'Dimensionally Challenged'
Title: Dimensionally Challenged
Author: Signe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Humour
Rating: NC-17
Betas: Many thanks and hugs and cookies to crumblingwalls and romanticalgirl.
A/N: This was started well before The Half-Blood Prince, so I decided not to try and tie in book 6 canon. There are, however, hints of it. Dedicated to katkim, who sparked the whole crazy idea. My final wip_it_good story.
Harry groaned as he approached the portrait hole. He just wanted to go to bed and he really, really didn't need this right now.
It seemed, though, that there was to be no avoiding it.
His invisibility cloak had got him this far, though at this time of night he'd not even really needed that: he'd not heard as much as a distant footstep. But it wasn't going to help him now.
Polyjuice would do the trick, of course. He sighed. Shame it was really an emergency use only potion. And there was the small, but not unimportant matter, of it taking a month or so to brew. Not something he kept in his back pocket.
Maybe he'd have to from now on. If he ever wanted peace again, he was going to have to do something, because really, this was just going too far.
His steady stride had shrunk to a slow walk and then a reluctant shuffle that an elderly tortoise could easily overtake but, even at that diminishing speed, he had to reach the portrait hole eventually. There was a rustling sound in front of him, and an all too familiar querulous voice came from the portrait.
"Who's there?"
Harry steeled himself to reply politely: he stood up straight and repeated the sentence he'd been practising in his head. Dumbledore had made it very clear earlier this evening, when he'd called Harry to his study, that Harry was to try to be polite; not just try, but succeed. He seemed to think that the honour of the Gryffindors depended on it. He'd actually used the words nice and friendly and had eyed Harry sternly. Snape, naturally, had been far more blunt, and Harry still had a sore tongue from biting it during Snape's very prolonged lecture on appropriate behaviour.
Harry shuddered.
"Who's there?!" came the voice again as a silver-blond head popped up over the back of the sofa in the portrait. Puzzled eyes were rubbed as the questioning continued. "Do you know what time it is?"
Harry tossed off the invisibility cloak irritably. "It's not that late, you prat. Just let me in."
Oh dear, he thought. So much for nice and friendly. He'd blown it on his first attempt. But this was Malfoy for Merlin's sake; surely no one could really expect him to deal with this. Except they did, which was yet more proof that the entire universe had it in for him. He almost longed for the days when half the wizarding world was trying to kill him outright - anything rather than this cruel torment.
An amused expression spread slowly across Malfoy's face. And torso. Naked torso. And arms. Bare arms. How his whole body, or at least all of it that Harry could see right now - which was way too much - could convey amusement, Harry had no idea, but it very obviously did. It was equally as obvious that Malfoy was on the floor, naked, behind the sofa. Harry just knew it.
Urgh.
Harry didn't want to think about it, not about what Malfoy must look like, just out of sight, or why he was naked. Damn, now he was thinking about the very two things he wanted to avoid.
"Password," Malfoy barked out.
"Luvly jubbly," Harry muttered, suddenly embarrassed at the choice of password. He'd bet his new Firebolt that the Slytherins had more dignified passwords.
"Try again. Two more guesses, then you're locked out for the night."
"What do you mean, try again?" Harry's voice practically squeaked with indignation.
"Surely that's a simple enough order, even for you, Potter. But I'll rephrase. WRONG. You got it wrong. You can't come in until you give me the RIGHT password."
"It's not wrong. I chose that password this morning, so it can't be wrong."
Malfoy sniggered. "So you chose it. Might have guessed. It's such a Muggle choice." He sneered down his nose at Harry on the word Muggle.
"For fucks sake, Malfoy, just let me in and stop being a colossal pain in the arse."
"One, I know you're supposed to be nice to me now. And two, I'm just doing my job, guarding against intruders who don't know the password."
"Dumbledore must've been mad," Harry mumbled.
"It's hardly my choice of an ideal afterlife either," Malfoy said sharply. Harry tried to ignore the hint of pain in his voice. It was probably just petulance anyway - Malfoy was never satisfied, no matter what he had. "But since most of the 'dimensionally challenged' wizards and witches," and Malfoy lifted his hands in sarcastic quotes around the description, "caught the plague, it's all hands to the deck. If you die around here these days, you can forget having a nice peaceful time. It's all 'ah, welcome back Mr Malfoy, now get to work.'"
Harry refused to show any pity, and equally refused to admit to himself that it was more for Malfoy's sake than because he genuinely didn't care. Besides, it looked like Malfoy had a comfortable set up in the portrait, certainly better than the dorms. The room was a bit old-fashioned, but it was large and the sofa looked soft and comfortable. A fire blazed underneath a sturdy marble mantelpiece, over which was a fancy gilded mirror that had to be large enough even for someone as vain as Malfoy.
"Just let me in. You know the password's right."
"No, it's wrong."
"If you know so much, what is it then?"
"Potter, really," Malfoy drawled. "I'm not a stupid little Gryffindor who'd fall for that."
"Who changed it then? You can at least tell me that."
"I did." Malfoy smiled.
"You can't change the password. You-you're not a Gryffindor, and you're-you're just a painting!"
"Ouch, that hurts," Malfoy said, clasping his chest dramatically. "I'll have you know that I may be 'dimensionally challenged' these days, but I still have full use of my wits. Unlike some Gryffindors I could name."
"But you still can't change the password!" Harry was nearing his wit's end.
"Looks like I have though, doesn't it? If you don't know it, you're not getting in, so you may as well just go away and leave me in peace. I was busy you know, and I don't appreciate the interruption."
"Malfoy, I need to get to bed," Harry said wearily. "And I don't want to hear what you were getting up to."
"Testy, testy!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake Malfoy, just fucking well let me in!"
"Ah, Gryffindor charm as well as Gryffindor brains." Malfoy jumped over the back of the couch and landed on it, lying spread out, feet hanging over one end. As Harry had thought, or rather, tried not to think, he was naked. And comfortably unperturbed by that fact.
Harry tried not to react, tried not to look, and most particularly, tried not to blush. Sadly for his peace of mind, he failed on all three counts. His glance down Malfoy's body told him that Malfoy was indeed a real blonde, and that he had been doing exactly what Harry had assumed he'd been up to behind the couch. All way more than he wanted to know at any time, let alone when he just wanted to bloody well get to bed.
"Malfoy-" Harry stuttered.
"Potter," Malfoy mocked back with an unpleasant grin. Harry didn't know why so many of the girls thought Malfoy was attractive. Sure, he had a seeker's frame, and his hair was always perfect, and he was obviously well endowed, and his eyes were- totally irrelevant, because the smirk that appeared whenever Harry was around was just unbelievably annoying.
"What's it going to take for you to let me get in?" Harry eventually sighed.
Malfoy rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Hmm, let's see. What'll it take? That question does rather assume that you've got something that I want."
"A body!" Harry said, without thinking. And then started to blush again as Malfoy burst into laughter. "That's not what I meant! I mean you're just a-and I'm-oh fuck, you know what I meant."
"Ah, I haven't laughed-so much since you nearly-wet yourself-when you saw the Dementors." Malfoy gasped the words out through his laughter.
"I hate you, Malfoy." Harry went to turn away, before remembering that he was still trying to get into his dorm. His shoulders sagged as he racked his brains for any way to get Malfoy to let him in.
"Still here?" Malfoy looked at him pointedly, as though he hoped Harry would disappear. Which he happily would, if Malfoy would cooperate just for once.
"What do you think?"
"I think I've just thought of the perfect way for you to buy your way in."
"What?" Harry asked, suspicion written all over him.
"You suck me off, I let you in. Simple."
Harry's jaw dropped, and he stared at Malfoy.
"OK, so now you've demonstrated that your mouth is big enough to take me, how about getting down to it?"
Harry closed his mouth quickly, and then looked disparagingly at Malfoy. "It's obviously escaped your notice that, even if I would do-that, you're just a painting. And I'm hardly going to stand here licking a picture."
"Ah, the Muggle upbringing shows again. Everyone knows you can get into a portrait if you're invited."
"Oh." Harry stopped to think for a moment. He couldn't see any other option, not if he wanted to get to bed some time tonight. "Okay then."
"Okay?" Malfoy looked taken aback - he sat up and leaned so far forward that Harry involuntarily moved backwards. "Okay, as in, you'll do it?"
Harry felt a bit better at Malfoy's reaction - at least now he wasn't the only one feeling startled by the chain of events.
He put on his best Hermione impersonation. "Don't think you can change your mind now - a bargain's a bargain. Surely even Malfoys know that."
Malfoy glared, and then very determinedly lounged back, the image of casual ease. His cock was very obviously happy to keep the bargain. Harry would have thought he was relaxed if he hadn't seen the faint shake in Malfoy's hand.
"Aren't you supposed to invite me in?" Harry asked, enjoying his new found poise.
Malfoy muttered some words under his breath; from what few snatches of words Harry could catch it sounded more like Welsh swearing than a spell, but it seemed it was some sort of spell or invitation after all because Harry was lifting off the ground, and the lights in the corridor were fading and getting further and further away and his head was spinning, or maybe it was the walls around him that were spinning, and he had a strange feeling that he was travelling, though where and how and which way up he couldn't tell. It felt almost as though he was getting sucked into something, and with a horrified gasp, Harry realised that that was exactly what was happening.
He was being pulled into the portrait, and even though he'd agreed to it, he still felt shocked that it was actually happening. Eventually, there was a plopping sound, as though something had spat him out, and he found himself on the floor in front of Malfoy.
"On your knees already, I see, Potter. Good to know you're that eager."
"Eager to get it over with."
Harry looked up at Malfoy sitting on the sofa and uncomfortably realised that his position put him right in the line of sight of Malfoy's outspread legs and as his eyes travelled upwards-
He gulped.
And then he gulped again.
"You have sucked someone off before, right?"
"Sure, I've been sucking off the Giant Squid every Saturday for the last couple of years - we really bonded after the Triwizard Tournament," Harry snapped, then gave a faux wistful sigh and looked pointedly at Malfoy's groin. "Size matters you know, whatever they say."
Malfoy brushed off the insult with the faintest of shrugs and snickered. "Don't tell me you're a virgin! Oh, this just gets better."
Malfoy bounced lightly in his glee, while Harry desperately tried to think of ways to curtail the bounce. He knew there must be an answer that would put Malfoy in his place. He longed for the perfect retort, the one that would put an end to Malfoy's galling grin and shut him up permanently.
He didn't have it. And he didn't have any patience left either.
"Of course I bloody well am - I've been a little bit busy saving the world for the last few years! I could hardly go 'sorry, Voldemort, mate, can't let you try and kill me today, I want to go and get off with Cho.'"
Harry had a vague feeling that things couldn't get any worse. He should have known that was the dumbest thought ever, that it was just asking the universe to piss on him, and the universe was always ready and willing to oblige. He saw the reflection of wand light from the corridor in the mirror first, but it wasn't until he heard a deep voice, not Malfoy's and not his own, that it registered that there was someone looking into the portrait.
"Good evening, boys," the voice rumbled from behind. Harry shot up off his knees as fast as if he'd just kneeled on a particularly bad-tempered Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"Professor Dumbledore! It's not- er- not- I was just trying to- it wasn't my- I needed the pass-" Harry drew to a halt once he grasped the idea that he was simply never going to manage an entire sentence, and certainly not one that would make the whole, ghastly situation look anything other than-at this point Harry even ran out of words to describe it to himself.
"Ah, passwords, always so tricky to remember. I like to keep a reminder in my pocket." He reached into the folds of his robe, pulled out a handful of sticky toffees and looked at them longingly. "I shouldn't," he said as he popped two in his mouth.
Harry managed to pull himself together enough to nod in agreement, though he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to.
The rest of Dumbledore's words were distorted by the mouthful of toffee.
"Good to see you boys are getting on, but don't stay up too late now. Toodle-pip."
And with that, Dumbledore strode off along the corridor without a backwards glance.
"He's batty. Totally off his trolley. He's even got that bloody Trelawney woman beaten for battiness." Malfoy looked out of the portrait at the now empty corridor with a mixture of amazement and disdain topped with more amazement.
"He's a genius." Harry defended Dumbledore instinctively, despite his own earlier misgivings.
"If this is some plot to get out of giving me my blow job, the blow job you owe me, then you can think again!"
"Yes, Malfoy. That's exactly it. I carefully planned the entire evening to make sure that I'd be here with you, and arranged for the Headmaster to pass by at just the right moment to save the day. That just makes perfect sense! Except for about a million and one reasons! Like Dumbledore not doing a blooming thing about me being in here."
"Do you have to talk like the Weasel? It's almost enough to put me off having that mouth touch me!" Malfoy complained.
"Fine with me."
"No you don't. You're not chickening out now."
"I can't chicken out, can I? I'm stuck here." Harry's eyes suddenly opened house-elf wide. "Oh shit, I'm stuck here!"
"No you're not, you pillock. Well, not once you've done your part. It's not like I want to have you around all the time, whittering away."
"Okay, let's just get it over and done with."
He leaned forward, hands hovering over Malfoy's thighs - naked, pale thighs - while he worked out how to do this. Gritted his teeth in determination, and heard an exasperated sigh from Malfoy.
"Ah, there's a wonderful way to strike confidence in the guy you're going down on. Teeth, Potter, and blow jobs do not go together."
"I know that," Harry reacted before he could stop himself. He counted to ten, silently, and then to a hundred as ten was nowhere near enough, and only then felt calm enough to smile at Malfoy. He hoped it was a confident smile, preferably with a nice hint of malice - just enough to scare Malfoy a little.
A little bit of him (actually a rather rapidly expanding part of him) seemed to like the idea of this. Harry tried to ignore it, though he wasn't entirely successful: some things didn't like being ignored.
He looked down again, watched his own hands as they reached out.
An inch further and he touched. Skin.
Soft skin that faintly trembled under his fingers, and those faint tremors told him all he needed to know about Malfoy's self-assurance.
"Keen, aren't you?" he mocked. "You're not going to go off the second I touch you, are you?"
"Don't worry, Potter. I have staying power you could only dream of."
There was a fine dusting of hair on Malfoy's thighs, and it seemed as though Harry could see each individual hair. He'd had no idea it would feel this real, that Malfoy's flesh would still be warm, as though he were alive, that he'd still be as sharp and keen as ever.
"You're still you," he said in amazement, then flushed with embarrassment.
But Malfoy didn't laugh at him, to Harry's surprise. He nodded, but looked around him with a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher, taking in the whole of the room that they were in. It was not a look of longing, and it wasn't pride - there was something resigned about it. It was at odds with the determination in his words.
"Still as gorgeous and handsome and pleasingly slender as ever. And always will be, while you lot get old and bald and even uglier."
Harry ignored the boasts and concentrated on his new discovery. He ran a hand up Malfoy's thigh, over the boniness of his hip to the plains of his stomach. Now he'd started touching, he couldn't remember why he was ever so reluctant. It didn't even matter that this was Malfoy: Harry's animosity had been surface flash for ages now. It was hard to really hate someone when they died by your side, on your side. It was more the kind of thing you kept up for old times sakes. Nostalgia. Being enemies with him was just one of those things that kept Harry on his toes, kept him sharp.
There were scars, of course, littering Malfoy's torso. Some of them Harry had put there before Malfoy changed sides, some Voldemort had carved in the final battle. Harry traced them without realising what he was doing until Malfoy batted him away.
"The main event, Potter. Get on with it."
Harry understood everything Malfoy didn't say. The scars were too raw, some were even made by Harry, and that was just too much, too intimate.
Harry understood scars.
He took his glasses off and laid them carefully at the end of the sofa - he could see well enough for this.
Took hold of Malfoy's thighs, and spread them just a little further apart, pressing them into the softness of the sofa. He was going to be in charge here, even if he was the one sucking dick.
He tried it with his tongue first, a gentle lap over the head, then trailed down the darker vein, slowly, head to root. It was strange, but not too bad, so he tried more. Filled his mouth with saliva, then took the head in, twirled his tongue around it.
Bit a little, not hard, more of a scrape of teeth than anything, just enough to let Malfoy know what he could do if he wanted.
"Fuck you, Potter!"
Harry thought he might actually enjoy this, after all.
He flicked his tongue against the tip of Malfoy's cock. Fluttered, lightly. Heard stifled moans.
He sensed Malfoy watching him, but he didn't let that distract him. He was warming to the task, feeling the warmth settling in his stomach, lower. This was turning him on even more, and he felt he should be more surprised than he was.
He grasped the base of Malfoy's cock and swallowed it down as far as he could, felt the weight of it on his tongue, the pressure at the back of his throat as Malfoy attempted to push just that bit too far. He pulled off, and held Malfoy still, made sure that Malfoy knew that he was blowing Malfoy, and Malfoy wasn't fucking him.
Malfoy was muttering instructions, but Harry knew what he'd like if he were in Malfoy's place, knew what he wanted to do, so he tuned out the words and just let them drift over him. He tried telling Malfoy to shut up, but he couldn't talk with his mouth full of cock, and all that he managed were vibrations in the back of his throat that made Malfoy clutch his shoulders with sharp nails.
Slurped up and down, slid his tongue under the foreskin and teased for a while.
Malfoy was keeping up his commentary, but his voice was catching every other word now, and Harry narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. He was going to have Malfoy wordless and incoherent in minutes.
Seconds.
Wordless.
Just dirty, sweet noises, growls and groans and vibrations that ran through Malfoy's body out of his mouth and straight to Harry's cock.
Harry was getting hotter and hotter even though the fire was on the other side of the room and giving off more light than heat by now. He wanted to peel off his clothing and be as naked as Malfoy, wanted to take himself in hand and relieve the ache, but he refused to touch himself, refused to let Malfoy see how turned on he was. He unclipped his robe and let it fall behind him, but that was his only concession.
He was beginning to like the idea that Malfoy was naked and he was clothed. His inner Slytherin was enjoying this, loved being in control, especially when it was Malfoy groaning underneath him.
Except he wasn't so certain that he was in control anymore.
Sure, his hand and his mouth were in charge of the rhythmic up and down on Malfoy's cock. And his other hand had inched its way between Malfoy's thighs and was exploring his sac and the delicate skin behind, and Harry knew just how that made Malfoy feel, because he could feel Malfoy breaking a little more with each twist of his tongue and squeeze of his hand-but the little noises Malfoy was making were driving Harry insane, and it was hard to be in control when you were stark raving mad and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. Pushed up against the couch between Malfoy's legs just to get a little friction, but it wasn't enough, nothing was ever going to be enough, not when he was so hard it hurt.
He wanted to come-didn't want to come, didn't want Malfoy to see him lose it, couldn't bring himself to let Malfoy have that, not yet.
Malfoy didn't give him any vocal warning when he came, at least nothing intentional. But his voice hitched enough for Harry to guess, so he pulled off with one final slurp and finished Malfoy with a few vicious tugs. And Malfoy was gasping and coming and Harry was close too but he wouldn't touch himself, not now, even though Malfoy probably wouldn't even notice him, even though his own breathing was matching Malfoy's gasp for gasp.
He leaned back on his heels, watched Malfoy shudder through his orgasm, and it was one of the most amazing things he'd seen. He wondered if he looked anything like that when he tossed himself off in the shower, but couldn't imagine ever looking that ecstatic, that thoroughly sated. Or that smug.
Malfoy was limp now, his whole body a languid C on the sofa, his narrow chest splattered with come, and Harry saw Draco's come on his own clothes too, a tell-tale splatter that he needed to remove before anyone else saw it.
His wand was still in his back pocket, so he reached for it to clean himself up.
"Don't," Malfoy countered lazily as he leaned across to the octagonal occasional table beside the couch and picked up his wand. "Ordinary humans shouldn't use magic in a portrait." He muttered a quick Scourgify. "Not that you'd know that," he continued snottily. "It's too dangerous, and though you're well overdue for a make-over, I don't want your clothes bursting into flames over me, or anything else equally messy. I'd rather like to take a nap now, not clean up Potter-ashes."
Harry was about to respond in kind when there was a shocked harrumph from the edge of the room and Sir Cadogan charged into view, then paused with a clank of heavy armour.
"Oh, I say, boys, really."
Harry was startled: he'd heard the noise but he'd been so focussed on not coming, on not letting Malfoy see how much this had got to him, that it simply hadn't registered. He dropped onto the floor and fumbled around for his robe and glasses. Malfoy laughed and gathered a cushion over his groin, not that it was any sort of disguise for what had been going on.
"Mustn't excite him too much, not at his age," he said in a stage whisper to Harry.
Harry couldn't bring himself to look up. He was certain he'd never be able to look Sir Cadogan in the eye ever again. At least it had sorted out his own problem: he wasn't going to have to wank off silently in his bed after all.
Malfoy stopped laughing eventually, long after the knight had stomped noisily into the next portrait.
"You could have warned me that might happen!" Harry screeched. He'd found his glasses, and he swirled his robes back on indignantly.
"But where would the fun have been in that?"
"You have no shame, do you?"
"You're the one who's not supposed to be here, and who nearly got caught on his knees."
"Couldn't you have locked the door or something? Don't locking spells work here?"
"Of course I could have locked the doors: Colloportus works perfectly well here. It was just more fun not to."
Harry felt a very familiar urge to punch Malfoy, but remembered that he still needed to get out of the portrait and into the Gryffindor common room. He bit his tongue, held his arms rigidly at his sides, and swore that he'd come back and punch Malfoy's lights out another time. And maybe get a blowjob himself at the same time. The two weren't mutually exclusive.
"The password," he demanded eventually, not trusting himself to say anything more.
"Well, I suppose you've earned it, so I may as well let you in before all your little friends come out here looking for you and get the shock of their puritanical lives."
He muttered a few lilting words, and before Harry could even stand up and prepare himself for it, he was rushing out of the portrait, falling back, and he could still see Malfoy and the sofa but they were getting darker and smaller, and he could see Malfoy's mouth moving but there was no sound reaching him, not until the sound of a crash. And the sound was of him hitting the stone floor of the corridor, and he was definitely going to feel that in the morning.
He picked himself up wearily and rubbed his back as the entrance to the common room opened, then realised that he still didn't have the password, even though Malfoy was letting him in. He'd have to get it from Ron in the morning: he wouldn't think to ask how Harry got in without the password like Hermione would. He was not asking Malfoy again.
But he didn't have to - he heard laughter and a singsong voice from behind him that sounded flatter than it had when Harry was in the portrait, but was still easily identifiable.
"The password, Potter. Don't you want to know it?"
"Yes," Harry ground out.
"It was Potter stinks, but I've changed it. Now it's Potter blows."
Author: Signe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Humour
Rating: NC-17
Betas: Many thanks and hugs and cookies to crumblingwalls and romanticalgirl.
A/N: This was started well before The Half-Blood Prince, so I decided not to try and tie in book 6 canon. There are, however, hints of it. Dedicated to katkim, who sparked the whole crazy idea. My final wip_it_good story.
Harry groaned as he approached the portrait hole. He just wanted to go to bed and he really, really didn't need this right now.
It seemed, though, that there was to be no avoiding it.
His invisibility cloak had got him this far, though at this time of night he'd not even really needed that: he'd not heard as much as a distant footstep. But it wasn't going to help him now.
Polyjuice would do the trick, of course. He sighed. Shame it was really an emergency use only potion. And there was the small, but not unimportant matter, of it taking a month or so to brew. Not something he kept in his back pocket.
Maybe he'd have to from now on. If he ever wanted peace again, he was going to have to do something, because really, this was just going too far.
His steady stride had shrunk to a slow walk and then a reluctant shuffle that an elderly tortoise could easily overtake but, even at that diminishing speed, he had to reach the portrait hole eventually. There was a rustling sound in front of him, and an all too familiar querulous voice came from the portrait.
"Who's there?"
Harry steeled himself to reply politely: he stood up straight and repeated the sentence he'd been practising in his head. Dumbledore had made it very clear earlier this evening, when he'd called Harry to his study, that Harry was to try to be polite; not just try, but succeed. He seemed to think that the honour of the Gryffindors depended on it. He'd actually used the words nice and friendly and had eyed Harry sternly. Snape, naturally, had been far more blunt, and Harry still had a sore tongue from biting it during Snape's very prolonged lecture on appropriate behaviour.
Harry shuddered.
"Who's there?!" came the voice again as a silver-blond head popped up over the back of the sofa in the portrait. Puzzled eyes were rubbed as the questioning continued. "Do you know what time it is?"
Harry tossed off the invisibility cloak irritably. "It's not that late, you prat. Just let me in."
Oh dear, he thought. So much for nice and friendly. He'd blown it on his first attempt. But this was Malfoy for Merlin's sake; surely no one could really expect him to deal with this. Except they did, which was yet more proof that the entire universe had it in for him. He almost longed for the days when half the wizarding world was trying to kill him outright - anything rather than this cruel torment.
An amused expression spread slowly across Malfoy's face. And torso. Naked torso. And arms. Bare arms. How his whole body, or at least all of it that Harry could see right now - which was way too much - could convey amusement, Harry had no idea, but it very obviously did. It was equally as obvious that Malfoy was on the floor, naked, behind the sofa. Harry just knew it.
Urgh.
Harry didn't want to think about it, not about what Malfoy must look like, just out of sight, or why he was naked. Damn, now he was thinking about the very two things he wanted to avoid.
"Password," Malfoy barked out.
"Luvly jubbly," Harry muttered, suddenly embarrassed at the choice of password. He'd bet his new Firebolt that the Slytherins had more dignified passwords.
"Try again. Two more guesses, then you're locked out for the night."
"What do you mean, try again?" Harry's voice practically squeaked with indignation.
"Surely that's a simple enough order, even for you, Potter. But I'll rephrase. WRONG. You got it wrong. You can't come in until you give me the RIGHT password."
"It's not wrong. I chose that password this morning, so it can't be wrong."
Malfoy sniggered. "So you chose it. Might have guessed. It's such a Muggle choice." He sneered down his nose at Harry on the word Muggle.
"For fucks sake, Malfoy, just let me in and stop being a colossal pain in the arse."
"One, I know you're supposed to be nice to me now. And two, I'm just doing my job, guarding against intruders who don't know the password."
"Dumbledore must've been mad," Harry mumbled.
"It's hardly my choice of an ideal afterlife either," Malfoy said sharply. Harry tried to ignore the hint of pain in his voice. It was probably just petulance anyway - Malfoy was never satisfied, no matter what he had. "But since most of the 'dimensionally challenged' wizards and witches," and Malfoy lifted his hands in sarcastic quotes around the description, "caught the plague, it's all hands to the deck. If you die around here these days, you can forget having a nice peaceful time. It's all 'ah, welcome back Mr Malfoy, now get to work.'"
Harry refused to show any pity, and equally refused to admit to himself that it was more for Malfoy's sake than because he genuinely didn't care. Besides, it looked like Malfoy had a comfortable set up in the portrait, certainly better than the dorms. The room was a bit old-fashioned, but it was large and the sofa looked soft and comfortable. A fire blazed underneath a sturdy marble mantelpiece, over which was a fancy gilded mirror that had to be large enough even for someone as vain as Malfoy.
"Just let me in. You know the password's right."
"No, it's wrong."
"If you know so much, what is it then?"
"Potter, really," Malfoy drawled. "I'm not a stupid little Gryffindor who'd fall for that."
"Who changed it then? You can at least tell me that."
"I did." Malfoy smiled.
"You can't change the password. You-you're not a Gryffindor, and you're-you're just a painting!"
"Ouch, that hurts," Malfoy said, clasping his chest dramatically. "I'll have you know that I may be 'dimensionally challenged' these days, but I still have full use of my wits. Unlike some Gryffindors I could name."
"But you still can't change the password!" Harry was nearing his wit's end.
"Looks like I have though, doesn't it? If you don't know it, you're not getting in, so you may as well just go away and leave me in peace. I was busy you know, and I don't appreciate the interruption."
"Malfoy, I need to get to bed," Harry said wearily. "And I don't want to hear what you were getting up to."
"Testy, testy!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake Malfoy, just fucking well let me in!"
"Ah, Gryffindor charm as well as Gryffindor brains." Malfoy jumped over the back of the couch and landed on it, lying spread out, feet hanging over one end. As Harry had thought, or rather, tried not to think, he was naked. And comfortably unperturbed by that fact.
Harry tried not to react, tried not to look, and most particularly, tried not to blush. Sadly for his peace of mind, he failed on all three counts. His glance down Malfoy's body told him that Malfoy was indeed a real blonde, and that he had been doing exactly what Harry had assumed he'd been up to behind the couch. All way more than he wanted to know at any time, let alone when he just wanted to bloody well get to bed.
"Malfoy-" Harry stuttered.
"Potter," Malfoy mocked back with an unpleasant grin. Harry didn't know why so many of the girls thought Malfoy was attractive. Sure, he had a seeker's frame, and his hair was always perfect, and he was obviously well endowed, and his eyes were- totally irrelevant, because the smirk that appeared whenever Harry was around was just unbelievably annoying.
"What's it going to take for you to let me get in?" Harry eventually sighed.
Malfoy rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Hmm, let's see. What'll it take? That question does rather assume that you've got something that I want."
"A body!" Harry said, without thinking. And then started to blush again as Malfoy burst into laughter. "That's not what I meant! I mean you're just a-and I'm-oh fuck, you know what I meant."
"Ah, I haven't laughed-so much since you nearly-wet yourself-when you saw the Dementors." Malfoy gasped the words out through his laughter.
"I hate you, Malfoy." Harry went to turn away, before remembering that he was still trying to get into his dorm. His shoulders sagged as he racked his brains for any way to get Malfoy to let him in.
"Still here?" Malfoy looked at him pointedly, as though he hoped Harry would disappear. Which he happily would, if Malfoy would cooperate just for once.
"What do you think?"
"I think I've just thought of the perfect way for you to buy your way in."
"What?" Harry asked, suspicion written all over him.
"You suck me off, I let you in. Simple."
Harry's jaw dropped, and he stared at Malfoy.
"OK, so now you've demonstrated that your mouth is big enough to take me, how about getting down to it?"
Harry closed his mouth quickly, and then looked disparagingly at Malfoy. "It's obviously escaped your notice that, even if I would do-that, you're just a painting. And I'm hardly going to stand here licking a picture."
"Ah, the Muggle upbringing shows again. Everyone knows you can get into a portrait if you're invited."
"Oh." Harry stopped to think for a moment. He couldn't see any other option, not if he wanted to get to bed some time tonight. "Okay then."
"Okay?" Malfoy looked taken aback - he sat up and leaned so far forward that Harry involuntarily moved backwards. "Okay, as in, you'll do it?"
Harry felt a bit better at Malfoy's reaction - at least now he wasn't the only one feeling startled by the chain of events.
He put on his best Hermione impersonation. "Don't think you can change your mind now - a bargain's a bargain. Surely even Malfoys know that."
Malfoy glared, and then very determinedly lounged back, the image of casual ease. His cock was very obviously happy to keep the bargain. Harry would have thought he was relaxed if he hadn't seen the faint shake in Malfoy's hand.
"Aren't you supposed to invite me in?" Harry asked, enjoying his new found poise.
Malfoy muttered some words under his breath; from what few snatches of words Harry could catch it sounded more like Welsh swearing than a spell, but it seemed it was some sort of spell or invitation after all because Harry was lifting off the ground, and the lights in the corridor were fading and getting further and further away and his head was spinning, or maybe it was the walls around him that were spinning, and he had a strange feeling that he was travelling, though where and how and which way up he couldn't tell. It felt almost as though he was getting sucked into something, and with a horrified gasp, Harry realised that that was exactly what was happening.
He was being pulled into the portrait, and even though he'd agreed to it, he still felt shocked that it was actually happening. Eventually, there was a plopping sound, as though something had spat him out, and he found himself on the floor in front of Malfoy.
"On your knees already, I see, Potter. Good to know you're that eager."
"Eager to get it over with."
Harry looked up at Malfoy sitting on the sofa and uncomfortably realised that his position put him right in the line of sight of Malfoy's outspread legs and as his eyes travelled upwards-
He gulped.
And then he gulped again.
"You have sucked someone off before, right?"
"Sure, I've been sucking off the Giant Squid every Saturday for the last couple of years - we really bonded after the Triwizard Tournament," Harry snapped, then gave a faux wistful sigh and looked pointedly at Malfoy's groin. "Size matters you know, whatever they say."
Malfoy brushed off the insult with the faintest of shrugs and snickered. "Don't tell me you're a virgin! Oh, this just gets better."
Malfoy bounced lightly in his glee, while Harry desperately tried to think of ways to curtail the bounce. He knew there must be an answer that would put Malfoy in his place. He longed for the perfect retort, the one that would put an end to Malfoy's galling grin and shut him up permanently.
He didn't have it. And he didn't have any patience left either.
"Of course I bloody well am - I've been a little bit busy saving the world for the last few years! I could hardly go 'sorry, Voldemort, mate, can't let you try and kill me today, I want to go and get off with Cho.'"
Harry had a vague feeling that things couldn't get any worse. He should have known that was the dumbest thought ever, that it was just asking the universe to piss on him, and the universe was always ready and willing to oblige. He saw the reflection of wand light from the corridor in the mirror first, but it wasn't until he heard a deep voice, not Malfoy's and not his own, that it registered that there was someone looking into the portrait.
"Good evening, boys," the voice rumbled from behind. Harry shot up off his knees as fast as if he'd just kneeled on a particularly bad-tempered Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"Professor Dumbledore! It's not- er- not- I was just trying to- it wasn't my- I needed the pass-" Harry drew to a halt once he grasped the idea that he was simply never going to manage an entire sentence, and certainly not one that would make the whole, ghastly situation look anything other than-at this point Harry even ran out of words to describe it to himself.
"Ah, passwords, always so tricky to remember. I like to keep a reminder in my pocket." He reached into the folds of his robe, pulled out a handful of sticky toffees and looked at them longingly. "I shouldn't," he said as he popped two in his mouth.
Harry managed to pull himself together enough to nod in agreement, though he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to.
The rest of Dumbledore's words were distorted by the mouthful of toffee.
"Good to see you boys are getting on, but don't stay up too late now. Toodle-pip."
And with that, Dumbledore strode off along the corridor without a backwards glance.
"He's batty. Totally off his trolley. He's even got that bloody Trelawney woman beaten for battiness." Malfoy looked out of the portrait at the now empty corridor with a mixture of amazement and disdain topped with more amazement.
"He's a genius." Harry defended Dumbledore instinctively, despite his own earlier misgivings.
"If this is some plot to get out of giving me my blow job, the blow job you owe me, then you can think again!"
"Yes, Malfoy. That's exactly it. I carefully planned the entire evening to make sure that I'd be here with you, and arranged for the Headmaster to pass by at just the right moment to save the day. That just makes perfect sense! Except for about a million and one reasons! Like Dumbledore not doing a blooming thing about me being in here."
"Do you have to talk like the Weasel? It's almost enough to put me off having that mouth touch me!" Malfoy complained.
"Fine with me."
"No you don't. You're not chickening out now."
"I can't chicken out, can I? I'm stuck here." Harry's eyes suddenly opened house-elf wide. "Oh shit, I'm stuck here!"
"No you're not, you pillock. Well, not once you've done your part. It's not like I want to have you around all the time, whittering away."
"Okay, let's just get it over and done with."
He leaned forward, hands hovering over Malfoy's thighs - naked, pale thighs - while he worked out how to do this. Gritted his teeth in determination, and heard an exasperated sigh from Malfoy.
"Ah, there's a wonderful way to strike confidence in the guy you're going down on. Teeth, Potter, and blow jobs do not go together."
"I know that," Harry reacted before he could stop himself. He counted to ten, silently, and then to a hundred as ten was nowhere near enough, and only then felt calm enough to smile at Malfoy. He hoped it was a confident smile, preferably with a nice hint of malice - just enough to scare Malfoy a little.
A little bit of him (actually a rather rapidly expanding part of him) seemed to like the idea of this. Harry tried to ignore it, though he wasn't entirely successful: some things didn't like being ignored.
He looked down again, watched his own hands as they reached out.
An inch further and he touched. Skin.
Soft skin that faintly trembled under his fingers, and those faint tremors told him all he needed to know about Malfoy's self-assurance.
"Keen, aren't you?" he mocked. "You're not going to go off the second I touch you, are you?"
"Don't worry, Potter. I have staying power you could only dream of."
There was a fine dusting of hair on Malfoy's thighs, and it seemed as though Harry could see each individual hair. He'd had no idea it would feel this real, that Malfoy's flesh would still be warm, as though he were alive, that he'd still be as sharp and keen as ever.
"You're still you," he said in amazement, then flushed with embarrassment.
But Malfoy didn't laugh at him, to Harry's surprise. He nodded, but looked around him with a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher, taking in the whole of the room that they were in. It was not a look of longing, and it wasn't pride - there was something resigned about it. It was at odds with the determination in his words.
"Still as gorgeous and handsome and pleasingly slender as ever. And always will be, while you lot get old and bald and even uglier."
Harry ignored the boasts and concentrated on his new discovery. He ran a hand up Malfoy's thigh, over the boniness of his hip to the plains of his stomach. Now he'd started touching, he couldn't remember why he was ever so reluctant. It didn't even matter that this was Malfoy: Harry's animosity had been surface flash for ages now. It was hard to really hate someone when they died by your side, on your side. It was more the kind of thing you kept up for old times sakes. Nostalgia. Being enemies with him was just one of those things that kept Harry on his toes, kept him sharp.
There were scars, of course, littering Malfoy's torso. Some of them Harry had put there before Malfoy changed sides, some Voldemort had carved in the final battle. Harry traced them without realising what he was doing until Malfoy batted him away.
"The main event, Potter. Get on with it."
Harry understood everything Malfoy didn't say. The scars were too raw, some were even made by Harry, and that was just too much, too intimate.
Harry understood scars.
He took his glasses off and laid them carefully at the end of the sofa - he could see well enough for this.
Took hold of Malfoy's thighs, and spread them just a little further apart, pressing them into the softness of the sofa. He was going to be in charge here, even if he was the one sucking dick.
He tried it with his tongue first, a gentle lap over the head, then trailed down the darker vein, slowly, head to root. It was strange, but not too bad, so he tried more. Filled his mouth with saliva, then took the head in, twirled his tongue around it.
Bit a little, not hard, more of a scrape of teeth than anything, just enough to let Malfoy know what he could do if he wanted.
"Fuck you, Potter!"
Harry thought he might actually enjoy this, after all.
He flicked his tongue against the tip of Malfoy's cock. Fluttered, lightly. Heard stifled moans.
He sensed Malfoy watching him, but he didn't let that distract him. He was warming to the task, feeling the warmth settling in his stomach, lower. This was turning him on even more, and he felt he should be more surprised than he was.
He grasped the base of Malfoy's cock and swallowed it down as far as he could, felt the weight of it on his tongue, the pressure at the back of his throat as Malfoy attempted to push just that bit too far. He pulled off, and held Malfoy still, made sure that Malfoy knew that he was blowing Malfoy, and Malfoy wasn't fucking him.
Malfoy was muttering instructions, but Harry knew what he'd like if he were in Malfoy's place, knew what he wanted to do, so he tuned out the words and just let them drift over him. He tried telling Malfoy to shut up, but he couldn't talk with his mouth full of cock, and all that he managed were vibrations in the back of his throat that made Malfoy clutch his shoulders with sharp nails.
Slurped up and down, slid his tongue under the foreskin and teased for a while.
Malfoy was keeping up his commentary, but his voice was catching every other word now, and Harry narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. He was going to have Malfoy wordless and incoherent in minutes.
Seconds.
Wordless.
Just dirty, sweet noises, growls and groans and vibrations that ran through Malfoy's body out of his mouth and straight to Harry's cock.
Harry was getting hotter and hotter even though the fire was on the other side of the room and giving off more light than heat by now. He wanted to peel off his clothing and be as naked as Malfoy, wanted to take himself in hand and relieve the ache, but he refused to touch himself, refused to let Malfoy see how turned on he was. He unclipped his robe and let it fall behind him, but that was his only concession.
He was beginning to like the idea that Malfoy was naked and he was clothed. His inner Slytherin was enjoying this, loved being in control, especially when it was Malfoy groaning underneath him.
Except he wasn't so certain that he was in control anymore.
Sure, his hand and his mouth were in charge of the rhythmic up and down on Malfoy's cock. And his other hand had inched its way between Malfoy's thighs and was exploring his sac and the delicate skin behind, and Harry knew just how that made Malfoy feel, because he could feel Malfoy breaking a little more with each twist of his tongue and squeeze of his hand-but the little noises Malfoy was making were driving Harry insane, and it was hard to be in control when you were stark raving mad and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. Pushed up against the couch between Malfoy's legs just to get a little friction, but it wasn't enough, nothing was ever going to be enough, not when he was so hard it hurt.
He wanted to come-didn't want to come, didn't want Malfoy to see him lose it, couldn't bring himself to let Malfoy have that, not yet.
Malfoy didn't give him any vocal warning when he came, at least nothing intentional. But his voice hitched enough for Harry to guess, so he pulled off with one final slurp and finished Malfoy with a few vicious tugs. And Malfoy was gasping and coming and Harry was close too but he wouldn't touch himself, not now, even though Malfoy probably wouldn't even notice him, even though his own breathing was matching Malfoy's gasp for gasp.
He leaned back on his heels, watched Malfoy shudder through his orgasm, and it was one of the most amazing things he'd seen. He wondered if he looked anything like that when he tossed himself off in the shower, but couldn't imagine ever looking that ecstatic, that thoroughly sated. Or that smug.
Malfoy was limp now, his whole body a languid C on the sofa, his narrow chest splattered with come, and Harry saw Draco's come on his own clothes too, a tell-tale splatter that he needed to remove before anyone else saw it.
His wand was still in his back pocket, so he reached for it to clean himself up.
"Don't," Malfoy countered lazily as he leaned across to the octagonal occasional table beside the couch and picked up his wand. "Ordinary humans shouldn't use magic in a portrait." He muttered a quick Scourgify. "Not that you'd know that," he continued snottily. "It's too dangerous, and though you're well overdue for a make-over, I don't want your clothes bursting into flames over me, or anything else equally messy. I'd rather like to take a nap now, not clean up Potter-ashes."
Harry was about to respond in kind when there was a shocked harrumph from the edge of the room and Sir Cadogan charged into view, then paused with a clank of heavy armour.
"Oh, I say, boys, really."
Harry was startled: he'd heard the noise but he'd been so focussed on not coming, on not letting Malfoy see how much this had got to him, that it simply hadn't registered. He dropped onto the floor and fumbled around for his robe and glasses. Malfoy laughed and gathered a cushion over his groin, not that it was any sort of disguise for what had been going on.
"Mustn't excite him too much, not at his age," he said in a stage whisper to Harry.
Harry couldn't bring himself to look up. He was certain he'd never be able to look Sir Cadogan in the eye ever again. At least it had sorted out his own problem: he wasn't going to have to wank off silently in his bed after all.
Malfoy stopped laughing eventually, long after the knight had stomped noisily into the next portrait.
"You could have warned me that might happen!" Harry screeched. He'd found his glasses, and he swirled his robes back on indignantly.
"But where would the fun have been in that?"
"You have no shame, do you?"
"You're the one who's not supposed to be here, and who nearly got caught on his knees."
"Couldn't you have locked the door or something? Don't locking spells work here?"
"Of course I could have locked the doors: Colloportus works perfectly well here. It was just more fun not to."
Harry felt a very familiar urge to punch Malfoy, but remembered that he still needed to get out of the portrait and into the Gryffindor common room. He bit his tongue, held his arms rigidly at his sides, and swore that he'd come back and punch Malfoy's lights out another time. And maybe get a blowjob himself at the same time. The two weren't mutually exclusive.
"The password," he demanded eventually, not trusting himself to say anything more.
"Well, I suppose you've earned it, so I may as well let you in before all your little friends come out here looking for you and get the shock of their puritanical lives."
He muttered a few lilting words, and before Harry could even stand up and prepare himself for it, he was rushing out of the portrait, falling back, and he could still see Malfoy and the sofa but they were getting darker and smaller, and he could see Malfoy's mouth moving but there was no sound reaching him, not until the sound of a crash. And the sound was of him hitting the stone floor of the corridor, and he was definitely going to feel that in the morning.
He picked himself up wearily and rubbed his back as the entrance to the common room opened, then realised that he still didn't have the password, even though Malfoy was letting him in. He'd have to get it from Ron in the morning: he wouldn't think to ask how Harry got in without the password like Hermione would. He was not asking Malfoy again.
But he didn't have to - he heard laughter and a singsong voice from behind him that sounded flatter than it had when Harry was in the portrait, but was still easily identifiable.
"The password, Potter. Don't you want to know it?"
"Yes," Harry ground out.
"It was Potter stinks, but I've changed it. Now it's Potter blows."