hd_hols (hd_hols) wrote in hd_holidays,


Author: nursedarry
Recipient: dragonfly_lily
Title: Joy Ride
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: A trek through the Forbidden Forest turns into quite the flight of fancy.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Epilogue compliant? Yes
Word Count: 8,708
Author's Notes: Happy holidays, dragonfly_lily! I think I’ve managed to get all of your kinks in here and, as I’m also a huge fan of the Boys of Summer, I couldn’t resist a little name-dropping. It goes without saying that I could never have gotten this off the ground without the help of my wonderful betas.


Draco stifled a sneeze. His breath billowing out of his body in the same fashion as that of his namesake, he bent over and angrily pulled tubers from the soil. Whoever had invented this potion was obviously ill-bred, as the recipe stipulated that the ingredients must be gathered by the person who would be doing the brewing. Had it not been for that small detail, Draco would have been sitting by his fire, drinking something warming, while one of Hogwarts house-elves was pressed into this odious task. Honestly, ferreting about for ingredients in the dead of night was hardly befitting of a Potions Master of his calibre.

Draco was not the outdoorsy type. Oh, he loved Quidditch, which pretty much had to be played outdoors — he actually liked that aspect of the game, even in inclement weather — but that was different from sullying one's hands with more earth-bound outdoor pursuits. Quidditch was sport. No — Quidditch was art. This was just...dirty.

He knew perfectly well these tubers grew wild in the Forbidden Forest, but why should he go in there when he could just as easily acquire them from Hagrid’s garden, which was closer to the castle and relatively safer than the Forest?

Earlier in the day, Draco had spotted the distinctive pink leaves shooting out of the soil as he took a leisurely flight around the grounds. It had been clear and cold — perfect Quidditch weather — and missing the weekly game whilst the students were gone during the holidays, he’d taken his long-neglected broom for a spin. It was pure serendipity that today of all days, he had chosen to leave behind the familiar sky over the pitch and explore the rest of the grounds. He’d discovered the tubers growing in Hagrid’s garden as he’d briefly hovered over it.

Now here he was, hovering over the garden once again, albeit closer to the ground. The chill wind moaned around him and he pulled up the collar of his cloak against it. Unfortunately this action just served to funnel the dust from the tuber leaves directly into his face.


That wasn't the wind — that had come from inside the hut. Draco froze. Then he sneezed and immediately worried about being overheard.

But hadn't Hagrid just been telling them about the trip to France he had planned for the festive season? Wasn’t it just last week during dinner in the Great Hall that Draco had directed his attention into his chocolate mousse rather than listen to the half-giant wax lyrical about his holiday rendezvous with that Gallic…woman who had chaperoned those girls from Beauxbatons back in fourth year? What kind of obscure magical creature had that oaf sequestered away — now undoubtedly hungry, in pain, or both?

Draco quickly straightened and crept as stealthily as he could to the hut until he was pressed flat against the wall. The curtains inside the dirty glass windows were closed against the cold and the dark, but light seeped out from around them into the inky night.

That's odd Draco thought. Whatever strange abandoned beast Hagrid had left there was unlikely to have actually lit a fire and a lamp.

Feeling a bit devious and not a little silly, Draco stole to the door and, refusing to peek through the keyhole, attempted to look through the miniscule space between the door and the frame.

"Mmmmmmmmm, yessssss….," he heard a voice croon from within. And then he heard a series of sibilant phrases that could only be one thing: Parseltongue. Since the demise of Voldemort twenty-three years ago, the only person Draco knew who could speak Parseltongue was —


The exquisite hissed words brought Draco immediately to a half-aroused state, which was summarily quashed when his brain caught up with the other part of his body that occasionally did his thinking for him. Draco had always felt it was a pity Potter was the only other source of such an alluring language. And although Potter was an improvement over the Dark Lord — he made Parseltongue sound like caress rather than a curse — it was still Potter who was doing the hissing.

Sniffling slightly, Draco leaned ever-so-gently on the door, which opened a crack and allowed him to glance into the hut. There was Potter, sitting in a huge armchair, his hand down his trousers and his eyes closed. Next to the chair lay Fang, Hagrid's enormous ancient boarhound, oblivious to the activity going on just next to him.


Draco's penis had a short, sharp, rather one-sided argument with his brain in which it reminded him, in no uncertain terms, who was the master of his body. At the end of the argument Draco was left with a painfully stiff erection and his mouth hanging slightly open. As quietly as possible, he transferred the stolen tubers from his right hand to his left, so he could press the heel of his palm against his thick wool trousers in an effort to relieve some of the ache.

"Pleasssssssseee…." Potter begged an imaginary lover.

His eyes remained closed, but Draco could see his body lengthen in the chair as he stretched out his legs and gripped himself more securely. For a moment Draco was torn between overwhelming lust at seeing such a nice body saying and doing such pleasurable things to itself (regardless of the fact that the body belonged to Potter), and utter disgust at where the nice body chose to say and do them.

And that was when Draco's brain reasserted itself. No amount of fit, hissing, wanking man was going to detract from the fact that Potter was hissing and wanking in Hagrid's armchair. Draco's erection wilted as quickly as it had formed and the icy wind suddenly gained strength against his face.

The realisation might have adversely affected Draco's libido, but it didn't staunch his curiosity. He wasn't going to miss an opportunity to get the goods on Potter even though, deep down, Draco couldn't conceive of a situation where knowing Potter had tossed off in Hagrid's hut would earn him any favours. But if nothing else, it was still an image he could keep for a rainy day.

"Ohhh yesssssssssss…. Ha— haaaarderrrrrrrrr…." Potter groaned as his hand sped up. "Fuuuuuuuuckkkk…."

Draco had never heard him swear before; Potter had never said anything obscene even when they were trying to kill each other playing Quidditch. Now, Draco wondered why. His own vocabulary had been perfected through breeding and upbringing — he'd said those words before, but usually only under conditions similar to those of Potter’s current ones. Somehow, that made it all the more… arousing. Draco smirked as he struggled to keep another sneeze at bay.

Potter was panting now, his speech reduced to incoherent grunts. Draco was nearly breathing in time with him, paying little attention to anything but the view of Potter’s fast-moving fist stroking up and down his thick and very red cock.

"AAAHHH-CHOO!" Draco sneezed violently and fell through the hut’s door as the force of the sneeze propelled his shoulders against it.

Three things happened in quick succession:

Fang leapt up from his post by the chair, charged forward, and caught Draco in the chest on the way out of the door.

Potter came, covering his hand, his trousers and Hagrid's armchair in warm semen.

Draco, driven backwards by one hundred and fifty pounds of dog, fell in a heap just outside the hut, banging his head against the paving stone and knocking the wind out of himself.


"He'll be all right," said a high, sweet voice at Draco's side.

He looked up into the blurred face of an angel. So that’s it, is it? Killed by a dog whilst perving on Potter. He rather hoped his parents hadn’t learned the whole truth surrounding his untimely demise.

“I’ve rubbed some sievesnail pus on the bump on his head — that should stop the pain in no time.”

Huh? The angel slowly swam into focus to become Luna Lovegood-Scamander, the Hogwarts nurse.

"Are you sure? He's been unconscious for a long time…" That was Potter. Potter with the dog, the Parseltongue and that cursed armchair.

Potter in that armchair doing something with his…

Oh dear.

Draco cringed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, hoping that when he removed them, Luna and Potter would be gone.

No such luck.

"You can sit up now," Luna said, waving her wand over Draco's supine body. "You're perfectly fine. I could even clear up your sensitivity to those tubers if you’d like.” She sounded rather proud of herself.

Which was probably the last thing Draco should be feeling. So, instinctively, he covered his massive shame with massive sarcasm. "I can do that myself," he snapped, sitting up slowly. "I've just been too busy."

"Oh, really?" Potter drawled.

"I meant with potions," Draco said, face flushing, but he sat up straight, nonetheless.

"Is that what these were for?" Potter asked, holding up a handful of tubers by their cerise tops. "You’ve got a potion that requires stolen ingredients?"

"I wasn't stealing them," Draco said defensively, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Potter backed up to allow him room.

"You were borrowing them?" Potter asked mockingly.

Draco chose to concentrate on the convenient new image of Potter — head thrown back, cock in hand — to ease the anger that rose in his chest. Getting into a shouting match with Potter in the hospital wing would not do his image any good. Draco was only here through Potter's good graces as it was.

Although technically not his sponsor, Potter had written a stunning recommendation for Draco when he'd applied for the post of Potions Master at the school. Since Draco's family had lost the best part of their fortune to war reparations and Astoria took the rest of it with her in the divorce settlement, there was never a question of whether Draco would work, only a question of where. Draco's skill as a teacher and Scorpius' reputation as one of Hogwarts' brightest pupils had only recently helped raise the status of the Malfoy name from the mud where it had lain for so many years.

And so, the image of Potter having it off in Hagrid's hut would have to suffice as Draco’s prize for the night. He waved his hand nonchalantly. "You keep them, Potter," he said airily. "I'll just go get some from the Forbidden Forest tomorrow." He made as if to leave the bed, but Potter held a hand to his chest and stopped any further forward movement.

"You'll go into the Forbidden Forest now," Potter said as Draco and Luna both looked at him questioningly. "I need your help to find Fang. You'll remember he ran off when you barged in—"

"I did not barge in," Draco said, scandalised. "It's not my fault the door to that hovel is of a substandard construction."

"Draco, you fell through the door which you were clearly eavesdropping behind," Potter said matter-of-factly.

Luna giggled behind her hand.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, Potter," Draco said, trying to sidestep both the man and the issue. "I heard a strange noise—" he looked Potter in the eye, "—a very strange noise. I just thought I would look in to see if that ogre had left some dangerous and malnourished creature behind while he was off swanning around the Cote d’Azur."

Potter scowled at Draco’s words but pressed his palm more firmly against Draco’s chest, keeping him from moving away.

Luna spoke up before Harry could. "It's okay, Draco. Hagrid left all of his flame-tailed paddleskinks with me over the holidays. I assure they're quite safe." Both Harry and Draco looked at her blankly. "But it's very nice of you to consider their welfare. I think you should go with Harry, though, if you're the one who let the dog out," she added.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Luna had already turned away and started towards another patient, a professor who'd just arrived with a serious mistletoe allergy.

"As you're so concerned with Hagrid's pets," Potter said, further invading Draco's personal space, "you can help me find Fang. Get your cloak."


Neither man spoke as they left the hospital wing and walked through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts. Draco stole furtive glances at Potter, wondering when he would launch into a fervent denial of doing anything untoward in Hagrid's hut. For his part, Potter remained resolutely silent, which only heightened Draco's sense of unease. By the time they left the confines of the school, Draco felt he had to break the tense silence.

"How old is this mutt, anyway, Potter? Surely this can't be the same dog from our school days." Damn. Now he'd done it: he'd mentioned seeing the dog, which meant he was admitting to seeing inside the hut, which meant he'd have to acknowledge seeing what Potter had been doing.

"It is the same dog," Potter affirmed. "It's a magical breed of boarhound that Hagrid stumbled across a year before we started Hogwarts. Fang could outlive both of us. That is, if we ever find him," he added.

Was he teasing just a little? Draco couldn't tell. "I find it hard to believe this dog is five hundred years old and still can't find his way back to the hut on his own. After all, wasn't he our guide the last time you and I were stuck in this godsforsaken place together?" They reached the edge of the forest and Draco pulled the collar of his cloak up again.

"I can't believe you’d want to remember that, Malfoy," Potter said, almost sounding impressed. "After all, you turned and ran off, leaving me all alone with Voldemort." Potter didn't stop walking but pressed on into the Forbidden Forest as if it were as safe as shopping in Diagon Alley.

"That's not the way I remember it," Draco said, looking longingly over his shoulder at the warm, safe castle before plunging into the shadows, hurrying to keep pace with Potter. "I was only watching your back."

"Unlike earlier tonight when you were watching my fr—"

Draco cut him off before he could finish. "No need to bring that up," he said and immediately wished he hadn't. Potter, thankfully, ignored him and moved onto other things.

"You should have brought your spade with you, Malfoy,” Potter said mockingly. “You could be digging up some more tubers." Potter turned to face him and winked as Draco slowed.

"Hysterical, Potter," Draco snarled as Potter spun around and resumed walking. Draco ground his teeth, then became completely distracted by watching Potter walking away from him. Watching his back, indeed. How come he'd never noticed this view before? Oh yes, because it was attached to Potter.

They walked in silence for a time. As much as Draco admired the way Potter's bum looked in the Muggle jeans he wore, he really had been lying when he said he'd been covering Potter's back the last time they'd been here together. Draco had no desire to be charged from the rear. At least not by anything that lives in this place, , he thought. He hurried to catch up to Potter.

"So where's the family, Potter?" Draco said as conversationally as he could under the awkward circumstances. Potter didn't turn or break stride.

"They're on the school ski trip with Neville and Professor Kanerko,” Potter replied. Before Draco could ask the next logical question, Potter answered it for him, “They thought having the old man along might cramp their style."

Since Ginny Weasley’s death three years ago, Potter had completely devoted himself to his family and stayed close to his children. Draco reckoned that might have been what prompted Potter's acceptance of the Muggle Studies professorship and his agreeing to be his eldest son's Head of House.

So...all three of the Potter offspring are now enjoying two weeks in the Swiss Alps with the Herbology and DADA professors, leaving Potter here to wank off in Hagrid's hut. Interesting. Draco was on his own because Scorpius was spending the holidays with his mother, and Draco's parents had eschewed the British winter to stay with distant relatives in Perpignan. Now that the Malfoy fortune was nothing but a memory, the family relied on the hospitality of kith and kin for any kind of holiday. Draco had had a hard time imagining his parents accepting charity, but stranger things had been known to happen. Indeed, several strange things have only just occurred in the last two hours, Draco reminded himself.

Draco started at a sharp crack from under the leaf litter to the right and moved reluctantly closer to Potter. He had his wand with him, naturally, but he didn't draw it. Draco didn't want to appear too afraid of what was probably nothing. But truth be told, he was just as apprehensive about this journey into the Forest with Potter as he had been about the long-ago one when they were students. And although Draco had had his fair share of unpleasant experiences in his lifetime, they always fell under the umbrella of "better the devil you know." The unknown quantities that were the inhabitants of this forest were not something Draco wanted to become more familiar with.

"Relax, Malfoy," Potter said, not unkindly. "There's hardly anything in the Forest that's of any danger to us."

He and his jeans plodded onwards.

"Are you implying that there might be something in here that is?" Draco said, with a nonchalance he didn't feel.

"There's several somethings, but I wasn’t going to tell you about them in case you freaked out.
Presumably Fang knows that too, so it's unlikely he'll lead us in any dangerous directions. But... he is old and forgetful and he’s rarely let very far off the lead anymore, which is why he was keen to get out."

Draco almost apologised for allowing that to happen before he caught himself.

"So why were you watching me, Malfoy?" Potter said, abruptly changing the subject.

"I, uh—" Draco stalled, "—heard something strange, like I said." He turned his face away, blushing furiously.

"Strange, how?" Potter asked, sounding as innocent as if he'd asked about a potion he was having trouble concocting.

"You know," Draco said, wondering if he could be any more embarrassed. "Moaning…and then…Parseltongue," he mumbled.

"Parseltongue? I spoke Parseltongue?" Potter stopped and turned toward Draco. "I don't remember doing that. What did I say?"

"Well Potter, contrary to popular assumption, I was never the Heir of Slytherin, and therefore can't claim to understand that particular language." Draco stomped angrily away until he realised he didn't have a clue where he was going.

Potter caught up with him and reached for his arm. "Sorry, Malfoy. I meant, what else did I say?"

Draco was quickly becoming one part embarrassed and two parts exasperated. "Potter, I can't honestly remember. Next time I'll take notes, but really, if you can't recall what rubbish you spout whilst wanking, that's your problem!" Draco jerked his arm away from Potter's grasp.

"Did you just say next time, Malfoy?"

It was possible that Draco couldn't turn a brighter shade of red than he currently was. Luckily, the moon had set and it was very dark in the Forest.


Or, rather, it had been.

"Potter, just leave me alone." Draco stepped out of the circle of light cast by the end of Potter's wand. "I— I apologise for…interrupting you, but I didn't know what you were doing in there." For the first few moments, Draco finished the thought in his head.

"I apologise if I embarrassed you," Potter said simply.

Draco nodded, sighing. He wasn't a boy any more. It was time he stopped behaving that way. So why do I always feel I’m fourteen whenever he’s around? And for some inexplicable reason, the idea of a next time now seemed attractive. Draco decided two could play at this embarrassment game. "Who were you thinking about?" he asked conversationally.

"Huh?" Potter said.

"You know, who were you moaning to when you were —" Draco broke off and waved his hand about a bit — the closest a Malfoy would come to being crass.

"Ronan," Potter said, turning away.

Draco frowned, puzzled. Ronan was a man's name, wasn't it? "Ronan? Who's Ronan?"

"He is," Potter said, pointing to the creature which had suddenly appeared in front of them. "Hello, Ronan. How are you?"

"Wait a minute, Potter," Draco ploughed on. "You were thinking about him?" Draco was dumbfounded.

"Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter hissed, then went on in a normal tone. “I wasn't talking about Ronan, I'm talking to Ronan." He turned to shake hands with the large beast.

So Potter knew this creature in front of them. A centaur. And he was ginger, Draco could see from the light of Potter's wand. Another one, he thought with mild disgust, although the centaur was a darker chestnut red than any of the Weasel's family. It appeared that the he was going quite white at the temples, too.

"Harry. A bit late for a stroll through the Forest," the centaur said, stamping a back hoof.

Draco unconsciously moved a little closer to Potter.

“I know. We’re looking for Fang. You haven’t seen him, have you?” Potter asked.

Ronan showed no more than polite interest. “I’ve seen the Geminid meteors,” he said cryptically, eyeing the heavens and stamping a hoof again. Even his breath appeared inconvenienced as it left his flared nostrils. “Striking, as always.”

“Potter, let’s go,” Draco whispered sharply. His hand found Potter’s wrist. Potter ignored him, but didn’t shake him off.

Ronan seemed to have just noticed Draco, and gave an unimpressed-looking shrug. He might have simply recognised an ex-Death Eater, but Draco figured the centaur would certainly know him as a Malfoy. Would he care was another question…

“That – er — must have been something,” Potter said looking up, trying fruitlessly to appeal to Ronan’s sense of the here-and-now. “Well, if you see Fang, please point him in the direction of home. He’s a bit of a coward, you see, and I’d hate for anything to happen to him.”

“Hagrid will find the dogs, never fear,” Ronan said and looked around. “They know him.”

They? thought Draco. How many escaped dogs did that doddering giant own? And how was he supposed to find them when he wasn’t even in the country?

“Yes...well...thanks,” Potter said. They turned away from Ronan and continuing down the path they’d taken into the Forest. The temperature felt like it had dropped just in the space of that short meeting.

“Well, that was some very useful advice,” Draco quipped, maintaining his grip on Potter’s arm.

“Quiet, Malfoy,” Potter said. “And let go of me.”

Draco clutched his wrist more tightly. “No way, Potter,” he said. “If that’s the kind of help we can expect, I’m not leaving your side.” That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to...

“Malfoy, if you wanted to hold my hand, you only needed to ask,” Potter said with a wicked smile. Draco almost stumbled but found his footing just in time. He dug his nails into the thick wool of Potter’s jumper in a manner he hoped was painful.

Wanker. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The darkness and adrenalin were making Draco both sarcastic and more flirtatious than he’d ever been around Potter — and more than he should be, especially considering the earlier events of the evening. “Someone else to give you a hand.” Oh that’s brilliant, he cursed inwardly. Could I be any more bloody obvious?

“Oh, please, Malfoy,” Potter said without missing a beat. “Like you never wank.” Potter stepped up the pace. Draco could tell that he’d managed to embarrass the Golden Boy, regardless of his cool reply.

“Not in that setting, I wouldn’t,” Draco deadpanned. “What could you possibly have been thinking about that would get you so worked up you’d have one off in Hagrid’s disgusting old armchair?” Without realising, Draco loosened his death-grip on Potter’s arm, but did not release it.

“That’s none of your business, Malfoy,” Potter shot back, yanking himself free and turning to glare at Draco. His eyes gleamed in the wandlight. Draco couldn’t tell if he was angry or just discomfited.

“Let me guess,” Draco continued, deciding to wind up Potter further, if only to get him back for looking so damned hot whilst wanking. “Big breasts, big hips, too much make-up.”

“Wrong, Malfoy,” Potter said, perhaps just a little too quickly. The path curved, leading into a darker and danker part of the Forest. Draco stayed close.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” Draco said with feigned politeness. “Stick-insect Muggle model-type? Although I always figured you’d go for someone a little more...wholesome,” he added with a smirk.

“Wrong again, Malfoy,” Potter said, although not as angrily. Perhaps he was enjoying this game, after all.

The Forest became, if anything, more oppressive as the undergrowth thickened and the trees closed in and towered over them. The temperature had dropped again and now it smelled like snow.

“Let’s see...who would Potter wank to,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, hoping that would stave off some of the anxiety he was feeling — the Forest seemed to be menacing them simply by existing. “Hmmm...young or old? I’m guessing you still have a thing for Quidditch players,” Draco mused. He knew Ginny had briefly played for the Harpies before the children had come along.

Potter was silent, encouraging Draco to continue with his current train of thought. He, also, appreciated a fit Quidditch player, although not any who would ever play for Holyhead. I wonder…, he thought suddenly. “Or...maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.”

“Mal-foyyyy.” Potter now sounded like he’d appreciate Draco changing the subject.

Draco did just that as large sticky flakes of snow began to fall. “Terrific,” Draco said. “This night keeps getting better and better.”

“Stop moaning, Malfoy,” Potter said, but with no real vitriol behind it.

“So what is in this Forest besides centaur nutters and a stupid lost boarhound?” Draco asked.

“Unicorns,” Potter said. “But you knew that already, seeing as you left me with a dead one last time we were here.” He looked sideways at Draco.

Draco snorted. “Whatever, Potter.” He continued following, his flirtatious mood now giving way to a sardonic one.

“Also thestrals,” Potter continued. “Those are the things that pull the coaches up to the Castle, but you’ll not have seen —”

“I’ve seen them,” Draco said, this time with a little venom in his response. Golden Boy thinks he’s so special. He’s not the only one who saw death during the War.

“I’m sorry,” Potter began. “I forgot you—”

Draco interrupted him. “I hear a dog. This way,” He dragged Potter off the path and they tripped through the brambles, further into the unknown.

A low growling sounded from the trees ahead of them. Potter stopped short, forcing Draco to bump into him and grab Potter around both biceps in order to steady himself. Potter looked over his shoulder at Draco, who was pressed up against his back. “You’ll be grabbing my arse next, Malfoy,” Potter said.

“Another suggestion, eh?” Draco said crossly with extra-sneer, mostly as he’d been fantasising about doing just that.

“Perhaps later,” Potter said. Is he serious? Draco couldn’t tell, as Potter had turned back to face the gloomy depths before them.

Draco re-focused on the vision of Potter’s arse for a brief moment more, letting it warm him. Unaware of his actions, rather than simply removing his hands from Potter’s arms, he trailed them down the material of Potter’s sleeves. When his hands reached flesh, Potter grabbed Draco’s fingers and gave them a quick squeeze.

What?! Draco suddenly remembered where he was, but before he could snatch his hands away, a howl reverberated through the Forest. Another followed, and then a third. Then all three canine — were they canine? — voices began in earnest. Both men shuddered and Draco felt the muscles of Potter’s back tense through their clothes. He wondered if Potter could feel his heart beating against his back. To Draco it felt as though it was about to leap out of his chest.

“That’s not Fang,” Potter said, his breath billowing out into the still crisp air. The growling continued, but it sounded quieter this time, as if the source was moving away. “I think I know what it is... Keep going. And be quiet,” Potter ordered.


Despite Potter’s warning, Draco continued to grumble as he cast a warming charm around himself. The spell seemed to wear off instantly and the cold assailed him twice as fiercely as before. And now that it was snowing, he’d need to cast a repelling charm, too, having left his beloved fur hat back in his rooms. He looked over at Potter who hadn’t bothered with the repelling charm. Fair enough — no need to worry about that bird’s nest of a hairstyle.

They heard more scuttling in the leaf litter as the snowfall began in earnest. Potter doused the light at the end of his wand.

“What did you do that for, genius? Now we can’t see anything,” Draco groused.

“And hopefully nothing can see us. You’re not scared of spiders are you?” Potter asked in an annoyingly matter-of-fact tone.

Draco slowed. “N-no, of course not,” he said, speeding up to match Potter’s pace again. “Why?”

“There’s some big ones in here,” Potter said, but didn’t elaborate further. He continued on, more cautious and deliberate in choosing the placement of his feet than before and looking around warily.

“Uh-huh,” Draco said sceptically. Knowing Potter’s penchant for exaggeration, he was sure his boots would make short work of any arachnid they encountered.

“Malfoy, I’m not kidding. Didn’t you ever listen to Hagrid when he talked about acromantulas?” Potter sighed in frustration.

“Potter,” Draco said, staring him in the face, although it was hard to make out definite features in the gloom, “do you honestly think I listen to anything Hagrid says? That great oaf never said anything of interest when I was a student, and he certainly hasn’t said anything useful since I’ve been here as a teacher. Now, shut up and let’s get going. I’m cold and I’m bored and I —” He stopped as he realised he was standing next to a small cluster of tubers. Draco reached down to yank them from the ground trying not to disturb the feather-light dust coating the pink leaves. Might as well get the stupid ingredients while I’m here…it’s not like I’m bloody likely to come back here alone, he thought in vexation.

“And you’re scared,” Potter added.

“Shut up, I am not.”

“You should be,” Potter retorted.

I wonder if we’ll ever have a conversation that doesn’t reduce us both to the level of fourth years, Draco thought.

Potter had stopped behind a large tree trunk and was now peeking around it. “We have to turn back,” he whispered without looking at Draco.

Draco quietly stepped up behind him and squinted into the gloom. He could barely make out long thin dark shapes that could be anything. Then he realised he was looking at legs. Lots of them — large and hairy. Maybe Potter had been right. “What the — ”

“There’s a nest of acromantulas out there. C’mon.” Potter turned, and as quietly as possible, veered off the path and started walking in a different direction.

“Wait!” Draco said, catching up.

“Shhhhh, will you?” Potter grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along. “They’ll hear you. Believe me, those things would eat you alive if they had a chance.”

“Sure, Potter,” Draco said with a smile. “Wishful thinking?” He’d let Potter interpret that however he had a mind to.

Potter ignored him.

“AHHH, friend-of-Hagrid,” boomed a voice behind them. “What a welcome sight you are to us.”

“Oh, hell,” Potter said and froze. Draco turned around and found himself staring at the biggest most terrifying spider he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Potter, this thing knows you?” Draco was incredulous. Was there anything evil or disgusting that wasn’t after Potter? Suddenly, Draco didn’t feel so bad about his own past.

“And you’ve brought us another, just like last time.” The voice was congenial but the tone overlaid the worst kind of threat.

Potter finally turned and regarded the creature. “And you would be...?” Draco watched with disbelief as Potter conversed with the spider.

“I am the son of Aragog,” the animal said, proudly.

“Of c-course,” stammered Potter. “It’s nice to see you again. We were just leaving,” he turned to go.

“I think not, friend-of-Hagrid,” the massive thing said. “As I recall, you are aware of your value to us. I would be remiss to let you escape a second time.”

Draco was too frightened to move, but he wasn’t too frightened to sneer, “Let’s see you Expelliarmus your way out of this one, Potter.”

Scuttling sounds came from behind and beside them. They were surrounded.

“No,” Potter insisted to the spider. “We will not be —”

Draco had finally had enough. Galvanised into action liked the trapped snake he was, he raised his wand and shouted ARACHNEAE REPELLO!

The spiders were hurled away from the two men by a surprisingly strong force. Knocked back, the giant arachnids landed in heaps of tangled legs and the evil clicking of spider-jaws, gnashing in anger.

“Wow, Malfoy, that was great,” Potter shouted, hardly able to contain his relief as they literally ran for their lives. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hardly surprising,” he shouted back. Potter was well-known to be useless with any kind of practical spell. “I lived in a dungeon for seven years, Potter. You learn a few spells to keep the creepy-crawlies at bay.”

“I could have done with knowing that in second year,” Potter panted as they ran into denser forest.

“Yeah, might have kept Weasel-be and Granger away from you,” Draco jibed. Potter ignored him.

Potter slowed as they reached a small clearing. They could no longer hear the spiders behind them. “How long does that spell last, Malfoy?” Potter was obviously worried that the spiders would soon recover and begin their pursuit.

“Not long,” Draco said, in between gulps of air. “And normally it’s used on much smaller spiders.” He was half-surprised it had worked at all. He bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. “Will they come after us?” He was covered with tuber dust and truly fed up with this adventure. All he wanted was a drink and a hot bath.

Potter looked around, his wand also now drawn. He was tense and guarded, as if expecting a battalion of those hairy monsters to be racing toward them at any moment.

Loud howling echoed around the glade. The snow had stopped, the spiders were nowhere to be seen and aside from the damned dog, Draco could only hear the beating of his own heart as it struggled to regain a slower rhythm. “Fang,” he said, relieved.

“Not Fang,” Potter said with a look of trepidation. “C’mon, we’ve got to keep moving.” He tore off at an even faster pace than before. Draco was hard-pressed to even care about this newest unseen threat. Obviously Potter’s life had not changed in the least since they’d left school; not only was Potter himself two steps away from certain death, but he was also leading any hangers-on to the same.


“Will you hurry up, Malfoy?” Potter shouted, though he needn’t have bothered; Draco could hear him just fine as Potter jerked him along in the opposite direction of whatever was howling, which by the sound of things was gaining ground. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Draco freed himself from Potter’s grip to turn and look at their pursuer. Close behind them a very cross, very hungry-looking three-headed dog was scuffling through the undergrowth. The trees ahead might be thick enough to impede the beast’s progress, giving Draco and Potter a few minutes grace, but it wouldn’t last; the thing could cover more ground at a faster pace.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Draco demanded, now completely scared witless. He’s lost his hold on Potter’s arm and was desperate not to become separated.

“Vaguely,” Potter replied and turned sharply towards a clearing.

“Are you crazy?” Draco cried. “We need to stay in the trees to keep that thing from catching up with us!”

“Just follow me! I have an idea!” Potter pumped his legs faster as they approached the open space. “We need to find shelter. He’s not terribly smart, but he is persistent. There’s no way he’ll let up. Here!”

Draco nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of yet another hideous-looking Forest denizen, this one squatting on a patch of grass and slowly becoming covered in snow. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Potter grabbed Draco’s sleeve and yanked him toward the automobile. “Shut up and get in!” Draco, unfamiliar with the Muggle mechanism, fumbled with the front passenger door until Potter shoved him out of the way and heaved on the handle. It didn’t budge; clearly the car had other ideas about humans driving it ever again. Potter quickly tried the rear door, pulling the handle down and swinging the door open. They quickly scrambled in, slamming the door behind them.

An enormous canine face connected wetly with the glass directly next to Draco’s head and both men started violently. An enormous tongue lapped at the window pane and Potter leaned over Draco to reach the door handle.

“What the in the holy hells are you doing, Potter?!” Draco cried, hurling the tubers toward the front and grabbing at Potter’s arm.

“That’s Fang, you tosser!” Potter shouted back as the door opened and Draco once again found the heavy animal careening over him. “Fang! Get in here!”

The massive boarhound climbed over the two men’s laps and legs and into the front of the car.

“Fuck, I think he’s crushed my balls!” Draco wailed, grabbing his gonads.

Fang gave Draco a baleful expression and lay down across most of the front seat, shoving the gear stick aside and pressing down the parking brake with his massive bulk.

“You stupid mutt,” Draco ranted. “I’m going to —”

The car gave a massive lurch as terrifying growls reverberated around the vehicle. This time it was an enormous clawed canine paw that smacked against the window next to Draco’s face. He jerked back into Potter’s lap.

“Get us out of here, Potter!”

“I’d love to Malfoy, if you’d get out of my face!!” Potter shouted, attempting to shove the flailing Draco away from him. One of the animal’s heads appeared in the window and the eyes leered at the occupants, drooling malevolent jaws snapping sharply. Draco pushed himself back into Potter who was now quite squashed into the far corner of the back seat while Fang whimpered and cowered under the steering column.

“If you’re not going to do something, I will!” Draco shouted over the two dogs and the sound of the car’s engine roaring to life. He pulled his wand free of his cloak and aimed it at the window.

“No, wait!” screamed Potter desperately. “Don’t say anything! If you try to hex or Stupefy Fluffy, you’ll hit the car first! We need it to get out of here.”

“Fluffy? That thing’s called Fluffy?!”

“Shut up, Malfoy! I’m trying to think.” Potter looked around wildly, his eyes wide and his fists opening and closing convulsively. The car gunned its engine again as Fluffy began a frontal attack. That set Fang off, who whined very loudly.

I’m not going to die like this, Draco thought. There was absolutely no dignity in this, which was, without a doubt, the most ridiculous of circumstances: Here he was, in some filthy old Muggle automobile, pressed against the Boy Who Grew Into the Man Who Wanked, with just a thin sheet of glass separating them from a giant three-headed murderously snarling dog named Fluffy.

Just how inappropriate was it to get an erection now?

But once again, the two disparate organs responsible for most of Draco’s actions were fighting for supremacy over his body. Whereas his brain thought panicking to be the best course of action, his cock reckoned turning and throwing himself at Potter might be a worthwhile diversion from what looked to be certain death. If I’m going to die at the claws of yet another of that effing gamekeeper’s stupid pets, I might as enjoy the last few moments of my life, he thought wildly.

“Malforddddthh!” Potter uttered around the tongue which had suddenly and unexpectedly invaded his mouth.

There was a sharp jolt, and Draco, face pressed to Potter’s, felt the Earth move. He’d heard about kisses so amazing that kind of thing happened, but the joggling shake seemed a little too real to be a corny cliché.

Potter pushed Draco back but didn’t let go of his arms. Instead he leaned closer to Draco in order to look around him and out of the car’s windscreen. Fang had now slid into the passenger side’s footwell, his huge head resting on the seat. Draco looked over Potter’s shoulder to see the snow starting up again and the treetops coming sickeningly close to the side of the car before...disappearing below them?

What the hell...?

Potter visibly relaxed against the upholstery. He closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh into Draco’s flushed face — an action which had a profound effect upon Draco’s already excited nether regions. He, however, didn’t share Potter’s inexplicable sense of ease. He gripped Potter’s shoulders and clung on for dear life.

“Potter, are we...flying?” Draco seriously hoped the car wasn’t possessed by some crazy kamikaze Forest spirit.

“Yes, Malfoy, we are. This car belongs to the Weasleys; you’re safe.”

Draco snorted — no part of that explanation held any reassurance. “Safe? In Weasley’s car? I don’t think so.” Of course Draco had heard the rumours about Potter and Weasley’s dramatic flight to Hogwarts in their second year. But like all the other stories which revolved around Potter and his friends, Draco figured that one had been a huge exaggeration, a simple attention-seeking ploy.

“Safer than we would be on the ground.” Potter narrowed his eyes on Draco as he spoke, “Why the hell did you kiss me?” He seemed oblivious to his grip on Draco’s biceps.

“I...” How could he explain? How could he tell Potter that watching him touch himself, speaking snake and looking so blissful was the closest thing to sex that he’d had in ages? Merlin, I can’t tell him the TRUTH…can I?

Gone were the days when he was too afraid to share his wank fantasies with his dorm-mates as they whispered to one another in the darkness. (Draco had always pretended to be above such personal disclosures, but in truth he’d never dared mention the faces he’d seen in his mind’s eye. Especially as Potter’s had been among them.)

“Yes, Malfoy?”

Draco was an adult now — they were both adults now — no subject should be forbidden.

“I...look, do you know where we’re going or are you just winging it like always, Potter?” Draco said, reverting back to the boy he’d been in the Dungeons.

“I’m sure the car knows what’s best, Malfoy. Are you going to answer my question?” Potter ran his hands from Draco’s arms to his shoulders. Draco was afraid he’d start shaking him to get a response.

“I — I thought I was going to die, Potter. And I didn’t want to die without ever having done that. There — now you know.” Draco turned his reddening face away from Potter’s intense stare.

“You’ve wanted to do that?” Potter asked incredulously.

Draco guessed it did sound a little far-fetched, looking at it from Potter’s point of view.

“Everyone wants a piece of the Saviour, Potter,” he said in the snidest possible manner. If he was going to be embarrassed he would damn well make sure Potter felt as much, and worse if possible. “But don’t flatter yourself. You were just...convenient.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter said and he slid a hand through Draco’s hair.

Draco froze as Potter pressed warm lips against his own. Again, the Earth felt as if it moved. Draco’s eyes flew open to see that the car had landed with a jolt. He briefly noticed that the snow was swirling a protective curtain around them and that they were now parked by the Lake. Then he closed his eyes as Potter pulled him close against his body.

The cold inside the car seemed to melt away as Potter’s warm breath flowed into his mouth, his tongue wrapping itself around Draco’s before moving off to explore teeth and palate. Potter made soft, almost breathy sounds, as he pulled Draco to him, the other hand running up and down Draco’s back.

Potter kissed the way he did everything — with one hundred per cent of himself. That was the beauty of Gryffindors, thought Draco: you always knew where you stood with them. And when they did something, they gave it their all. He had never truly appreciated that particular leonine quality until now. Maybe that’s because I’d never kissed one. A modicum of regret flitted across Draco’s mind. Things might have been very different if Draco had only dared to live some of those secrets he’d kept so long.

He resolved to start living them now.

He lay back along the seat and tugged Potter on top of him. He pulled at Potter’s clothes and his ridiculous hair. He thrust upwards, wrapping his free leg around Potter’s hips. They tore at one another desperately, panting almost as much as Fang was from the front seat where he stared at them both eagerly.


Draco liked to have an audience for most things, a quality which served him well as a teacher, but in matters of the bedroom — or wherever bedroom activities might be taking place — he was no showman. He reluctantly removed his mouth from Potter’s, who seized the opportunity to attack Draco’s neck.

“Potter, the dog is watching us.” Potter ground his hips against Draco and for a moment he was tempted to continue down that road, audience be damned. But it was no good. “Potter, get rid of this animal!”

Potter lifted his head, his face wonderfully flushed and glasses hopelessly askew, and muttered a spell. The front door of the car obligingly opened, letting in a swirl of snow, and Potter spoke with a husky voice, muttering a Direction Charm at the canine and then “Fang! Go home!” Fang slowly unfolded himself from off of the crushed tubers in the foot-well and manoeuvred his bulk out the door which closed behind him with a thunk.

Draco, keen to continue, slowly licked his way to Potter’s ear as soon as Potter lowered it back into kissing range. “Potter, are you sure about this?” Draco whispered. “Because I don’t want to start something you have no intention of following through on.”

“Malfoy,” Potter murmured against his neck, “Remember what you asked me while we were walking through the Forest earlier?”

“Vaguely,” Draco said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as his mouth found Potter’s again. “I believe I suggested you had a thing for fit Quidditch players.”

After a moment, Potter sat back on his knees, bringing Draco up with him. A hand found its way underneath Draco’s clothes, sliding beneath the soft cotton shirt he wore to protect his skin from the thick wool jumper. Their heated groping gave way to gentle caresses and slow languorous kisses, ones where mouths could whisper cautious queries and breathless moans.

“When you saw me — when I was —” Potter murmured amid the soft wet touches of his lips upon Draco’s, “sitting in the chair, holding this —” he reached for Draco’s hand and pressed it against his swollen cock held within the Muggle jeans, “I was thinking about you.”

Draco’s eyes widened and Potter’s slid shut as Draco squeezed the stiff flesh through the faded material.

But Draco wasn’t ready to give in. “Sure you were, Potter,” he said sarcastically.

“You...ahhh...you went flying today,” Potter continued, his breath hitching in time with Draco’s stroking. “I watched you. You looked soooo...gooood.” The hand up Draco’s shirt began to clutch at his ribs.

I did? Draco would have protested but he was too stunned by Potter’s words. He twisted himself around until he’d manhandled Potter onto his back along the narrow seat.

“Come here,” Potter tried to pull him closer. Instead, Draco went to work on the button fly of Potter’s trousers. “What are you doing, Malfoy?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, imbecile?” Draco asked, deftly undoing the jeans and reaching inside for Potter’s cock. “I’m taking this out of your pants and putting it into my mouth. Any more questions?”

“No,” Potter all but squeaked.

Draco squeezed himself into the foot-well beside Potter. “Just shut up and enjoy this. No stopping, no warnings — don’t pull on my hair for Merlin’s sake; I know what I’m doing. Understand?”

Potter nodded, his control nearly gone.

Draco lowered his head.


Five delicious minutes of licking, stroking and sucking went by until —


Draco’s eyes glazed over. Withdrawing Potter’s cock from his mouth he said breathlessly, “Gods, Potter, keep that up if you want me to come all over myself.”

“Wha — what?” Potter panted. “Thought...you...weren’t...stopping.” He looks wonderful, Draco thought. Completely out of control, sprawled like a delectable meal across an upholstered banquet table. But, the Parseltongue was going to be Draco’s undoing if Potter didn’t shut up.

“I can’t concentrate if you keep speaking Parseltongue, Potter.” Draco gave Potter’s penis a couple of warm squeezes.

Potter nodded slowly. “Uhhhh.”

“It’s distracting,” Draco leaned down and licked the head of Potter’s cock to emphasise the point.

“Sss — sorry,” Potter said, clenching his teeth in an obvious attempt to keep from distracting Draco.

“Now, I’m going to finish this. You ready, Potter?” Draco looked him directly in the eye. Gray met green with a challenging stare. Then Potter’s head sagged back as the meaning of Draco’s words washed through his muzzy brain.

Though he did manage to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of the time Draco had his open.


Potter’s thighs were still wonderfully quivering as Draco swallowed. He ran his hands up the powerful muscles still encased in denim, thinking of how they might feel wrapped around his hips. This wasn’t the first time Draco had allowed himself these thoughts, and now, here he was, close enough to touch and taste and feel. Whatever happens, I don’t have to wonder anymore.

“Fuuuuuucck,” Potter sighed, as he pulled Draco on top of him and began stroking his back. Draco shivered, hearing the obscenity uttered again from Potter’s lips and his erection throbbed painfully. “It’s my turn now,” Potter said a moment later as he snaked an arm between them.

“I don’t think so, Potter,” Draco said disdainfully, lifting himself off the other man and adjusting his clothes, trying to get comfortable.

Potter’s face fell. Draco almost smiled as Potter covered his disappointment by reaching down to adjust his wayward trousers.

“What I mean,” said Draco, savouring the moment, “is that I’m not taking one scrap of clothing off in this...” he looked around the car, “heap. If you’d like to accompany me back to the Castle, I can assure you my rooms are warm and cosy and have a dearth of spiders.” Draco smoothed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to maintain the illusion of primness.

Potter couldn’t contain his smile. “Ahh,” he said reaching for the door to the car. “I see your point.” The two climbed out of the car, which slammed its door behind them in a petulant manner. The men made a hasty retreat from the lakeside as the car gunned its engine and hurled itself toward the darkness of the Forest.

Draco watched it, scowling.

“Something wrong?” Potter asked. He took Draco’s hand and led him up the hill towards the Castle.

“Yes, Potter,” Draco said darkly. “I’m going to need more of those bloody tubers.”

The End,
Happy Holidays!
Tags: [fic], epilogue compliant, rated: r, round: winter 2009

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