Title: Series of Fortunate Events
Summary: After today, he firmly believed there was absolutely no way even she could have possibly survived teaching this long without the support of Ogden’s strongest brand of Firewhisky.
Warnings: Humor, rimming, sex
Total word count: 7,038
Original prompt request number: 197
Second prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Not much to say. I did it for the lolz?
Beta(s): Many, many thanks to D for betaing this for me. Without her help, the humor wouldn’t be as funny and the story would have been as boring as watching paint dry.
“I’m sorry; run that by me again?” Draco said, frowning at the Headmistress in confusion.
McGonagall pursed her lips. If he didn’t know any better, Draco would say she looked thoroughly annoyed. “Mr Malfoy, do pay attention, please. As I said, we are short on professors this year. I’d like you to consider filling the Potions position.”
Draco sighed quietly as he leaned back in his chair. “As much as I appreciate the offer, professor,” he began, “why do you want me to work for you?”
After a brief pause, she replied, “As odd as this may seem, I have every confidence that you will actually teach the students. Our last Potions master … well, let’s say he cared more about his hobby than about the students.”
Ah, yes, Draco thought derisively. Joshua Blackfire had, up until McGonagall’s confirmation, been the most recent scholar to fill the post. The man was a known womanizer, which in and of itself wasn’t bad. Unfortunately, he also had a tendency to go after any pretty face. No one, not even the female students, were immune to his charms.
“All right,” he answered with a sigh. “I suppose I can teach Potions this year.” He paused for a moment. “Are you sure I’m the right one for this job? You’ve found no one else to fit this post?”
McGonagall gave a weary sigh. “I’m positive, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco rolled his eyes to himself. “Fine.”
She smiled at his acceptance, choosing to ignore the rest. “Good, good. Come back tomorrow with your things and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff.”
Draco stood from his seat, inclined his head in acknowledgement, and left the Headmistress’ office in graceful haste. As he walked down the corridor leading to the Entry Hall, he suddenly faltered in his step, and slumped against the nearest door, eyes wide with the realization of what he’d just done. Dear sweet Merlin! He was going to be teaching babies!
Oh, God, he mentally groaned. What have I gotten myself into?
He suddenly pulled away from the door and changed directions, heading for the kitchens; he was going to need a strong, stiff drink. He only hoped he could persuade the house-elves into giving up the location of McGonagall’s private hoard. After today, he firmly believed there was absolutely no way even she could have possibly survived teaching this long without the support of Ogden’s strongest brand of Firewhisky.
The next day found Draco standing in front of the eerily quiet entryway of the school. He hadn’t realized how still and ominous the school was without the boisterous chatter of students bouncing off stonewalls and across the far reaches of the old corridors. He inhaled softly before making his way down the maze of corridors, finally reaching the doors of the Great Hall. There were muffled noises coming from inside; he hoped he wasn’t too late. Tardiness was for the inglorious and the uncouth; for the overconfident louse. For Gryffindors, basically.
Draco surveyed the room, but barely had a chance to see who else would be sharing his company before McGonagall sternly gestured him over. “Ah! Mr Malfoy, glad you could join us.” She’d said it with such a convincing smile; Draco was almost fooled. But he knew sarcasm when he heard it. His ancestors practically invented the concept. Pity they weren’t smart enough to think of copyright laws, else he’d still be living off their fortune rather than here, learning about his—ugh, the word was still hard to swallow—job.
A brisk saunter down the aisle later, he had joined the others at the Hufflepuff table; taking his seat between a buggy-eyed old man and an entirely too skinny young lady. Merlin, why’d it have to be the Hufflepuff table? Why not the Slytherin table, or even the Ravenclaw table?
While McGonagall commenced with the meeting and droned on about their ‘responsibilities as educators,’ Draco studied each professor in turn. There were a few people he recognized, mostly by their faces, but was unable to put names to them.
As McGonagall addressed them on something or other, his eyes landed on the person across from him, with familiar dark, messy hair and ugly glasses. He pursed his lips together and frowned. Potter would be here also, wouldn’t he? he disdainfully mused. I just can’t do anything in this life without Potter coming along to bugger things up!
Every time he stepped outside the Manor to shop in Diagon Alley, or went anywhere else heavily populated by witches and wizards, all he heard was Potter this and Potter that. He couldn’t turn on his wireless or read the Daily Prophet without hearing or seeing something about Saint Potter. It was quite annoying, stupid Potter and his stupid fans.
He had worked his arse off in school, went to Quidditch practice religiously, and was still outshined by Perfect Potter. If he wasn’t a Malfoy, he would have kicked someone. Preferably Potter with his green eyes, and unwaxed eyebrows, and …Huh; didn’t know he had a mole near his left ear.
Upon realizing what he’d just thought, Draco mentally shook his head after a moment. Why am I sitting here, staring at him for? He’s an annoying little snot.
“…Your teaching positions are as follows ...”
Draco tuned her out. He supposed she was listing each person and what they’d be doing for the sake of the other professors, but he didn’t care. He was bored and tired at the moment, and really wanted to get to his room. Maybe pilfer some food from the kitchens, punting house-elves out of his way as he raided the pantry. That always made him feel better.
He blissfully remained in his own little world, preplanning how he’d decorate his office and living chambers, when he suddenly heard his named called. Draco froze, weighing his surroundings as he was dragged from his daydreaming by the sharp hiss of his name from McGonagall’s lips. “Yes?”
“Mr Malfoy is our new Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House,” said the strict Headmistress, fiercely staring over the rim of her square spectacles at him. Well, he hadn’t really been paying attention, so he couldn’t blame her for glaring at him with such intensity.
Draco nodded absently, most of his mind having been on whether Slytherin-green curtains would clash with a Chudley Cannons-orange bedspread. He kept his love of the Cannons to himself, mostly because Weasley liked them. That, and he didn’t want his father rapping him on the head with his cane for what he believed was utter nonsense.
After a moment, his mind slowly made its way back to the present. Head of Slytherin? A gentle smirk graced his features. Perfect.
“Yes, ma’am.” He would have jumped from his seat and whooped, but that wouldn’t have been a very Malfoy thing to do; so he reined in his excitement, opting to keep the shouts of victory and emphatic ‘yeses!’ for when he was firmly ensconced in his silver-orange-and-green quarters. He’d make that scheme work or die trying. Or, if his students were half the dunderheads he expected them to be, he’d just skip ahead to dying.
I wonder how big my wardrobe space will be. If it can’t fit in my entire fall collection of dress robes, she’d better have Blackfire-in-my-pants on her emergency firecall list. As he inwardly ticked off the exact number of trousers he’d need for the first week, he was suddenly aware that he was being watched. When he turned to see if McGonagall had again singled him out with a glare, he was mildly surprised to discover the wandering eye belonged to not that former Gryffindor, but another: Potter.
Good God: Does he never pluck those fuzzy caterpillars he calls eyebrows? It’s almost as if he’s trying to grow a unibrow by the looks of things. That’s so nauseating and unkempt. Draco shivered in disgust. I could always set him up with my stylist, but would he be able to afford him? The man doesn’t exactly come cheap.
He startled suddenly when a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
“… Thank you, Professor. I won't disappoint ... I hope.” Potter’s lips had moved. When did he start kissing arse? Or had he always done so? Draco inwardly rolled his eyes. He was sure Perfect Potter had just been made Head of Gryffindor house. What a surprise, that.
After another half hour of delegated assignments, everyone seemed to suddenly stand up from the table simultaneously, prompting Draco to follow. This was good: he had been bored out of his mind since arrival and was looking forward to flopping down undignified onto his bed, away from prying eyes.
He followed the chattering throng of excited professors down the path between the tables and out of the Great Hall. Once out in the corridor, everyone parted ways, more than likely heading toward their own rooms. Draco was ready to do the same when he felt a brusque tap on his shoulder. Bloody McGonagall: was she coming to chew him out for zoning out at the meeting? He growled to himself at being thwarted. Whatever she wanted couldn’t have been more important than—“Potter?”
Quirking an eyebrow, he frowned when he saw Potter standing there. Stupid Potter with his hideous scar and ugly glasses; he’d never admit to staring, but it must have been obvious from the way he had stared back.
“Either you need something or you’re stalking me. Whatever your excuse, I’m not listening. Whatever you ask, the answer’s ‘no.’ Leave me in peace.” He snappily delivered, crossing his arms and hoping he gave off an aura of impatience; he was impatient, but Potter didn’t need to know that.
“Er, well …” he paused, pushing his unfashionable glasses up his nose. Draco rolled his eyes and scowled. He didn’t have time for this bashful nonsense. Potter hadn’t been so coy when he bragged about saving his life in the Come and Go Room five years ago.
“Just spit it out!”
He froze slightly in alarm. “Um … I figured since we’re both Heads of our old houses, and with you being the new Potions professor and me the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, maybe we could get together one night and … talk about combining our lesson plans?”
Draco raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips into a frown. What was Potter going on about? Did he want them working together without fighting or exchanging heated words? Where was the fun in that?
“Let me get this straight, you want me to get together with you and ‘discuss work’?” He stretched the last words out with distaste and threw him a skeptical look.
Potter had to be up to something. What it was, Draco had no idea. But as Potter was a Gryffindor, it had to be something truly foul. God, wouldn’t it be embarrassing if he sent a photo of them to the Daily Prophet with a blaring headline announcing their—God forbid, friendship? His father would probably beat himself to death with his cane rather than stick around to finish that article.
“Yeah,” Potter slowly replied. “Unless you have something more pressing to do?”
Sneering, Draco hissed, “Potter, why would I want to spend my free time with you? In case you’ve forgotten, we are not friends, nor do we like each other. Besides, I’d rather spend my time with a rabid hippogriff than you.”
Wordlessly, he turned on his heel and continued down the path leading to his quarters. He sighed and scowled, feeling an unmistakable presence still behind him several paces later. Without turning around, he snapped, “What?”
“Erm, see you later?” There was a distinctive hesitancy in Potter’s reply. Seemed he felt as nervous as Draco was unconvinced. Draco followed that answer with pursed lips and scoffed at him before continuing down the corridor, and leaving Potter standing alone.
He was ever so glad when he finally made it into his quarters; the odd conversation he had with Potter gave him a headache that he could feel in his toes. And monkeys were banging on drums in his head; he just knew it. Yet he could have taken a thousand Headache Potions and his head would still throb from Potter. Stupid Potter and his ridiculous stunt. He wasn’t going to pull the wool over his eyes so soon. Draco sighed derisively as he loosened the clasp on his robe. Potter was not going to get a laugh out of him; not this time.
Or did Potter seem disappointed when he’d turned him down? He paused, thoughtful, before sliding his robe from his shoulders and tossing it on top of a hideously disfigured writing table. That definitely had to go.
Though he could’ve sworn when he hadn’t readily accepted … Draco wasn’t sure, but to him, Potter’s expression had fallen a bit sadder.
After a moment, he shrugged those weary thoughts off and went into his bedroom. Potter could wait. He had some serious pillow hugging to do.
Weeks later, Draco sat at his very expensive, imported Italian desk writing up lesson plans. He was also planning diabolical things to do to his Gryffindor students. Well, not really: he was actually doodling in his planner. He sat back and admired the drawing he’d sketched of Potter being eaten by a hippogriff. He’d have to frame this and send it to his father.
A sudden knock at his living chamber door startled him from his lazy scrawls. Draco sighed and got up from his desk, dragging his feet to answer the door. The last person he expected to see stood at his doorstep, a crooked grin settled on their face.
“Potter,” he greeted with irked surprise. “Are you still stalking me? What, have you not got something better to do? Or are you here about those detentions I gave your students for breathing too loud. They should really go to the Infirmary to get that checked out, because that’s just not normal. Goodbye.” He moved to slam the door shut, when Potter’s hands braced against it.
“No, no, wait!”
Letting out a gruff sigh, he pulled open the door, scowling. “You again? If you are stalking me it’s understandable—since your sad little existence is in need of dire excitement—”
“Really, I’m just here to—”
“—but pathetic. And you’re doing a shoddy job of it … if you are, that is.”
“Look, Potter, didn’t you hear me all those weeks ago? I said I wanted nothing to do with you.”
“I-I know, but—”
“Ah,” he scoffed, “but you’ve got that thick Gryffindor skull which has no doubt dulled your sense of hearing after all this time. Perhaps you’ll hear this.”
“Draco—!” Potter cried as he once again slammed the door in his face, seething. “Wait!” He burst out from behind the door.
He groaned aloud and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early in the day for a drink, but surely McGonagall would understand if he came to dinner completely smashed.
“Damn it, Po--!”
“I want yougoHogsmeadewiffme!”
He blinked several times. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? Slowly, he opened the door and gave the winded professor a bewildered look. “Excuse me?”
Potter shuffled his feet, scratched his head, and cleared his throat before he finally spoke, much to Draco’s amusement and annoyance. “Er … I was wondering if you … uh, wanted to go to … Hogsmeade with me … er, this weekend for a drink or something?”
A blush suddenly appeared on Potter’s face and Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the seemingly embarrassed man fidgeting on his doorstep. It was his duty and role in life to annoy Potter after all. Actually, he liked to pretend that whole Fiendfyre thing never happened, thank you very much.
“Um … you know, er … have a drink and maybe talk?” Potter shifted from foot to foot once more. He looked as nervous as Longbottom having sex for the first time with an actual person.
Draco didn’t know whether to be amused or cringe in terror at that thought. Instead, he was highly amused by Potter’s awkwardness, but didn’t show it; instead, he scowled at him. “Potter, are you asking me out?”
“Yes. If you want me to, of course.”
“You’re asking me to give you permission to ask me out?”
“N-No, no; that didn’t come out right,” he hastily amended. “I’m asking you out. Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
His green eyes were large and expectant behind his round lenses; Draco could just see the sheen of sweat beginning to form on his brow. His teeth nervously gnawed on his chapped lips and he was sure if his hands weren’t at his sides, Potter probably would have wrung them till he wore out the bones. All in all, he was a nervous, edgy wreck. It all felt dangerously odd to Draco, the idea that the slightest indication of a wrong answer would set Potter heading for the tallest turret in the castle. The right answer in this was key.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his throat.
More and more he gasped and choked through a great old belly laugh, grasping the doorframe for support. After a few moments, he sobered up enough to sigh, though a few chuckles still escaped from him. He really needed that: who knew Potter was a comedian? “Merlin. That was a good one. I haven’t laughed like that in years, thanks.”
When Potter just stood there, looking slightly distressed, Draco’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He was given a strange look, as if he’d sprouted a tentacle on his forehead. “Yes.”
“Why do you want to go out with me?”
Potter shrugged. “Why not?”
His mouth fell open in shock. “But … you hate me!”
“If I did, would I be here?”
He arched an eyebrow at the simple explanation. This was true. If Potter did hate him, why would he be wasting his time here pleading for a date? Of course, this could all be a ploy to humiliate him in the long run, but what the hell. Couldn’t hurt to get dressed up and wait to see if ‘his date’ actually showed up or not. Hell, he might even get a kick out of it.
“Oh, why not? Meet me here around six on Saturday. But do me a favor and use that money you inherited from your parents and buy yourself a decent wardrobe. I’ll not be seen with you wearing clothes five sizes too big,” he demanded before slamming the door in Potter’s face.
As Draco moved away, he heard a bewildered, “Uh …? See you, then.”
The day of ‘The Date’, as Draco liked to call it, arrived faster than expected. It was only Potter, for Merlin’s sake, but Draco wanted to look his best, if for no other reason than to get pitying looks and maybe free drinks from a cute barmaid or bartender; he wasn’t choosy.
He stood in front of his mirror, checking his appearance. Tonight, he’d chosen the tightest leather trousers he owned, the pair his mother nicknamed ‘sperm killers’. They were black, seemingly painted on, hugging every inch of his skin. Leather wasn’t his favorite material but those Muggles knew more about fashion than he gave them credit. To top it off, he wore a light green vest accenting his well-built, bare chest.
He was so very gay. Any gayer and he’d be Lockhart.
He was busily admiring himself when he heard a knock at his door. Giving his reflection one last approving look, he made his way over at an unhurried pace. The sight that greeted him when he opened the door, gave him pause; stifling a groan, Draco suddenly felt his trousers grow uncomfortably snug (was that even possible).
“Sweet Merlin,” he said in awe. “You can dress well.”
He gave Potter a once-over from head to toe and back. Seems tailored clothing did him a world of good: he was wearing shapely black trousers and a green button-down shirt. Draco noticed that he had finally found a way or made an effort to tame his hair. ‘Effort’ being the operative word; his hair was still all over the place, but at least he no longer looked like a startled dandelion. And he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Draco heard from a friend of a friend that he couldn’t see three feet in front of him without them, so it would stand to reason he had Charmed his eyes.
He continued to stare until Potter cleared his throat. It was then Draco idly realized he had been drooling. He was never going to hear the end of this.
“My, my, Potter,” he gathered his wits and drawled. “You clean up quite nicely.”
As usual, Potter blushed. “Thanks. You look nice yourself.”
Draco’s lips rose in a smirk as a thought suddenly came to him. “I have an idea. Why don’t we stay in and … chat? It’s much quieter. And cheaper,” he added, moving away from the door to let Potter in. That was, if he wanted to.
Potter’s eyes widened, showing off the brilliant green of his irises. Thankfully, he actually did something with his eyebrows! Draco’d watched them closely over the last few weeks and was quite sure they—or it, when it was one solid creature—could live independently from Potter if detached. Perhaps he was feeding them in a cage in his rooms?
Potter seemed to be thinking long and hard about his offer. “All right,” he finally answered, stepping inside of his chambers hesitantly, but appeared to have shaken it off by the time Draco closed the door. He had started this with the date offer, after all.
Draco locked the door after him, keeping an appreciative eye on his guest the entire time as Potter stopped in the middle of the sitting room, quietly studying his surroundings. Quietly, he studied him, admiring this seemingly new Potter standing in the midst of his sitting room. He was really rather randy now from considering how perfect the other professor’s arse looked in those new trousers. Perhaps he could do something about that.
He sidled up behind him, leaning forward to whisper huskily in his ear, “Like what you see?”
Without turning around, Potter choked, “Yeah.”
He roughly grabbed Potter’s shoulder, forcefully turning him around. Before the startled Gryffindor could get a word in edgewise, Draco pulled him forward, pressing their lips together in a searing kiss.
Potter tugged at the front of his shirt and moaned into his mouth as their groins met. Draco knew he’d made a mistake, thinking that Potter was an ugly little troll. Maybe six out of seven days a week, he was, but tonight, he was actually quite fetching. Yes, he hated to admit it, but he was a shallow little pouf. He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, and all but dragged a dazed Potter—God, if this was going where he thought this was going he’d need to start calling him Harry—quickly to his bedroom.
He really hoped Harry wouldn’t balk at what was hopefully going to happen. He’d never been one for bondage, but he might get into it if his soon-to-be lover decided to change his mind. Really, who wouldn’t want a tied up Gryffindor, lying in their bed, ready to be ravaged? There weren’t many prospects after that whole Malfoy-family-siding-with-the-Dark-Lord situation during the war. ‘Picky’ wasn’t in his vocabulary. He’d take what he could get. Except Longbottom. That would never happen.
As he kicked the door shut behind them and watched Harry tug at his belt, Draco suddenly realized that they wouldn’t be going out on their date. He considered what a pity it was until he caught his first glimpse of golden skin. At least the evening wasn’t going to be a complete waste.
A few hours later, Draco stretched out on his side of the bed as Potter snuffled in his sleep. It had been the best shag he’d ever had in his short life. Well, it’d been the only shag in his life, but he didn’t like to dwell on that. Even dignity would have him admit, he hadn’t been very desirable as a teen. Oh, he was good looking of course, but for some reason, every time he tried to chat up a girl during school, she’d giggle at him and walk off like he had bad breath or bogies dancing from his nose. It had been very depressing.
He was brought out of his brooding when he felt an arm encircle his waist, followed by a loud yawn erupting from Harry. “Sleep well?” he teased.
“Oi, you were the one who wouldn’t let me rest after the third time,” Harry playfully retorted as he snuggled closer to him. “I’m surprised I regained consciousness at all.”
Draco frowned a moment but kept himself from pulling away. He didn’t like to cuddle much unless his mother was doing it (not that he would ever admit that … publicly). He stayed still and let Harry continue, without protest. After all, Harry did allow himself to be shagged; three times, no less, so he owed him something at least. Unwilling embraces should be counted as payments to owed life debts, he mused. Not that he owed Harry any. Really—that Fiendfyre fiasco did not count, no matter what those Gryffindors had said back then. It didn’t.
“So…” Draco’s eyebrows rose as he felt light circles mapped all over his chest by a wandering finger. “I thought you said you’d rather spend time with a rabid hippogriff?”
He blinked before smirking. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” Harry laughed. Good to know he found it more entertaining than offensive.
“Of course that was before we shagged. Though, to tell you the truth, I didn’t exactly plan this. I thought for sure you’d come dressed as you usually did.”
Unexpectedly, Harry frowned at him. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have said that… “So, what you’re saying is, you shagged me because of how I was dressed?” He was sitting up and crossing his arms, looking awfully offended now.
Draco swallowed, feeling slightly nervous as Harry’s frown began to edge closer to a scowl. “Wait, wait a minute, damn it,” he barked, seizing Harry’s wrist as he moved to leave the bed. “You’re the one who kept pestering me for a date and you didn’t exactly put up a fight when we got started here. If you’d said ‘no’, I would have let you leave.”
“Oh, you would have let me leave, eh? Like you’d have had a choice. You know I’d have been able to kick your scrawny arse.”
“Excuse me? I do believe I can fight just as well as you can. Let me remind you, who broke whose nose on the train during sixth year.”
“Pfft! That’s right, bring up something from the past. If I remember correctly, someone used the Full Body Bind on me. Otherwise, you know I’d have broken your nose.”
“Right, you keep thinking that.” Draco paused. “What were we talking about? All this talk of fighting has left me randy again.”
“Oh, no, no,” Harry moaned. “Draco, we shagged three times. In a row! My arse is sore.”
Draco snickered at this. Thankfully, Harry also found it funny, chuckling himself. He could get used to that laugh “So, now what?” he asked, settling down again next to Draco.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t plan that far ahead.”
They spent the next few minutes in silence. It wasn’t until Harry left the bed and gathered his strewn clothes from the floor that Draco noticed how late it was. The dragon clock across the room read close to dinner.
Harry said, “I have to get going. I still have a few lessons to put together before Monday.”
“Right,” he slowly replied, getting up as well. “It is rather late, isn’t it?”
“See you at dinner.” Harry smiled wanly before shuffling himself out. He moved surprisingly fast for someone whose arse was sure to be quite sore till morning.
Draco collected his clothing after a split second’s rest and placed them over the back of a chair as he moved to the bathroom. It was amazing how dirty one could get after three straight shags. Or maybe it was just shagging Harry. Quietly, he chuckled to himself, wondering what other dirty things Potter had in store for him.
The next few weeks went by in a whisky-induced blur as he taught the future leaders of the wizarding world. Oh, sweet Merlin, they were the future! They should have just turned Hogwarts into a museum and let one of the other schools take the blame for these morons. Honestly, how many times did he have to beat it into their heads that reading the instructions was actually required before adding their ingredients? It was amazing the school’s foundation hadn’t collapsed and crushed the nasty little gnomes to death already. Last week he was forced to walk around with livid purple hair. He was not amused, even if Harry had pointed and laughed at him all through dinner. Although, he wasn’t laughing after Draco spiked his pumpkin juice with hair-removing potion.
He’d seen Harry a few more times as the school year progressed. Most of their time was spent in his bedroom doing naughty things. Some days they even managed a public visit to the Three Broomsticks, chatting over a pint or two, discussing work, but not much of their personal life. Although, Potter sometimes would, which annoyed Draco to no end since he wouldn’t shut up.
Tonight was a night to rest, mostly on Harry’s part, as he complained his arse needed time to heal. So somewhat grudgingly, Draco decided he’d head to the Quidditch Pitch for a relaxing fly. He had just passed the yet unfilled dining hall and continued walking down the corridor towards the Pitch, lost in his thoughts about the past few months. He wasn’t sure what was going on between him and Harry. They weren’t in an actual relationship, but they slept together just about every night. Lovers would be about the right term for it, but he could feel there was something more niggling at him. It was so confusing.
He made his way to the locker room and changed into his old Quidditch gear, which he was happy to note still fit … somewhat. He finished dressing and picked up his broom, leisurely making his way to the pitch. Smiling at the vacant stands, Draco closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath of crisp November air. A swift walk later, he had sidestepped a large mud puddle, an indication of last night’s storm, and settled on a spot in the center of the pitch. He looked up into the jeweled night sky and mounted his broom, kicking off from the ground.
He flew around until the easy chill in the air became an unforgiving freeze. For just a few hours, he was Slytherin’s best Seeker again, feinting and dipping at the opportune moment to befuddle the oafish Seeker for the rival team. Maybe Hufflepuff, as their Seekers following Diggory were more interested in cloud shapes than Snitches. He could almost hear the roar of his house beneath the howling wind, urging him on with song and cheer and banners, emerald green banners that would make Slytherin himself proud. Emerald green banners that outshone even its namesake. Emerald green like Harry’s eyes—
Draco pulled his broom up at the last second as he found himself rocketing towards the pitch. What the hell? He’d been thinking of Potter again. This wasn’t good. He needed to get his mind off him and fast.
Hot and sweaty from the workout, he soared back down towards the pitch, dismounting from his broom as soon as his feet brushed the ground. The grass crunched noisily beneath his shoes having frozen from the drop in temperature. He was a bit stiff and a little sore from flying; it had been a few years since he’d been on a broom. Goodness, he’d missed it, but the knots in his body were killers. He stretched himself out before making his way back to the locker room.
Sighing tiredly, Draco quickly removed his old uniform piece by piece, tossing them to the floor with a barely muffled ‘whoomph!’ When the last article of clothing left his body, he made for the showers. Being overheated and sticky were never good feelings no matter how brilliant a Seeker he’d been. As well, his hair tended to frizz something fierce if the sweat was left to its own devices. God forbid he end up looking like Granger come morning; Potter might never want to shag him again, or worse—might never stop shagging him. The thought alone hastened his steps to the tiled lavatory.
He jumped, startled, and almost yelped when he felt the unmistakable grip of arms wrapping around his chest. When he noticed the familiar muscular arms flecked with dark hairs and old wounds healed by time, he relaxed and easily settled in Harry’s arms. He turned the shower knobs and let the hot water wash over them both for several quiet minutes before facing the intruder. “And what do you want?” he asked with a playful smirk.
“Well, I was coming down to dinner...”
“Mm-hm?” he hummed, placing licks and nibbles along Harry’s stubbly jaw.
“And I felt this sudden urge to go outside.”
“Did you now?”
“Yeah, and all of a sudden, I got hot. Really, really hot.”
“See, I was watching this really handsome fellow tonight,” he artfully drawled. “Flying and zipping and soaring through the air so beautifully. I had to admit it, but … I made a bit of a mess in my pants while watching him.”
Draco’s mouth dipped in the hollow at the base of his neck, grinning as a moan rumbled against his tongue.
“I-I needed a shower—fast. So I followed him in here.”
“Mmm, yeah,” Harry sighed into his ministrations. “You seen him?”
He huffed against the pink skin, replying, “Just missed him. I suppose you’ll just have to make do with me.”
Harry teasingly sighed in a resigned manner. “I suppose. Are you sure he came in this bathroom? Maybe he’s in the one closer to the school, or the Hufflepuffs’ locker; I should go check—”
Draco pulled Harry back in amusement and quirked an eyebrow at him. “That’s weird, because the closest lavatory would be the Infirmary, wouldn’t it?”
Harry paused a moment. “This is true.”
“Of course it is.”
“But I’ve no desire to see Madam Pomfrey naked. Maybe he’s into that kind of thing—”
“Ugh, stop, I’m getting nauseous,” Draco pleaded, looking faintly green. Harry threw his head back and laughed. Draco’s features turned up in a smirk as he joined him.
After their giggles died down, Harry leaned forward, opening his mouth as Draco slipped his tongue inside, twirling around his lover’s. Moaning softly, Draco pulled him closer to his body, their wet, hard groins meeting and rubbing together as they moved. His hands glided down to Harry’s arse, eliciting a gasp Draco quickly swallowed as he squeezed and kneaded the firm cheeks.
Withdrawing reluctantly, he guided Harry to the shower wall and drew in closer to him, leaning forward to lick fallen droplets from his neck. He grinned upon hearing the moan that escaped Harry’s mouth and ran his hands over Harry’s arse once more before dropping to his knees behind him.
His face was just inches from the arse before him. With his thumbs, Draco spread the Gryffindor’s cheeks apart, exposing the little ring of muscle to his hungry gaze. Without hesitation, he mouthed along Harry’s hole, groaning as it twitched and clenched with each swipe of his tongue.
The breathy sounds he made as Draco licked and sucked greedily brought Harry a step closer each time to reaching climax. He continued his exploration until Harry begged, “Please. Fuck me already. I’m not going to last much longer!”
Draco sat back, grinning at his lover. Well, Harry did beg nicely. Who was he to deny him? Getting to his feet, he reached around Harry’s quivering form for the bottle of shampoo that sat there. Squirting some into his hand, he eased it into the waiting arse, at the same time sucking a large red mark into Harry’s neck as his fingers worked to open him fully.
He licked the bite he’d formed, still sliding his fingers at a steady pace in and out of his noisy companion. He enjoyed the noises Harry was making as he crooked his fingers, trying to find that special spot. Draco twisted them before pushing in, lifting Harry onto his toes with the force of his thrusting digits.
Deeming him as prepared as he was likely going to get, Draco removed his fingers, squeezed a bit more shampoo into his palm and brought it to his cock. The feel of his slick, warm hand on his throbbing member gave him pause, both to catch his breath and to stave off any unpleasant surprises.
Trembling, he eased his hand from himself so he wouldn’t come too soon and end it before it began. Pressing himself against Harry’s back, he lined his cock up to the prepared hole, spreading Harry’s arse with his free hand. He ran his cock slickly up and down his crack, moaning with each stroke along the slick crack.
“What are you waiting for? Christmas?” Harry’s curt growl jarred him from his wanton musings. “Get to it already!” He demanded, spreading his legs wider and near flattening himself against the wall, raising his arse higher.
Draco snorted at his lover’s back before slowly pushing in. He held still, mostly so he wouldn’t come from the tight clench of muscles around his cock.
After a moment, he gripped Harry’s hips as he steadily pulled out and pushed in. The heat and tightness around him made him moan into Harry’s ear, wetly kissing the back of his neck. His hands tightened harder around Harry’s waist when he suddenly clamped down around Draco.
Almost instantly, he picked up speed, thrusting harder and harder, pounding Harry’s arse, causing the Gryffindor to shout as he came all over the shower wall. Draco felt him go boneless as he pulled him onto his cock, over and over until he too came with a drawn out groan, twitching with the aftershocks of his release.
Cock now sensitive, he slowly withdrew, wrenching another whine from Harry. He leaned against the Gryffindor for a few seconds before he stepped back, letting the spray of the shower cool down his heated skin.
He watched with mild interest as Harry straightened up and turned around, smiling shyly at him. Although, Draco didn’t have the faintest clue as to why he’d look shy when they’d shagged just about anywhere two professors could without getting caught by students or fellow staff. Potter could seem so damn odd at times.
Neither said anything as they cleaned themselves off. It remained quiet in the locker room until Harry broke the silence with, “So I’ll see you at dinner?”
Before Draco could give an answer, he had already turned and headed toward the exit.
Draco watched him go and before he could stop himself, called out, “Wait.”
Harry paused, spinning on his heel, looking expectantly back at him.
His brain seemed to be functioning without permission tonight as he burst out with a very brash, very Gryffindor-like impulsiveness, blurting, “Move in with me?”
He wanted to rip his lips off and stomp on them for their betrayal. Since when did he want more from Harry than a means to end his virginal status and bachelorhood? Maybe he was under the Imperius Curse? Or maybe he had yet to awaken from a very vivid wet dream?
He’d barely noticed Harry had frozen on the spot, looking like a hippogriff in wandlights. “What?” he whispered in shock.
Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon.
“Move into my quarters with me,” he repeated with uncharacteristic gentleness. He slowly padded over to his stunned lover, cringing slightly at hearing the wet slapping noise of his feet on the tile. “There’s plenty of room and you might as well: you’re over every night, anyway.”
Draco didn’t like the too silent minutes ticking by as Harry thought it over. What was there to think about? He was gorgeous, and could usually last a long time when they shagged. The earlier shower thing was a fluke. Yeah, that was it. Cushioning Charms just weren’t the same on brooms these days.... On the bright side, if they started the students out on these brooms in first year, they were likely to be sterile by their seventh and therefore, would fail to spawn and produce more morons to better decay their society. He was feeling better already.
Who was he fooling? Had he been pacing, he would’ve already reached sea level.
It was another moment of silence before Harry smiled and quietly said, “All right.”
Draco didn’t really know what else to say, mostly owing to the fact his heart had just lodged itself in his throat. So he just nodded and replied, “Good.”
He watched Harry leave the locker room completely this time, hoping he’d made the right decision. Or his lips had, since his brain had abandoned them. He wasn’t sure what the future held for them: if they’d remain together a long time, or get on each other’s nerves by the end of the week, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to wait and see. Though, first thing he was definitely going to do before Harry moved in was set him up with his stylist.
It seemed the fuzzy caterpillars had escaped from their cage and once more set up shop above Harry’s eyes.