Harry's eyes were open before he even registered what was happening, he was upright in his bed, the blankets pooled around his hips and his chest bare in the firelight. He knew it hadn't been a nightmare that had woken him, the empty phial on his desk and the lack of post-nightmare jitters proved that. But why was he awake at this hour - whatever hour it was?
Wordlessly and wandlessly, he cast a Tempus, and let out a groan when the exact hour appeared in floating wisps in front of his head, the bright white numbers seeming to pull apart and drift away at the edges.
6:15 am.
And then his brain put together the sounds of muffled yelling, yelling that seemed to be coming from the other side his door. A somewhat familiar -he couldn't exactly tell through the thick door dividing them- voice yelled a particularly vulgar word at the top of their lungs, which was very quickly followed up by a stream of insults worthy of a sailor, and Harry could almost hear the slap that followed. It had been Ron's voice, and wherever Ron went, Hermione followed. They were already here.
"Great start to the morning," he muttered to himself, swinging his legs and then his body out of his warm and now very lonely bed. He was in the beginning stages of stretching, his back beginning to arch over the spot he'd just vacated, when an extremely loud and vicious bang on his door jolted him. His poor muscles and bones, they hadn't even been properly stretched yet.
Wincing, he moved over to his trunk and picked up the small pile of clothing laid prettily on the lid, something he'd made sure to prepare last night before he went to sleep. It seemed to have been a good idea -as rare as they may be for him- at the time, and seemed to be now, as the person banging on his door was not exactly calm and patient. He placed the pile of moderately expensive clothing on the still warm bed and quickly, but carefully -as he didn't want to injure himself- snatched up the emerald silk bathrobe lying limply on his study desk beside a large oak jewelry chest, which he used for a potions storage.
The yelling outside was just increasing in volume as he opened the door, and he had to quickly duck out of the way as Ron's fist went to slam into his face. Ron seemed to realize that the door wasn't there anymore, and peered into his room with confusion, his mouth beginning to shape into a question. He spotted Harry's hunched figure and blinked. "Oh, uh.. hullo Harry," he said, confusion in his voice.
Straightening, Harry pushed Ron's shoulder roughly, making the broad shouldered redhead stumble back slightly. "'Hullo'?" he demanded angrily, making a sweeping gesture at the chaotic scene before them; nearly all of the Weasley's gathered and united against the Slytherin families, the main people spitting insults with their wands out. "You come in here at six in the morning, screaming at the top of your lungs, banging the hell out of my door, and all you can say is 'hullo'?!"
Ron blushed with embarrassment, smiling sheepishly and ducking his head slightly. Harry noticed a small cut a little to the right on Ron's forehead, and wondered how the hell that had gotten there, as a cutting curse would be far larger. Ron's sheepish expression distracted Harry from searching for more injuries, however. "Yeah, well ... we got worried when no one answered our firecalls earlier, and when we got here and saw the Slytherin's cursing at mum and dad .. well, I guess things got a little out of hand."
"'Out of hand'? Yeah, I'd say it got a little bit more than out of hand!" Harry snapped, noticing the way Ron's eye twitched in the familiar telltale sign that he was nervous. "The least you could have done was knock on my door, I would have gladly sorted the idiots out before things even got to this level! There was absolutely no need for anyone to get hurt," he said, forcefully calming himself down at the slightly hurt look on Ron's face.
"But no one's hurt Harry -" Ron tried to protest.
"You have a cut on your forehead," he interrupted roughly, gesturing to the small wound with a flick of his hand. "It's small and dried up some, but its still there."
Ron brought his hand up to feel for the small cut, not seeming to know where he had been injured, and relaxed when he felt the dried and scabbing blood under his fingertips. He let his hand drop to his side. "It's just a scratch," he said offhandedly, shrugging it off.
"Yeah, but it's still there," Harry muttered, shaking his head. He had his own lifetime of injuries and scars to contend with. "Anyway, what happened?" he asked when Ron seemed to back off slightly, as if wanting to join the fight still going on behind him.
Ron groaned and let his head fall backwards so that he was looking up to the ceiling, looking as if he was praying for patience. "I already told you, mate. Malfoy and the other gits were mouthing off to mum and dad, we came in, saw them, and started going off at them in retaliation."
Harry let out a small irritated sigh as a headache began to bloom in his temples and scalp. He roughly massaged them, muttering about the rudeness of some people and ignored the looks he was getting from Ron. He was becoming more and more tired, as the sleeping potion hasn't quite worked out of his system yet, and he was just becoming more and more crankier.
"You alright, mate?" asked Ron, concern in his voice when he finally noticed Harry's dark look.
Unwilling to attack his friend or anyone else over something so childish, Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm fine," he said calmly, ignoring the panicked look on Ron's face, he began moving away from the redhead. "I'm just going to shut them all up before I kill them," he said, not entirely lying.
"Harry, I don't think that that's such a good -"
He waved Ron's plea off and strode -rather tiredly- towards the fighting people, anger twisting his face into a scowl as he took in the destruction. One of the four squashy brown chairs had been completely obliterated, the common room notice board had been blown to bits and was still burning in some spots and the carpet near Mrs. Weasley's feet had a large scorch mark. This place was supposed to be their bloody common room, not a battle arena.
"Oi!" He yelled angrily, crossing his arms furiously over his chest.
No one listened, not even the Weasley's -who claim to be there for him-, they were all too busy trying to kill each other. He growled, a deep grinding noise that rumbled loudly out from the middle of his chest. Not so surprisingly -as they were the closest-, the two Zabini's heard his growl. Blaise seemed to take in his expression and posture as 'Pissed Off', and stepped away from the two Malfoy men, who were still cursing and spitting out threats. Lady Zabini, giving Harry a small frown, tugged on Narcissa Malfoy's elbow, and began leading her away from the fray.
"OI!" He snarled furiously, beginning to become angrier and angrier with each passing moment. No matter how loud he spoke, no one seemed to notice that he was there.
He ignored the semi-strong cutting curse that hit his arm, not exactly feeling the pain that would usually come from such a thing, but feeling the blood that was resulted from it trickle down his arm until it dribbled off of his fingertips. It had been the breaking point for his control, and arching his back and releasing his arms from the knot they made on his chest, he roared, a long, loud and bone-shattering noise that spread from the bottom of his stomach and raised the hair on the back of his neck.
He was furious.
His mouth -along with the skin on his arms-, tingled, almost like that feeling one got from eating a mouthful of those popping rock candy's, and it spread everywhere, to his back, to the back of his legs, and even to his neck. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it didn't feel good.
When everyone was silent and no longer cursing each other, but staring at him with varying emotions, Harry huffed. "Now that I have your attention, I'd like to know what the bloody hell that was all about!" he sneered, glaring heatedly at the groups of people - most of whom wereadults- who were standing divided and still fuming.
"The Malfoy's were insulting mum and dad!" he heard Ron say exasperatedly in the background.
"We did not insult your family, Mister Weasley," said Narcissa graciously, a pleasant expression fixed upon her regal features. Harry thought that the woman ought to have a crown and an award. "Lucius and I were merely warning them of Draco's ... capricious ways." Even though he'd just been -basically- insulted by his parents, Draco seemed quite smug in the state of things.
"We heard you, we know what you said!" Ron persisted angrily, moving to Harry's side with tensed shoulders and clenched fists. His poor wand was probably half-way to being snapped. Again.
"Then I'm sure you heard us talking about our Draco's habits," said Narcissa coldly, her tone steel as she stared at Ron's reddening face.
"You insulted -!" Ron began to sputter, his face reddening to the extent of his hair.
Harry had had enough, clearly he was to be the adult in this situation. "I don't care who insulted who at this point, what I want to know is what the hell happened to get to the extremity of cutting curses being thrown!" He snapped, and gestured to his injured arm with his other hand as if pointing out the obvious. "Clearly things had to have been fairly serious for this to have happened," he spat sarcastically.
It took only nanoseconds for Mrs. Weasley to react. "Oh Harry! You're hurt!" she cried tearfully, blinking furiously as if seeming to just notice the bleeding wound on his arm. "Oh someone do get Madame Pomfrey! Oh, Arthur! Arthur, go and get her! Harry's hurt!" she fretted, pushing her husbands arm frantically.
"Alright, I'll be back shortly," replied Arthur quickly, his face pale as he hurried over to the fireplace to grab the ceramic jar filled with floo powder resting on the mantelpiece. Molly bit her lip to quell the urge to lash out at the Slytherin's, who were obviously the people who attacked Harry.
"No, I'm alright," Harry protested, shaking his head at the balding redheaded man as he went to gather up a handful of the powder. Arthur paused, looking to Harry intently as if debating a serious issue. "Honestly, it's just a scratch! You know that I've had far worse than this before. It really doesn't hurt at all," he said, reassuring those who cared with a bright smile that he definitely didn't feel. He heard Draco Malfoy snort.
"But that's an awful lot of blood, Harry!" said Molly, her tone portraying a woman desperate to take care of a sickly child. Her image, however, was ruined by her glancing at the Slytherin families, seeming to try and say something.
"I beg your pardon?" said Lucius tightly, eyes zeroing in on the motion Mrs. Weasley was making. "Excuse me Misses Weasley, but I seemed to have misunderstood the meaning behind your words. It sounded as if you were accusing my family and friends of something rather unsavory." His black cane clicked against the stone floor as he stepped towards them, the silver snake head glinting in the gaps of his fingers. His chiseled features almost identical to Draco's pulled into an expression that was a mixture of disdain and loathing, something that was shockingly similar to his son's.
Harry knew almost at once that Lucius was trying to intimidate them, it was easy to see with his easily taller and broader stature towering over them, and the way he tried to appear colder and more powerful than before. He supposed that Lucius Malfoy was a powerful and influential man - when he was able to stand on his own two feet without the support of his wife. But the thing is, it's hard to find the man he saw weeping so openly into the arms of Sirius as intimidating, if anything, he seemed like he was wearing a mask.
Dressed in only his silk bathrobe and pajama pants, Harry straightened his spine and looked Lucius in the eye, pushing an almost defiantly amused expression to his face, knowing that the aristocrat would take it as an offense. "Take it how you will," he said airily, ignoring the small distressed noise Molly made behind his back and the silence of the room around them. "But I believe that enough blood has been spilled for the day."
Lucius' cold grey eyes narrowed marginally and his slightly thin lips pulled into a tight angry line that Draco seemed to have been trying to create in his earlier years. "I agree. Heal quickly Potter, we wouldn't want the temptation to become too great for our young friends, now would we?" He said tightly, looking over Harry's shoulder at Mrs. Weasley as he spoke, a cold smirk settling onto his face as if it belonged there.
"No," Harry agreed, smiling far too calmly for comfort as he inclined his head. "We wouldn't."
Lucius gave a small sneer, glancing between Mrs. Weasley and himself with a glare, before spinning on his heel abruptly and string away with his dark grey robe flaring out behind him. The only sound in the silent room was Lucius' cane clicking on the floor as he made his way over to the other side of the room where his son and wife -whom was holding a restraining hand on their son's shoulder- were stood.
When Lucius halted himself on Draco's other side and nothing else seemed to happen, the noise level in the room began to rise again, and the people standing in their respective groups began talking amongst themselves. However, Harry's eye was caught by Narcissa's strange blue ones, and she gave him an intense but frustratingly indecipherable look.
It was unclear where her loyalties lied, as she seems to have been on the side of Voldemort when he had risen again, and then on her husband's side when he was being accused of murder, and her son's whenever he tried to 'attack' Harry, and then Harry's own side himself. What was she playing at? Was she trying to collect up trust with multiple people just so that she had a person on both sides to fall back on should the shit hit the fan?
While that would be the Slytherin thing to do, it just wasn't the Malfoy way. Nor the Black way either. The two Houses were very proud and stubborn, full of old money and ancestry that no doubt dated back further than any other family in the world, probably as far back as the Hogwart's founders' reign. That was why it was so odd, she was supposed to be above the people of the Light side, above the whole 'I'm evil - I'm good' thing. Was she just trying to tip the scale into their favor?
"Harry?"
Blinking, Harry filed his thoughts away for when he would be able to mull them over and focused on the person calling for his attention. Arthur Weasley, a concerned frown on his soft features, was standing before him with his hand resting on his shoulder. He blushed at the realization that he'd just made Arthur stand there for Merlin knows how long, waiting for him to resurface from his thoughts, "Sorry Mister Weasley, I was just .." Thinking about Narcissa Malfoy's connections ...
"Thinking too hard," supplied Arthur with an understanding smile. "I can understand that, Harry, I do it myself fairly often. In fact, I do it more often than not, it drives Molly absolutely raving mad. I suppose that it is my fault for marrying a Prewett, madness sort of comes with the territory of being a part of that family - don't tell her I told you, her family's reputation is bad enough without my helping it,"
Harry cracked a smile at the older wizards dramatics, "Don't worry, Mister Weasley, you can count on me to keep your secrets," he vowed, grinning at the Arthur's relieved smile. "It really is hard to stop once you've started thinking, isn't it. The Dursley's thought I was going mad whenever I stared into space, and whenever I do it around Hermione and Ron, I'm always snapped out of it, or I seem to become the perfect conversationalist," he said, glancing around at the apparently peaceful common room with suspicious eyes.
Arthur chuckled, not noticing his divided attention, "Oh yes, I find myself being tapped on the nose or arm if I so much as begin to daydream as well. Molly seems to think that I'll get some harebrained idea that will include Muggles, or that I'll finally stand up to the Minister on one of those special visits he's been so inclined on making lately," he said fondly, turning his head to look across the room at Mrs. Weasley with an expression of pure love and adoration. It made Harry smile to see, as that type of love was the very thing he had been fighting his entire life for. "That witch seems to know everything about everyone, embarrassing or not. Instincts that rival Dumbledore's, I'm sure."
Harry severely hoped not, but agreed anyway, the smile still on his face, "I'll have to take Misses Weasley's word for it then," he said, forcing his face to go blank when Arthur looked back at him, his expression confused, "what Muggles have you been talking to, and where?" he asked as seriously as he could, before allowing the smile that he was hiding to reappear.
Arthur smiled sheepishly then, surprising Harry, and ducked his head so that it was closer to Harry's, glancing Molly's way suspiciously. When he was sure that Mrs. Weasley was distracted, he began whispering hurriedly into Harry's ear. "They don't know who I am yet, but they think that I'm a Muggle, like them," he said eagerly, sounding truly like a child at Christmas, Harry almost felt like the older man was about to begin clapping excitedly. "I've been meeting with them in London, going to one of those dingy bars where they serve the younger adults. They gave me Muggle money, Harry! This is a major breakthrough! Proof that we may yet be able to coexist with the Muggles in a safe, trusting environment!"
For a moment, Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Arthur was meeting what was likely a group of Muggle teenagers at a bar that served minors -probably only if they had a supervisor or money backer-, in most likely broad daylight in Muggle London, behind Molly's back. What was he thinking?! "Mister Weasley, how old are they?" he asked, forcing the dim smile on his face to brighten when the older man seemed to visibly lose his enthusiasm at Harry's lack of response.
Arthur pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, before giving him a bright smile, "Ah! I believe they are around your age. It's quite hard to tell, really, with all that metal junk they're always wearing. I think that they use their own elemental magic to call it to them, they're even in theirtongues, did you know that? Muggles attract metal!" he said, sounding and looking entirely serious and amazed.
If Arthur was someone else at that moment, Harry would have allowed himself to smack his palm to his forehead. But as it is Arthur, he could hardly do anything about it other than warn him, "Mister Weasley, please promise me you won't go back to them," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to see where Molly had gone off to, and was slightly relieved when he found her berating Ron near one of the lounges. When he turned back to Arthur, he felt extremely bad about the way the older man seemed so downtrodden and upset, "please Mister Weasley, this isn't a good thing, I know what people like them are like, and if you want I can tell you all about them. But please promise me that you won't go back, I don't want you to get arrested, the Muggle Police really aren't respectful."
Arthur's eyebrows rose until they couldn't any further, and he seemed to perk up a bit, "Arrested?" he questioned, puzzled. "Why on Merlin's staff would I be arrested? I've done nothing wrong!"
With a patient smile, Harry explained about the legal drinking age in the pubs of Muggle London and the consequences of an adult serving a minor something other than what was required. Arthur's face seemed to be a war of emotions, one side was exhilaration at the knowledge he was getting about the Muggle world, and the other was growing horror at the fact that he'd served the minors he had been hanging with some pretty heavy stuff. Highly illegal drinks that he'd been assured were perfectly legal for them to consume.
"Good gracious!" cried Arthur, seeming appalled with what he'd done, yet fascinated at what he was learning. "Did I really commit a crime, Harry?"
Harry nodded once, a grimace on his face. "I'm afraid so, Mister Weasley. But if you stay clear of Muggle London, I'm sure whoever saw you will forget. Most Muggles seem to have a short attention span these days, anyway."
Arthur gave an unsteady sound that reminded Harry of the time Ron cursed himself with the Slug-Vomiting curse, and he almost felt the need to go and grab Arthur a bucket, just in case. "What will happen if I go back? Will they lynch me?" asked Arthur anxiously, his face blanching.
Harry didn't even pretend to be serious about his answer. "Yes Mister Weasley, Muggles are so barbaric they'll be willing to hang you on the spot," he answered sarcastically, exaggerating the motion of rolling his eyes.
Arthur relaxed slightly, hearing Harry's sarcasm loud and clear, he sighed with relief. "Oh, thank heavens. By the way you made it sound, I thought I was going to be strung and hanged in front of a mob!"
Harry turned a devilish smile on Arthur at that. "If I tell Missus Weasley you might be," he said, only half teasing. Arthur paled and shook his head violently, opening his mouth to protest. Harry held up his hands, ignoring the blood still flowing freely down his wrist from the still open wound, "unless you promise me that you'll stop seeing the Muggles, or at least the ones I know nothing about, I won't tell a soul, least of all Missus Weasley."
Arthur nodded, a look of utmost relief and amazement on his face. "If I didn't know you any better, Harry, I would say that you had just manipulated me," he said, before shaking his head and rubbing his fingertips into his eyes. "I must be going out of my mind," he mumbled.
"Who's going out of their mind?" asked Molly Weasley, appearing by their sides out of the blue, hands on her hips and eyes flicking between the two of them suspiciously.
"No one dear, I was just joking," said Arthur quickly, smiling a little too brightly at his wife to be believable.
Harry nodded along with Arthur, a calm smile settling on his lips at Molly's suddenly narrowed brown eyes. "We were just talking about Muggle London's legal drinking age, Misses Weasley," he said, throwing her a dazzling smile. Arthur relaxed even more, seeing the usually firm resolve melting away in Molly's eyes.
"Well I suppose you being a Lord counts as your majority," said Molly thoughtfully, her voice not as quiet as before. "I suppose you're allowed to drink now. Which I'm sure is well taken care of," the disapproving 'by Sirius' was left silent, as Sirius was still technically on the run from the authorities. Molly seemed to be frowning at him, her eyes raking over his body as if searching for alcohol on him.
Harry nodded at the both of them, a small smile fixed on his lips, "Right, well now that I've told you all I know, I think I'll go for a shower," he said, smiling a little more cheerfully at the both of them, before spinning on his heel and striding to his room to gather his things.
"Alright dear! Don't you be too long!" called Molly just as he entered his room, and he sent them a bright smile from over his shoulder.
He didn't move out of his room until he was sure that everyone had gone, and he let out a small shuddering breath as the portrait entrance banged shut behind the torrent of Slytherin's.
_______________________________________________________________________
The water was surprisingly warm for being in the dungeons, and Harry was very quickly relaxed by the soothing rhythmic pounding of the water against his skin. It was true that while the school's showers weren't as great as the one in his room at Sirius', it still beat the Dursleys' by miles. Perhaps even Gryffindor towers very own showers as well.
He was just lathering himself up in the strawberry -it was quite a manly scent, if anyone asked him- shower gel that Sirius had bought for him, and was massaging his still sore muscles when he heard the shower stall near his open abruptly. He had heard someone enter the bathroom nearly as soon as he had gotten into the shower, but he didn't quite know who. That was until his shower curtain was yanked open, and Harry caught a sight of the blonde devil -vampire- through the stream of the water. He immediately spun around, cheeks pinking from embarrassment.
What the hell is Malfoy doing in his shower stall naked?! He thought frantically, his arms already going to cover his front. He held in a small hiss at the stinging he felt coming from the cut on his arm, knowing that the suds had gotten into it. He was relieved that his hair was long, but annoyed that it wasn't long enough to cover his bum from view.
"So .. you're a Lord now, are you Potter? Personally I find that quite hard to believe, seeing as you're nothing but a Muggle-raised half-blood," came the sneering drawl of his blonde nemesis.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the annoyed sigh that wanted to escape. It had occurred to him quite quickly that they were both in the bathroom, exposed, vulnerable, and very alone. Less people to separate them should they duel. He spat out a mouthful of hot water at the tiles in front of him, and turned his head to the right, away from the wide spray of the shower-head and more towards Malfoy. "It shouldn't matter whether I'm a half-blood or not, Malfoy. It's my fathers legacy. I'm hardly going to be denied that. His blood flows through my veins," he said impatiently, already turning back to the shower-head. Well, he certainly sounded a loads more confident than he felt.
"Yes, muddied by that Mudblood you called a mother," sneered Malfoy, sounding slightly closer to him than before.
Harry pulled his head away from the shower-head again, fury beginning to bubble up inside his stomach -so much that it was turning his entire torso to knots- at the foul name Malfoy had just cursed his mother with.
"I was told that it was quite the scandal when James Potter, a wealthy and promising pure-blood, showed an interest in her, a Muggleborn who always had her dirty nose buried in twenty books at once, and was an insufferable know-it-all. Sounds like another Mudblood we know, doesn't it Potter? Granger, isn't it?" Harry could practically feel the cold smirk pressing against the nape of his neck, and he shuffled a little closer into the spray to ward off any shudders.
"Shut up, Malfoy. It doesn't concern you what goes on within my family, or my friends. You're just another unintelligent pure-blood with nothing but time in his hands. You're a parasite, Malfoy, nothing more and a whole lot less," he snarled, pushing his wearily bleeding and stinging arm under the spray to get the suds out.
"Oh it does concern me, Potter," disagreed Malfoy with amusement, and Harry could almost feel the sharp smile lining the lips of his nemesis press into his back, feeling as if it could leave an indentation from its unbelievable pressure. He quivered every time Malfoy exhaled in to his stall, feeling the air brush against the skin of his back. Heat and shame filled his shivering body at the realization that he was thinking about Malfoy's lips, and he fought to rid himself of the blood now filling his cheeks.
"You see, you're the golden ticket to a much higher social standing in the Ministry and the public. An express ticket to where we want to be, if you will. And I believe that it's in your best interest to play the gullible Gryffindork and give me what I want."
Throwing humility to the wind, Harry turned around to face the blonde, glaring darkly at the lazily -and muscular, wet and racy- smirking vampire before him. "And who says that I should? You're just a spoiled little ponce who expects to be given what he wants whenever he wants with not a clue to his name. If you knew anything about Gryffindor's, you'd know well enough that we're capable of many things, gullibility not being one of them. So you might as well clear out now, because I'm not giving you a thing," he snarled hatefully, taking in the stunned and darkening look on Malfoy's face with satisfaction paramount to anything else.
And then the world blurred into a mixture of dark grays and blacks, and a tingling suddenly began at the back of his neck.
It took him only moments to realize that he was now being pinned against the freezing wall, and when he did, he immediately began fighting Malfoy's tight hold, yanking and twisting his hands in Malfoy's steel grip with little to no success. What the hell is this?! He roared to himself angrily, still twisting his hands and wrists. His chest was pressed against the cold tiles, his anger flushed back arched to mold against Malfoy's unforgivably hard and wet front.
"Get off me!" He snarled, using his feet to kick out at the larger blonde pressing him harshly into the wall, only managing to land two hits on the blondes legs before they were being separated by a strong muscular thigh, his right leg being yanked up and settled firmly on Malfoy's heated thigh so that he had to keep one foot on the ground to stay upright, and he had to rely on the wall and the muscular body pinning him to keep him there. Malfoy's skin was slippery with water, but it was made incredibly worse with the slippery suds still clinging to Harry's skin.
He was trapped, without a wand and without any experience of this nature. He was beginning to panic, his heart beginning to kick into overdrive and his stomach beginning to turn to knots of anxiety rather than anger. He had never been touched like this, no one, not even his friends had ever seen him naked, and one of his friends lived in a dormitory with him. This was entirely too new and alien, an incredibly enormous step for him to take. And it was being forced by Malfoy. His magic began to swell up in his chest and respond to the situation, more than ready to bend to his will. But something was stopping him. Something he had yet to understand. It was the emptiness in his chest. The same fucking thing he'd had for weeks.
"Get the fuck off of me, Malfoy! I swear I'll fucking kill you if you don't!" he snapped breathlessly, the air in his lungs moving in and out too quickly to put any real amount of force behind his words.
"No," drawled the deep voice, clearly amused and slightly breathless with his struggling. "I quite like this position. You've really become quite the delectable creature, Potter. Quite beautiful. I wouldn't be surprised if you have people tailing you all the time now. Not that they didn't before, of course. But for different reasons, you understand."
As confused as Harry was, he couldn't help but notice a certain part of Malfoy's anatomy standing to attention against the small of his back. A rather large and searing hot piece of anatomy. He forced himself to breathe at the feeling, but that didn't stop the majority of blood in his body from gathering in his cheeks.
Before he knew it, Harry was having to force himself not to shudder, either in pleasure or revulsion he didn't know -although he was more than willing to bet that it was revulsion-, as Malfoy leaned his slightly pointy chin on the top of his rapidly rising and falling shoulder and brought his mouth so close to the side his head, that Harry swore he could feel the fluttering of those surprisingly soft lips barely brushing the shell of his ear.
"What's wrong, Potter?" Whispered Malfoy, catching Harry off guard with how breathless and excited his tone was. "Vampire got your tongue?"
And then he licked a tentative and long, fire-hot trail up the outer shell of Harry's ear with the tip of his searing wet tongue.
Harry's toes curled against the tiles, his fingers tried to clench into fists - but were ultimately stopped by Malfoy's elegant fingers suddenly winding between them, his chest began to tighten and he began to feel hotter than any fire had ever made him feel. His skin was literally hot to the touch, and he groaned in almost pain when his skin moved against Malfoy's. This feeling was entirely unknown; a mystery, and his body a bundle of nerves, an undiscovered land of pleasure and surprise.
"N - no," He denied, twisting halfheartedly in Malfoy's strong and overpowering grip in one last attempt to free and save himself from the steadily rising tide of pleasure that Malfoy was inflicting upon him. The hot and slick tongue seemed to recognize that the fight was beginning to drain from Harry's body, as it immediately began exploring the entirety of his ear, teeth beginning to toy with his lobe. Harry was distracted enough by the fiery sensations that were shooting sparks throughout his body not to notice that Malfoy had transferred his left hand to join his right in the other makeshift bond, until a perfectly soft and firm hand smoothed its way down his quivering left arm and trailed all the way down his entire left side, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.
He couldn't let Malfoy do this, that would mean admitting defeat, of allowing Malfoy permission to touch his body in such an invaluable and personal way. He wouldn't let anyone touch him like that before, but here was Malfoy, breaking down every small hint of resolve like an expert. Shivering at the attentive laving of Malfoy's tongue and the sudden chill of the room, Harry splayed his fingers as much as he could against the wall, and willed his magic to respond to him, to remove Malfoy from his person.
But yet again, the emptiness prevented him, seeming to lock his magic behind some impenetrable door.
His stomach was pulled away from the wall, and the large, hot hand that had been trailing up and down his side began sliding its way around his waist, the strong arm tightening around him with each inch it gained so that he was pulled flush against Malfoy's broad chest. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, and froze when he felt the very large and hard piece of flesh pressing into his back jerk. Once ... Twice ... And three times.
"You naughty boy, Harry," moaned Malfoy, nipping at his earlobe once. Harry was blindsided by the moan that threatened to escape at the way his name rolled from Malfoy's surprisingly dirty mouth, and he was beginning to drown with the pleasure Malfoy was inflicting upon him.
"I should punish you for teasing me," Malfoy continued, somehow finding enough space between them to pull Harry impossibly closer to his chest. If he pulled any tighter, Harry reckoned they'd be smushed together forever.
"N - n -" Harry tried to say, but found that his throat was entirely clogged up with emotion and saliva. He could feel himself becoming even more aroused against the cold unforgiving tiles, and only prayed that Malfoy would leave before he did something embarrassing. Such as moaning.
"I can feel how hard you are, Harry .. how turned on you are just by what I'm doing," he heard Malfoy whisper into his ear, his alluring, velvety voice sounding from the end of what felt like a tunnel. He felt like he'd just swallowed his thumping heart -lungs and all-, when Malfoy began rocking his hips against his bum, creating such a strong wave of emotion in Harry, that he didn't know what to do other than moan out his pleasure. His blood felt like it was burning him alive in his veins.
"I can hear the blood in your veins, calling to me with its sweet voice .." said Malfoy breathlessly, as if hearing what he'd thought like he'd said it. Malfoy moaned and ducked his face into the crook of Harry's neck. "I can feel your heart beating against my chest, almost as if it were mine ..." Malfoy moaned out, pressing his length into the crease of Harry's bum and his chest into Harry's curved spine. Harry was stupid with pleasure, the only thing he was able to do was rock back and forth with Malfoy's slippery length and moan.
"I want you - I want you so much, from the moment I laid eyes on you .. knew you were mine.. " Harry barely heard Malfoy whimper into his ear, a sound of passion unknown to Harry's mind or heart echoing within his very soul.
"Just say my name, just say it this once .. and then I'll be forever happy .." If Harry had been listening through the thick cloud of pleasure, he would have thought that Malfoy had been about to cry.
"Draco," he keened, bucking his hips back into Malfoy's large erection. It bypassed his hungry entrance, a mere tease of what he wanted, and his eyes rolled up beneath his eyelids when he felt Malfoy tense and rock harder and harder into the crease of his bum, sounding like a wild animal as he panted and groaned into the nook of his neck. Malfoy released the grip he had on his other hand in favor of wrapping both of his arms around Harry's soft svelte waist, but Harry cared less about his free arms now that he was being shown the world he'd been missing.
"Draco," Harry moaned deliriously, tossing his head back onto Malfoy's shuddering shoulder and arching his back until his shoulders were pressing more firmly against Malfoy's collar bone, his stomach tightening and coiling with a familiar sensation. He'd never felt anything like this before; passion so powerful, he was literally out of his mind with pleasure. He felt like he was finally able to breathe, like a window had just been opened in a stuffy room where air was limited.
The feeling of a hand encasing his aching cock and rubbing tenderly and carefully had his eyes squeezing shut in extreme pleasure, and had his hands reaching out at random to weight himself to the world. He didn't realize that his right hand had buried itself in Malfoy's silk-like hair until Malfoy tilted his head to press an open mouthed kiss to his already abused neck. His left hand had snaked around to rub at Malfoy's rutting hips, encouraging the movement by squeezing and rubbing the hip bone there. Malfoy moaned greedily at the touch and worked his hips against Harry's with even more fervor, his erection sliding between Harry's cheeks with each fast-paced thrust.
"Fuck - you're so - fucking - gorgeous.." Malfoy growled in time with his thrusts, spanning his words out with sloppy open mouthed kisses to Harry's oversensitive neck.
Harry mewled with pleasure, shuddering and shivering from the heat burning through his veins, and the way his stomach began tightening and his cock began pulsing. "A - about t- to cum!" He gasped, snapping his hips back and forth between the two pleasures. Both were so deliciously pleasurable, both equivalent to nothing else on this planet.
Encourage by Harry's responses, Draco sped up to what Harry would think of as Vampiric speed, and then it was all over. Their worlds burst into a magnificent bright white light that had dizzying grey and black spots dancing in their vision as they came together with ridiculously loud moans, their names spilling from each others lips like prayers.
"Mine!" Howled Draco, scraping his fangs against the slender and beautifully pale throat that was laid out for him in an imitation of something he wanted desperately to do, feeling the blood pounding and racing underneath his tongue as he swiped at the wonderfully bruised skin. However, he didn't penetrate the young raven-haired boy in his arms with his fangs, his instincts didn't give him the need to just yet.
Feeling as if they were draining themselves through their release, they feel back against each other, Draco's forehead against Harry's neck and the back of Harry's head against Draco's shoulder. They panted heavily, their breaths helping to fog the boiling hot shower stall as they calmed their racing hearts. Harry didn't know what to feel in the wake of something so utterly mind-shattering, as they panted and cuddled against each other, the furious pounding of the hot water that sprayed from the shower head barely making a sound to their ears.
Draco swiped his tongue over the still racing pulse, smirking proudly at the younger man's reaction to his body, before nestling his nose into the crook of Harry's soft neck and rubbing small circles into the smaller boy's soft, heated and silky skin. He smiled at Harry's contented sigh, and pressed another tender kiss to the deliciously soft skin of his milky shoulder.
And that was when the after-sex glow disappeared.
They jumped apart as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over them, Draco roughly shoving Harry away from him and into the wall and throwing himself out of the stall.
"If you tell anybody what just happened, Potter, I swear .. you don't want to know what I'll fucking do to you," Malfoy snarled venomously, his entire face losing the pleasure and lust from mere moments before, and taking the shape of a vicious and deadly vampire.
Harry felt the emptiness inside his chest sink and expand to include his stomach, but that wasn't enough to distract him from the shock and utter betrayal he was feeling at Malfoy's actions. Not that he should have expected different. "No, Malfoy," he said lowly, forcefully willing himself not to shed any tears in front of the demon, his tone and expression as dark and threatening as it could be in the wake of such pain. "You don't want to know what I'll do to you if you so much as even think to mention it."
Malfoy gave an answering snarl, flashing impressively long and thick fangs in a threat of what could have been tearing his throat out, and left with a flurry of motion as he threw the shower divider closed and supposedly gathered up his clothing from the other stall. Harry stood stock still against the wall, not looking away from the shower divider in the case of the Malfoy coming back to harm him or do something drastic. He wanted to be completely alone before he could burst into tears.
The slamming of the bathroom door was all that Harry heard for the next five minutes that he stood there under the shower spray, still shocked to the core at what had just occurred, and still reeling from the betrayal of his body, mind and magic. The pleasure of the moment was all but forgotten in the light of what just happened.
Malfoy and I, he thought numbly, just standing there and looking down at his still meekly bleeding arm. Just had sex ... and I liked it.
He was in a lot of trouble.