an affirmative grunt.
“Say it, Draco.” Harry’s voice was more growl than anything else.
“H … Harry.” The silver eyes that Harry had grown to love fluttered shut as he slipped a finger into the crack of Draco’s arse.
Harry smiled, whispered a wandless Lubrication Charm and tilted his head to capture the parted lips before him. Draco moaned loudly into Harry’s mouth as very skilled, very slick fingers circled his entrance with a set of lazy sweeps. Draco grasped the back of Harry’s head with both hands, hoping to anchor himself as a tongue slipped into his mouth to mimic the action going on near his entrance. He would surely die if Harry didn’t put something into him.
A fingertip breached Draco as his tongue was chased back into his mouth. The ripple and grind of Harry’s hips as he slowly impaled Draco with his finger had the blond pulling away to gasp for air.
“God, more ...”
Harry groaned as Draco nipped along his jaw and lips. If only he could …“Your pants are too damn tight.”
Draco snorted - there was no such thing - and thrust his hips against Harry’s, causing logical speech to dissolve in another fiery kiss. Harry wiggled the finger he had buried within Draco, hitting his prostate and causing him to yelp in surprise as he tried to add his index finger to no avail. He couldn’t move his hand anymore than he already had within the restrictive clothing and settled for mimicking the action he really wanted to perform with his tongue, thrusting into Draco’s mouth rapidly and repeatedly while stroking the sensitive mound within him.
“So good …” Draco’s hands slipped from the nape of Harry’s neck and scored down his back until they were gripping his arse and pulling him fiercely towards and into each tilt of Draco’s hips. Harry had better come soon because he really couldn’t take much more of this and he would be damned if he seemed less than the attentive lover. Harry’s guttural moan as he came sent Draco careening over the edge much sooner than he had expected, his writhing body keeping Draco suspended in his orgasm for seconds, minutes, decades before he finally relaxed in a boneless lump against the smug and equally relaxed Gryffindork.
Harry gently pulled his finger from Draco’s arse and shifted his hands to rest on his waist while nuzzling his sexily mussed hair, “We are definitely doing that aga -”
“AGGAHHA!?!?!?! SOMEONE HELP!!!”
Draco’s head snapped up from where it had been lying on Harry’s shoulder. Leave it to Longbottom to interrupt such an important sentence.
Wait. Longbottom? Were in the hell was … Peeves! Oh, fucktard. Draco turned in Harry’s loose grip and sure enough, there was Longbottom hanging from the enchanted candelabra that illuminated the hall by his ears. It looked painful.
Not that Draco cared of course.
Sadly Harry cared enough for the both of them. “Neville!”
Draco cast two hasty Cleansing Charms before he was being manhandled out into the hall. Neville saw them emerge from their little cubby just as a group of their fellow seventh years began trickling out to see what all the noise was about, a particularly smug Pansy, Hermione not a step behind her, in the lead.
Understanding dawned on Draco quickly as he met the dark brown eyes of both girls in turn. He then spun on Harry his trademark smirk in place, “Potter, I think we have been had.”
Harry cut Neville out of the magical trap Peeves had set in place and then lowered him to safety before smiling sheepishly at Draco his wand hand rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his head, “I know.” Pansy chuckled evilly and Draco turned to face her, unbridled awe and a smidgen of worship crossing his features.
“Still bored Draco?”
~fin