Harry Potter Fic: Manifold
***
Title: Manifold
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,334
Warnings/enticements: Tentacles! Tentacles everywhere! 16-year-olds having sex with each other so I guess that counts as underage somewhere...
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: Harry learns that despite earlier appearances, he is not quite... human. This has some interesting consequences.
Author notes: Baby’s first HP and tentacle fic, all rolled into one big writhing, slippery ball of porn. This was originally supposed to be a little porny ficlet for my Porn Meme to indulge pushkin666’s unholy love of tentacles but alas I cannot do PWP so it developed a plot of sorts. Manifold thanks to margaret_r for a stellar beta and keeping count of the tentacles! Oh, and I would love some filthy fanart based on the story! A fic of choice for anyone who might be willing to indulge me!
“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “It runs in the family, you see.”
“We were hoping it had skipped you. I mean you are sixteen already. Your mother manifested much earlier.” Madam Pomfrey smoothed her robes fussily.
“What?” Harry said, and then: “What?!”
“Well she was a girl,” Dumbledore commented. “A woman. Well, becoming one.” He waved his hand. “You know what I mean.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded with a distinctive gleam of academic interest in her eyes. “Yes, yes, the gender variation is to be expected in this as in other things. I must record this for-”
“Someone tell me right now what the bloody hell is going on!” Harry shouted. He would’ve felt mortified for such behaviour normally and probably would have lost several points for Gryffindor but considering the circumstances he was pretty sure he was excused. No, scratch that, he was bloody well justified.
“Mr. Potter!” Madam Pomfrey admonished but Dumbledore raised a placating hand.
“It’s alright, the lad’s a tad upset.”
Harry opened his mouth to shout some more because ‘upset’ didn’t even start to cover it. Luckily, Dumbledore chose that moment to actually provide some answers. A rare occurrence.
“Harry,” he said, “Have you ever heard of moridians?”
And that’s how Harry learnt that despite earlier appearances, he was not quite... human.
Of course, the six tentacles that had sprouted from his back during the night had been the first clue.
***
Somewhere along the line his great-great grandmother had tangled (quite literally, Harry thought bitterly, and then wanted to obliviate himself on the spot) with a night creature called moridian. Dumbledore had shown him a picture from an old book and the creature had looked like a large bat with an almost human face and tentacles instead of wings, the shade of them the exact midnight blue as Harry’s. Moridians weren’t exactly repulsive but they weren’t friendly looking either.
“How come I’ve never heard of them before?” Harry had asked, and Dumbledore had launched into a lecture about species extinction and deforestation in the British Isles.
There was another thing Harry was worried about and the answer hadn’t been exactly... reassuring. “Well no,” Dumbledore had said, “Moridians aren’t dark creatures. Per se. More like... morally neutral. I hear the one that your great-great grandmother, er, associated with, was rather... nice.”
Harry had felt like taking a steel brush to his brain again.
***
The only saving grace about the whole thing was that the tentacles only manifested between sunset and sunrise. It was spring now so it wasn’t too bad, but Harry already dreaded the long winter nights.
“But... Where do they go?” Ron asked, torn between awe and dismay.
Of course, Harry had to tell him and Hermione. The amount of trouble the three of them tended to get into in the hours of darkness, there was no way something like this could remain a secret.
“It must be a kind of metaphysical transformation of matter!” Hermione suggested. The gleam in her eyes was eerily identical to that in Madam Pomfrey’s and Harry worried about ending up as a case study in a peer-reviewed journal. “It must be a genetic ability.”
“What’s ‘genetic’?” Ron asked to Hermione’s horror. A lesson in human biology followed.
For all her unnecessary, Harry felt, enthusiasm over his misfortune, Hermione was, as always, useful with the research. She located a number of sources in the library, including some that appeared wholly disreputable. Unfortunately, none of their research told them much more than what Dumbledore had already covered.
It appeared moridians were loners, equivalent to humans in intelligence if not willingness to socialise, spending most of their time in the forests, moving in the top level of the foliage, hunting during the night. Harry did notice an improvement in his eyesight, so much so that a couple of weeks after the first time he’d woken up choking on a scream because there were tentacles coming out of his skin, he had to replace his lenses with ordinary glass. To discard his glasses completely would’ve drawn attention. Besides, Harry rather liked having something between him and the world.
His reflexes also improved and it became a conscious effort to not just win every game of Quidditch within minutes. If anyone found out, Harry was sure he’d be disqualified for having an unfair advantage. Indeed, he laid awake at night, the blasted tentacles lying next to him, shifting a little even though Harry tried to ignore them, and worried about just that. He did have an unfair advantage but also a bloody unfair disadvantage and none of his pyjama tops fitted anymore and what was he supposed do for his astronomy exams which would be during the night and...
Harry did not get a lot of sleep nowadays.
***
The tentacles were midnight blue and slightly longer than his arms. As useful too, as Harry discovered once he, at Ron and Hermione’s urging, started to experiment with his tentacles rather than think of ways to get rid of them.
That was still on the agenda though. It was fine keeping this a secret now but eventually it would come out and then everyone would only see yet another way in which Harry was different (‘a freak’, his mind supplied).
The tentacles did have their potential uses though. With some practice Harry learned to control them with good accuracy, using them as extra limbs to pick up things and climb with a new dexterity.
“Wow, you look like some kind of weird crab, doing that,” Ron said, looking up at Harry who was advancing up the sheer wall of the Hogwarts castle. Harry smacked him on the head with one his tentacles when he got back down.
The tentacles were smooth except for the tips that were covered with round suckers as sensitive as fingertips. “Bet you could write with one,” Hermione said. Harry wasn’t convinced but they tried anyway and while he’d never win any prizes for penmanship, the ‘Harry Potter’ he scribbled on a spare piece of parchment was perfectly legible.
“Wicked,” Hermione sighed and Harry had to admit that it was. A little.
***
They’d always been less than respectful of the official curfew time. The night was now interrupted by the sudden appearance of six extra appendices and so Harry took to wandering around the castle even more than usual. His friends joined him on occasion but not always and indeed there were more and more nights when Harry just wrapped the tentacles tightly around himself under the covers and went back to sleep. Despite his personal drama, the school still continued, classes had to be attended and homework handed in, and Harry knew for sure that ‘lateral tentacle infection’ would not fly as an excuse with Professor McGonagall.
Tonight though Harry had been unable to get back to sleep, the tentacles, once they had appeared, (and they did just that; no gradual growth but suddenly just there) had not settled down despite Harry’s best efforts. They did that sometimes, had a mind of their own almost. Or, to be more accurate, reflected Harry’s internal state in a way that was rather... revealing. If Harry was hungry, the tentacles would slither toward the nearest edible item and grab it, without any conscious intention on Harry’s part. When Harry was angry, they were liable to lash out no matter how hard he tried to keep hold of his temper. And when he was restless and worried, like now, the tentacles would shift and writhe, picking at the bedclothes, winding around items in reach only to drop them a second later. It was irritating as hell, only aggravating the situation.
Which was why Harry had eventually given up on sleep and was currently wandering around the darkened Hogwarts. The corridors were quiet, the portraits snoozing and even Mr. Filch appeared to be tucked away in a cubbyhole somewhere, curled around his wretched cat. Harry didn’t know if it was his not-quite-human ancestry coming through in more ways but the nights were now his territory the way they’d never been before. He felt comfortable in the shadows, no longer afraid of what lurked in them, whether it be Dementors or child-hating caretakers.
He tried very hard to convince himself that the reason he was so content in the dark nowadays was not because he was dark.
So occupied was Harry with his thoughts that he didn’t notice Draco until he quite literally tripped over him.
***
Draco was sitting on the floor, hidden by the hulking armour, his long legs stretched in front of him, ready to ambush Harry’s feet. He scrambled up with a muffled cry just as Harry went down with his own cursed exclamation. The metal armour swayed alarmingly before catching itself on the wall and straightening up with a distinctively affronted manner.
Both boys sighed in relief; the clatter would have brought the whole castle running for them.
“Hey! Watch where you’re... Harry?!” Draco had rounded on whoever the rude midnight walker had been, only to see two totally unexpected things. One, it was Harry, who had been studiously avoiding Draco for weeks now, and two, he was not lying flat on his face on the stone floor like Draco had expected after such a spectacular demonstration of clumsiness.
Instead, Harry was suspended mid-fall, his face inches from the floor, mouth the perfect O of surprise. His arms had come up instinctively to catch him but they weren’t what was holding him up.
There were... things - long, dark, disturbingly alive things - coming (flowing, undulating, unwinding, Draco’s mind supplied helpfully) from under Harry’s robes. They too appeared to have acted on instinct when Harry tripped, shooting out to grab for support. Two were imitating Harry’s arms, folded over the floor to cushion his fall that never came because the rest - four, Draco counted, with distant hysteria - had spread out to grab hold of walls, torch hooks and curtain rails to stop it from happening.
The resulting image was one of Harry, hanging in the air a bit like a fly in the middle of a spider’s net except this net was all his own doing and it was... moving.
With a dexterity that was as insidious as it was mesmerising, the tentacles (for that’s what they were, Draco could see now), unwound enough to let Harry gain his footing, before letting go entirely of whatever they had been holding onto. For a moment Harry stood there, hands idly brushing down his robes while the six tentacles waved around him like agitated seaweed, tucking at his clothing and even patting at his hair.
Then Harry noticed Draco and all movement ceased for a second before the tentacles disappeared so fast under Harry’s robes it was almost as if they’d vanished. Except Draco could still see their slightly bulky outline from underneath and Harry was looking like a child with his hand caught in a biscuit tin. Where the biscuit tin equalled a body transformation of some significant proportion.
They stared at each other for a long silent minute, the night settling over them once more after being disturbed by unruly teenagers. Finally, Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall, part for effect, part because he rather felt like having something solid at his back at the moment. “Well now,” he drawled, smirking like a cat let loose in a dairy. “Isn’t this interesting.”
***
It was not interesting, it was humiliating and catastrophic and just possibly the third worst thing that had happened to Harry in all his life (the first being his parents dying and the second being the appearance of the tentacles in the first place).
“Breathe before you pass out,” Draco said. “Although... do you think your tentacles would still work even if you were unconscious?” He looked, well, interested.
Harry scowled. “I don’t know. And you will never know.”
Draco made a little humming sound that wasn’t in any way acquiescing. “Can I touch them?” he asked, already taking a step forward.
Harry took one backward. “No!” he said, and then scowled even harder because one of the tentacles had slid out from under his robes and was weaving curiously toward Draco whose expression was caught somewhere between rapt and apprehensive.
“This... You... What happened?” he asked, eyes trained on the tentacles, two now, easing out to investigate.
Harry told him.
***
“So is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Draco asked an hour later when they were sequestered in one of the old abandoned classrooms.
Harry looked like he was about to deny it but then he simply said “Yes,” pushing up his glasses in a gesture that was so stupidly familiar it made something dark twist in Draco’s gut, something like grief and resentment and need to lash out.
“What, you thought this finally made you too freaky to be fucked even by me?” It was a low blow but it sure hit its target.
“Shut up,” Harry hissed, face flushed with anger, his tentacles that had been loosely gathered around him suddenly uncoiling.
Draco committed the cardinal sin of Slytherins: he saw the warning signs, saw them and ignored them, ploughing onwards instead of changing tactics.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “You know what they say about Draco Malfoy: he’ll fuck anything. And so I will.” Draco arched his eyebrows haughtily, knowing he was going too far but unable to do anything about it. When Harry had just stopped showing up to their... meetings, he’d been angry and hurt too, though he would die first before admitting that. “There was no need to finish our little arrangement,” he infused the word with as much scorn as he could, “just because you developed some additional body parts.” Draco leaned over to pat Harry’s knee, aiming for mock consolation.
His hand never made contact. One of Harry’s tentacles sprang up like a cobra striking for its prey and wrapped tightly around Draco’s wrist. Before he could so much as gasp in surprise, two others wound around his arms, bodily lifting him up from his chair and pinning him against the nearest wall, his feet now dangling several inches above ground.
“Shut. Up,” Harry said again. He was angry, that much was clear, but also surprised as if he hadn’t expected his tentacles to do that either. “I know I’m a freak,” Harry said, looking up at Draco on the wall like he couldn’t decide whether he liked what he saw or not, “but what does that make you?”
‘Horny,’ Draco thought, though he had the presence of mind not to say it out loud. He opened his mouth for a sharp reply, only to find it clamped shut by the tentacle that had previously been around his wrist. The touch was surprisingly warm, the protrusions soft like the pads of a cat’s paw but firmer somehow, as the tentacle settled over his lips and jaw, the tip curling into Draco’s neck.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Harry asked. “That was one those, whatchamacallit? Rhetorical questions.”
Normally, Draco would have had at least twenty scathing comments at the ready about Potter’s aptitude for using rhetorical questions, but he was currently both robbed of his ability to speak and increasingly aware just how quickly he was losing ability to do anything else either. In panic, he aimed a kick at Harry, only to have one of the tentacles wrap around both his ankles, effectively securing them. God, he had not anticipated this, not even a little bit. The tentacles were clearly stronger than an average human grip. But then again, Harry wasn’t quite human, was he? Draco shivered.
“I still have two left,” Harry said. “And I haven’t even used my hands yet.” He waved them illustratively at Draco before crossing his arms and regarding him in silence. “Well now,” he said emulating Draco’s stance from earlier. “I think you were right. This is interesting.”
***
Now that he had Draco where he wanted him, silent and more or less still for a change, Harry wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. He remembered the first time that had happened, and how, on that occasion, Draco had given him the answer, showing him how to take their fight to the next level now that it had ended with the two of them struggling on the floor, both panting and hard from adrenaline. After that it had become a... well, Draco’s word was as good a descriptor as any. However, somewhere along the line their ‘arrangement’ had changed from just a new way to see who could gain the upper hand to kind of, well, talking, between all the fighting and fucking they were doing too. Harry didn’t think they were friends exactly and certainly not any kind of boyfriends, but they weren’t quite enemies anymore either.
But that was then and this was now. Back then Harry didn’t have six tentacles, all currently wrapping themselves around Draco in a way that could be considered less restraining and more... intimate.
It was almost as if they had a mind of their own even though Harry knew it to be untrue. Hermione had postulated that the tentacles were directly connected to Harry’s subconscious, seeking to fill out his base needs and desires such as finding food or keeping him from falling. It made sense but it also made it impossible to hide.
Last time, Draco had showed him what to do. This time, it seemed that Harry already knew the answer and his tentacles were eager to demonstrate it.
The one over Draco’s mouth slid lower, the tip dragging over Draco’s bottom lip and pulling it into a brief pout and making his eyes go wide and dark in surprise.
“You’ll fuck anything, Draco? Isn’t that what you said?” Harry asked, not really expecting an answer, not even looking at Draco’s face right now. He was far too busy watching the slow side of his tentacle over Draco’s pale neck, they way he tried to drop his chin to protect his throat but couldn’t, the thick part of the tentacle coming to press over it hard enough to restrict breathing if only momentarily.
“Would you fuck me now, Draco?” Harry continued. His tentacles were passing on all sorts of sensory information that wasn’t just touch-based. There was scent too, and heat, he could feel even the relatively minute temperature changes of Draco’s body, and the salty clean scent-taste-wetness of his perspiration settled on the back of Harry’s tongue like he’d actually licked Draco’s skin, only deeper, more vivid. “The way I am now... Would you?”
The tentacle slid into the gap in Draco’s robes, feeling the neatly buttoned shirt under it, considering. This time, Harry knew exactly what to do though. Now happy to follow orders since the higher cognitive functions had gotten on board, a second tentacle joined the first under Draco’s robes.
“Or maybe...” Harry could hear the roughness in his own voice, thick with coiling desire. A little concentration and Harry had a good grip of the material and then it was simply a matter of willing it and the tentacles ripped Draco’s shirt and robes open like so much paper. “Maybe you would like me to fuck you.” Harry said, just as his tentacles pressed greedily against Draco’s bare skin, winding around his chest and stomach with obscene eagerness.
They both moaned.
***
Merlin, it felt amazing. Being completely helpless like this, spread open and held in place like a toy or some fascinating specimen under a magnifying glass. It should have made Draco spitting mad and fighting back but he was doing neither. Oh he was moving alright, squirming and pushing against the restrain of the tentacles but it was only to feel them better.
It was like being caressed by several people all at once, except the texture was completely different from human palms, smoother and stronger, infinitely more... flexible, moulding over the contours of Draco’s body so closely he was sure not a molecule of him remained untouched. He was fully hard now, straining against his slacks, and the dark, hungry look on Harry’s face meant that detail hadn’t escaped his notice. Draco had a fleeting, wistful memory of Harry’s mouth, wide and surprisingly talented, wrapping around... But it was quickly surpassed by something quite different pressing against his erection.
Draco could only watch with slack-jawed lust as the tentacles wrapped around his legs slid upwards, rubbing against his inner thighs, pushing them wider apart, until finally, finally, exploring the bulge at the front of his trousers.
“Do you, Draco?” Harry asked, and his voice was rough, with an edge to it that usually only came out in a fight. Or when one of them was already balls-deep in the other.
“Wha-What?” Draco panted, embarrassingly close to getting off, just from the steady pressure against his aching cock, and the way he could do nothing to either alleviate it or force it into more than exactly what Harry and his tentacles were willing to give.
“Want me to fuck you?” Harry finished the question. “Now that I can do that without even lifting a finger.” He tapped his index finger against his bottom lip as if considering something mundane like what to have for tea while two of his tentacles worked at unbuckling Draco’s belt. It was clumsier and slower than it would have been with fingers, but Harry did not seem to mind.
“You...” Draco swallowed, almost biting his tongue at the feel of the tentacles against his lower stomach, moulding perfectly against the curve of his hip bones. “You all talk?”
Harry didn’t even answer. Instead, his tentacles wrenched Draco’s fly open, pulling his trousers down and off in one smooth movement that left him naked and turned on, his hips snapping forward as much as they could, desperately seeking any friction as he fucked thin air for five glorious seconds on unrestricted movement.
Then he was being lifted to the floor, still wrapped in Harry’s tentacles but standing more or less on his own two feet again.
“Fuck,” Draco said. “Just get on with-Mph!” The rest of his sentence was cut short because there was suddenly something else in Draco’s mouth than impatient words, a tip of a tentacle pressing against his lips and then in, the soft suckers caressing his tongue in a way that felt almost like a kiss - a filthy, obscene kiss that consumed him from the inside out, the tentacle filling his mouth almost to the point of gagging.
***
Harry had not meant to do that. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to do any of this, but that did not mean he didn’t like the outcome. Quite the contrary, it seemed that if he just let his subconscious have the reigns, the resulting race would be quite... pleasurable.
He had never seen Draco so... undone, as he was now; naked and aroused, actually sucking on one of Harry’s tentacles with the level of urgency that spoke volumes. It also felt good. Not as good as having Draco’s mouth around his cock, but still better, much more intimate than someone sucking his fingers would’ve felt.
It occurred to him then that he could probably, definitely, bring Draco off without once touching him with his hands. He didn’t need them now that he had other... options.
Harry only had to think it, not even that, just a vague ‘wouldn’t it be interesting if...’ and the tentacles were there, winding around Draco’s body, constantly moving and caressing, pressing close and tight, suckers catching on the sensitive skin at the inside of his elbows and thighs, his nipples, leaving behind little red marks, like love bits, and making Draco gasp and moan and writhe as much as he could, restrained and gagged as he was.
“Fuck, fuck,” Harry panted. “You should see the way you look.” He was still fully clothed and saw no reason to change the situation. There was something about it - still being in his school robes while Draco’s pale skin was all on display, flushed pink with arousal and pinker still wherever the tentacles nipped and sucked - a sense of power and control, something there had been preciously little of in Harry’s life and something he was loathe to relinquish.
He made one concession though, fumbling for his trousers with a shaky hand, pulling his cock out into the open where Draco could see the effect this had, what he was missing,
Although it didn’t seem like Draco was feeling particularly lacking. One of Harry’s tentacles wrapped itself around Draco’s leaking cock, wrenching a muffled scream out of him and making him jerk so much he would’ve fallen over if not for the other tentacles, keeping him secure.
“I think,” Harry said, fisting his own cock as slowly as he could bear, wanting to prolong this but unsure if he could, “I’m going to fuck you.”
Draco’s eyes flickered down, drawn by the movement of Harry’s hand but Harry shook his head. “No, not with this,” he said, just as one of his tentacles slid around Draco’s waist and then down, between his arse cheeks, another one moving toward the same destination from between Draco’s legs.
***
Oh god, Harry was going to... He was... Draco could feel the tentacles spreading him open, the one between his legs pressing against his balls and perineum so tightly it was almost as if he was riding it. No, there was no ‘almost’ about it; Draco was frantically rubbing himself against the warm sleekness as it pushed closer and closer between his cheeks.
He had never been rimmed but he imagined this is what it would feel like, except now there were two things probing at his opening, stroking over the sensitive skin and pulling him open until Draco knew he was fully exposed. He could briefly feel the cool air of the room until it was replaced by the hot pressure of the tentacle tip starting to push inside him.
Draco sobbed at the feel, his head thrown back, mouth still being fucked by one tentacle, another squeezing his cock to stop him from coming on the spot, glistening wetly from his precome. He was so fucking open, so full, the tentacle far more flexible than a human penis or fingers could ever be, writhing and searching inside him until it found his prostate, the sensitive suckers at the tip latching on and starting a massaging motion that made his back bow from the effort to come.
But he couldn’t. Harry wouldn’t let him, his tentacle holding the base of Draco’s cock in a tight grip. He was caught there, filled to bursting, sweat springing up all over his body, frantically jerking back and forth between the tentacles but every movement forward brought increased pressure on his cock and every movement back pressed the tentacle in his ass even deeper, and he could feel the curious wanton way the other tentacle was still prodding around his hole, as if seeking to exploit any opportunity to push in too.
And all through this Harry was just standing there, fisting his cock lazily, his eyes raking over Draco in a way that was almost as unbearable as the actual physical contact of his tentacles. “I’m not going to let you come,” he said and Draco curled forward, desperate - no, no, no, please you have to - and Harry’s hand picked up pace, his cock almost angry red, sliding easily between his fingers. “Not until I do,” he added, voice rough.
Objectively, Draco knew it was only a matter of minutes until Harry was shuddering through his orgasm, warm come splattering all over Draco and the tentacles, but every second was torture. It continued even after, for Harry didn’t immediately relinquish his grip on Draco’s cock but instead waited, slowly stroking himself through his aftershocks, watching Draco through slitted eyes.
“Alright then,” he said finally, and the tentacle in Draco’s mouth withdrew, leaving him gasping, drool smeared all over his lips and chin. “Let’s hear you beg.”
Draco had not begged in his life, not for anything, and he didn’t intend to do so now but the words falling from his mouth were barely words at all, just broken syllables that might have once been a part of ‘please’ or ‘anything’ or ‘Harry’. It was that last one that seemed to do the trick; the tentacle around Draco’s cock loosened its hold, moving up to wrap around the sensitive tip instead, starting to massage it in the same rhythm as the one in his arse was pressing against his prostate.
The pleasure of it was so sharp it almost hurt, the first few waves of it pulling a keen out of his mouth, quickly muffled by a tentacle for which Draco was distantly grateful; he didn’t exactly want an audience to witness this. It went on for a long while; every time Draco thought he was done, the tentacle in his ass milked another burst of come out of him until he was shuddering and begging Harry to stop, every nerve-ending raw.
***
Harry’s higher brain functions were coming online gradually now that the haze of lust was dissipating. He tucked himself back in, slowly unwound his tentacles from around Draco and from inside him, which pulled a groan from both of them. Draco was boneless and Harry laid him on the floor for the lack of anywhere better to put him, distantly wondering if they would ever end up doing this somewhere with an actual bed, pillows and covers and privacy. Time.
Time.
Harry glanced at the window. It was still night, not the pitch black of it though anymore, the sky turning toward lead grey slowly. The dawn wasn’t far off.
On the floor, Draco was tentatively sitting up, still clearly weak and a little disoriented and Harry thought how easy it would be to hurt him now, to hex him with something nasty and embarrassing. His tentacles though, they were more interested in helping Draco up and pulling him close until Harry could wrap his arms around his thin frame.
Draco stiffened in surprise at first but then when Harry didn’t say anything or do anything more, he slowly relaxed, even leaning his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. After a while, he started shaking though; small tremors first but then bigger and bigger, until his whole body was quaking.
“What...?” Harry pushed him away far enough to see his face, concerned until he realised that... “You’re laughing!” he observed, accusingly.
Draco’s face was contorted with mirth, his eyes wrinkled at the corners in a way that made Harry want to kiss the little folds of skin. “Why?” he asked, confused but fighting an answering smile.
“I’m just trying to decide which my father would hate more,” Draco managed to explain between helpless laughter. “The fact that I’m shagging Harry Potter or that I’m shagging someone not even quite human!”
Harry imagined the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face if he ever did find out and the image was enough to make him grin too. “Do you care?” Harry asked.
Draco’s laughter quietened down to an occasional guffaw and he stepped away, picking up his trousers from the floor and pulling them on. “Not as much as I probably should,” he said finally, regarding Harry with a slight frown on his face, like the answer hadn’t been at all what he’d expected to say.
Harry could sympathise, only for him the problem seemed to be about caring too much. Still, damned inconvenient. He nodded once and handed Draco his shirt and robes. “C’mon,” he said, “We should go. The sun...“
With a sound like someone shaking a sheet open, the tentacles vanished, as completely as they’d never been. “...is rising,” Harry finished with a shrug.
Draco cocked his head, saying nothing but looking still so very... interested, and well, Harry rather thought that was a good thing. An interesting one, even.
***
Title: Manifold
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,334
Warnings/enticements: Tentacles! Tentacles everywhere! 16-year-olds having sex with each other so I guess that counts as underage somewhere...
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: Harry learns that despite earlier appearances, he is not quite... human. This has some interesting consequences.
Author notes: Baby’s first HP and tentacle fic, all rolled into one big writhing, slippery ball of porn. This was originally supposed to be a little porny ficlet for my Porn Meme to indulge pushkin666’s unholy love of tentacles but alas I cannot do PWP so it developed a plot of sorts. Manifold thanks to margaret_r for a stellar beta and keeping count of the tentacles! Oh, and I would love some filthy fanart based on the story! A fic of choice for anyone who might be willing to indulge me!
“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “It runs in the family, you see.”
“We were hoping it had skipped you. I mean you are sixteen already. Your mother manifested much earlier.” Madam Pomfrey smoothed her robes fussily.
“What?” Harry said, and then: “What?!”
“Well she was a girl,” Dumbledore commented. “A woman. Well, becoming one.” He waved his hand. “You know what I mean.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded with a distinctive gleam of academic interest in her eyes. “Yes, yes, the gender variation is to be expected in this as in other things. I must record this for-”
“Someone tell me right now what the bloody hell is going on!” Harry shouted. He would’ve felt mortified for such behaviour normally and probably would have lost several points for Gryffindor but considering the circumstances he was pretty sure he was excused. No, scratch that, he was bloody well justified.
“Mr. Potter!” Madam Pomfrey admonished but Dumbledore raised a placating hand.
“It’s alright, the lad’s a tad upset.”
Harry opened his mouth to shout some more because ‘upset’ didn’t even start to cover it. Luckily, Dumbledore chose that moment to actually provide some answers. A rare occurrence.
“Harry,” he said, “Have you ever heard of moridians?”
And that’s how Harry learnt that despite earlier appearances, he was not quite... human.
Of course, the six tentacles that had sprouted from his back during the night had been the first clue.
***
Somewhere along the line his great-great grandmother had tangled (quite literally, Harry thought bitterly, and then wanted to obliviate himself on the spot) with a night creature called moridian. Dumbledore had shown him a picture from an old book and the creature had looked like a large bat with an almost human face and tentacles instead of wings, the shade of them the exact midnight blue as Harry’s. Moridians weren’t exactly repulsive but they weren’t friendly looking either.
“How come I’ve never heard of them before?” Harry had asked, and Dumbledore had launched into a lecture about species extinction and deforestation in the British Isles.
There was another thing Harry was worried about and the answer hadn’t been exactly... reassuring. “Well no,” Dumbledore had said, “Moridians aren’t dark creatures. Per se. More like... morally neutral. I hear the one that your great-great grandmother, er, associated with, was rather... nice.”
Harry had felt like taking a steel brush to his brain again.
***
The only saving grace about the whole thing was that the tentacles only manifested between sunset and sunrise. It was spring now so it wasn’t too bad, but Harry already dreaded the long winter nights.
“But... Where do they go?” Ron asked, torn between awe and dismay.
Of course, Harry had to tell him and Hermione. The amount of trouble the three of them tended to get into in the hours of darkness, there was no way something like this could remain a secret.
“It must be a kind of metaphysical transformation of matter!” Hermione suggested. The gleam in her eyes was eerily identical to that in Madam Pomfrey’s and Harry worried about ending up as a case study in a peer-reviewed journal. “It must be a genetic ability.”
“What’s ‘genetic’?” Ron asked to Hermione’s horror. A lesson in human biology followed.
For all her unnecessary, Harry felt, enthusiasm over his misfortune, Hermione was, as always, useful with the research. She located a number of sources in the library, including some that appeared wholly disreputable. Unfortunately, none of their research told them much more than what Dumbledore had already covered.
It appeared moridians were loners, equivalent to humans in intelligence if not willingness to socialise, spending most of their time in the forests, moving in the top level of the foliage, hunting during the night. Harry did notice an improvement in his eyesight, so much so that a couple of weeks after the first time he’d woken up choking on a scream because there were tentacles coming out of his skin, he had to replace his lenses with ordinary glass. To discard his glasses completely would’ve drawn attention. Besides, Harry rather liked having something between him and the world.
His reflexes also improved and it became a conscious effort to not just win every game of Quidditch within minutes. If anyone found out, Harry was sure he’d be disqualified for having an unfair advantage. Indeed, he laid awake at night, the blasted tentacles lying next to him, shifting a little even though Harry tried to ignore them, and worried about just that. He did have an unfair advantage but also a bloody unfair disadvantage and none of his pyjama tops fitted anymore and what was he supposed do for his astronomy exams which would be during the night and...
Harry did not get a lot of sleep nowadays.
***
The tentacles were midnight blue and slightly longer than his arms. As useful too, as Harry discovered once he, at Ron and Hermione’s urging, started to experiment with his tentacles rather than think of ways to get rid of them.
That was still on the agenda though. It was fine keeping this a secret now but eventually it would come out and then everyone would only see yet another way in which Harry was different (‘a freak’, his mind supplied).
The tentacles did have their potential uses though. With some practice Harry learned to control them with good accuracy, using them as extra limbs to pick up things and climb with a new dexterity.
“Wow, you look like some kind of weird crab, doing that,” Ron said, looking up at Harry who was advancing up the sheer wall of the Hogwarts castle. Harry smacked him on the head with one his tentacles when he got back down.
The tentacles were smooth except for the tips that were covered with round suckers as sensitive as fingertips. “Bet you could write with one,” Hermione said. Harry wasn’t convinced but they tried anyway and while he’d never win any prizes for penmanship, the ‘Harry Potter’ he scribbled on a spare piece of parchment was perfectly legible.
“Wicked,” Hermione sighed and Harry had to admit that it was. A little.
***
They’d always been less than respectful of the official curfew time. The night was now interrupted by the sudden appearance of six extra appendices and so Harry took to wandering around the castle even more than usual. His friends joined him on occasion but not always and indeed there were more and more nights when Harry just wrapped the tentacles tightly around himself under the covers and went back to sleep. Despite his personal drama, the school still continued, classes had to be attended and homework handed in, and Harry knew for sure that ‘lateral tentacle infection’ would not fly as an excuse with Professor McGonagall.
Tonight though Harry had been unable to get back to sleep, the tentacles, once they had appeared, (and they did just that; no gradual growth but suddenly just there) had not settled down despite Harry’s best efforts. They did that sometimes, had a mind of their own almost. Or, to be more accurate, reflected Harry’s internal state in a way that was rather... revealing. If Harry was hungry, the tentacles would slither toward the nearest edible item and grab it, without any conscious intention on Harry’s part. When Harry was angry, they were liable to lash out no matter how hard he tried to keep hold of his temper. And when he was restless and worried, like now, the tentacles would shift and writhe, picking at the bedclothes, winding around items in reach only to drop them a second later. It was irritating as hell, only aggravating the situation.
Which was why Harry had eventually given up on sleep and was currently wandering around the darkened Hogwarts. The corridors were quiet, the portraits snoozing and even Mr. Filch appeared to be tucked away in a cubbyhole somewhere, curled around his wretched cat. Harry didn’t know if it was his not-quite-human ancestry coming through in more ways but the nights were now his territory the way they’d never been before. He felt comfortable in the shadows, no longer afraid of what lurked in them, whether it be Dementors or child-hating caretakers.
He tried very hard to convince himself that the reason he was so content in the dark nowadays was not because he was dark.
So occupied was Harry with his thoughts that he didn’t notice Draco until he quite literally tripped over him.
***
Draco was sitting on the floor, hidden by the hulking armour, his long legs stretched in front of him, ready to ambush Harry’s feet. He scrambled up with a muffled cry just as Harry went down with his own cursed exclamation. The metal armour swayed alarmingly before catching itself on the wall and straightening up with a distinctively affronted manner.
Both boys sighed in relief; the clatter would have brought the whole castle running for them.
“Hey! Watch where you’re... Harry?!” Draco had rounded on whoever the rude midnight walker had been, only to see two totally unexpected things. One, it was Harry, who had been studiously avoiding Draco for weeks now, and two, he was not lying flat on his face on the stone floor like Draco had expected after such a spectacular demonstration of clumsiness.
Instead, Harry was suspended mid-fall, his face inches from the floor, mouth the perfect O of surprise. His arms had come up instinctively to catch him but they weren’t what was holding him up.
There were... things - long, dark, disturbingly alive things - coming (flowing, undulating, unwinding, Draco’s mind supplied helpfully) from under Harry’s robes. They too appeared to have acted on instinct when Harry tripped, shooting out to grab for support. Two were imitating Harry’s arms, folded over the floor to cushion his fall that never came because the rest - four, Draco counted, with distant hysteria - had spread out to grab hold of walls, torch hooks and curtain rails to stop it from happening.
The resulting image was one of Harry, hanging in the air a bit like a fly in the middle of a spider’s net except this net was all his own doing and it was... moving.
With a dexterity that was as insidious as it was mesmerising, the tentacles (for that’s what they were, Draco could see now), unwound enough to let Harry gain his footing, before letting go entirely of whatever they had been holding onto. For a moment Harry stood there, hands idly brushing down his robes while the six tentacles waved around him like agitated seaweed, tucking at his clothing and even patting at his hair.
Then Harry noticed Draco and all movement ceased for a second before the tentacles disappeared so fast under Harry’s robes it was almost as if they’d vanished. Except Draco could still see their slightly bulky outline from underneath and Harry was looking like a child with his hand caught in a biscuit tin. Where the biscuit tin equalled a body transformation of some significant proportion.
They stared at each other for a long silent minute, the night settling over them once more after being disturbed by unruly teenagers. Finally, Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall, part for effect, part because he rather felt like having something solid at his back at the moment. “Well now,” he drawled, smirking like a cat let loose in a dairy. “Isn’t this interesting.”
***
It was not interesting, it was humiliating and catastrophic and just possibly the third worst thing that had happened to Harry in all his life (the first being his parents dying and the second being the appearance of the tentacles in the first place).
“Breathe before you pass out,” Draco said. “Although... do you think your tentacles would still work even if you were unconscious?” He looked, well, interested.
Harry scowled. “I don’t know. And you will never know.”
Draco made a little humming sound that wasn’t in any way acquiescing. “Can I touch them?” he asked, already taking a step forward.
Harry took one backward. “No!” he said, and then scowled even harder because one of the tentacles had slid out from under his robes and was weaving curiously toward Draco whose expression was caught somewhere between rapt and apprehensive.
“This... You... What happened?” he asked, eyes trained on the tentacles, two now, easing out to investigate.
Harry told him.
***
“So is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Draco asked an hour later when they were sequestered in one of the old abandoned classrooms.
Harry looked like he was about to deny it but then he simply said “Yes,” pushing up his glasses in a gesture that was so stupidly familiar it made something dark twist in Draco’s gut, something like grief and resentment and need to lash out.
“What, you thought this finally made you too freaky to be fucked even by me?” It was a low blow but it sure hit its target.
“Shut up,” Harry hissed, face flushed with anger, his tentacles that had been loosely gathered around him suddenly uncoiling.
Draco committed the cardinal sin of Slytherins: he saw the warning signs, saw them and ignored them, ploughing onwards instead of changing tactics.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “You know what they say about Draco Malfoy: he’ll fuck anything. And so I will.” Draco arched his eyebrows haughtily, knowing he was going too far but unable to do anything about it. When Harry had just stopped showing up to their... meetings, he’d been angry and hurt too, though he would die first before admitting that. “There was no need to finish our little arrangement,” he infused the word with as much scorn as he could, “just because you developed some additional body parts.” Draco leaned over to pat Harry’s knee, aiming for mock consolation.
His hand never made contact. One of Harry’s tentacles sprang up like a cobra striking for its prey and wrapped tightly around Draco’s wrist. Before he could so much as gasp in surprise, two others wound around his arms, bodily lifting him up from his chair and pinning him against the nearest wall, his feet now dangling several inches above ground.
“Shut. Up,” Harry said again. He was angry, that much was clear, but also surprised as if he hadn’t expected his tentacles to do that either. “I know I’m a freak,” Harry said, looking up at Draco on the wall like he couldn’t decide whether he liked what he saw or not, “but what does that make you?”
‘Horny,’ Draco thought, though he had the presence of mind not to say it out loud. He opened his mouth for a sharp reply, only to find it clamped shut by the tentacle that had previously been around his wrist. The touch was surprisingly warm, the protrusions soft like the pads of a cat’s paw but firmer somehow, as the tentacle settled over his lips and jaw, the tip curling into Draco’s neck.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Harry asked. “That was one those, whatchamacallit? Rhetorical questions.”
Normally, Draco would have had at least twenty scathing comments at the ready about Potter’s aptitude for using rhetorical questions, but he was currently both robbed of his ability to speak and increasingly aware just how quickly he was losing ability to do anything else either. In panic, he aimed a kick at Harry, only to have one of the tentacles wrap around both his ankles, effectively securing them. God, he had not anticipated this, not even a little bit. The tentacles were clearly stronger than an average human grip. But then again, Harry wasn’t quite human, was he? Draco shivered.
“I still have two left,” Harry said. “And I haven’t even used my hands yet.” He waved them illustratively at Draco before crossing his arms and regarding him in silence. “Well now,” he said emulating Draco’s stance from earlier. “I think you were right. This is interesting.”
***
Now that he had Draco where he wanted him, silent and more or less still for a change, Harry wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. He remembered the first time that had happened, and how, on that occasion, Draco had given him the answer, showing him how to take their fight to the next level now that it had ended with the two of them struggling on the floor, both panting and hard from adrenaline. After that it had become a... well, Draco’s word was as good a descriptor as any. However, somewhere along the line their ‘arrangement’ had changed from just a new way to see who could gain the upper hand to kind of, well, talking, between all the fighting and fucking they were doing too. Harry didn’t think they were friends exactly and certainly not any kind of boyfriends, but they weren’t quite enemies anymore either.
But that was then and this was now. Back then Harry didn’t have six tentacles, all currently wrapping themselves around Draco in a way that could be considered less restraining and more... intimate.
It was almost as if they had a mind of their own even though Harry knew it to be untrue. Hermione had postulated that the tentacles were directly connected to Harry’s subconscious, seeking to fill out his base needs and desires such as finding food or keeping him from falling. It made sense but it also made it impossible to hide.
Last time, Draco had showed him what to do. This time, it seemed that Harry already knew the answer and his tentacles were eager to demonstrate it.
The one over Draco’s mouth slid lower, the tip dragging over Draco’s bottom lip and pulling it into a brief pout and making his eyes go wide and dark in surprise.
“You’ll fuck anything, Draco? Isn’t that what you said?” Harry asked, not really expecting an answer, not even looking at Draco’s face right now. He was far too busy watching the slow side of his tentacle over Draco’s pale neck, they way he tried to drop his chin to protect his throat but couldn’t, the thick part of the tentacle coming to press over it hard enough to restrict breathing if only momentarily.
“Would you fuck me now, Draco?” Harry continued. His tentacles were passing on all sorts of sensory information that wasn’t just touch-based. There was scent too, and heat, he could feel even the relatively minute temperature changes of Draco’s body, and the salty clean scent-taste-wetness of his perspiration settled on the back of Harry’s tongue like he’d actually licked Draco’s skin, only deeper, more vivid. “The way I am now... Would you?”
The tentacle slid into the gap in Draco’s robes, feeling the neatly buttoned shirt under it, considering. This time, Harry knew exactly what to do though. Now happy to follow orders since the higher cognitive functions had gotten on board, a second tentacle joined the first under Draco’s robes.
“Or maybe...” Harry could hear the roughness in his own voice, thick with coiling desire. A little concentration and Harry had a good grip of the material and then it was simply a matter of willing it and the tentacles ripped Draco’s shirt and robes open like so much paper. “Maybe you would like me to fuck you.” Harry said, just as his tentacles pressed greedily against Draco’s bare skin, winding around his chest and stomach with obscene eagerness.
They both moaned.
***
Merlin, it felt amazing. Being completely helpless like this, spread open and held in place like a toy or some fascinating specimen under a magnifying glass. It should have made Draco spitting mad and fighting back but he was doing neither. Oh he was moving alright, squirming and pushing against the restrain of the tentacles but it was only to feel them better.
It was like being caressed by several people all at once, except the texture was completely different from human palms, smoother and stronger, infinitely more... flexible, moulding over the contours of Draco’s body so closely he was sure not a molecule of him remained untouched. He was fully hard now, straining against his slacks, and the dark, hungry look on Harry’s face meant that detail hadn’t escaped his notice. Draco had a fleeting, wistful memory of Harry’s mouth, wide and surprisingly talented, wrapping around... But it was quickly surpassed by something quite different pressing against his erection.
Draco could only watch with slack-jawed lust as the tentacles wrapped around his legs slid upwards, rubbing against his inner thighs, pushing them wider apart, until finally, finally, exploring the bulge at the front of his trousers.
“Do you, Draco?” Harry asked, and his voice was rough, with an edge to it that usually only came out in a fight. Or when one of them was already balls-deep in the other.
“Wha-What?” Draco panted, embarrassingly close to getting off, just from the steady pressure against his aching cock, and the way he could do nothing to either alleviate it or force it into more than exactly what Harry and his tentacles were willing to give.
“Want me to fuck you?” Harry finished the question. “Now that I can do that without even lifting a finger.” He tapped his index finger against his bottom lip as if considering something mundane like what to have for tea while two of his tentacles worked at unbuckling Draco’s belt. It was clumsier and slower than it would have been with fingers, but Harry did not seem to mind.
“You...” Draco swallowed, almost biting his tongue at the feel of the tentacles against his lower stomach, moulding perfectly against the curve of his hip bones. “You all talk?”
Harry didn’t even answer. Instead, his tentacles wrenched Draco’s fly open, pulling his trousers down and off in one smooth movement that left him naked and turned on, his hips snapping forward as much as they could, desperately seeking any friction as he fucked thin air for five glorious seconds on unrestricted movement.
Then he was being lifted to the floor, still wrapped in Harry’s tentacles but standing more or less on his own two feet again.
“Fuck,” Draco said. “Just get on with-Mph!” The rest of his sentence was cut short because there was suddenly something else in Draco’s mouth than impatient words, a tip of a tentacle pressing against his lips and then in, the soft suckers caressing his tongue in a way that felt almost like a kiss - a filthy, obscene kiss that consumed him from the inside out, the tentacle filling his mouth almost to the point of gagging.
***
Harry had not meant to do that. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to do any of this, but that did not mean he didn’t like the outcome. Quite the contrary, it seemed that if he just let his subconscious have the reigns, the resulting race would be quite... pleasurable.
He had never seen Draco so... undone, as he was now; naked and aroused, actually sucking on one of Harry’s tentacles with the level of urgency that spoke volumes. It also felt good. Not as good as having Draco’s mouth around his cock, but still better, much more intimate than someone sucking his fingers would’ve felt.
It occurred to him then that he could probably, definitely, bring Draco off without once touching him with his hands. He didn’t need them now that he had other... options.
Harry only had to think it, not even that, just a vague ‘wouldn’t it be interesting if...’ and the tentacles were there, winding around Draco’s body, constantly moving and caressing, pressing close and tight, suckers catching on the sensitive skin at the inside of his elbows and thighs, his nipples, leaving behind little red marks, like love bits, and making Draco gasp and moan and writhe as much as he could, restrained and gagged as he was.
“Fuck, fuck,” Harry panted. “You should see the way you look.” He was still fully clothed and saw no reason to change the situation. There was something about it - still being in his school robes while Draco’s pale skin was all on display, flushed pink with arousal and pinker still wherever the tentacles nipped and sucked - a sense of power and control, something there had been preciously little of in Harry’s life and something he was loathe to relinquish.
He made one concession though, fumbling for his trousers with a shaky hand, pulling his cock out into the open where Draco could see the effect this had, what he was missing,
Although it didn’t seem like Draco was feeling particularly lacking. One of Harry’s tentacles wrapped itself around Draco’s leaking cock, wrenching a muffled scream out of him and making him jerk so much he would’ve fallen over if not for the other tentacles, keeping him secure.
“I think,” Harry said, fisting his own cock as slowly as he could bear, wanting to prolong this but unsure if he could, “I’m going to fuck you.”
Draco’s eyes flickered down, drawn by the movement of Harry’s hand but Harry shook his head. “No, not with this,” he said, just as one of his tentacles slid around Draco’s waist and then down, between his arse cheeks, another one moving toward the same destination from between Draco’s legs.
***
Oh god, Harry was going to... He was... Draco could feel the tentacles spreading him open, the one between his legs pressing against his balls and perineum so tightly it was almost as if he was riding it. No, there was no ‘almost’ about it; Draco was frantically rubbing himself against the warm sleekness as it pushed closer and closer between his cheeks.
He had never been rimmed but he imagined this is what it would feel like, except now there were two things probing at his opening, stroking over the sensitive skin and pulling him open until Draco knew he was fully exposed. He could briefly feel the cool air of the room until it was replaced by the hot pressure of the tentacle tip starting to push inside him.
Draco sobbed at the feel, his head thrown back, mouth still being fucked by one tentacle, another squeezing his cock to stop him from coming on the spot, glistening wetly from his precome. He was so fucking open, so full, the tentacle far more flexible than a human penis or fingers could ever be, writhing and searching inside him until it found his prostate, the sensitive suckers at the tip latching on and starting a massaging motion that made his back bow from the effort to come.
But he couldn’t. Harry wouldn’t let him, his tentacle holding the base of Draco’s cock in a tight grip. He was caught there, filled to bursting, sweat springing up all over his body, frantically jerking back and forth between the tentacles but every movement forward brought increased pressure on his cock and every movement back pressed the tentacle in his ass even deeper, and he could feel the curious wanton way the other tentacle was still prodding around his hole, as if seeking to exploit any opportunity to push in too.
And all through this Harry was just standing there, fisting his cock lazily, his eyes raking over Draco in a way that was almost as unbearable as the actual physical contact of his tentacles. “I’m not going to let you come,” he said and Draco curled forward, desperate - no, no, no, please you have to - and Harry’s hand picked up pace, his cock almost angry red, sliding easily between his fingers. “Not until I do,” he added, voice rough.
Objectively, Draco knew it was only a matter of minutes until Harry was shuddering through his orgasm, warm come splattering all over Draco and the tentacles, but every second was torture. It continued even after, for Harry didn’t immediately relinquish his grip on Draco’s cock but instead waited, slowly stroking himself through his aftershocks, watching Draco through slitted eyes.
“Alright then,” he said finally, and the tentacle in Draco’s mouth withdrew, leaving him gasping, drool smeared all over his lips and chin. “Let’s hear you beg.”
Draco had not begged in his life, not for anything, and he didn’t intend to do so now but the words falling from his mouth were barely words at all, just broken syllables that might have once been a part of ‘please’ or ‘anything’ or ‘Harry’. It was that last one that seemed to do the trick; the tentacle around Draco’s cock loosened its hold, moving up to wrap around the sensitive tip instead, starting to massage it in the same rhythm as the one in his arse was pressing against his prostate.
The pleasure of it was so sharp it almost hurt, the first few waves of it pulling a keen out of his mouth, quickly muffled by a tentacle for which Draco was distantly grateful; he didn’t exactly want an audience to witness this. It went on for a long while; every time Draco thought he was done, the tentacle in his ass milked another burst of come out of him until he was shuddering and begging Harry to stop, every nerve-ending raw.
***
Harry’s higher brain functions were coming online gradually now that the haze of lust was dissipating. He tucked himself back in, slowly unwound his tentacles from around Draco and from inside him, which pulled a groan from both of them. Draco was boneless and Harry laid him on the floor for the lack of anywhere better to put him, distantly wondering if they would ever end up doing this somewhere with an actual bed, pillows and covers and privacy. Time.
Time.
Harry glanced at the window. It was still night, not the pitch black of it though anymore, the sky turning toward lead grey slowly. The dawn wasn’t far off.
On the floor, Draco was tentatively sitting up, still clearly weak and a little disoriented and Harry thought how easy it would be to hurt him now, to hex him with something nasty and embarrassing. His tentacles though, they were more interested in helping Draco up and pulling him close until Harry could wrap his arms around his thin frame.
Draco stiffened in surprise at first but then when Harry didn’t say anything or do anything more, he slowly relaxed, even leaning his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. After a while, he started shaking though; small tremors first but then bigger and bigger, until his whole body was quaking.
“What...?” Harry pushed him away far enough to see his face, concerned until he realised that... “You’re laughing!” he observed, accusingly.
Draco’s face was contorted with mirth, his eyes wrinkled at the corners in a way that made Harry want to kiss the little folds of skin. “Why?” he asked, confused but fighting an answering smile.
“I’m just trying to decide which my father would hate more,” Draco managed to explain between helpless laughter. “The fact that I’m shagging Harry Potter or that I’m shagging someone not even quite human!”
Harry imagined the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face if he ever did find out and the image was enough to make him grin too. “Do you care?” Harry asked.
Draco’s laughter quietened down to an occasional guffaw and he stepped away, picking up his trousers from the floor and pulling them on. “Not as much as I probably should,” he said finally, regarding Harry with a slight frown on his face, like the answer hadn’t been at all what he’d expected to say.
Harry could sympathise, only for him the problem seemed to be about caring too much. Still, damned inconvenient. He nodded once and handed Draco his shirt and robes. “C’mon,” he said, “We should go. The sun...“
With a sound like someone shaking a sheet open, the tentacles vanished, as completely as they’d never been. “...is rising,” Harry finished with a shrug.
Draco cocked his head, saying nothing but looking still so very... interested, and well, Harry rather thought that was a good thing. An interesting one, even.
***