von Resimesdra
Disclaimer: No, I don’t own them. No, I don’t make money out of this. No, I’m not happy about that, but that’s how it is. *sigh*
Thank you… to my wonderful beta crazybee, who keeps on patiently correcting my disastrous writing and never complains about me being so stupid; to lady_aubrey, who is a great friend and beta, and to Calanthe for being so patient and friendly and helpful about everything. ^_^
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Harry glanced at his reflection, an unmistakably satisfied expression in his vivid green eyes as he took in the way his raven hair shone like black silk. He had styled it precisely so that his scar – The Scar, as it was called – would be visible to anyone passing his way, ‘cause Harry wanted people to know who they were talking to when they met him.
After all, he was a celebrity; probably the only celebrity people had the chance to meet here on the oh-so-commonplace grounds of Hogwarts, and Harry considered it hardly fair to let them miss the opportunity to have a word with the amazing Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Wizarding World, Youngest Seeker in a Century, Sole Survivor of the Killing Curse, and Hottest Piece of Arse currently available on the school grounds or probably in the entire kingdom.
People simply had to be informed about who he was when they were crossing his way; how else could he make sure they would show the appropriate reverence and gratitude towards the greatest wizard this world had seen in decades, the one who had defeated Voldemort at the tender age of sixteen years and exactly fifty-six days? Harry would, of course, never forget this very special date; he had not marked it in his calendar for nothing, after all, and chances were high that this day would, sooner rather than later, become a national holiday. Naturally, most people were perfectly aware of who he was; after all, he was present practically all the time in almost every form of media; but there might still be one or two that were a bit slow and needed to see The Scar first, before they could show their appreciation.
Not that Harry was vain or cocky or an attention-seeking brat – no! But it was completely clear to him that people would want to show their gratitude to their hero. And who was Harry to deny them what made them happy?
Now, some people might say he was just an extremely lucky, big-headed little bastard with no more brains than a Flobberworm. They might say fortune favoured fools and the fact that Harry had caught the Dark Lord with his pants down in the middle of the war could hardly be seen as a heroic deed, since even Voldemort, scourge of mankind, needed to fulfil natural necessities, and it could hardly be considered sporting to barge into an obviously occupied portable toilet on the battlefield.
Statements like these outraged Harry. After all, it was fucking war and who could blame him for dragging his mortal enemy off the loo when given the chance, for taking advantage of his rather disadvantageous situation? After all, Voldemort would have done the same; that much could be considered certain.
So, Harry simply didn’t listen when such blasphemies came up. He knew he was a hero, godlike, the Golden Boy, and so did everyone else, and he really didn’t give a shit about those few fuckwits who begrudged his glory. He was far too mature to get upset about such childish rivalries, especially since he knew perfectly well that they were not fit to hold a candle to him.
He now took a step back to eye his entire body in the mirror and was very pleased with what he saw. He truly was gorgeous! No wonder those pin-up calendars featuring him were selling like hot-cakes amongst his fellow Slytherins and all the other houses. And, if the money that was steadily accumulating in his account at Gringotts was any indication, probably everywhere outside Hogwarts, too.
He was of medium height and slender, but one could see the firm muscles of his torso moving under the fitted black shirt he was wearing, and turning around, he simply had to admire how well those tight black jeans hugged his perfectly proportioned arse. Sexy, indeed. So hot it should be a crime. Sex on two legs. A walking wet-dream.
His self-admiration was rudely interrupted when Draco Malfoy barged into the dormitory they shared, tossing him an appreciative look.
“Wow, you do look hot tonight, Harry,” he said, and his voice was soft and velvety. Nothing like when he was shouting or sneering at those dickheads from Huffledaft or Gryffinbore, which Harry found terribly amusing every time.
It was just too good to see the insulted, pouting expressions on their faces after Draco’s cutting remarks had hit home yet again. Even if Malfoy junior hadn’t been one hell of a great bloke once you got to know him closely, it would’ve been worth it to befriend him just to get on the right side of the foul humour that wicked brain of his came up with.
But as it was, Harry and Draco had been best friends from their first day at Hogwarts. Harry had been relieved when the cocky boy had burst into the compartment where Harry was sitting with the Weasley boy. The latter had been droning on for ages, oblivious to the fact that Harry could not understand half of what he said since the boy had that cringe-worthy habit of talking with his mouth full of chocolate. Chocolate Harry had bought, mind you.
When Draco had taken the piss out of the redhead and offered Harry his hand afterwards, Harry had gladly taken it. That boy sure looked like one would have fun hanging around with him. He had a great way of dressing, a sharp wit, and he was obviously well-bred and would therefore most certainly never talk with his mouth full.
Weasley’s jaw had dropped open (not a particularly nice sight with all the melted chocolate still on his tongue), and Harry and Draco had cringed in unison, discovering their first common ground. But soon enough he was joined in the cabin by a girl with big incisors and terrible hair (it was even worse than Harry’s unkempt tuft had been), so Harry figured Weasley should be fine. Indeed, Weasley and Granger had become good friends and now they were even rumoured to be dating. Not that Harry gave a fuck what they did; they were sodding Gryffindors and, a Slytherin was, by definition, not interested in gossip.
Draco had told him a great deal about the wizarding world (he clearly possessed much more knowledge about this fascinating subject than the redhead), and helped him to get some decent clothes when Harry had told him that the Dursleys used to make him wear his overweight cousin’s old rags. The boy was absolutely shocked when Harry explained the conditions under which he had been raised and Harry could barely restrain him from sending, “someone to teach those sodding Muggle vermin a lesson,” as he put it. Draco finally abandoned the idea, but insisted Harry would spend holidays with him at the Manor.
Dumbledore had not exactly been thrilled at the prospect of delivering his biggest weapon against Voldemort to the hands of a former Death Eater, but neither had he been when the Sorting Hat had put Harry in Slytherin. Harry mused, the old man would simply have to get used to the fact that not everything would turn out as he had imagined it, and that Harry would not grow up to be Dumbledore II. He couldn’t help it.
But in the end, Dumbledore, as well as Lucius Malfoy – or Daddy as Draco referred to him when in private – had been persuaded to let Draco and Harry spend their holidays together. Even though Lucius still entertained the idea of ridding the world of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors, he was even more keen on supporting the right (which meant no more than “winning” in this context) side of the war effort, since this would cause him the least trouble.
And it probably didn’t hurt, either, that Harry had shown an amazing talent in surviving each and every attempt to kill him without even getting a scratch. Lucius felt tempted to believe the boy might actually succeed in kicking the Dark Lord’s wrinkled rear as soon as the latter made his reappearance, and he therefore didn’t mind changing sides any longer.
So both of the boys had been spoiled rotten by Draco’s parents; Narcissa had been thrilled to go shopping with them and Harry had been entirely newly clothed, had received regular hair-cuts and everything a boy needed to form a nice exterior.
Alas, due to the Protection Charm that had been set on Harry, he had to stay at the Dursley’s for at least a few weeks each year. But when Harry had once cursed particularly nastily about that, (Honestly! Had that old fogey Dumbledore actually had a close look at those people before he had left poor Baby Harry to their mercy?), Malfoy senior in person had accompanied him there, making himself very clear about what condition he expected the boy to be in when he returned to the Manor. The Dursleys, intimidated by Lucius’s exterior and the power that he seemed to radiate in waves, had literally shown the white feather.
Afterwards, life at Privet Drive had been much more endurable.
Things had become a little awkward, however, when Draco had chosen one bright morning in July to make a rather shocking confession.
The Malfoys and Harry were seated at the breakfast table, enjoying the warm sunrays and a delicious French breakfast complete with croissants and seven types of jam, when Draco set his mug of café latte on the table, casually grabbed another croissant and said, in a completely conversational voice, “By the way, I’m gay.”
It took a moment for the news to sink in, but then Harry snorted into his hot chocolate, Lucius dropped his cup of coffee, and Narcissa choked on a strawberry.
“You think…” Lucius started, turning sideways so the house-elves, that hastily came running, could clean him up.
“…you are…” Narcissa elegantly wiped red strawberry mush off her mouth with a napkin.
“…GAY?” Harry finished, wiping chocolate from his chin and nose.
“Yup,” Draco said, cutting open his croissant, apparently not at all vexed. “Pass the cherry jam please, Harry?”
“So, whatever makes you suspect that …” Harry started, his face still red from coughing, evaluating how many times Draco had seen him naked so far.
“…you actually prefer boys?” Narcissa finished Harry’s sentence, unable to hide the little spark of amused curiosity in her blue eyes.
Lucius just stared.
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the way I like six-pack so much better than boobs.” Draco took a bite of his croissant and smiled innocently at the lot of them.
Harry couldn’t quite believe it. Not that he had a problem with homosexuals, no; he just hadn’t given the matter at hand much thought up ‘til now. How could Draco just decide, from one day to the next, that he was queer? Even though… Well. Draco had never been like the other boys their age. He loved music, especially classical tunes, he was an alarmingly good dancer, he was totally obsessed with his hairstyle and fine designer clothes and – last but not least – he had never had an actual girlfriend before. And that, Harry knew for sure, was not due to a lack of possibilities, since the girls at Hogwarts would only be too willing to let Draco into their pants. Alright, after they had given up on Harry, of course, who was still their number one. But Draco had never seized one of those chances. At least, not after that one encounter with Pansy Parkinson back in their fourth year, during which both participants had been so pissed that their tryst had merely consisted of a short round of groping and had been followed by a much longer round of serious puking. Draco had never since touched a bird again. Well. In hindsight, Harry mused, he should have seen that one coming, now shouldn’t he have?
“You know,” Draco said dreamily, licking some stray jam off his fingers, “boys in tight leather trousers are just to die for.”
Harry, who had only just recovered from his fit of coughing, choked again and made a mental note to give his own leather trousers away to charity. He would most definitely never wear them in Draco’s presence again!
Narcissa had a hard time hiding the amused and not-at-all-motherly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Harry realised with a bit of jolt that the woman who was the closest thing to a mother to him was not only happy in a healthy and caring, ‘Oh-my-God-I’m-so-proud-my-son’s-telling-me-this-he-must-really-trust-me’ way, but also in a more disquieting, ‘OH-MY-GOD-my-son-fancies-boys-how-fucking-hot-is-that?’ way. Harry frowned. Straight as he may be, he still would definitely never get his head around women!
Lucius, who had spent the last few seconds frozen on the spot, suddenly came back to life, pushed back his chair, and fled the table without another word.
Draco looked after him in mild astonishment. “Did I say something?”
It turned out that Lucius could not quite get over the mental image of his only son salivating over boys in leather clothing, which was why he locked himself in his office and refused to come out again before Draco agreed to take it back, which Draco, being Draco, naturally refused. It took Narcissa almost twenty-four hours and the promise of a perfect roast lamb before Lucius decided he had spent enough time sulking; ‘brooding over the horror of life,’ as he put it.
It took a few more days, however, before he and Draco could be in the same room again without Lucius blushing profoundly and babbling nonsense, and Draco looking strictly the other way or saying provoking things to drive his father mad. But eventually, Lucius’ unease diminished, as did Draco’s juvenile attitude, and peace returned to Malfoy Manor; even though Lucius never missed out on a chance to comment on Draco’s revealing style of dressing.
***
Speaking of revealing style – at that moment, the boy who was formerly known as the Death Eater’s Son was leaning in the door frame, looking undeniably hot. He was wearing low-cut, tight leather trousers that almost exposed the cleft of his arse if he as much as leaned in, and the translucent, sleeveless shirt he wore presented much of the milky white skin of his slightly muscular, flat stomach and back whenever he moved.
His well defined arms were wrapped affectionately around Desdemona, his furry white cat (Draco had also developed a fierce fondness for Shakespearian pieces and it had taken him ages to decide which name to pick), who was leaving whole tufts of white hair on his black shirt. Harry could also see the tattooed black snake that elegantly wriggled its way round Draco’s lean bicep and smirked.
Something told him that Lucius would not be too pleased when he first saw this new acquisition of his son’s; neither would he appreciate the fact that Draco had gotten himself a spiky nipple-piercing at a tattoo-shop in Hogsmeade soon after school had started.
Yet Harry had not even tried to talk him out of it. He himself was not too fond of tattoos and piercing holes in his body where naturally none were, but he had to admit this sort of thing kind of suited the slender blond very well.
“Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you made me wear these contacts instead of those sodding glasses?” Harry said, giving his countenance a loving expression. “I look divine without them. Can’t believe I wore them ‘til the age of fifteen!”
Draco grinned. “You’ve thanked me about a hundred times, Harry, but I don’t mind hearing it again. And I do agree; I can’t believe it either. After all, I’ve been telling you to get rid of those specs since the day we met. Fuck the trademark!”
Harry paused and cocked his head when he looked at what Draco had done with his hair. It stood up in spikes and Harry quietly suspected him to have wasted an entire tube of magical fixing gel on this extravagant style. Not that it looked bad. No, just… odd.
The small silver ring Draco wore in his left ear twinkled when he moved, informing anyone who was oblivious to his sexual preference about the way this beautiful body swung.
Harry secretly admired Draco’s courage. Not that Hogwarts had been difficult on the subject of him being gay, and not that Draco had been the only queer at school – even though he was the one who flaunted it the most shamelessly – but there was a certain amount of teasing and stupid joking involved, and it still required balls to stand up for it. Harry couldn’t help being amazed.
But that didn’t mean he had to approve of each and every decision Draco made, now did it?
“Please tell me you’re not going to attend the party like that!” Harry winced, wrinkling his nose.
Draco arched one of his perfect eyebrows and Harry realised, somewhat shocked, that his friend had also applied eyeliner to accentuate his quicksilver eyes.
“And why is that? Do I not look good?”
“Frankly, you look like they should print a picture of you in the dictionary next to the word ‘faggot.’ Sweet Merlin, Dray, you might as well put up a sign that reads, ‘get it here.’ I can even see the piercing in your nipple through that bit of a shirt you’re wearing!”
Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s why I picked it in the first place! Oh please, Harry, we’ve been through this. I decided not to have a problem with my sexuality and you agreed you wouldn’t either. Besides, you’re a fine one to talk, Potter! You’re not seriously going to wear that, are you?”
Harry looked down at his shirt. It read, “FUCK ME I’M FAMOUS” in bold white letters across his chest. He grinned back at Draco.
“Why not? It’s perfectly true,” he said, causing Draco to snort.
Desdemona, terrified by the sudden noise, wriggled her way out of the boy’s arms and bounced to the floor, where she dashed off to jump on Harry’s bed, causing him to moan in disapproval.
“Great! Now whoever spends the night in my bed with me will have to lie down in cat’s hair. Seriously, Dray, can’t you just shave that brute? Or wax it? It’s gross.”
Draco looked mortally offended. “Why, she is an angora cat and she loses hair. Cats do that. I don’t complain when you use my toothbrush in the mornings if you can’t find yours, do I? Come to think of it, that is pretty vile, too.”
Harry grimaced. “That must be because you’re secretly in love with me,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Otherwise, you’d just give me hell. But since it’s me you don’t even mind my nasty germs on your toothbrush…”
“Would you shut it? Look, you promised you wouldn’t tease me about being gay all of the time.”
Draco had dropped on his bed and looked at Harry with a sulky expression that made the other boy snicker.
“Aw, you’re just adorable when you’re pouting,” Harry mocked, moving over to him, and was rewarded with a particularly nasty Malfoy-death-glare, the one that was usually reserved for the most terrible crime man could commit: wearing white socks with black shoes.
“Har - ry,” Draco warned, emphasizing the last syllable. “Stop that!”
“What will you do if I don’t?” Harry continued, about to straddle his friend, who was still lying on his bed. “Will you be a naughty boy and jump me?”
Draco’s face almost fell, but then there was a wicked light in his eyes.
“Maybe. Or perhaps I’ll just ruffle your perfectly styled hair a bit.”
Harry looked horrified. “You wouldn’t!”
Now there was a whole wildfire sparkling in Draco’s grey eyes. He gave Harry his best bedroom eyes and parted his lips lasciviously.
“Oh but I totally would. You know I’m absolutely crazy about your hair. It’s just so tempting and fluffy-looking and I find it hard to keep my hands off it anyway…”
He reached out and Harry jumped off of him.
“Don’t you dare do that, Dray! It took me ages to get it the way it looks now, and if you so much as touch it, I’ll fucking kill you!”
Draco sat upright. “Why, same goes for my trousers, stupid. They’re so bloody tight I actually had to use a spell to put them on. And if you think I’ll let you give me a hard-on while I’m wearing these, then you’ll have to think twice!”
Harry blinked, curious. “I could actually give you a hard-on?”
Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Harry, honestly, I’m gay, in case you forgot, and you’re a bloke. A bloke who is currently looking hot as hell and practically sitting in my lap, I should add. There’s no fucking way I could not be turned on by that. Oh and will you wipe that smug grin off your face immediately, or else I’ll punch it in.”
Harry gave him a wicked smirk. “I take it you know resorting to physical violence is often a sign of sexual frustration?”
“And you would know; one can tell by the way you kicked Lord V’s wrinkled ass all over the battlefield last year before finally AK’ing him. Looked sure enough like extreme sexual frustration to me.”
“Wha…?! Would you please fuck off and die! I am NOT sexually frustrated!”
“Right, that’s why you keep sexually harassing your gay friend even though you’re – to put it in your own words – ‘straight as a fucking wand’.”
Harry looked ready to tackle and kill the other boy. “I am not harassing you in any way!”
“You are, and if it’s of any interest to you: if I am sexually frustrated, then it’s simply because you keep hitting on me and won’t see it through!”
Harry gave him a totally startled look and Draco couldn’t hold back the laughter pulling on his midriff anymore.
“I’m just kidding, stupid! I don’t believe you fell for it.”
Harry stared at the person claiming to be his best friend and frowned. He did not quite spot the humour in this, but obviously Draco was enjoying himself immensely. At his expense. And here Harry had already started worrying that Draco might have had a point with what he had said about him!
But since it had all apparently been a joke – a bad joke, mind you – Harry decided to just drop the subject. More to change the topic than because it really mattered, he asked, “So you’ll go and put on some decent clothes, then?”
Draco immediately stopped laughing. “What? Whatever made you think that? No way! And since when do you tell me how to dress, anyway?”
“Oh, come on, Dray, just because I’m not going mental about you being queer does not mean I have to let my best friend run around looking like a hustler!”
Draco pursed his lips and pouted. “I’ll tell you what, Potter. If you take off this pathetic demand to get laid,” Draco gestured to Harry’s t-shirt, “I’ll stop wearing my undeniably sexy and tempting outfit as well. It’s either the both of us get changed, or neither will.”
Harry huffed. “Fine, be like that. But I’ll tell you what. If you get jumped by some raving fairy from Hufflepouf the very instant you show up at that party looking like a member of the Village People, I’m not going to save your arse from anything that will happen to it, understand?” He paused for a second, thinking about what he had just said. “And I mean that literally,” he added with a wicked smirk.
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you worry about me and my arse, Potter. I think the two of us will do just fine, even without you suffering another fit of pathological heroism.”
Harry cocked his eyebrow at him. “Right. That’s why you let Finch-Fletchley have a go at you last week, right? A sodding Hufflepuff! He’s not even good-looking!”
Draco blushed a little. Ah. The Finch-Fletchley incident. He should have known it would come back to him like this. Right, Justin was not exactly the epitome of attractiveness, and most of the time Draco didn’t even bother to look at him twice; but well, he had been extremely horny, not to mention drunk last week, and when Justin had so nicely offered a blow-job, Draco could not find it in him to object. Not that, in hindsight, the act itself had been worth the trouble; way too much insecure fumbling to be truly good, but oh well.
Still, Harry had no right at all to hold this over him! Draco defiantly set his jaw and folded his arms.
“You’re a fine one to talk! Were you or were you not the bloke caught snogging Luna Lovegood in one of the broom sheds only a few days earlier?”
Now it was Harry’s turn to blush. “Oh. That. Well… that’s beside the point!”
Draco unfolded his arms again and stared at his friend. “How’s that beside the point? And what’s it to you anyway? Since when do you give a fuck about who I’m shagging?”
“What it is to...?” Draco thought that Harry’s blush had deepened, but considering the current state of redness on his face, it was hard to tell. Then Harry turned away and Draco could no longer prolong his studies of his face. “Oh… eh, I completely forgot to feed Pandora!”
Harry quickly went to the terrarium at the other side of the room, leaving Draco with a quizzical expression on his face. In fact, Harry didn’t even know why he gave a shit about Draco’s outfit and his tricks, but sometimes it just bothered him immensely. He opened the lid and a beautiful green snake with big gold-black eyes slid onto his outstretched hand, worming her way up to Harry’s neck and shoulders. He really didn’t know why it got to him like this. Actually, Harry thought, stroking the cool, green scales on his snake’s back, it was rather stupid of him. “Don’t you think so?” Harry asked the snake in Parseltongue.
Pandora was not very talkative; she hardly ever responded when spoken to, but Harry didn’t mind. It hardly ever kept him from droning on about something. Somehow, he figured, this was like writing a diary, only better.
Meanwhile, Draco had flopped backwards on the bed again and cuddled Desdemona, who had changed location and was now comfortably curled up in her owner’s lap, cradled in his arms just a tiny bit too tightly for the cat’s liking. He watched Harry’s back and listened to him talking to his snake, and as much as he would have liked to know what those two were whispering to one another, he would still have preferred it if Harry had finally stopped speaking bloody Parsel! Draco had long since found out that this strange, hissing language sounded inexplicably erotic and turned him on immensely, which he did not appreciate right now. Or ever, actually, since getting turned on by Harry was always a bad thing.
And it happened way too often anyway.
It happened, for example, whenever Harry got these sporadic, rather confusing fits of jealousy. Or at least fits of something Draco liked to interpret as jealousy. Since, even if Draco would rather bite through his tongue than ever admit it, he really fancied his best friend.
Of course he knew that Harry was the straightest man in this solar system, that he never so much as looked at another bloke in that particular way; but still, when Harry acted like this, the little part of Draco that was still hoping for Harry to eventually realise his attraction to him took over and for a short moment, Draco allowed himself to believe that Harry really was jealous. But then he remembered the sight of Harry snogging his way through at least half of the girls at Hogwarts and his insides cramped painfully. He clutched Desdemona so hard against his chest that the cat gave a disgusted meow and jumped off his lap. Harry turned around, surprised, and Draco shrugged it off.
“Have you ever heard from Hedwig again?” Draco asked to distract himself from this rather gloomy thoughts and feelings.
Harry put the snake back in the terrarium and carefully closed the lid. Then he turned around again and scowled. He always looked slightly outraged when the topic of Hedwig’s disappearance came up. “Nope. And I still can’t quite believe she flew off with that diminutive owl of Weasley’s. I mean, she was my owl, she was supposed to have some taste!”
Draco chuckled. “Now I’d just like to remind you of the thing with Luna again.”
Harry blushed angrily. “I was drunk, you fuckwit. I would’ve snogged anyone at the time! And Luna actually isn’t that bad!”
Draco frowned. “Yes, she is! She’s a stupid cow with Butterbeer corks round her neck and ridiculous specs! She talks constantly to herself about non-existent beasts and looks like she just landed on this planet, marvelling at its sights. Oh, and have I mentioned she’s a stupid cow?”
Harry looked at him, flummoxed. Draco actually was a very calm person. “Now, that seems a bit harsh to me. She’s never done anything to you, has she? And snogging me is not a crime either.”
Perhaps it should be, Draco thought, but bit his tongue. He’d already gone too far and he knew it.
“Besides,” Harry continued, checking his reflection over once more for good measure, “as I said, I would’ve easily snogged anyone that night.”
“Anyone but me,” Draco sighed before he could help it, causing Harry to whirl around.
“What did you just say?”
Draco waved him off dismissively. “Nothing. I was just joking again.”
Harry put his hands on his hips and scowled. “I’ve bloody well had enough of your stupid jokes, understood? Just so you know, they’re not funny at all!”
“Keep your hair on.”
Harry gave him a last, murderous look and then turned around to check whether he had actually damaged his perfect hair, muttering, “Stupid prat!” as he did so.
Draco suppressed another sigh. He really didn’t want to get into a fight over this; he was way too scared that he might let something slip if he got carried away. And we wouldn’t want that, right?
“All right, Wonder Boy. It’s ten o’clock now and I do believe it’s time for the two most fuckable boys at school – and that would be us – to show up at a certain party.”
Harry nodded his assent and soon afterwards they were off, prancing towards the Great Hall, where the party was taking place, like peacocks during courtship.
They were very aware of what impact they were having on both the girls as well as the boys, when swaggering to the bar. Harry coolly leaned in to the barman and ordered two jars of Firewhisky in his most masculine voice, which made the girls around them swoon and sigh in admiration of their handsome hero.
The barman was a middle-aged bloke Harry had never seen before. He was probably substituting for Warren, who used to be the barman whenever parties took place at Hogwarts. Well, never mind, Harry was always keen on meeting new fans.
The new bloke leaned in and Harry smiled, inwardly readying himself to give his autograph. Then the man opened his mouth and said, “Firewhisky must not be sold to underage persons,” and watched Harry closely. “May I see your identification, please?”
Harry kept on smiling even though his forehead desperately tried to frown. “Pardon?”
The barman frowned, too. “I said I’m not allowed to hand out any Firewhisky unless you’re seventeen. May I see your ID, please?”
“Pardon?” Harry repeated. His smile had frozen. Next to him, Draco stiffened. It was always a very bad sign when Harry smiled this manic, never-faltering smile.
Harry turned to look at his friend. “Did I miss something? He wants to see my ID? Doesn’t… doesn’t he know…” He turned back to the bartender. “You don’t know who I am?”
This was unbelievable. Outrageous! Ever since Harry had turned eleven, EVERYONE knew who he was. No matter where he went or what he did, people simply recognised him!
The man arched an eyebrow. “Some teenage boy trying to get illegal alcoholic drinks?” he suggested, causing Harry to blush furiously.
He wiped his hair even wider out of his forehead, thrusting his head (The Scar now very visible) towards the older man.
“See this scar?” Harry pressed between clenched teeth.
“Um… yeah? What’s so special about it? Sleepwalked right into a cupboard, didn’t you?” The man folded his arms. “Seeing as how you are obviously an utter klutz anyway, you should be grateful I’m not selling you the strong stuff. You might get hurt or something!”
Draco, as well as the steadily growing crowd around them, held his breath. Either that bloke really had not the faintest idea whom he was insulting, or he was clearly weary of life.
Harry felt like he was about to faint. He reached out for Draco so his friend could steady him in case he really did pass out as a result of this impertinent amount of ignorance. Draco dutifully grabbed his arm, feeling very awkward with the whole situation.
“The Boy Who Lived?” Harry asked, hope showing in his eyes, “The Chosen One? Defeater of Voldemort and Saviour of the entire wizarding world? Any bells ringing?”
The bloke behind the counter merely looked at him as if he wondered whether now would be a good moment to go and make an emergency call to St. Mungo’s, since he obviously suspected Harry of being a case for the nuthouse. He shook his head in denial to the question and Harry paled.
“May I ask you what bloody hole you lived in over the last fifty years?! I’m a fucking celebrity! I’m the embodiment of a V.I.P. I practically saved each and every arse in that sodding hall – what am I talking about – in this bloody country, by kicking Voldemort right in his pimpled arse during the BIG WAR that took place last year! Not to mention I’m fucking gorgeous and my picture is in a couple of magazines every day, you utter and complete moron! I’m HARRY FUCKING POTTER!”
The silence following Harry’s insolent outburst was nearly palpable. Then the elder man put his hands to his hips and bellowed, “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are or how many evil wizards you may have booted up the backside! No ID, no Firewhisky, and that’s final, Mr Harry fucking Potter!”
Harry threw his hands in the air in exasperation, gave a strangled yell and sashayed off through the crowd of stunned, horrified, or simply amused people surrounding them.
Draco was suddenly very aware of being the centre of attention, standing all alone encircled by curious students and a pissed-off barkeeper.
“Well,” he said, pulling his purse out of the pocket of his tight leather trousers, “that would be two Butterbeers for me, then.”
***
It took Harry, who had been sitting in a corner sulking, numerous bottles of Butterbeer and an impressive amount of compliments from various people regarding his outfit before he slowly started to cheer up again. When Draco could finally persuade him to come to the dance floor with him, Harry flirted so shamelessly with every girl that made eye contact with him, Draco felt sick. He finally took hold of Harry’s shoulders – Harry only reluctantly turning his face from one of the Ravenclaw girls he’d been hitting on – and said,
“Harry, listen, you obviously need to build up your ego again. Just go and get one of these girls, snog her, boink her brains out against the wall or whatever it takes, but please stop behaving like a lunatic mandrill!”
Harry gave him an affronted look but was simply stunned into silence since he wasn’t used to get insulted in such a creative way. Draco just patted his shoulder dismissively.
“See you later, mate.”
He then disappeared and Harry turned round to find himself stared at by Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil and – much to his surprise – Hermione Granger, who was not known to be one of his groupies.
He put on a charming smile and the three of them smiled back with flushing cheeks and fluttering eyelashes. There you go, Harry thought to himself, I’m still Hogwarts’ sex god.
Some time later, he could be found a little aside the dance floor, hands pressed against Hermione’s back, snogging her senseless. She had turned out to be a surprisingly good kisser, even though it was pretty obvious she was a little tipsy. After a while, Harry broke the kiss, desperately in need of oxygen.
“Wow, Granger,” he said, “I didn’t know you could kiss like that. Oh, and speaking of things I didn’t know, I always thought you were going out with Weasley?”
Hermione blushed, but before she could answer, a cold voice interrupted them.
“As a matter of fact, she is.”
They whirled around, staring at Ron Weasley, who was tossing death glares at them from under his amazingly red tuft of hair.
“Ron, I…” Hermione winced, hastily taking her hands off Harry’s upper arms, “I can explain that!”
“Yeah,” Harry sneered. “Truth is, Weasley, I happen to be a way better kisser than you will ever be and therefore your darling Granger here decided to make out with me instead.”
“Shut up, Potter!” Hermione and Ron shouted at him in unison and Harry looked mildly stunned.
“So I’m the bad guy here? Actually, it was your girlfriend who imposed herself on me. Perhaps you might want to drop in eventually so I could provide you with some ideas to keep her sexually satisfied so she won’t need to fornicate with…”
Hermione and Ron glared at him and Weasley’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Fuck off, Slytherwimp! Be sure to get out of reach right now or I’ll disembowel you with my bare hands and fly your guts as a flag. And rest assured I don’t give a flying fuck about you being everybody’s hero, either!”
Harry sighed in disapproval. Slytherwimp? That expression was new to him. Still, he couldn’t gather up the calm to pay the slight the appreciation it probably deserved. He was far too upset with the way he kept coming across disrespectful people that night. First the barkeep, now even Weasley! Really, the Weasel should be thankful to him for saving his blood-traitorous family. If it hadn’t been for him and his greatness, Voldemort would’ve given them short shrift.
It didn’t really occur to Harry’s sulking mind that he might have just reduced some of Ron’s gratitude by snogging his drunken girlfriend. Or that said gratitude might just not be enough to make Ron willing to share his girl.
Harry was about to come up with a cutting response (which usually took him much longer than Draco, shame, and if he had finally thought of one it would hardly be as cunning as the ones his friend came up with), when he suddenly saw something that made him completely forget about the fuming Weasel and his little Mudblood girlfriend.
Instead of being there at Harry’s side to verbally finish-off Weasley for him, Draco was on the opposite side of the Hall, unscrupulously making out with Seamus Finnigan, that Irish dickhead from Gryffindor, and it looked like Finnigan was about to screw Draco into the sofa they were lying on.
Before he actually knew what he was doing, Harry darted across the room – violently shoving several people out of his way – and when he reached the happily snogging couple, he yanked Finnigan off his friend with brute force.
The boy gave a stunned grunt when he suddenly landed head-first on the floor and a flushed Draco stared wide-eyed at his friend.
“For fuck’s sake, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harry yelled at him, drawing people’s attention towards them in no time.
“No, Harry,” Draco replied, angrily picking himself off the couch, his arousal quite visible in his tight trousers, “the question is what the fucking hell do you think you are doing?!”
“Are you nuts?! He’s a bloody Gryffindor! It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let my best friend be shagged into a rotten couch before everyone’s eyes by a fucking Gryffindor!”
“Hey!” Finnigan piped up from the floor, but a warning glare from Harry’s savage green eyes silenced him immediately and he decided to save his bacon and get out of reach. He clearly did not feel any particular wish to come between the black haired Slytherin and his rather inexplicable wrath.
“Fuck off, Gryffindork!” Harry snorted after him for good measure before returning his attention to Draco, whose eyes had narrowed dangerously.
“Merlin’s fucking balls, have you completely lost it, Potter? You were just smooching Granger like you wanted to smother her with your tongue!”
“I… that’s something else!” Harry yelled, obviously not in the mood for a logical argument.
Draco folded his arms across his chest. “And how is that something else? She’s a Gryffindor as well, you utter fuckwit!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what IS your fucking point, Potter? Would you mind enlightening me about that or are you just going to keep on yelling at me like an impotent baboon?!” Draco was clearly into the primate-thing these days, but Harry was far too upset to worry about the fact that this was already the second time he had been compared to a monkey this day.
“I…” Harry gulped, suddenly very aware of about a hundred students circling them, watching them with deadly curious expressions on their faces. He grabbed the collar of Draco’s shirt and dragged him out of the hall, completely ignoring the very audible and rude utterances of Draco’s protest against this treatment.
When he finally let go of the boy’s shirt out in the corridor, Draco tossed him a death-glare that was much more intimidating than the one Weasley had just given him. It was even worse than the average ‘how-can-you-actually-live-looking-like-that?’ look, and Harry felt his temper cooling down slowly.
“Now don’t you dare do that ever again,” Draco said with an icy voice that would have caused most people to fall to their knees and beg for mercy. But Harry wasn’t most people. He stood there, watching how Draco rearranged his twisted shirt, his heart pounding in his chest and blood rushing in his ears.
“And now you’d better come up with a damn good explanation for that little stunt of yours. And you’d better do it fast or I’ll take no responsibility for hexing your moronic bollocks into next year!”
Harry stared at his furious friend and again his body took action before his brain had given its consent. He darted forward and pressed the boy’s body against the closest wall. For a moment, it looked like he was going to throttle him, (and by the noise coming from Draco’s throat one could tell that the thought had crossed the blonde’s mind as well), but then their lips crashed together in a fierce kiss.
Draco’s eyes went wide with utter shock, then closed with utter pleasure. He had no idea why Harry ‘I’m-so-straight-you-could-use-me-as-a-water-level’ Potter was currently shoving his tongue in his mouth like he was going to eat him alive, but Draco would rather die than stop him.
Finally, Harry broke the kiss, slowly taking a step back, and looked, totally flummoxed, at his friend.
“What the hell…” they said in unison and glared at each other like the both of them had suddenly grown acne all over their perfect faces.
“Harry…” Draco drawled, trying to get a level head again, which was not easy with all the confusion and arousal whirling in his mind. “Uh… why?”
Harry shook his head, completely out of it. What had he just done? What had gotten into him? What on earth had just made him kiss his best friend like there was no tomorrow? He looked at Draco’s beautiful face, those soft, slightly swollen lips and the big quicksilver eyes and decided, hey, whatever!
Their lips met again and the world blew up. Kissing Draco was Heaven and Hell; Heaven because it was simply so wonderful it made him feel like soaring, and Hell since it also made him painfully aware of how tight his sodding jeans were.
“Gods, Harry…” Draco winced, gasping for air.
“Bloody hell, Draco!” Harry panted back, pressing his groin against the other boy’s. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
Holding hands and carefully watched by a horde of nosey and delighted students, Harry and Draco rushed to the Slytherins’ dorms. Draco barely had the time to close the door and cast a Locking Charm on it when Harry started yanking his shirt off.
“Hey!” Draco complained, out of breath, cheeks pink with excitement. “That bloody shirt cost me a fortune – cost my dad, actually – and you’ll be in a hell of a lot of trouble if you do any damage to it!”
“Yeah, whatever,” was Harry’s unbothered response as his lips hungrily sought the blond’s.
They somehow made it to the bed – Harry’s bed, and he didn’t give a shit about any cat hair that happened to be on the sheets – and fell down in a heap of entangled bodies. There, they were interestedly watched by Desdemona, who had just made it off the blanket in time to avoid being squashed flat by the combined weight of her owner and his new-found lover.
“Damn,” Draco panted when Harry violently pushed Draco’s shirt over his head to lick all over his chest and softly bite down on a pierced nipple. “What’s gotten into you, Harry? No complaining on my part, but why on earth are you doing this?”
“Don’t” – lick – “know” – lick – “don’t” – bite – “care” – kiss, suck, lick – “either!”
Draco knew he couldn’t summon up the mental strength to stop his clearly completely batty friend from doing something Harry would probably gravely regret the next morning. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. He’d dreamed of doing something similar with the dark haired wet-dream for years but had never considered it possible. Hell would freeze over before he’d miss out on that chance. Perhaps it wasn’t a very noble or responsible thing to do, but Draco was a desperately horny sixteen year old boy with a raging hard-on; he didn’t give a fuck about noble and responsible.
Harry, on the other hand, was already so out of it he wouldn’t have been able to write the word ‘responsible’ anymore. His brain had short-circuited the very moment he’d seen Seamus snogging his friend and a fiery wave of jealousy had shaken his body. Right now, all Harry could think about was the incredibly handsome boy wriggling under him, his hands on hot flesh and the feeling of Draco’s ragged breath brushing over his cheeks and neck. Bloody hell, how could he have been so totally oblivious to the inherent beauty of a male body for such a long time? How could he have lived next to Draco Malfoy for six years without realising he was the most perfect, desirable human being he had ever met?
He once again sucked an erect, pink nipple into his mouth hungrily, greedily, and Draco whimpered, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. “Harry,” he moaned and his slim fingers entangled in Harry’s black hair, messing it up, pressing his head down onto Draco’s chest. “Fuck, yes! Harder!”
Harry complied and Draco’s back arched up from the bed like a drawn bow. Harry held him down – he had to use his entire bodyweight to manage the task – and crawled on top of the lean boy, biting his lips when he felt Draco’s straining erection pressing against his thigh. Draco hissed at the applied pressure on this particularly sensitive part of his body, unsure whether he wanted Harry to continue his slightly uncertain ministrations or to roll him on his back and take matters in his own, more experienced hands.
But this happened to be the moment Harry decided to be the Boy Who Lived to Shag the Living Daylights out of Draco Malfoy, and since he was more than willing to fulfil this self-imposed quest, he didn’t give Draco any chance of changing their positions. He ground his hips against the boy’s groin with more determination and relished the desperate moan the action forced out of Draco, who came to the conclusion that he’d better surrender.
“Harry,” Draco whined, “oh GOD, Harry, I want you so much!”
Harry kissed his way down Draco’s stomach, admiring the lean but firm abdominal muscles while trailing his tongue over them, and started unbuttoning the boy’s trousers. He did it deliberately slowly so Draco would feel how Harry’s fingers pressed down and then released each button, and every time it forced a desperate moan from deep in Draco’s throat.
“Please, Harry,” Draco whimpered, and he thrust his hips up to show his urgency. “Please!”
Finally pleading, eh? Harry thought smugly, very aroused. God, he had never known one bloody word could have such an effect on him!
He pulled down Draco’s trousers – and fucking hell those damn things were tight! – casting the silken black underpants that were revealed an appreciative look. Unfortunately, fancy though these pants may have been, they still happened to be very much in the way and Harry had no choice but to unceremoniously yank them down as well.
Draco gasped when the rather cool dungeon air caressed his heated skin. Was Harry really going to…? Harry stopped and jade eyes found Draco’s grey ones.
“Do you want me to…?” Harry asked with an odd hint of insecurity.
Draco inhaled sharply and if possible his cock became even harder. “God, yes, Harry! Do it. Suck it.”
Harry lowered his head over the boy’s excitedly pulsing dick. Merlin, Draco thought feverishly and felt his face grow hot, don’t let him chicken out right now, don’t let him chicken out, don’t…
But Harry gave no signs of chickening out. He might have been a little unsure about what to do, simply because he had never been with another boy before, but still he ventured the task of darting his tongue out and flicking it over the wet head of Draco’s cock. He then obviously decided that this wasn’t that bad, since he quickly licked his lips and slid them all over his friend’s dick.
Draco had tried to sit upright to watch Harry going down on him, but when the sensation of a wet and oh-so-eager mouth on his most sensitive parts hit home, Draco just fell back on the mattress, tossing his head back with pleasure. “God…”
Harry stopped for a second. “Good?” he asked with a wry, wet grin.
Draco almost cried. “Fucking hell, YES! Keep o-” He never made it to the end of the sentence, since Harry had already gone back to engulfing him, which cut Draco short and only allowed for a desperate “Fuck!”
Harry bobbed his head up and down in Draco’s lap, sucking and licking and lapping him for all he was worth, and if the guttural, hungry noises he made while doing so were anything to go by, he was utterly enjoying himself. He probably liked the way Draco’s body trembled and twitched under his ministrations, too.
Draco, who felt like every sexual fantasy he’d ever had was currently coming true, was about to lose his mind. His hands – he’d taken them off Harry’s head since he really didn’t want to hurt him by tearing out the boy’s beautifully messy hair – clutched the sheets, his hips bucking up frantically.
Harry was immensely turned on by the sight of Draco whimpering and jerking under him, and his own cock was twitching and aching in his constricting trousers with the desperate need to be touched. Yet he was determined not to do anything about that until the boy in front of him was passing out because of the most mind-blowing orgasm he’d ever had.
Harry felt immensely proud of his oral skills and smugly thought he was doing this pretty well, considering the fact that he was giving the very first blow-job of his entire life. But hey, he was supposed to be a sex god and he wasn’t enjoying this flattering reputation for nothing, now was he?
He deep-throated Draco’s member, which was quite an impressive thing to do since Draco wasn’t exactly small, and Harry found himself fighting a violent gag reflex when his body protested against this rough and most unaccustomed treatment.
Draco, however, seemed to appreciate Harry’s attempts anyway, and with a particularly nasty curse, followed by a strangled, “Oh god, oh GOD, Harry, I’m… I’m… FUCK!” Draco ejaculated massively in Harry’s mouth.
Harry tried to catch a glimpse of Draco’s face as the boy’s entire body shook with a forceful climax, and what he saw made something happen to him, something he’d never experienced before.
Staring at Draco’s flushed face, taking in how the boy chewed on his lower lip while his closed eyelids fluttered rapidly, Harry came straight away in his pants without ever having been touched.
The shock of experiencing an excellent orgasm without any friction other than the fabric his trousers was creating against his erection made Harry’s eyes go wide and caused him to choke on Draco’s cock, blurting cum all over the boy’s lower abdomen while coughing a tortured “Holy shit!” as his insides suddenly contracted and loosened violently.
Draco all but bolted upright (sufficiently impressive since the last tremors of climax were still running through his body), giving his friend a horror-struck though apologetic look. He clearly mistook Harry’s pained expression for disgust.
“God, I’m sorry, Harry! Shouldn’t I have…? You should have said something if you didn’t want me to!”
Harry shook his head, miserably staring down at his own lap where stains were showing on the dark fabric as his own cum seeped through the material. Good lord.
“This has never happened to me before, in my entire life,” he whispered and felt like his perfect world had just shattered to pieces. A sex god certainly did not spend it in his pants!
Draco looked at him in confusion, then suddenly comprehension lightened up his face and he pulled a reluctant Harry into a soothing kiss. “You came?”
Harry nodded mournfully. He felt like someone had deflated his ego.
“Even though I never touched you?”
Harry looked up irritably. “It’s already bad enough, no need to rub it in!” he spat and tried to break free from Draco’s embrace. But the latter didn’t let go.
“Shh, it’s alright. It happens to all of us.”
Harry blinked “It does?”
“Yes, well, it hasn’t happened to me yet, but…”
Harry looked murderous. “Was that supposed to make me feel any better?”
“…but I swear I almost got off once just watching you undress in the evening.”
Harry stared at him blankly. “You did?” he asked.
Draco nodded, a faint blush darkening his cheeks. Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You were staring at me when I didn’t notice? Checking me out? Getting off on it? You never told me!”
Now it was Draco’s turn to look incredulous. “What, so you would ask for a change of dorms? Hardly. I was afraid you would hate me if I ever told you about my feelings for you.”
Harry cocked his head. “You had feelings for me?”
Now Draco blushed in earnest. “Still have,” he whispered. “I figured you had feelings for me, too. I mean, after what just happened…”
Harry looked to the floor. Did he have feelings for Draco? Of course he had, but apart from brotherly feelings of friendship? Oh, and plain horniness? “I…” he said, not sure where this would lead him. Draco’s face fell.
“So, that’s it? Were you just curious or what? Wanted to know what it feels like to drive the most beautiful boy at this school totally mad?”
Harry shook his head. The situation was too serious to even laugh about the shameless, cocky way Draco had just described himself. He had never thought about it that way. In fact, he had never thought about this at all. Draco had always been out of bounds, he had never thought about doing stuff with him. Well, not seriously, that is.
Draco released him from his hug and sat at the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at Harry. “So what does this make us, Harry?”
Harry smiled. He suddenly knew what he wanted to say. “I don’t know,” he said and scooted closer to Draco, ignoring the uncomfortably sticky fabric of his pants against his spent cock.
“What does it make you if you totally freak out because your best friend is snogging another boy in front of you? If this drives you totally mad with jealousy? If you want to kiss him dizzy, tear off his clothes and fuck him stupid? If you’re so turned on by him, you even come prematurely without being touched?”
“Randy?” Draco suggested. He still didn’t look at him, but Harry could see one corner of his mouth curling up in a wry smile.
“Well,” Harry said. “I’d say this makes us more than just best friends.” He nuzzled Draco’s spiky hair. “Doesn’t it?”
Draco finally turned around, arching one eyebrow. “Well, I take it this must make us at least very perverted best friends.”
Harry chuckled and bit softly at the tip of Draco’s left ear.
“You know I don’t do boyfriends, don’t you?”
Harry looked at him in confusion.
“But in your case, I guess I could make an exception.” Draco grinned and pulled Harry into a very slow and very wet kiss.
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