Another day, another post...
Or rather, that would be true if I could manage to post more often. I blame my friends. They write about all these interesting things and I respond, and before I know it I've gone weeks without telling the world about my deep attachment to the tree across the street or the way that some very fragile people of my acquaintance have been making me feel all predatory or...
Yes. You see? This is what happens.
And it's not my fault. *g*
You know, my entire life could be boiled down to that phrase: "I bought my canary a japanese cage... and the wood turned out to be poisonous. And it wasn't my fault." "I almost got married... but not. Not my fault." "I start story after story and they unfold like flowers in my mind and once I know where they're going I stop writing them, obviously, so... not my fault." I'm a victim of circumstances, and the beautiful part of that is that there are always circumstances. Nobody is a villain in their own story, as they say, but I can't say that I'm the hero either. I think of myself more as comic relief.
News, news, news:
I've fallen deeply in love with the world again, as I do on a semi-weekly basis. It's a good thing I live in the city, I tell you, because otherwise I would get nothing done. Every time I step outside the wind hits me like a hammer or the lines of the buildings are straight and perfect or there are puddles the color of ink on the sidewalk or... yeah.
I'm the person you see walking down the street moving my head like a bird, twiitching back and forth, puppy-eager and wide-eyed behind my sunglasses and looking slightly sophisticated with my blonde-blonde hair and black-on-black clothes and ruining it all by grinning at strangers and loving them for sharing the world with me, I'd hug them if I could, comfort them and grab their hair and tilt their heads back to show them the opal-purple mirror maze of glass buildings and clouded sky.
*sigh* I try not to do that. It frightens people.
Do you suppose there's any chance I could make a career of it? "Ash Jay: Tour Guide to the World". It'd be a very portable business, you know. I can show people things everywhere that tighten the chest like a finger run across parted lips, but I don't think people would come with me to see them. Maybe if I paid them.
Right. I need money. Lots of it.
*blinks* And once again, I've managed to say four paragraphs about a two sentence topic. That's a real gift I have here. Specifically, the kind of gift that people try to return the day after Christmas. (I'm thinking here of fruitcakes, but that may just be me. I've irritated a lot of salespeople in my day.)
I've been semi-productive over the last little while, so here's a bunch of things:
Pic
A colored-in version of aome's wonderful original pic. I love Plu's pic so much, and Plu even more so for letting me get my filthy little fingerprints all over it.
Fics
Ahaha. Yes. A few of those. Because ladies and gentlemen, that's just how lazy I am:
And, because addictedkitten enables me like you wouldn't believe, and go bug her for her new story now, really, go, go now, I actually wrote Harry/Draco.
This breaks my longtime vow not to write for pairings that actually have chemistry and screen time together. I'm more of a "they've never spoken a word to each other and aren't actually of the same species but I just know that they could be happy and possibly own cats together or maybe just stalk each other as a hobby, you know, 'us time' but with night vision goggles" kind of gal. (Jack/Samantha, Clarice/Hannibal, Natalie/Lacroix, Jareth/Sarah... catch the pattern?)
A Malfoy's Mercy, and Other Oxymorons
There was wind, and a moon.
Some time after that, there was screaming.
Before that, long before that, there was the forest. Where the tree trunks climbed like guardian statues, and even on a clear day you could see no further than four feet in front of your face before the world was mist, and cold, and possibility.
Of course, Harry thought bitterly, you didn't really want to see much further than that.
Because, while it was technically possible that anything in the whole world was out there in the mist, the reality was that Harry had so far determined that the Dark Forest held at least twenty eight creatures with more teeth than brain cells, and somewhat fewer take-away curry stands with an add-on magazine shelf and book rack.
The odds were against him.
"Is that one?"
Speaking of things with no brain cells, Harry thought.
"No," Harry said to Crabbe, not looking at the towering figure by his side. "That would be a stump. We're looking for mushrooms."
"Oh."
"They're smaller," Harry added helpfully. And waited.
"Is that one?"
"No. That's a stump again. In fact, I believe that's the *same* stump," Harry said patiently. He searched Crabbe's lumpy face for some sign of understanding, an experience very like trying to find the face of the Madonna in a bowl of oatmeal, and with only slightly less chance of succeeding.
"Crabbe," Malfoy's Voice said from somewhere off in the mist
Crabbe made a sound that Harry could only think of as a bark, a happy bark, but still a bark. If he'd had a tail, he would have wagged it in response to his Master's Voice.
Harry looked around warily. Yes, there was the mist, and the cold, and the trees, and that same twice-damned stump, and it really wasn't healthy that Harry was thinking of Malfoy's Voice in capital letters, he knew that, but he couldn't help it, and now Malfoy wasn't here but his Voice was, and that was just making it all that much creepier.
And Malfoy hadn't had detention today. And Crabbe hadn't argued about being partnered with Harry.
"Finding anything, Crabbe?" Malfoy's Voice said from behind them now, and Harry felt something like a visceral chill run down his spine.
Crabbe wasn't even smart enough to argue about his own execution, Harry told himself, and Malfoy was the type who'd go on nature walks through the Dark Forest just to take the air.
"I'm finding things, Draco," Crabbe said obediently, and Harry thought bitterly that that was a lie, that all they'd been finding was that same stump, over and over again, with Crabbe apparently feeling that same thrill of discovery each and every time.
And Crabbe had had them circling that stump for the past twenty minutes. And Malfoy wasn't really that stupid.
"Good," Malfoy said, him and his Voice moving closer together, in front of Harry now, appearing out of the mist like one of those maddening fool the eye puzzles, blue mist and black trees suddenly resolved into hair and face and smile cast gray by shadows, and Harry was definitely not staring.
"What's going on, Malfoy?" Harry said, hoping that his suspicious tone and narrowed eyes drove home the point that he hadn't been staring even a little bit, no, this was the patented Potter Glare of Death, so don't get any ideas, Malfoy. And stop *smiling* like that.
"Goyle?" Malfoy said, still smiling at Harry.
"Yes," a voice said from beside Harry, not a question, and Harry looked up beside him and into a face like a suet pudding.
No, Harry was about to say, this is *Crabbe*, remember, but Crabbe had been on his left and still was, actually, and this particular suet pudding face had small dark eyes like week-old grapes and that meant that it was Goyle. Crabbe on one side, Goyle on the other, Malfoy in front.
Harry went for his wand.
His hand grasped cloth, and what was either a very old peppermint or a very furry coin.
And Malfoy was still smiling at him.
Harry withdrew his hand from the pocket slowly, keeping his eyes on Malfoy. Not that Harry could do anything if Malfoy did try something, but still. It was the principle of the thing.
"Where's my wand?" Harry said, not really expecting an answer.
Malfoy shrugged. "Don't ask me, Potter. It's not my job to keep tabs on your personal possessions."
"Oh come on," Harry said with feeling. "As long as you're going to watch me all the time, Malfoy, couldn't you go the extra mile and watch my belongings as well? I lost a pocket watch last term that I was really quite fond of."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
Crabbe said, "The gold one?"
"Shut up," Malfoy said quickly.
Harry smiled, not meaning to, but it was just too perfect. He was trapped in the Dark Forest with Draco Malfoy and dark wizardry's answer to the Bobbsy twins, Malfoy was smiling at him all the time and the Voice was waiting in the wings, and Malfoy had been stealing his things.
Harry said, "You know, if you're running short of money, I could lend you some to tide you over."
And it just kept getting better. Somewhat hard to tell in the gray half-light, but Harry would have bet any amount that Malfoy was trying not to growl.
This was starting to be a theme, Harry thought dizzily. Between Malfoy growling and Crabbe wagging, maybe Harry's best plan for escape was to throw a stick as far as he could and yell, "Fetch!"
Oh god, I'm going to die, Harry thought then. They're going to kill me. One of these times I'm actually going to say one of these things out loud, and they're going to kill me. Right, I really need to get out of here.
"Well," Harry said, "since you haven't seen my wand, I'll just go look for it."
He nodded pleasantly to Crabbe, or maybe it was Goyle, smiled faintly at Goyle, or maybe it was Crabbe, and avoided looking at Malfoy as he began to casually back away.
He made it farther than he'd thought he'd get.
That is to say, about five feet.
And then Crabbe was in front of him, and Harry stopped just before he bumped into that barrel of a chest. He turned around and looked at where Malfoy had been, and had to blink twice rapidly because Malfoy was much closer now and not smiling anymore.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, directing a patient sort of smile in Malfoy's general direction. "Look," Harry said, "You're not going to kill me, not when everyone knows I was with Goyle - "
"Crabbe," Malfoy said.
"Whatever," Harry said. "And you can't do anything really serious to me, because using magic in here is like running the world's largest can opener in a house full of cats."
"Well, you have got me there, Potter," Malfoy admitted. "How clever of you."
Harry narrowed his eyes. He had felt clever, 'had' being the operative word. And Malfoy was smiling again, looking far too pleased with himself for Harry's own good.
"Right," Harry said slowly. "So why don't you give me back my wand - "
-maybe he's got some sort of charm to hide the magic, maybe he's going to Crucio me until I beg to die-
"-and tell your friends here to get out of my way-"
-or something to break the 'no apparating' rule and any second now Voldemort and his body du jour are going to appear with Death Eaters in tow, probably they'll cut my head off on that same blasted stump-
"-and I can go find my mushrooms and you can all go off and bother somebody else." Harry finished in a voice that was only slightly higher than the one he's started with.
"That sounds like an excellent idea," Malfoy said, "but unfortunately we have other plans for the evening. So do you."
Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that Malfoy wasn't talking about a game of Wizard's Chess and a warm cup of cocoa before bed.
"You're my enemy, Malfoy, not my social planner," Harry managed to say with something approaching confidence, "I'll make my own plans, if you don't mind."
"Ah, but I do," Malfoy says in the Voice, dark and curling around the edges, and Harry takes an involuntary step back. Malfoy smiled wider, and there were traces of the Voice in the smile now, and Harry began to seriously consider making a run for it.
"Gentlemen?" Malfoy continued, looking at Crabbe and Goyle. "Now."
"Now?" Harry said, eyeing the stump nervously.
"Now," Crabbe and Goyle echoed.
Five busy seconds later, Harry found himself three feet off the ground and moving rapidly in a horizontal direction.
Crabbe and Goyle each had one of his arms and were carrying him rather as though he was a large and awkward piece of furniture, perhaps a writing desk, although writing desks weren't normally gagged with a piece of their own robe torn off and stuffed in their mouth. Neither of them looked at him as they ran through the forest after Malfoy.
In retrospect, Harry thought as he tucked his feet up to avoid hitting them on the ground, he probably should have made a run for it.
___
End Part One
Sara asked me for porn. This is not porn. I don't know what the hell this is, but it's strange and moving towards Harry/Draco and... yeah. The title should give you a feel for the fic as a whole.
Forget
Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now. At meals, he'll sit facing the wall, sandwiched between friends and well-wishers. He won't stay around to shower after Quiddich matches, which he'll win all the time, and everyone will say that he's going to break his neck one of these days, that the Snitch isn't worth dying for, everyone except Oliver Wood, who will say that he wishes he had ten more just like him.
*****
"Kiss me, Harry," Ginny says, and her lips are tempting.
Harry has spent a long time saying no to her, he thinks, and she's pretty tonight, prettier than he's ever seen her with so many silver ribbons in her hair and a half-smile on her face and looking small and fragile inside a too-big robe passed down from one of her brothers.
"Kiss me," Ginny says again, and she wouldn't care if he got it wrong because he's never done it before, she'd probably like that, and she won't sell the story to a newspaper or brag around school, she just wants him to kiss her, that's all, just his mouth on hers. He can do that.
And then Harry's mouth is on Ginny's mouth, and Ginny's mouth is closed and soft and dry and interesting. Hermione would laugh at him, Harry thinks. Because his blood is pounding and he's suddenly, unbearably, nervous with his closed dry lips chaste on hers.
This isn't hard, he can do this, but he should be doing something with his hands, shouldn't he? Putting them on her shoulders or something, so he settles them there and she makes a small pleased noise and shifts under his hands and his fingers tighten by themselves on her shoulders and her mouth is -
God yes.
-opening under his and -
Fuck, yes.
-he's moving his mouth against hers, opening his mouth on hers though he hadn't meant to, waiting for her to stop him. She's not stopping him though, and he can feel all the blood in his body rushing to his frightened mouth and the hurting palms of his hands where they touch her shoulders and moving between his legs and settling there into an ache.
Ginny sways just a little and pushes her knee against - ah, Harry breathes into her mouth, a silent gasp that should have been a scream, that better than anything so far, even if she hadn't done it on purpose, even if she'd never do it again - fuck, she did it again, fuck, Harry thinks, it was a bad word to say, but maybe not to think, maybe that was the only word right for this. She had to know what she was doing, has she done this before oh god, it doesn't matter, nothing in the world matters like this, like that, like whatever she's doing now, that's it, this is it, this is -
Harry pushes away from Ginny because he wants to pull her closer and wanting is dangerous and not stopping is dangerous and stopping is worse than anything because she's looking at him like… he doesn't know, like she wants him, like she hadn't wanted him to stop, and that's dangerous too because he sure as hell doesn't want to stop either, hell another alien word in his mind, but fitting, and hell he thinks again when she licks her lips.
"Take off your robe, Harry," Ginny says in a voice deeper than it should be, and that does something to him too, tightens some knot they've been building together that goes right from his brain to between his legs, to his cock, he thinks, surely if he can have one he can think about it, think about his cock down there getting hard and ready for something he's not at all ready for himself.
Harry is going to tell her to leave now, he is. Ginny isn't ready for this either, surely not, but even if she is, and wouldn't that be interesting, but she's not and he's not, so she's going to have to go back to her safe little bed in the girls' dorm and forget that she ever followed him up into the boys' dorm full of empty beds and moonlight.
They should both forget, Harry thinks, and he pushes the robe off his shoulders and feels it slither down him like a hand, falling to the floor, and he kicks it aside.
Ginny smiles at him, and in that same deep disturbing voice she says, "Kiss me again, Harry," and puts her hand on his pants, on his cock and Harry sucks in a breath so hard that he almost chokes, because it's not like his own hand at all, it's a surprise in so many ways, sneaking up on him and wham, right between the eyes and ah, a flash of light in his mind and between his legs. Ginny is still talking, he was supposed to do something, and he doesn't remember grabbing her wrist but he must have because he's holding it in place when she tries to pull her hand away and oh, right, she wants him to kiss her. Right.
(Fuck, she tightens her grip just a little and Harry thinks he's going to come right then, in his pants in her hand in her mouth warm and wet and moving, her tongue thrusting in his mouth all mixed up with the movement of her hand and he's squeezed his eyes shut and somehow can't let go of her wrist because she can't, she simply can't take it away now that she's put it there)
Harry can't stop thinking of questions even now, like how did she know how to, yes, touch him like that, just a, ah, little, like that, yes, maybe everyone know about this but him, maybe she, Ginny, he reminds himself, could teach him, please, he'd pay her, she'll never have to worry about money again, but she really can't stop now, not ever, not now, it wouldn't be fair, she has to see that.
It wouldn't be polite, and Ginny is always polite to him, and Harry is moving against her hand and her mouth and is dimly proud of his body for knowing what to do, just like it did when he got on a broom, this another knack he must have got from his father, and his father's father come to think about it, lucky bastards for getting to feel this and more than this but oh, fuck, Ginny, there can't be anything more than this.
Everything in him was evaporating, concentrating into nothing, mind gone, grief gone, forgetting not peace or flying but a burning line of lightning in his cock and no room for anything else but this and the push towards the end of this, the white-hot light at the end of the tunnel and he was getting there, pushing there, pushing against her hand and the friction and his head was tipped up and he could see the ceiling if he could see at all, almost there, forget, oh god, forget, the light overwhelming and wet blind eyes-
"Kiss me," Ginny says in that deep voice, Malfoy's voice, and Harry is looking but he doesn't believe what he sees, Ginny's hair white and short and silver ribbons on her, his, shoulders and floating to the floor but fuck, Ginny's hand still touching him, rubbing him harder, and the light relentless.
And when Malfoy kisses him it's with Ginny's mouth, wet and warm and distracting, something wrong there, something wrong with everything, a sour twist to the feeling but that good too, an extra something, a dirty shamed screaming for Harry to ignore, push away just like he's pushing against the hand.
Just like Malfoy pushes him, and Harry's back hits the wall with a thump and Malfoy follows him back, kissing him now like Ginny never had, hard and serious and putting thought into it and it's Malfoy but the light is too bright to see him and Harry's cock feels like it never had before and the lightning a part of it all, the lightning Malfoy's tongue in Harry's mouth and the feeling of something hard against his thigh that twitches when Harry rubs his knee against it accidentally.
Harry does it again, pushing back, wanting to move, wanting to break the world, rubbing it again, asking the world to please let him come, please, begging against the mouth, Ginny's mouth, Malfoy's mouth, who the fuck cares, please, please, please, but when he thrusts against the hand it's never enough, carefully not enough, evil bastard, but Harry's thigh keeps rubbing against Malfoy's cock and the poor thing must feel something like Harry's cock right now, even if it doesn't, rub rub rub for that, a fellow feeling push against the cock and oh, yes, the hand not quite as careful now, almost enough that time.
Harry is moving his thigh up and down now rhythmically against Malfoy's cock, smiling against Malfoy's mouth when Malfoy moans, it feels strange, not good, not bad, only power and the will to use it, the words making sense for once, and there's power in Harry's thigh rubbing back and forth and back and forth against Malfoy's cock, pretending its all accidental, his world dissolved in bright blurred heat and it's better than anything else has ever been but it has to be over soon, fuck, please, nobody's this evil.
Malfoy's hips are pushing forward to match Harry now and Harry's not being gentle at all, wanting to hurt, maybe that will make him stop being so fucking careful, ah, yes, almost, Harry thinks, almost got you, you bastard, just like this, do it just like this to me, please, please, oh, yes, harder, I'll show you, yes, push, let me, oh, please, fuck, a babble of wanting, everything swallowed by Malfoy's mouth and Malfoy saying things too now, garbled dark sounds that sound like threats and probably are, Harry swallowing them back, breathing violence, Malfoy's other hand pressing Harry into the wall, not trying to be careful anymore, pushing his hips against Harry's thigh, grinding himself hard and painful against Harry's thigh, his hand suddenly tighter and faster and more of everything that was already everything, perfect, yes, like that, please-
And Malfoy pulls his mouth away from Harry's and gasps, his eyes closed and his breath sounds like dying breath, like Harry's breath, like dying, yes, that's what this is, the light is more than the shadow now, more than Malfoy's hand, more than the hurt of stone against Harry's back, more than their hips moving together, pushing together, Harry trying to hurt or be hurt, anything, please, yes, Malfoy's hand crushed between them and Harry's thigh in there somewhere, couldn't stop it if he wanted to.
Oh god, Malfoy trembles, shakes, makes a noise like a cut off scream and Harry feels it when Malfoy comes, feels the push and shudder and sudden heat and dampness of cloth against cloth and that was him, his, for him,
just. no words.
- light heat pain forget, please forget, just for now, please lightning earthed and screaming and fuck, forgive me, mind going and body arched and pushing against Draco who was Malfoy and arms holding him tight and the world a thin film stretched tight and breakable over this feeling, and the Harry squeezes his eyes tight shut and the film breaks and light blinds and oh, god, this is forgetting, this is - mind gone, blank with something that stretches and pulls like taffy and holds and then -
Yes
- breaks, shudders and comes - and the light-
yesyes thank you yes
-fractures, lightning released, finally, yes, the long bright moment finally ending with a sharp sweet bitter twist of joy that brings the world back with its ending, Harry finding his teeth closed on cloth and his fingers curled in hair, and the darkness starting to flood in like syrup, slowly, dragging its feet, and Harry's face is pressed hard against a shoulder and his heart is beating again, thank god, and he remembers how to breathe, wasn't sure about that, and silence is settling like a surprise.
And there's a long moment like that before all the shadows come back and Harry remembers that this was Ginny, meant to be Ginny, and that Draco who was Malfoy has done something awful here, something unforgivable.
But Draco's eyelashes are dark and curling on his cheek, like the eyelashes of a pretty girl, and there are circles under his eyes and his mouth is soft and it might just be okay as long as Harry doesn't see Draco's eyes open or his mouth twist, just as long as Draco shuts up, this might all somehow be okay.
But Malfoy opens his eyes.
*****
Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now. At meals, he'll sit facing the wall, sandwiched between friends and well-wishers. He won't stay around to shower after Quiddich matches, which he'll win all the time, and everyone will say that he's going to break his neck one of these days, that the Snitch isn't worth dying for, everyone except Oliver Wood, who will say that he wishes he had ten more just like him.
______
Tell me what you think?
Ah, Sara. You're a bad influence on me. Thank you. *g*
Now this is porn. Harry/Draco porn, to be exact. Really, I swear. It's Harry/Draco. My only strange kind of stream-of-consciousness porn without plot, which can best be summarized thus: "Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now."
****
And I think the LJ people are just about to cut me off, so I'll wish you all good night. Besides, I do try to get to sleep before the sun comes up. I don't suceed all that often, but I hear that you get points for effort. And there have been rumors of some kind of shiny gold star...
Yes. You see? This is what happens.
And it's not my fault. *g*
You know, my entire life could be boiled down to that phrase: "I bought my canary a japanese cage... and the wood turned out to be poisonous. And it wasn't my fault." "I almost got married... but not. Not my fault." "I start story after story and they unfold like flowers in my mind and once I know where they're going I stop writing them, obviously, so... not my fault." I'm a victim of circumstances, and the beautiful part of that is that there are always circumstances. Nobody is a villain in their own story, as they say, but I can't say that I'm the hero either. I think of myself more as comic relief.
News, news, news:
I've fallen deeply in love with the world again, as I do on a semi-weekly basis. It's a good thing I live in the city, I tell you, because otherwise I would get nothing done. Every time I step outside the wind hits me like a hammer or the lines of the buildings are straight and perfect or there are puddles the color of ink on the sidewalk or... yeah.
I'm the person you see walking down the street moving my head like a bird, twiitching back and forth, puppy-eager and wide-eyed behind my sunglasses and looking slightly sophisticated with my blonde-blonde hair and black-on-black clothes and ruining it all by grinning at strangers and loving them for sharing the world with me, I'd hug them if I could, comfort them and grab their hair and tilt their heads back to show them the opal-purple mirror maze of glass buildings and clouded sky.
*sigh* I try not to do that. It frightens people.
Do you suppose there's any chance I could make a career of it? "Ash Jay: Tour Guide to the World". It'd be a very portable business, you know. I can show people things everywhere that tighten the chest like a finger run across parted lips, but I don't think people would come with me to see them. Maybe if I paid them.
Right. I need money. Lots of it.
*blinks* And once again, I've managed to say four paragraphs about a two sentence topic. That's a real gift I have here. Specifically, the kind of gift that people try to return the day after Christmas. (I'm thinking here of fruitcakes, but that may just be me. I've irritated a lot of salespeople in my day.)
I've been semi-productive over the last little while, so here's a bunch of things:
Pic
A colored-in version of aome's wonderful original pic. I love Plu's pic so much, and Plu even more so for letting me get my filthy little fingerprints all over it.
Fics
Ahaha. Yes. A few of those. Because ladies and gentlemen, that's just how lazy I am:
And, because addictedkitten enables me like you wouldn't believe, and go bug her for her new story now, really, go, go now, I actually wrote Harry/Draco.
This breaks my longtime vow not to write for pairings that actually have chemistry and screen time together. I'm more of a "they've never spoken a word to each other and aren't actually of the same species but I just know that they could be happy and possibly own cats together or maybe just stalk each other as a hobby, you know, 'us time' but with night vision goggles" kind of gal. (Jack/Samantha, Clarice/Hannibal, Natalie/Lacroix, Jareth/Sarah... catch the pattern?)
A Malfoy's Mercy, and Other Oxymorons
There was wind, and a moon.
Some time after that, there was screaming.
Before that, long before that, there was the forest. Where the tree trunks climbed like guardian statues, and even on a clear day you could see no further than four feet in front of your face before the world was mist, and cold, and possibility.
Of course, Harry thought bitterly, you didn't really want to see much further than that.
Because, while it was technically possible that anything in the whole world was out there in the mist, the reality was that Harry had so far determined that the Dark Forest held at least twenty eight creatures with more teeth than brain cells, and somewhat fewer take-away curry stands with an add-on magazine shelf and book rack.
The odds were against him.
"Is that one?"
Speaking of things with no brain cells, Harry thought.
"No," Harry said to Crabbe, not looking at the towering figure by his side. "That would be a stump. We're looking for mushrooms."
"Oh."
"They're smaller," Harry added helpfully. And waited.
"Is that one?"
"No. That's a stump again. In fact, I believe that's the *same* stump," Harry said patiently. He searched Crabbe's lumpy face for some sign of understanding, an experience very like trying to find the face of the Madonna in a bowl of oatmeal, and with only slightly less chance of succeeding.
"Crabbe," Malfoy's Voice said from somewhere off in the mist
Crabbe made a sound that Harry could only think of as a bark, a happy bark, but still a bark. If he'd had a tail, he would have wagged it in response to his Master's Voice.
Harry looked around warily. Yes, there was the mist, and the cold, and the trees, and that same twice-damned stump, and it really wasn't healthy that Harry was thinking of Malfoy's Voice in capital letters, he knew that, but he couldn't help it, and now Malfoy wasn't here but his Voice was, and that was just making it all that much creepier.
And Malfoy hadn't had detention today. And Crabbe hadn't argued about being partnered with Harry.
"Finding anything, Crabbe?" Malfoy's Voice said from behind them now, and Harry felt something like a visceral chill run down his spine.
Crabbe wasn't even smart enough to argue about his own execution, Harry told himself, and Malfoy was the type who'd go on nature walks through the Dark Forest just to take the air.
"I'm finding things, Draco," Crabbe said obediently, and Harry thought bitterly that that was a lie, that all they'd been finding was that same stump, over and over again, with Crabbe apparently feeling that same thrill of discovery each and every time.
And Crabbe had had them circling that stump for the past twenty minutes. And Malfoy wasn't really that stupid.
"Good," Malfoy said, him and his Voice moving closer together, in front of Harry now, appearing out of the mist like one of those maddening fool the eye puzzles, blue mist and black trees suddenly resolved into hair and face and smile cast gray by shadows, and Harry was definitely not staring.
"What's going on, Malfoy?" Harry said, hoping that his suspicious tone and narrowed eyes drove home the point that he hadn't been staring even a little bit, no, this was the patented Potter Glare of Death, so don't get any ideas, Malfoy. And stop *smiling* like that.
"Goyle?" Malfoy said, still smiling at Harry.
"Yes," a voice said from beside Harry, not a question, and Harry looked up beside him and into a face like a suet pudding.
No, Harry was about to say, this is *Crabbe*, remember, but Crabbe had been on his left and still was, actually, and this particular suet pudding face had small dark eyes like week-old grapes and that meant that it was Goyle. Crabbe on one side, Goyle on the other, Malfoy in front.
Harry went for his wand.
His hand grasped cloth, and what was either a very old peppermint or a very furry coin.
And Malfoy was still smiling at him.
Harry withdrew his hand from the pocket slowly, keeping his eyes on Malfoy. Not that Harry could do anything if Malfoy did try something, but still. It was the principle of the thing.
"Where's my wand?" Harry said, not really expecting an answer.
Malfoy shrugged. "Don't ask me, Potter. It's not my job to keep tabs on your personal possessions."
"Oh come on," Harry said with feeling. "As long as you're going to watch me all the time, Malfoy, couldn't you go the extra mile and watch my belongings as well? I lost a pocket watch last term that I was really quite fond of."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
Crabbe said, "The gold one?"
"Shut up," Malfoy said quickly.
Harry smiled, not meaning to, but it was just too perfect. He was trapped in the Dark Forest with Draco Malfoy and dark wizardry's answer to the Bobbsy twins, Malfoy was smiling at him all the time and the Voice was waiting in the wings, and Malfoy had been stealing his things.
Harry said, "You know, if you're running short of money, I could lend you some to tide you over."
And it just kept getting better. Somewhat hard to tell in the gray half-light, but Harry would have bet any amount that Malfoy was trying not to growl.
This was starting to be a theme, Harry thought dizzily. Between Malfoy growling and Crabbe wagging, maybe Harry's best plan for escape was to throw a stick as far as he could and yell, "Fetch!"
Oh god, I'm going to die, Harry thought then. They're going to kill me. One of these times I'm actually going to say one of these things out loud, and they're going to kill me. Right, I really need to get out of here.
"Well," Harry said, "since you haven't seen my wand, I'll just go look for it."
He nodded pleasantly to Crabbe, or maybe it was Goyle, smiled faintly at Goyle, or maybe it was Crabbe, and avoided looking at Malfoy as he began to casually back away.
He made it farther than he'd thought he'd get.
That is to say, about five feet.
And then Crabbe was in front of him, and Harry stopped just before he bumped into that barrel of a chest. He turned around and looked at where Malfoy had been, and had to blink twice rapidly because Malfoy was much closer now and not smiling anymore.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, directing a patient sort of smile in Malfoy's general direction. "Look," Harry said, "You're not going to kill me, not when everyone knows I was with Goyle - "
"Crabbe," Malfoy said.
"Whatever," Harry said. "And you can't do anything really serious to me, because using magic in here is like running the world's largest can opener in a house full of cats."
"Well, you have got me there, Potter," Malfoy admitted. "How clever of you."
Harry narrowed his eyes. He had felt clever, 'had' being the operative word. And Malfoy was smiling again, looking far too pleased with himself for Harry's own good.
"Right," Harry said slowly. "So why don't you give me back my wand - "
-maybe he's got some sort of charm to hide the magic, maybe he's going to Crucio me until I beg to die-
"-and tell your friends here to get out of my way-"
-or something to break the 'no apparating' rule and any second now Voldemort and his body du jour are going to appear with Death Eaters in tow, probably they'll cut my head off on that same blasted stump-
"-and I can go find my mushrooms and you can all go off and bother somebody else." Harry finished in a voice that was only slightly higher than the one he's started with.
"That sounds like an excellent idea," Malfoy said, "but unfortunately we have other plans for the evening. So do you."
Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that Malfoy wasn't talking about a game of Wizard's Chess and a warm cup of cocoa before bed.
"You're my enemy, Malfoy, not my social planner," Harry managed to say with something approaching confidence, "I'll make my own plans, if you don't mind."
"Ah, but I do," Malfoy says in the Voice, dark and curling around the edges, and Harry takes an involuntary step back. Malfoy smiled wider, and there were traces of the Voice in the smile now, and Harry began to seriously consider making a run for it.
"Gentlemen?" Malfoy continued, looking at Crabbe and Goyle. "Now."
"Now?" Harry said, eyeing the stump nervously.
"Now," Crabbe and Goyle echoed.
Five busy seconds later, Harry found himself three feet off the ground and moving rapidly in a horizontal direction.
Crabbe and Goyle each had one of his arms and were carrying him rather as though he was a large and awkward piece of furniture, perhaps a writing desk, although writing desks weren't normally gagged with a piece of their own robe torn off and stuffed in their mouth. Neither of them looked at him as they ran through the forest after Malfoy.
In retrospect, Harry thought as he tucked his feet up to avoid hitting them on the ground, he probably should have made a run for it.
___
End Part One
Sara asked me for porn. This is not porn. I don't know what the hell this is, but it's strange and moving towards Harry/Draco and... yeah. The title should give you a feel for the fic as a whole.
Forget
Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now. At meals, he'll sit facing the wall, sandwiched between friends and well-wishers. He won't stay around to shower after Quiddich matches, which he'll win all the time, and everyone will say that he's going to break his neck one of these days, that the Snitch isn't worth dying for, everyone except Oliver Wood, who will say that he wishes he had ten more just like him.
*****
"Kiss me, Harry," Ginny says, and her lips are tempting.
Harry has spent a long time saying no to her, he thinks, and she's pretty tonight, prettier than he's ever seen her with so many silver ribbons in her hair and a half-smile on her face and looking small and fragile inside a too-big robe passed down from one of her brothers.
"Kiss me," Ginny says again, and she wouldn't care if he got it wrong because he's never done it before, she'd probably like that, and she won't sell the story to a newspaper or brag around school, she just wants him to kiss her, that's all, just his mouth on hers. He can do that.
And then Harry's mouth is on Ginny's mouth, and Ginny's mouth is closed and soft and dry and interesting. Hermione would laugh at him, Harry thinks. Because his blood is pounding and he's suddenly, unbearably, nervous with his closed dry lips chaste on hers.
This isn't hard, he can do this, but he should be doing something with his hands, shouldn't he? Putting them on her shoulders or something, so he settles them there and she makes a small pleased noise and shifts under his hands and his fingers tighten by themselves on her shoulders and her mouth is -
God yes.
-opening under his and -
Fuck, yes.
-he's moving his mouth against hers, opening his mouth on hers though he hadn't meant to, waiting for her to stop him. She's not stopping him though, and he can feel all the blood in his body rushing to his frightened mouth and the hurting palms of his hands where they touch her shoulders and moving between his legs and settling there into an ache.
Ginny sways just a little and pushes her knee against - ah, Harry breathes into her mouth, a silent gasp that should have been a scream, that better than anything so far, even if she hadn't done it on purpose, even if she'd never do it again - fuck, she did it again, fuck, Harry thinks, it was a bad word to say, but maybe not to think, maybe that was the only word right for this. She had to know what she was doing, has she done this before oh god, it doesn't matter, nothing in the world matters like this, like that, like whatever she's doing now, that's it, this is it, this is -
Harry pushes away from Ginny because he wants to pull her closer and wanting is dangerous and not stopping is dangerous and stopping is worse than anything because she's looking at him like… he doesn't know, like she wants him, like she hadn't wanted him to stop, and that's dangerous too because he sure as hell doesn't want to stop either, hell another alien word in his mind, but fitting, and hell he thinks again when she licks her lips.
"Take off your robe, Harry," Ginny says in a voice deeper than it should be, and that does something to him too, tightens some knot they've been building together that goes right from his brain to between his legs, to his cock, he thinks, surely if he can have one he can think about it, think about his cock down there getting hard and ready for something he's not at all ready for himself.
Harry is going to tell her to leave now, he is. Ginny isn't ready for this either, surely not, but even if she is, and wouldn't that be interesting, but she's not and he's not, so she's going to have to go back to her safe little bed in the girls' dorm and forget that she ever followed him up into the boys' dorm full of empty beds and moonlight.
They should both forget, Harry thinks, and he pushes the robe off his shoulders and feels it slither down him like a hand, falling to the floor, and he kicks it aside.
Ginny smiles at him, and in that same deep disturbing voice she says, "Kiss me again, Harry," and puts her hand on his pants, on his cock and Harry sucks in a breath so hard that he almost chokes, because it's not like his own hand at all, it's a surprise in so many ways, sneaking up on him and wham, right between the eyes and ah, a flash of light in his mind and between his legs. Ginny is still talking, he was supposed to do something, and he doesn't remember grabbing her wrist but he must have because he's holding it in place when she tries to pull her hand away and oh, right, she wants him to kiss her. Right.
(Fuck, she tightens her grip just a little and Harry thinks he's going to come right then, in his pants in her hand in her mouth warm and wet and moving, her tongue thrusting in his mouth all mixed up with the movement of her hand and he's squeezed his eyes shut and somehow can't let go of her wrist because she can't, she simply can't take it away now that she's put it there)
Harry can't stop thinking of questions even now, like how did she know how to, yes, touch him like that, just a, ah, little, like that, yes, maybe everyone know about this but him, maybe she, Ginny, he reminds himself, could teach him, please, he'd pay her, she'll never have to worry about money again, but she really can't stop now, not ever, not now, it wouldn't be fair, she has to see that.
It wouldn't be polite, and Ginny is always polite to him, and Harry is moving against her hand and her mouth and is dimly proud of his body for knowing what to do, just like it did when he got on a broom, this another knack he must have got from his father, and his father's father come to think about it, lucky bastards for getting to feel this and more than this but oh, fuck, Ginny, there can't be anything more than this.
Everything in him was evaporating, concentrating into nothing, mind gone, grief gone, forgetting not peace or flying but a burning line of lightning in his cock and no room for anything else but this and the push towards the end of this, the white-hot light at the end of the tunnel and he was getting there, pushing there, pushing against her hand and the friction and his head was tipped up and he could see the ceiling if he could see at all, almost there, forget, oh god, forget, the light overwhelming and wet blind eyes-
"Kiss me," Ginny says in that deep voice, Malfoy's voice, and Harry is looking but he doesn't believe what he sees, Ginny's hair white and short and silver ribbons on her, his, shoulders and floating to the floor but fuck, Ginny's hand still touching him, rubbing him harder, and the light relentless.
And when Malfoy kisses him it's with Ginny's mouth, wet and warm and distracting, something wrong there, something wrong with everything, a sour twist to the feeling but that good too, an extra something, a dirty shamed screaming for Harry to ignore, push away just like he's pushing against the hand.
Just like Malfoy pushes him, and Harry's back hits the wall with a thump and Malfoy follows him back, kissing him now like Ginny never had, hard and serious and putting thought into it and it's Malfoy but the light is too bright to see him and Harry's cock feels like it never had before and the lightning a part of it all, the lightning Malfoy's tongue in Harry's mouth and the feeling of something hard against his thigh that twitches when Harry rubs his knee against it accidentally.
Harry does it again, pushing back, wanting to move, wanting to break the world, rubbing it again, asking the world to please let him come, please, begging against the mouth, Ginny's mouth, Malfoy's mouth, who the fuck cares, please, please, please, but when he thrusts against the hand it's never enough, carefully not enough, evil bastard, but Harry's thigh keeps rubbing against Malfoy's cock and the poor thing must feel something like Harry's cock right now, even if it doesn't, rub rub rub for that, a fellow feeling push against the cock and oh, yes, the hand not quite as careful now, almost enough that time.
Harry is moving his thigh up and down now rhythmically against Malfoy's cock, smiling against Malfoy's mouth when Malfoy moans, it feels strange, not good, not bad, only power and the will to use it, the words making sense for once, and there's power in Harry's thigh rubbing back and forth and back and forth against Malfoy's cock, pretending its all accidental, his world dissolved in bright blurred heat and it's better than anything else has ever been but it has to be over soon, fuck, please, nobody's this evil.
Malfoy's hips are pushing forward to match Harry now and Harry's not being gentle at all, wanting to hurt, maybe that will make him stop being so fucking careful, ah, yes, almost, Harry thinks, almost got you, you bastard, just like this, do it just like this to me, please, please, oh, yes, harder, I'll show you, yes, push, let me, oh, please, fuck, a babble of wanting, everything swallowed by Malfoy's mouth and Malfoy saying things too now, garbled dark sounds that sound like threats and probably are, Harry swallowing them back, breathing violence, Malfoy's other hand pressing Harry into the wall, not trying to be careful anymore, pushing his hips against Harry's thigh, grinding himself hard and painful against Harry's thigh, his hand suddenly tighter and faster and more of everything that was already everything, perfect, yes, like that, please-
And Malfoy pulls his mouth away from Harry's and gasps, his eyes closed and his breath sounds like dying breath, like Harry's breath, like dying, yes, that's what this is, the light is more than the shadow now, more than Malfoy's hand, more than the hurt of stone against Harry's back, more than their hips moving together, pushing together, Harry trying to hurt or be hurt, anything, please, yes, Malfoy's hand crushed between them and Harry's thigh in there somewhere, couldn't stop it if he wanted to.
Oh god, Malfoy trembles, shakes, makes a noise like a cut off scream and Harry feels it when Malfoy comes, feels the push and shudder and sudden heat and dampness of cloth against cloth and that was him, his, for him,
just. no words.
- light heat pain forget, please forget, just for now, please lightning earthed and screaming and fuck, forgive me, mind going and body arched and pushing against Draco who was Malfoy and arms holding him tight and the world a thin film stretched tight and breakable over this feeling, and the Harry squeezes his eyes tight shut and the film breaks and light blinds and oh, god, this is forgetting, this is - mind gone, blank with something that stretches and pulls like taffy and holds and then -
Yes
- breaks, shudders and comes - and the light-
yesyes thank you yes
-fractures, lightning released, finally, yes, the long bright moment finally ending with a sharp sweet bitter twist of joy that brings the world back with its ending, Harry finding his teeth closed on cloth and his fingers curled in hair, and the darkness starting to flood in like syrup, slowly, dragging its feet, and Harry's face is pressed hard against a shoulder and his heart is beating again, thank god, and he remembers how to breathe, wasn't sure about that, and silence is settling like a surprise.
And there's a long moment like that before all the shadows come back and Harry remembers that this was Ginny, meant to be Ginny, and that Draco who was Malfoy has done something awful here, something unforgivable.
But Draco's eyelashes are dark and curling on his cheek, like the eyelashes of a pretty girl, and there are circles under his eyes and his mouth is soft and it might just be okay as long as Harry doesn't see Draco's eyes open or his mouth twist, just as long as Draco shuts up, this might all somehow be okay.
But Malfoy opens his eyes.
*****
Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now. At meals, he'll sit facing the wall, sandwiched between friends and well-wishers. He won't stay around to shower after Quiddich matches, which he'll win all the time, and everyone will say that he's going to break his neck one of these days, that the Snitch isn't worth dying for, everyone except Oliver Wood, who will say that he wishes he had ten more just like him.
______
Tell me what you think?
Ah, Sara. You're a bad influence on me. Thank you. *g*
Now this is porn. Harry/Draco porn, to be exact. Really, I swear. It's Harry/Draco. My only strange kind of stream-of-consciousness porn without plot, which can best be summarized thus: "Harry will spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room now."
****
And I think the LJ people are just about to cut me off, so I'll wish you all good night. Besides, I do try to get to sleep before the sun comes up. I don't suceed all that often, but I hear that you get points for effort. And there have been rumors of some kind of shiny gold star...