Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Crabbe/Goyle, Draco/Blaise, Harry/Ginny
Summary: Draco begins disappearing into the Room of Requirement again, and just as before, Harry wants to figure out why.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Nudity, voyeurism, first time, slight rimming,
Epilogue compliant? Not addressed, implied EWE
Word Count: 3547
Author's Notes: I tried to include as many of your kinks as possible and built the fic around your prompt. There is no real het (despite the H/G in pairings), so I hope you enjoy the fic! I’d also like to thank the help I got – from encouragement telling my I could do it to lovely beta reading. Thank you!
Stepping as quietly as he could, Harry crouched underneath the invisibility cloak to hide his feet, and made his way towards the Room of Requirement. Despite everything, Harry had become just as obsessed with Malfoy when Malfoy began disappearing – like he used to in sixth year – except without the lookouts. Of course, Crabbe was dead. Maybe Goyle had finally told Malfoy to stuff it, too.
That wouldn’t have been the only person telling someone to stuff it. Neville had asked Harry why he had taken such an interest in Malfoy, even suggested it was an interest. Harry had told Neville that bad people, even those who failed at their plans, weren’t his type. Besides, Ginny –
Harry’s jaw dropped: the door… was open! It had never been open. Checking the cloak completely covered his feet, Harry approached the door and stood to one side. Tilting his invisible head around the corner, he saw two figures in the middle of a mostly barren room except for a small urn that stood between Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson - Parkinson? – who were sitting on the floor.
“Why isn’t Greg here?” Malfoy complained.
“You’re early, and usually you’re late,” Pansy pointed out.
“Well, I finished McGonagall’s bloody essay faster than I expected to,” Malfoy retorted.
“Professor Williamson’s essay wasn’t too bad,” Pansy looked over at Malfoy, who was looking at the wall.
“I hate his class,” Malfoy grumbled. He appeared to be in a touchy mood.
“If you just went along with his suggestions,” Pansy began, “I doubt you’re worse than Potter. We’ve practiced. You beat me every time.”
“I cannot duel Potter,” Malfoy sighed.
“He didn’t even win a regular duel against You-Know-Who,” Pansy pointed out, which made Harry want to interrupt. But he didn’t. “It was the owner-of-the-wand issue.”
“It’s still the ‘wand ownership’ issue,” Malfoy groaned, “My wand just… won’t fight Potter.”
“It won’t?” Pansy asked, looking concerned.
“Yes,” Malfoy looked at her, “Do you remember what happened on the train?”
“I pulled out my wand,” Malfoy continued, “I meant to hex him. But it wouldn’t. I could feel it.”
She looked doubtful, though that expression made her look even more like a pug than usual. “Are you sure? Maybe you just didn’t really want to hex him. He did save your life.” The last sentence was little more than a whisper.
Malfoy threw back a small amount of hair that had fallen into his face and glared slightly, “No, I wanted to. The wand didn’t. A life-debt doesn’t make your wand not willing to hurt someone.”
“You checked?” Pansy sounded like she believed him this time.
“I tried hexing him once from behind, just to make sure,” Malfoy shrugged, “It wouldn’t do a damn thing. It’s loyal to him.” He sounded disgusted.
“Williamson is never going to get you to duel him,” Pansy laughed, “I wonder how long it will take him to figure that out.”
“I don’t know,” Malfoy didn’t sound like he cared, “Where is Greg? This is ridiculous.”
“I’ll go find him,” Pansy stood up, fixed her skirt, and came towards the door. Harry backed away and stayed near the wall, his eyes following her as she walked past him and down the hallway. His head was still facing that way when he heard sounds of movement in the room.
Turning back to see into the room, Harry saw Malfoy pacing in front of the urn, his hands out gesticulating as he struggled with words. Malfoy struggled with words? He had come up with ‘Weasley is Our King’ in their fifth year.
“Vince,” Draco was saying, “you weren’t the most clever, but you were a good friend. And… I should have led you better in the room. I… hesitated. Harry had embarrassed me during Easter Hols, and even though you guys were… supportive and didn’t say anything about the wand, I… stopped leading you, and even then you didn’t abandon me. None of you did. You were an excellent friend.
“Merlin, you and Goyle even became girls with Polyjuice Potion sixth year. I do not want to think about what you two got up to with that. I did notice some of the potion went missing, but that’s… that’s between you and Greg,” Malfoy laughed a little there, though it sounded both awkward and filled with… innuendo?
And he stopped talking, though Harry couldn’t figure out why; he was admittedly stuck on the thought that Draco Malfoy was actually human. And fairly decent, really. The Slytherins were friends, and except for the intelligence bit, Draco’s comments about Crabbe and Goyle could… sort of sound like Ron and Hermione. And Pansy had seemed a good enough friend. Perhaps she could be compared to Neville, Harry thought.
But all in all, the Slytherins didn’t seem that different from Gryffindors. Harry felt the sudden urge to discuss that idea with Draco Malfoy. And clearly it was a possibility, given Draco’s true nature. Harry slipped off the invisibility cloak and stuffed it in his robe. Stepping into the room, Harry coughed.
Malfoy turned around slowly. “About time – Potter?” Malfoy was clearly not expecting to see him, “Taken up stalking again, Potty?”
“I just want to talk,” Harry explained.
“I understand that is a difficult task for you,” Draco looked down at him.
“You’re a human being!” Harry exclaimed.
“Wonderful deduction, Potter.”
“You’re a decent human being, I mean,” Harry tried to explain.
“Your bad opinion of me doesn’t mean I’m evil,” Draco snapped.
“Could you just listen to me and have a real conversation?!” Harry shouted, though he hadn’t meant to.
“If you can’t tolerate my wit, you’re free to go,” Draco retorted.
Pansy sighed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Greg was nowhere to be found. It usually wasn’t so difficult to find him, but spending time with Draco was better than fruitless searches all over the castle. He knew where to find them, anyway.
Raised voices were coming through the open door when she came down the corridor. Pansy slowed down, stopping just at the edge of the doorway, instead of strolling into the room. Her head peeked around the corner, though from the looks of it, she could just as well be standing in the doorway for how inobservant they were. “Muffliato,” she whispered so that passers-by wouldn’t hear them. She then returned her attention to the two boys, where Potter’s mouth was opening, then closing, much like a fish, as he glared at Draco for what must have been the latest insult to his intelligence. Of course, that didn’t do much for Potter’s case in arguing against it. But Draco seemed happy with the result and was glaring and smirking at Potter.
Pansy didn’t understand why Draco had to be such an arse about talking to Potter. True, he never said anything positive about Potter, but she could still remember six months ago. Draco had been sleeping with Blaise, though the boys were not nearly discreet enough - Pansy had walked in on them numerous times. But that one time had been different. She had slipped down into their room and opened the door to fetch them for Slughorn. The curtains had been half-closed, but Draco’d had Blaise on his back and was in the middle of shagging him senseless when he had moaned. Except that he’d moaned, “Yes, Potter.” The sex hadn’t continued much longer after that, and Pansy didn’t think Blaise ever let Draco bugger him again. The boy had his pride.
Her eyes turned back to the current scene. “We can be friends,” Potter argued, “I know it’s gone poorly in the past, but you offered your hand before, and now I’m offering mine.” He meant it quite literally – the Gryffindor was sticking out his right hand.
“We cannot be friends,” Draco was stating, ignoring the hand, though his arms crossed close to his body. Potter, of course, would take that at face value and not consider that Draco was interested in him.
“I don’t see why not,” Potter firmly avowed.
“You’re just trying to reform me,” Draco spat out, “you saw a bit of decency, and now you want to save me and show the world what a hero you can be, again.”
“Well…,” Potter stumbled. He opened his mouth once, but closed it as his left hand messed up his hair. His face concentrated so hard, it didn’t look like he could see Draco for a moment, but his eyes came back to Draco’s face, “but you are decent. And I like to be… friends with decent people. The world can think whatever they want about it. They always have. But their opinion shouldn’t matter. I’m not, I won’t, try to reform you. There. Friends?”
“No,” Draco scoffed.
“I just want to get to know you!” Potter shouted, “What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, just go back to your do-gooder Gryffindor friends already,” Draco snapped out, defensively, “and just leave me alone.”
Potter came closer, his hands grabbing Draco’s shoulders and shaking him slightly. My, was the Gryffindor literally trying to shake sense into him? Pansy tried not to laugh. “Just – ” Potter tried to begin.
But Draco’s hands had shot up to Potter’s face, pulling it to his. And Draco kissed him like he owned Potter’s soul. Pansy knew that kiss, for Draco had practiced it on her when they were younger. Despite their lack of true feelings for each other, it still remained one of Pansy’s best kisses.
Potter – Harry, Pansy supposed she ought to call him – went along with it at first, but then he pulled back, his eyes wider than Pansy had ever seen them. He was trying to speak, but it was utterly unattractive how spit was sputtering out of his mouth. Somehow the word can’t managed to come out.
Draco again pulled himself together. “We can’t be friends. We can’t be anything,” he told Potter and turned to leave. Pansy was just about to pull her head back so they wouldn’t see her when Potter grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him back. Draco scowled.
“It’s… not that I don’t want to,” Harry stumbled over his words, “I’m just…sort of with Ginny. Not really, but everyone’s just assumed so. I think she has, too. And so it’d sort of be like cheating. No, no –,” Draco had tried to interrupt, “I don’t want to be with her. I just… don’t know how to tell her. But I will! Just… just wait here! I’ll be back!”
Draco sighed but agreed. Pansy turned away, ran up the corridor a bit and ducked behind a tapestry. She heard Potter thunder past and waited.
Greg looked at his pocket-watch, as he came down the last corridor: he was over an hour late. He felt bad for that, really, but he had fallen asleep and just woken up. He got up as soon as he realized it. He stepped down the corridor, stretching his arms.
A small black-haired head turned out of a tapestry. Greg frowned in thought. A finger lifted to Pansy’s lips, and though Greg was utterly confused he stayed quiet and went over to her tapestry. She pulled it out for him to join her. “What’s going on?” he whispered.
“Draco and Potter,” Pansy whispered, “Hurry, hide. I don’t know when Potter’s getting back.”
Greg stood behind the tapestry, not able to see anything besides faded threads and the top of Pansy’s head. Pansy had told him Draco liked Potter. Greg had been confused why Draco would hex Potter so much then, but Draco deserved to be happy with someone. He deserved to be happy like he and Vince had been. Vince. That’s why they met there every week.
Vince had been so strong, even stronger than Greg. He was the only one who could truly dominate him and pin him down. Greg hadn’t ever let another boy shag him, but he doubted it would ever be the same. Vince and Greg had honestly struggled for control using brute strength, and Vince had won every time. He would pin Greg down as he took him, and the experience was like nothing else in the world.
That last year, they had shagged nearly every day. And Vince had grown even more inventive; his confidence had grown like never before. He truly became the strong one for Greg, the one Greg followed when Draco faltered. It had been magical, to follow someone and have that man shag Greg senseless at night. But Greg felt his throat catch - that had brought them all down. Vince had grown so strong, so confident, that he didn’t listen to Draco in the Room of Requirement. And Vince, Vince had –. Greg choked.
Pansy looked up and placed a hand on his arm. Greg looked down at her, tears in his eyes. She mouthed ‘I know,’ and Greg knew she did. She and Draco were the best. Greg would have fallen apart without them.
“OW!,” Potter’s voice came from down the corridor. The sounds whipped past Pansy and Greg. She peeked out from the far side of the tapestry and laughed. “The she-Weasley sent her bat bogey hex on him,” she chuckled. Greg couldn’t laugh, but it still brought a smile to his face.
Pansy tugged on his arm as they tip-toed to the door to the Room of Requirement.
“Draco!” Potter shouted, “Help.”
Draco was laughing but stopped, “Oh, stop moving, Potter.” Potter covered his face with his hands but stood still. The winged bogeys assaulted his face, but Draco muttered the counter-curse, and they disappeared.
Potter lowered his hands, and looked, confused, at Draco’s smirk.
“That went well, it seems,” Draco remarked, though looking far too pleased. Greg knew that look – it was how Draco looked whenever he got when he got exactly what, or whom, he wanted.
“Er,” Potter stuttered, “Honestly, Ginny wore the pants in the relationship, really. I suppose.” He tried to qualify it, but Draco’s face looked purely devilish.
“I certainly could see you in the skirt,” Draco remarked.
Potter’s face became as red as a tomato. His mouth hung open, looking like how Vincent’s did when McGonagall asked him a question. “I, uh, but, skirt,” it wasn’t really a sentence that left Potter’s mouth.
Draco slowly came closer, like a cat stalking its prey. “I suppose I can concede the skirt.” Draco sounded like a generous leader granting a favor to someone with little power, “but you still don’t get any pants.”
Potter raised his hand to show he was thinking. But nothing came after a few seconds, and Draco lost his patience. Stepping close, Draco claimed Potter with a kiss that shook Potter’s knees. But that wasn’t all. His right hand still held his wand, and Greg covered his mouth, so as not to laugh, as Draco vanished Potter’s trousers.
Draco pushed Potter down, leading him to the floor, which they laid on and resumed snogging without a thought about the open door. Their wands were left behind as they rolled around. Draco pulled off Harry’s shirt revealing a fit if mildly stocky chest. Potter, though following Draco’s lead, also tugged at Draco’s clothing.
The shirt came off first, and Potter gasped happily at the clear skin on Draco’s arm. But Draco didn’t pause, kissing him again immediately so Potter couldn’t ruin the moment with words. Potter’s hands fumbled with the belt buckle but managed to pull the leather belt off. Draco’s pants sagged slightly anyway, but he unzipped them and kicked them off.
Draco spelled off both their boxers at the same time and Potter gasped, but Draco grasped both their cocks in his hand. He pumped them until they were fully hard and Potter was groaning loudly.
Draco’s hand slid lower, and one finger pressed against Potter’s hole. The Gryffindor’s eyes opened, and his mouth pulled slightly away from Draco’s, though with difficulty. “I… I’ve never…” he trailed off.
“With a boy?” Draco asked.
“With anyone,” Potter gulped.
Draco nodded, kissed Potter, and leaned over to his ear, but the words weren’t a whisper, “That’s all right. I’ll take it slow.” Potter nodded.
Draco kissed Potter’s jaw, and then kissed him everywhere. He bit Potter’s neck while his hand continued moving on the Gryffindor’s cock. He kissed past the collarbone until he came to the nipples. These he avoided for a good minute until Potter was positively squirming beneath him. He then licked one nipple, bit the other, and did everything else he knew. Potter was mauling Draco’s back, and Potter’s eyes seemed to turn into the back of his head as a constant stream of incoherent sounds fell out of his mouth.
Sliding further down, Draco licked the tip of Potter’s prick, teasing him with his tongue. Draco grabbed his wand again, whispering a lubrication spell quietly and pressed the tip of his oiled finger against Potter’s arse again. Draco pushed just the tip of Potter’s cock in his mouth. His tongue must have been doing wicked things because Potter’s face expressed utter excitement instead of pain or discomfort.
Draco also kept pumping the exposed part of Potter’s cock, even as he sucked more of it into his mouth. At the same time, he pushed his finger all the way into Harry and held himself still. Potter winced, and Draco released his cock just enough to speak.
“Relax, Harry, and watch me,” he told him, “Watch me..”
His lips wrapped around Potter’s cock again, but his eyes stayed on Potter’s face. Potter’s eyes looked at Draco, his mouth open in pleasure. Draco licked around the tip of Potter’s cock, and released it to slick the cock with his spit. Potter’s hand slapped the floor, and his hips tried to push up. Then Draco started sucking on Potter’s cock. Potter was moaning, successfully pushing into Draco’s mouth. It was then that Draco’s finger began moving, in and out of Potter, while he continued sucking him off. Potter didn’t seem to know which to encourage more, though his efforts to encourage both were an odd combination of trying to push his dick deeper into Draco’s mouth while simultaneously trying to push down against Draco’s finger. Nonetheless, it got the message across.
Draco never let him finish, though, much to Potter’s frustration. Potter’s hands scrabbled on the floor, but Draco kept going at his pace. The second time Potter almost came, Draco thrust a second finger inside, and for a second, it looked like Potter was going to lose control and orgasm. But Draco cooled Potter down, slowing the pace and pressing Potter’s hips firmly so they couldn’t move, though he never took his fingers out.
Finally, Potter was begging. “Draco, please, please,” he whimpered, “I…I think I’m ready. Please, I just want to come. I want you, I want you in me.”
Draco smiled but took his mouth off of Potter’s cock. Draco released Potter’s hips and lifted his legs over his shoulders. Draco grabbed his wand, lubricated himself and slowly guided himself into Potter’s arse. Draco kissed Potter repeatedly. “Just relax,” he told him, “yes, yes, relax. Yes, you’re doing wonderfully. You’re so hot and tight. Just relax, yes relax.” And Draco was in all the way. He kissed Potter, “Tell me when you’re ready to move.”
They were quiet, just breathing for a few moments, though Draco’s hand returned to Harry’s cock between them. Harry nodded, “I’m ready.”
Draco pulled back slightly and pushed forward, grinding his hips a little when he was sheathed again. They were small, slow movements, until Potter began to move back against Draco. Then they became just a bit faster but Draco never lost his self-control, always concentrating on Potter.
Potter groaned, moaned, whimpered, even begged, driving Draco crazy, and he increased his speed, his breath getting louder and harder. His hand sped up on Potter’s cock. “I’m going to, I’m going to –,” Potter was moaning.
“I know,” Draco told him, “Come for me, Harry. Come for me.”
And Potter did, his mouth opening in one long groan as Draco’s hand became sticky. Potter’s body clenched, and suddenly Draco was groaning, pushing hard into Potter and coming as well. He had timed it almost perfectly. They collapsed against the floor, lying there silently for a few moments.
Draco found his wand and began to clean up, but Potter grabbed the sticky hand and licked it, sucking each finger in to his mouth. When Potter finished, Draco pulled out and licked first around the edges but then also against and into Potter’s hole to clean him. The Gryffindor was half-hard by the end of it, but they sat together instead of having another go. Potter nestled against Draco’s chest.
“I’m still not… redeemed and what-not,” Draco told Potter after a long silence.
Potter turned his head to look at Draco and just sort of smiled, though he gave a slight nod. They lay down on the floor, Potter resting his head on Draco’s chest.
Pansy pulled at Greg’s arm, reminding him that he actually existed outside the scene. She silently shut the door and made him walk off with her, “That went well,” she said.