More Potterslash - An Accidental Magic
Cross-posted to harry_draco - where you'll find the usual posting details.
Note for f-list: More Potter smut - with added bad puns and unwarranted speculation on the Rules of Magic.
An Accidental Magic
Harry woke to the bright sunlight blazing through the uncurtained window. He would have drawn them last night, but Draco had had other things in mind, wand in hand (at least at first) and no intention of allowing either of them to spend the night in the bed just sleeping. Harry hadn't objected, not after three years of partnership, and a week spent tracking down a group of renegade Death Eaters during which they'd barely had a chance to speak to each other. He'd had no objection, either, to using a little magical assistance to make the experience even more pleasurable. But in the hands of some wizards (naming no names, but that of the satiated blond sprawled on the bed beside him sprang immediately to mind) that particular spell should have a Ministry rating of Unforgiveable…
His mind drifted back to that Herbology lesson one bright spring morning in his fourth year at Hogwarts.
****
It had been one of the more boring lessons on Muggle plants and their uses in potions and medical magic. Each student had been sent out into the grounds with a trug and instructions to collect anything which they thought might be of interest. The results were now lined up in front of them, and the Professor was walking along the line picking things out and identifying them. She had just reached Neville, whose haul had been the largest and most varied.
"Now," said Professor Sprout, picking out one of the items, "who can tell me the name of this fungus?" Like most of the class, Harry was too busy writing notes to pay much attention to the dead white mass that she was holding up for their inspection.
Unsurprisingly Neville's wand-hand shot up into the air. "Phallus Impudicus!" he said, loudly.
Spell-light flared and every boy standing at the long potting-bench made a small sound of surprise. Harry, who had been watching Malfoy for signs of his usual troublemaking, found himself unexpectedly, shockingly, aroused. Malfoy himself had barely moved, but Harry saw a small bead of blood well up where he had bitten into his lower lip… Crabbe and Goyle, on either side of him, turned bright red to the roots of their cropped hair. Then Professor Sprout had waved her wand and muttered what was apparently a counter-spell. On the other side of the table the girls, with the exception of Hermione, who had apparently read further in their 'Personal Charms' book than the rest of the class, looked puzzled.
"The common name, Mister Longbottom, is Stinkhorn fungus, so named for the rather unpleasant scent. I think that we should leave the use of Latin plant names to the Muggles in future."
Later, on checking their timetables, the boys had all found themselves scheduled for a special course in 'Personal charms and male hygiene" with Flitwick, lessons which had proved informative, if embarrassing, and had provided Harry with a wealth of information which had been singularly useless in his later encounters with Cho and Ginny.
In fact, through most of that year at Hogwarts he'd found himself wishing that there was a counter-charm for a non-magically induced hard-on. Unfortunately, as Professor Flitwick had said, "When it comes to biology rather than magic, you're on your own, boys."
*****
If he'd been paying attention to anything other than Cho (and, of course, Voldemort) he might have noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had been more than usually tetchy and distracted that term. Draco had always been conscientious about practicing new magic, especially spells that would affect other people and satisfy his own selfish needs. A lot had changed in the time since Voldemort's defeat, but not that.
On the basis of last night's activities practice had certainly made…perfect. And Harry didn't even want to speculate on how Draco had found out about that delicate wand-flick that made the spell tingle under his foreskin and brought the sweetest, most intense feeling of…
Harry glanced at the wand lying where Draco had dropped it on the bedside cabinet. Fourteen inches (fourteen inches! Ollivander's never sold anything over twelve and a half to students) of time-smoothed black hawthorn. It had been a family heirloom. Harry had seen the collection in the display cabinet at the Mansion, and the empty space from which Draco had lifted it on his tenth birthday, but most truly did the wand choose the wielder…
Draco shifted against him, no longer so dead asleep that he'd not noticed Harry's growing arousal or his uncharacteristic pensiveness. "Wha' you thinkin' 'bout?" he muttered, drowsily.
"Just about our wands," he said, half-truthfully.
"Is that a euphemism?" Draco's eyes were still closed, but the flat muscles of his shoulders tensed under Harry's hand. Harry shifted a little in order to massage them.
"No."
"Mmmmm…. don't stop… that's nice…. What about them?"
"Just… oh… that if anyone did a Priori Incantatem on them, after last night, I don't think either of us would survive it…"
Draco's eyes flew open. He tried to say something, choked, and then doubled over with laughter.
"Bloody hell, Potter! Now that's a thought…"
Finis (or rather, End)
Note for f-list: More Potter smut - with added bad puns and unwarranted speculation on the Rules of Magic.
An Accidental Magic
Harry woke to the bright sunlight blazing through the uncurtained window. He would have drawn them last night, but Draco had had other things in mind, wand in hand (at least at first) and no intention of allowing either of them to spend the night in the bed just sleeping. Harry hadn't objected, not after three years of partnership, and a week spent tracking down a group of renegade Death Eaters during which they'd barely had a chance to speak to each other. He'd had no objection, either, to using a little magical assistance to make the experience even more pleasurable. But in the hands of some wizards (naming no names, but that of the satiated blond sprawled on the bed beside him sprang immediately to mind) that particular spell should have a Ministry rating of Unforgiveable…
His mind drifted back to that Herbology lesson one bright spring morning in his fourth year at Hogwarts.
****
It had been one of the more boring lessons on Muggle plants and their uses in potions and medical magic. Each student had been sent out into the grounds with a trug and instructions to collect anything which they thought might be of interest. The results were now lined up in front of them, and the Professor was walking along the line picking things out and identifying them. She had just reached Neville, whose haul had been the largest and most varied.
"Now," said Professor Sprout, picking out one of the items, "who can tell me the name of this fungus?" Like most of the class, Harry was too busy writing notes to pay much attention to the dead white mass that she was holding up for their inspection.
Unsurprisingly Neville's wand-hand shot up into the air. "Phallus Impudicus!" he said, loudly.
Spell-light flared and every boy standing at the long potting-bench made a small sound of surprise. Harry, who had been watching Malfoy for signs of his usual troublemaking, found himself unexpectedly, shockingly, aroused. Malfoy himself had barely moved, but Harry saw a small bead of blood well up where he had bitten into his lower lip… Crabbe and Goyle, on either side of him, turned bright red to the roots of their cropped hair. Then Professor Sprout had waved her wand and muttered what was apparently a counter-spell. On the other side of the table the girls, with the exception of Hermione, who had apparently read further in their 'Personal Charms' book than the rest of the class, looked puzzled.
"The common name, Mister Longbottom, is Stinkhorn fungus, so named for the rather unpleasant scent. I think that we should leave the use of Latin plant names to the Muggles in future."
Later, on checking their timetables, the boys had all found themselves scheduled for a special course in 'Personal charms and male hygiene" with Flitwick, lessons which had proved informative, if embarrassing, and had provided Harry with a wealth of information which had been singularly useless in his later encounters with Cho and Ginny.
In fact, through most of that year at Hogwarts he'd found himself wishing that there was a counter-charm for a non-magically induced hard-on. Unfortunately, as Professor Flitwick had said, "When it comes to biology rather than magic, you're on your own, boys."
*****
If he'd been paying attention to anything other than Cho (and, of course, Voldemort) he might have noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had been more than usually tetchy and distracted that term. Draco had always been conscientious about practicing new magic, especially spells that would affect other people and satisfy his own selfish needs. A lot had changed in the time since Voldemort's defeat, but not that.
On the basis of last night's activities practice had certainly made…perfect. And Harry didn't even want to speculate on how Draco had found out about that delicate wand-flick that made the spell tingle under his foreskin and brought the sweetest, most intense feeling of…
Harry glanced at the wand lying where Draco had dropped it on the bedside cabinet. Fourteen inches (fourteen inches! Ollivander's never sold anything over twelve and a half to students) of time-smoothed black hawthorn. It had been a family heirloom. Harry had seen the collection in the display cabinet at the Mansion, and the empty space from which Draco had lifted it on his tenth birthday, but most truly did the wand choose the wielder…
Draco shifted against him, no longer so dead asleep that he'd not noticed Harry's growing arousal or his uncharacteristic pensiveness. "Wha' you thinkin' 'bout?" he muttered, drowsily.
"Just about our wands," he said, half-truthfully.
"Is that a euphemism?" Draco's eyes were still closed, but the flat muscles of his shoulders tensed under Harry's hand. Harry shifted a little in order to massage them.
"No."
"Mmmmm…. don't stop… that's nice…. What about them?"
"Just… oh… that if anyone did a Priori Incantatem on them, after last night, I don't think either of us would survive it…"
Draco's eyes flew open. He tried to say something, choked, and then doubled over with laughter.
"Bloody hell, Potter! Now that's a thought…"
Finis (or rather, End)