Fic: Hogwarts: A Musical History (2600, R)
Title: Hogwarts: A Musical History
Author: fat_teaspoon
Beta: delay_mundane
Word count: 2600
Rating: R (for language, mostly)
Warnings: very very silly. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Author’s notes: Written for alovelycupoftea as a present for her while she’s in hospital. It was her who encouraged me to post it here (specifically, she said you’re all very lovely and friendly!) She’s doing fine, by the way, and it’s great to see her back from hiatus.
Harry’s phone rang as he was napping on the sofa in his dressing room. Blearily, he stretched out a pyjama-clad arm. Sophie, his agent. That had to be a bad sign; she knew he napped between shows, and was cranky when disturbed.
‘Harry? You awake?’ Sophie always barked down the phone, sounding like a high-pitched Rottweiler.
‘Yeah…’
‘Listen, I know you don’t like being woken, but I thought you’d want to know. Your dresser’s had an accident.’
Argh, that sucked. Harry was convinced that Lisa was the only person who could navigate him through the six changes required for his current show, three of which had to be done in under a minute.
‘Um..’ Harry began, not entirely sure what he was going to say. Thankfully, he was interrupted by Sophie.
‘Now, we’ve got you the best, so don’t worry. This guy’s done everything, worked with all the big names, Wizard and Muggle. He’ll be over in ten minutes to get started, so don’t go back to sleep.’
*
When Harry thought about it, he really had no idea how he’d ended up in musical theatre. For someone who had been famous and infamous enough to last most people for three lifetimes, it seemed like the last career to choose. In some ways though, it helped to be known for something else. And sometimes fans became attached to his characters rather than to him, which let the famous Harry Potter take his life back a little. For the first few years, Hermione had worked as his agent, getting him auditions and tests for small shows, mostly plays, just outside the West End. She’d also persuaded him to get some voice training, which had at first been a disaster, but gradually had developed his voice to the point where he was able to take his current job; Hogwarts: A Musical History.
The producers had been desperate to get him. Harry Potter, in Hogwarts, it was a winning combination. His stellar acting skills made up for his frankly average voice, and the chemistry between him and leading lady Luna Lovegood was startling. The start of that gig (and hopefully his West End career) had coincided with Hermione’s first pregnancy, which was how he’d ended up with Sophie the Rottweiler.
*
The knock on the door brought him back to the present. Shit, no Lisa, demanding show, Saturday night full house, already tired and feeling cranky. What the hell had happened to her anyway? How bad did it have to be for her not to be there? Anything less than a broken leg was not ok, Harry decided.
The knocker knocked again, somehow managing to make a simple tap-tap sound impatient, and Harry realised he hadn’t in fact made it off the sofa.
He hauled himself up, thinking that he really needed to pull himself together before the evening show. Harry opened the door, and damn nearly closed it again when he saw the man standing outside. His eyes battled his brain for a moment as he tried to process the sight. Draco Malfoy, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and white linen trousers. Draco Malfoy, his grey eyes glinting out from beneath a carefully tousled blond fringe. Draco Malfoy, with a slight smile curving his mouth as he watched Harry battle for control.
Harry was gay, of course. And open. It was easy in the theatre, and he’d worked out his own sexuality very shortly after leaving school. He’d had a few brief flings, and a couple of longer relationships, and had slowly come to accept that the men he went for had a tendency to be platinum blond, and if they had grey eyes and a sneering manner, so much the better. He did wonder sometimes if there was something odd about fantasising about his school day nemesis, but given that he was never likely to see Malfoy it didn’t seem to matter.
Now, though? The man was standing in his dressing room doorway, for goodness sake. And shortly intending to become intimate with Harry’s person.
‘Potter.’ Malfoy’s voice recalled Harry to the present.
‘Uh, yeah. Do you want to, ah, come in?’
Malfoy grinned. ‘I think I’m going to have to, if we’re going to get you on stage, don’t you?’
As the evening progressed, Harry became more and more convinced that Malfoy was deliberately winding him up. His teasing smiles and sly glances, coupled with gentle and smooth hands were making Harry utterly distracted. When he saw Malfoy standing in the wings during the final number (Hogwarts, Hogwarts) it was almost enough to make him lose a line, and he would definitely have stumbled if he hadn’t been hanging onto Luna. Glancing sideways, she saw the direction of his gaze, and raised a small eyebrow at him.
Harry could practically feel the amusement radiating off Luna throughout their bows and curtain call. The audience was appreciative, and normally he would have enjoyed giving them a little extra for their money, but tonight his stomach was tied in knots, wondering how he was going to deal with being undressed by Draco. Draco? Malfoy. They weren’t friends, they didn’t know one another and he sure as hell was ‘Potter’, not ‘Harry’.
Harry stood, sat, turned and moved at Malfoy’s request through the time it took to get him out of his costume (a particularly complex many-layered outfit), and into a comfy t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He then sat in front of his mirror while Malfoy murmured the spells to return his hair to its normal colour and length, and remove his make-up. (Wig caps and cold cream, two disadvantages to working in Muggle theatre).
The silence was beginning to become uncomfortable, especially as Lisa was in the habit of yattering, a pleasing sort of babble which soothed Harry, and calmed his adrenaline soaked body and mind.
‘Ah, Potter?’ Malfoy’s voice was soft, and he sounded a little uncertain.
Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy’s in the mirror.
‘Sorry. You must be tired, I know. But, I was wondering. It seems a shame, not to say impractical, to go on being foul to each other, as we were in school. I mean, we have to work together for a while now, and - ‘
‘Thank fuck’, Harry blurted, without really thinking at all. ‘Shit, sorry. It’s just, I was really worried you were going to be the same poncey git you were in school. Crap, that came out all wrong - I didn’t mean to insult you, I just - ‘
‘It’s alright’. Malfoy’s smile was wry. ‘I was hoping you weren’t the same inconsiderate, blundering ape you were in school.’
Harry grinned back at him.
‘Oh, and by the way? My name is Draco.’
Harry turned in his chair, and stuck out his right hand. ‘Nice to meet you Draco. I’m Harry.’
That night, Harry and Draco left the theatre together, Draco intending to head for the public Floo (housed in a nearby boarded up Muggle public convenience), and Harry for the nearest Apparition point, a short walk away (and located, amusingly, behind a seriously tatty Muggle sex shop). First however, they had to run the gauntlet of the fans who came to see Harry.
He didn’t particularly mind being stage doored, and was generally happy to sign all manner of strange things, and answer (or deflect) personal questions from strangers. Some nights though, there would be crowds of Romilda Vane esque girls, proffering drinks, cakes, chocolate and ludicrously expensive gifts. Some even attempted to throw love spells in his direction, and he’d learned to cast a long-lasting Protego type charm before leaving the theatre, even though the spells bouncing back into the crowd tended to cause alarm.
Tonight, the crowd around the door was smaller than usual, and so Harry guessed that Luna had already left, and her fans (a mixture of old ladies, butch girls and emo boys), had gone. As Harry emerged there was the standard flurry of squealing, waving, squabbling, shoving, and sighing.
As feared, there was a bevy of young witches towards the front of the barrier, almost fighting with one another to try to touch Harry. He passed them as quickly as possible, and began signing programmes and exchanging wand sparks with the crowd.
Draco was clearly surprised by the commotion. ‘Shit,’ he murmured. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘Well, this is kind of a quiet night, really, ‘ Harry replied. ‘Haven’t you seen this before?’
‘I usually leave after the cast. And they do have fans, but mostly not terrifying ones like these.’
‘Draco Malfoy, terrified of some silly girls. Who’d have thought?’ Harry mocked Draco gently before noticing that his stance was tense, and he was holding his wand in a vice-like grip by his side. ‘You don’t have to wait for me, you know. If it bothers you I mean.’
‘I’ll wait.’ Draco sounded grim.
Harry quickened his pace a little, wanting to move past the crowd so that Draco might feel more comfortable. He wasn’t sure where this odd sense of caring had come from, but he did feel strangely responsible for the other man. Perhaps because he was so clearly freaked out by the fan-girling.
As they neared the end of the queue, the doorman stepped in to stop anyone from following Harry and Draco down the street. As he did so, Harry noted a slight, pale girl draw her wand, pointing directly at him. Feeling safe in his invisible Protego, Harry didn’t react. As the girl called ‘Amor’, Draco raised his wand, and cast a protective spell so powerful that both of them were knocked backwards off their feet into the wall of the theatre.
Harry’s head hit the wall with an audible thud, and he stopped taking an interest in proceedings, only fuzzily noticing the doorman hustling the young witch away, and a gang of stage crew appearing to clear the crowd. His first real return to reality was noticing Draco kneeling next to him, looking contrite.
‘Fuck, Harry, are you ok? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to be that powerful, I was just worried for you, I - ’
Harry raised a feeble hand to stop the babbling, which Draco grasped as if it were a lifebelt. ‘It’s ok, Draco, I’m fine. Although, you should know, I do cast a charm myself before I leave, having no desire to fall in love with any silly witch.’
‘Mr Potter?’ It was Charles, the doorman, speaking. ‘Are you alright? Would you like me to call someone to take you home? Or get your head looked at?’
‘Oh no, thanks, really, I’m fine,’ Harry said quickly, having no desire to visit St. Mungos.
‘Are you sure? Because if you don’t mind me saying, sir, I’m not sure you ought to go home alone.’
Draco spoke up. ‘It’s alright. I’ll take him with me.’
Feeling that he wasn’t going to get away with less, and that this was at least better than the hospital, Harry acquiesced, and allowed Draco to support him down the street to the Floo.
Harry didn’t generally use the Floo, having never really conquered his inability to use it gracefully, and so Draco had to show him how to step through the boarding, with its prominent ‘closed for repairs, sorry for any inconvenience’ signs, and help himself to Floo powder from the soap dispenser. The fireplace turned out to be concealed behind the urinal, which struck Harry as somewhat odd. Fortunately, it was large enough for them both to travel together.
Stumbling out of the other end, Harry came shamefully close to accidentally dragging Draco down onto the Aubusson with him. His last memory was of being hustled into a sumptuous bed and handed a headache potion.
Typical Malfoy, was Harry’s first thought, upon waking and taking in the king size four poster, complete with dark green Egyptian cotton linen. The addition of the elegant furniture, high ceiling and long sweeping curtains made Harry suspect that he was in a somewhat upmarket part of town. The clock on the mantelpiece told him he’d slept a good ten hours, which probably explained why he felt wide awake, albeit very grateful he didn’t have to work today.
Swinging his legs out of bed, he discovered that Draco had put him to sleep in his clothes, which were damn near pyjamas anyway, but had left him a fluffy robe and towels. Pulling on the robe he padded out of the bedroom, seeking first relief for his full bladder, followed closely by a cup of tea. He didn’t expect to see Draco, somehow imagining him to be a late riser.
Seeking the bathroom, Harry opened doors at random, but carefully, lest he disturb his host. The flat seemed to be one long corridor, with several rooms either side. On his first go he got a room that seemed a cross between study and library. On the second he got lucky, and found a beautiful bathroom. Having taken the opportunity to splash his sleepy face with cold water he headed off again, this time in search of the kitchen.
His next exploration took him into a small room containing little furniture, which at first glance seemed to be papered in a very lurid pattern. On second look, the morning sunlight showed Harry his own face, staring bemusedly down from every wall, over and over. He almost turned and ran, the surprise being too much for pre-cup of tea Sunday morning. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he stepped forward into the room. The garish wallpaper turned out, on closer inspection, to be repeated copies of posters from all the productions he’d played in. One wall was covered in ArtProphet reviews, although Harry noted that he couldn’t see any of the bad ones. A table under the window held copies of all his programmes, and as a finishing touch, the costume that Harry remembered wearing in Macbeth; the Truth, was hanging on the opposite wall.
So Draco liked him then? Harry mentally shook his head; what a stupid thing to think, clearly Draco liked him. The question was, was he gay admirer, ardent fan or crazed stalker? He’d come a long way from his schooldays, he reflected. Back then he would have hexed Draco first, and asked questions later. A gasp behind him shook him from his meditations.
‘Oh, Merlin, no… Harry, it’s not what you think, I promise.’ Draco was stood in the doorway looking panicked, and still half asleep, his blond hair sticking up in adorable tousled spikes. He was really hoping for gay admirer, Harry realised. Oh well, only one way to find out.
He stalked towards Draco, a predatory half smile curving his lips. ‘Oh really? What is it that I think?’
Draco backed away, into the corridor, and was brought up short by the wall opposite. His eyes still showed panic, but his mouth was beginning to quirk with a small smile of his own. Harry continued to move towards him, until his body was pressed against Draco’s, and his face an inch from his. It occurred to him that if he was wrong about this, Sophie was going to be bloody pissed off.
Taking the plunge, he shifted sideways, and pressed one leg firmly in between Draco’s. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was relieved to feel the other man’s erection against his hip. Grinning, he claimed Draco’s mouth in a hard kiss. He ran his tongue along the other’s lips, and Draco’s mouth fell open, and his head back. Gleefully, Harry pushed his tongue into Draco’s mouth, and felt him tentatively push back. After a long moment, Harry pulled away, and met Draco’s eyes with a teasing glance.
‘Please, Draco, do tell me what I think.’
Fin.
Author: fat_teaspoon
Beta: delay_mundane
Word count: 2600
Rating: R (for language, mostly)
Warnings: very very silly. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Author’s notes: Written for alovelycupoftea as a present for her while she’s in hospital. It was her who encouraged me to post it here (specifically, she said you’re all very lovely and friendly!) She’s doing fine, by the way, and it’s great to see her back from hiatus.
Harry’s phone rang as he was napping on the sofa in his dressing room. Blearily, he stretched out a pyjama-clad arm. Sophie, his agent. That had to be a bad sign; she knew he napped between shows, and was cranky when disturbed.
‘Harry? You awake?’ Sophie always barked down the phone, sounding like a high-pitched Rottweiler.
‘Yeah…’
‘Listen, I know you don’t like being woken, but I thought you’d want to know. Your dresser’s had an accident.’
Argh, that sucked. Harry was convinced that Lisa was the only person who could navigate him through the six changes required for his current show, three of which had to be done in under a minute.
‘Um..’ Harry began, not entirely sure what he was going to say. Thankfully, he was interrupted by Sophie.
‘Now, we’ve got you the best, so don’t worry. This guy’s done everything, worked with all the big names, Wizard and Muggle. He’ll be over in ten minutes to get started, so don’t go back to sleep.’
*
When Harry thought about it, he really had no idea how he’d ended up in musical theatre. For someone who had been famous and infamous enough to last most people for three lifetimes, it seemed like the last career to choose. In some ways though, it helped to be known for something else. And sometimes fans became attached to his characters rather than to him, which let the famous Harry Potter take his life back a little. For the first few years, Hermione had worked as his agent, getting him auditions and tests for small shows, mostly plays, just outside the West End. She’d also persuaded him to get some voice training, which had at first been a disaster, but gradually had developed his voice to the point where he was able to take his current job; Hogwarts: A Musical History.
The producers had been desperate to get him. Harry Potter, in Hogwarts, it was a winning combination. His stellar acting skills made up for his frankly average voice, and the chemistry between him and leading lady Luna Lovegood was startling. The start of that gig (and hopefully his West End career) had coincided with Hermione’s first pregnancy, which was how he’d ended up with Sophie the Rottweiler.
*
The knock on the door brought him back to the present. Shit, no Lisa, demanding show, Saturday night full house, already tired and feeling cranky. What the hell had happened to her anyway? How bad did it have to be for her not to be there? Anything less than a broken leg was not ok, Harry decided.
The knocker knocked again, somehow managing to make a simple tap-tap sound impatient, and Harry realised he hadn’t in fact made it off the sofa.
He hauled himself up, thinking that he really needed to pull himself together before the evening show. Harry opened the door, and damn nearly closed it again when he saw the man standing outside. His eyes battled his brain for a moment as he tried to process the sight. Draco Malfoy, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and white linen trousers. Draco Malfoy, his grey eyes glinting out from beneath a carefully tousled blond fringe. Draco Malfoy, with a slight smile curving his mouth as he watched Harry battle for control.
Harry was gay, of course. And open. It was easy in the theatre, and he’d worked out his own sexuality very shortly after leaving school. He’d had a few brief flings, and a couple of longer relationships, and had slowly come to accept that the men he went for had a tendency to be platinum blond, and if they had grey eyes and a sneering manner, so much the better. He did wonder sometimes if there was something odd about fantasising about his school day nemesis, but given that he was never likely to see Malfoy it didn’t seem to matter.
Now, though? The man was standing in his dressing room doorway, for goodness sake. And shortly intending to become intimate with Harry’s person.
‘Potter.’ Malfoy’s voice recalled Harry to the present.
‘Uh, yeah. Do you want to, ah, come in?’
Malfoy grinned. ‘I think I’m going to have to, if we’re going to get you on stage, don’t you?’
As the evening progressed, Harry became more and more convinced that Malfoy was deliberately winding him up. His teasing smiles and sly glances, coupled with gentle and smooth hands were making Harry utterly distracted. When he saw Malfoy standing in the wings during the final number (Hogwarts, Hogwarts) it was almost enough to make him lose a line, and he would definitely have stumbled if he hadn’t been hanging onto Luna. Glancing sideways, she saw the direction of his gaze, and raised a small eyebrow at him.
Harry could practically feel the amusement radiating off Luna throughout their bows and curtain call. The audience was appreciative, and normally he would have enjoyed giving them a little extra for their money, but tonight his stomach was tied in knots, wondering how he was going to deal with being undressed by Draco. Draco? Malfoy. They weren’t friends, they didn’t know one another and he sure as hell was ‘Potter’, not ‘Harry’.
Harry stood, sat, turned and moved at Malfoy’s request through the time it took to get him out of his costume (a particularly complex many-layered outfit), and into a comfy t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He then sat in front of his mirror while Malfoy murmured the spells to return his hair to its normal colour and length, and remove his make-up. (Wig caps and cold cream, two disadvantages to working in Muggle theatre).
The silence was beginning to become uncomfortable, especially as Lisa was in the habit of yattering, a pleasing sort of babble which soothed Harry, and calmed his adrenaline soaked body and mind.
‘Ah, Potter?’ Malfoy’s voice was soft, and he sounded a little uncertain.
Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy’s in the mirror.
‘Sorry. You must be tired, I know. But, I was wondering. It seems a shame, not to say impractical, to go on being foul to each other, as we were in school. I mean, we have to work together for a while now, and - ‘
‘Thank fuck’, Harry blurted, without really thinking at all. ‘Shit, sorry. It’s just, I was really worried you were going to be the same poncey git you were in school. Crap, that came out all wrong - I didn’t mean to insult you, I just - ‘
‘It’s alright’. Malfoy’s smile was wry. ‘I was hoping you weren’t the same inconsiderate, blundering ape you were in school.’
Harry grinned back at him.
‘Oh, and by the way? My name is Draco.’
Harry turned in his chair, and stuck out his right hand. ‘Nice to meet you Draco. I’m Harry.’
That night, Harry and Draco left the theatre together, Draco intending to head for the public Floo (housed in a nearby boarded up Muggle public convenience), and Harry for the nearest Apparition point, a short walk away (and located, amusingly, behind a seriously tatty Muggle sex shop). First however, they had to run the gauntlet of the fans who came to see Harry.
He didn’t particularly mind being stage doored, and was generally happy to sign all manner of strange things, and answer (or deflect) personal questions from strangers. Some nights though, there would be crowds of Romilda Vane esque girls, proffering drinks, cakes, chocolate and ludicrously expensive gifts. Some even attempted to throw love spells in his direction, and he’d learned to cast a long-lasting Protego type charm before leaving the theatre, even though the spells bouncing back into the crowd tended to cause alarm.
Tonight, the crowd around the door was smaller than usual, and so Harry guessed that Luna had already left, and her fans (a mixture of old ladies, butch girls and emo boys), had gone. As Harry emerged there was the standard flurry of squealing, waving, squabbling, shoving, and sighing.
As feared, there was a bevy of young witches towards the front of the barrier, almost fighting with one another to try to touch Harry. He passed them as quickly as possible, and began signing programmes and exchanging wand sparks with the crowd.
Draco was clearly surprised by the commotion. ‘Shit,’ he murmured. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘Well, this is kind of a quiet night, really, ‘ Harry replied. ‘Haven’t you seen this before?’
‘I usually leave after the cast. And they do have fans, but mostly not terrifying ones like these.’
‘Draco Malfoy, terrified of some silly girls. Who’d have thought?’ Harry mocked Draco gently before noticing that his stance was tense, and he was holding his wand in a vice-like grip by his side. ‘You don’t have to wait for me, you know. If it bothers you I mean.’
‘I’ll wait.’ Draco sounded grim.
Harry quickened his pace a little, wanting to move past the crowd so that Draco might feel more comfortable. He wasn’t sure where this odd sense of caring had come from, but he did feel strangely responsible for the other man. Perhaps because he was so clearly freaked out by the fan-girling.
As they neared the end of the queue, the doorman stepped in to stop anyone from following Harry and Draco down the street. As he did so, Harry noted a slight, pale girl draw her wand, pointing directly at him. Feeling safe in his invisible Protego, Harry didn’t react. As the girl called ‘Amor’, Draco raised his wand, and cast a protective spell so powerful that both of them were knocked backwards off their feet into the wall of the theatre.
Harry’s head hit the wall with an audible thud, and he stopped taking an interest in proceedings, only fuzzily noticing the doorman hustling the young witch away, and a gang of stage crew appearing to clear the crowd. His first real return to reality was noticing Draco kneeling next to him, looking contrite.
‘Fuck, Harry, are you ok? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to be that powerful, I was just worried for you, I - ’
Harry raised a feeble hand to stop the babbling, which Draco grasped as if it were a lifebelt. ‘It’s ok, Draco, I’m fine. Although, you should know, I do cast a charm myself before I leave, having no desire to fall in love with any silly witch.’
‘Mr Potter?’ It was Charles, the doorman, speaking. ‘Are you alright? Would you like me to call someone to take you home? Or get your head looked at?’
‘Oh no, thanks, really, I’m fine,’ Harry said quickly, having no desire to visit St. Mungos.
‘Are you sure? Because if you don’t mind me saying, sir, I’m not sure you ought to go home alone.’
Draco spoke up. ‘It’s alright. I’ll take him with me.’
Feeling that he wasn’t going to get away with less, and that this was at least better than the hospital, Harry acquiesced, and allowed Draco to support him down the street to the Floo.
Harry didn’t generally use the Floo, having never really conquered his inability to use it gracefully, and so Draco had to show him how to step through the boarding, with its prominent ‘closed for repairs, sorry for any inconvenience’ signs, and help himself to Floo powder from the soap dispenser. The fireplace turned out to be concealed behind the urinal, which struck Harry as somewhat odd. Fortunately, it was large enough for them both to travel together.
Stumbling out of the other end, Harry came shamefully close to accidentally dragging Draco down onto the Aubusson with him. His last memory was of being hustled into a sumptuous bed and handed a headache potion.
Typical Malfoy, was Harry’s first thought, upon waking and taking in the king size four poster, complete with dark green Egyptian cotton linen. The addition of the elegant furniture, high ceiling and long sweeping curtains made Harry suspect that he was in a somewhat upmarket part of town. The clock on the mantelpiece told him he’d slept a good ten hours, which probably explained why he felt wide awake, albeit very grateful he didn’t have to work today.
Swinging his legs out of bed, he discovered that Draco had put him to sleep in his clothes, which were damn near pyjamas anyway, but had left him a fluffy robe and towels. Pulling on the robe he padded out of the bedroom, seeking first relief for his full bladder, followed closely by a cup of tea. He didn’t expect to see Draco, somehow imagining him to be a late riser.
Seeking the bathroom, Harry opened doors at random, but carefully, lest he disturb his host. The flat seemed to be one long corridor, with several rooms either side. On his first go he got a room that seemed a cross between study and library. On the second he got lucky, and found a beautiful bathroom. Having taken the opportunity to splash his sleepy face with cold water he headed off again, this time in search of the kitchen.
His next exploration took him into a small room containing little furniture, which at first glance seemed to be papered in a very lurid pattern. On second look, the morning sunlight showed Harry his own face, staring bemusedly down from every wall, over and over. He almost turned and ran, the surprise being too much for pre-cup of tea Sunday morning. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he stepped forward into the room. The garish wallpaper turned out, on closer inspection, to be repeated copies of posters from all the productions he’d played in. One wall was covered in ArtProphet reviews, although Harry noted that he couldn’t see any of the bad ones. A table under the window held copies of all his programmes, and as a finishing touch, the costume that Harry remembered wearing in Macbeth; the Truth, was hanging on the opposite wall.
So Draco liked him then? Harry mentally shook his head; what a stupid thing to think, clearly Draco liked him. The question was, was he gay admirer, ardent fan or crazed stalker? He’d come a long way from his schooldays, he reflected. Back then he would have hexed Draco first, and asked questions later. A gasp behind him shook him from his meditations.
‘Oh, Merlin, no… Harry, it’s not what you think, I promise.’ Draco was stood in the doorway looking panicked, and still half asleep, his blond hair sticking up in adorable tousled spikes. He was really hoping for gay admirer, Harry realised. Oh well, only one way to find out.
He stalked towards Draco, a predatory half smile curving his lips. ‘Oh really? What is it that I think?’
Draco backed away, into the corridor, and was brought up short by the wall opposite. His eyes still showed panic, but his mouth was beginning to quirk with a small smile of his own. Harry continued to move towards him, until his body was pressed against Draco’s, and his face an inch from his. It occurred to him that if he was wrong about this, Sophie was going to be bloody pissed off.
Taking the plunge, he shifted sideways, and pressed one leg firmly in between Draco’s. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was relieved to feel the other man’s erection against his hip. Grinning, he claimed Draco’s mouth in a hard kiss. He ran his tongue along the other’s lips, and Draco’s mouth fell open, and his head back. Gleefully, Harry pushed his tongue into Draco’s mouth, and felt him tentatively push back. After a long moment, Harry pulled away, and met Draco’s eyes with a teasing glance.
‘Please, Draco, do tell me what I think.’
Fin.