FIC update! You Can Ride My Broomstick Any Day, Harry.
So. Things are bad for me now, but I saw no reason to take it out on those of you actually looking forward to this. Yessirs, I've writ the latest chapter, and it didnt take me an eternity! Will wonders never cease?
ETA: Just a note that as of July 16th 2005, this officially became an AU. Also, it remains spoiler-free. Enjoy!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven - Of Bottoms & Ballet Slippers
Harry tried to ignore the wide, cheerful - honestly, Draco Malfoy being cheerful was both confusing and terrifying, and in Harry’s opinion, absolutely uncalled for - grin on Draco’s face.
Draco didn’t make it easy.
“Well, Potter, I didn’t think you were the sort to notice another man’s hands.” Still flashing his perfectly straight - the only straight thing Draco had going, Harry thought wryly - teeth, Draco held up his own pale, smooth, manicured hands. “So what do you think about mine?”
“They’re tiny,” Harry snapped. “Go away.”
“Ooh, bitchy. Feisty little thing, aren’t you? And tiny, Potter? I’ll have you know the word is petite, and I am anything but. In fact, I could prove to you right now -” Draco’s hands dropped to his belt.
There came a faint gurgling sound, and a loud thump. Harry turned to see Ron collapsed on the ground, hands clutching desperately at his chest.
“Ron!” Hermione immediately knelt by his side.
Ron let out a strangled scream, clawing at his eyes. “No!”
“No, what?” Harry blinked, mildly panicked.
“Don’t…don’t let him!” Ron pleaded, whimpering, peering out from behind his hands. “Don’t let him drop his pants.”
Harry turned to see Draco looking very offended. His hands were still resting on his belt buckle, and he scowled at Ron. “And what, exactly, would be wrong with me doing so? It’s a thing of beauty, nothing to be ashamed of, Weasley. Even if yours might be. Mine certainly isn’t.” As if looking to prove his point, Draco tugged firmly at his belt.
As Ron let out another shriek, it occurred to Harry that maybe he was taking a little too long in objecting to Draco’s oncoming exhibitionism.
He stepped forward to Draco and caught his arm. “Malfoy, stop. It’s not good for Ron’s health.” Behind him, Ron gave a supportive groan.
Draco eyed Harry’s hand on his wrist, precariously close to his groin. “Well, I’m sure you have no objections, so you could do it for me,” he purred. “You look like you’re about to, anyway.” Following Draco’s gaze, Harry noted where his hand was, and yanked it away with a yelp.
“Uh - no. No, no,” Harry shook his head vehemently, eyes wide open. “No, no, no. There will be none of that here.”
“Well, then, meet me in the dungeons later, and -”
“NO!” Harry squawked as Draco raised his eyebrows suggestively. “That’s not what I meant!”
Draco actually pouted. “Spoilsport.”
Ron raised his arm from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “Hey, a little more attention here? And a lot less talk of shagging and such?”
Draco gave him a speculative look. “No dirty talk for you, Weasley? Poor Granger, she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”
Ron shot him a dark look as he sat up, and Hermione pursed her lips. “I beg to differ, Malfoy,” she said easily.
“Shut up, Malfoy - what?” Ron whirled to give her a curiously horrified look. “What? With who?” he demanded.
Sensing trouble, Harry hurried to clap his hand over Hermione’s mouth before she could reply. “I don’t think any of us really want to hear the answer to that,” he said nervously.
“Speak for yourself, Potter. I’m keen to know who got Granger all hot and bothered under her robes. Ooh, did you wear your Head Girl badge, Granger?” Draco looked genuinely interested. “Was it some kinky little role-playing thing?”
All three of them stared at him. Harry’s hand suddenly became dead weight and fell away from Hermione’s face. In the background, the Giant Squid stopped thrashing about.
“Because, you know, I’ve always been interested in trying that out,” Draco continued, oblivious - or perhaps all too aware of, you never knew with him - their gobsmacked appearances. He made a show of fingering his own Head Boy badge. “I imagine it would be wicked, bossing someone around. Or maybe the other way around. I could surrender myself over and -”
“That’s enough!” Ron yelped, his face as red as his hair. “We really don’t need to listen to your sordid little fantasies, Malfoy.”
Hermione and Harry took a little while longer to cough and voice their agreement. Harry noticed that Hermione had that look on her face, the one she got when she was making mental notes.
He couldn’t blame her - he’d had many a fantasy of being…disciplined by Snape. In the Potions lab. Bent over Snape’s desk. Usually with his pants down by his ankles -
A polite cough from Hermione brought him back to the present, where he was suddenly forced to think bad, bad thoughts about Hagrid and the now-splashing-about-again Giant Squid in the Lake, as he shoved his hands into his pockets to disguise the growing bulge. “I’m sorry, was just - what did you say?”
Draco smirked at him. “Sickle for your thoughts, Potter. They certainly look interesting,” he said, with a pointed glance at Harry’s crotch. Harry suppressed a squeak and fidgeted.
“Malfoy, do you even have a reason for being here?” Hermione asked suddenly, gaining Harry’s eternal gratitude as he moved to stand in a less revealing position. “Or do you just make it part of your daily activities to annoy us?”
Draco blinked. “Well, there is that,” he admitted. “It’s an oath I took, back in First Year. But this was more of a social call.”
“Wait, an oath?” Ron repeated in disbelief. “You took an oath?”
“Oh, yes,” Draco nodded. “All Slytherin First Years have to swear, upon their little Slytherin hearts, that they will torment all do-gooder Gryffindors on a regular basis, in order to uphold the name of Salazar Slytherin. He made it a point to piss off Godric at least once a week, you know,” he added, smiling fondly.
“An oath,” Harry said. “They take an oath to torment us.”
Draco reached out and patted Harry lightly on the cheek. “Yes. Yes we do. Do try and keep up now, dear.”
“You’re a sadist,” Harry accused him.
Far from looking offended, Draco actually preened. “Right down to the very last drop of evil goodness, thank you for noticing.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione simultaneously dropped their faces into their palms.
“Malfoy,” Hermione huffed, obviously starting to lose patience. “Social call, you said?”
Draco sighed. “You Gryffindors. Always rushing everything. Foreplay is important, you know.”
Ron choked. “F-foreplay? What?”
Draco looked pityingly at Hermione. “No wonder you’re so tense.”
“I meant,” Ron scowled pointedly, “What are we having foreplay for now? You - that is, we - there isn’t going to be any shagging after this!”
“Not with that attitude,” Draco sniffed.
“You know what? I don’t really care to hear anything you have to say, Malfoy, it obviously cant be that important if you’ve had time to torment Ron, proposition me, and ask for details about Hermione’s sex life,” Ron made another choked noise, which Harry was getting used to and thus ignored, “So either say it now, or leave.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Well, I can see why you’re the Hero of the Wizarding World. Very authoritative. I approve,” he nodded once at Harry, who frowned. “I bet you’re a top.”
Ron wrinkled his forehead in confusion, Harry gaped at Draco, and Hermione looked at Harry speculatively. “Actually, I think he’d bottom.”
Ron’s entire face was twisted in bewilderment now, Harry had transferred his shell-shocked expression over to Hermione, and Draco was the one eyeing Harry in speculation. “Yeah, maybe, but still, he’s very aggressive -”
“Definitely a bottom,” Hermione said firmly. Harry scowled at her.
“What?” he demanded. “I’d so top.”
“Nuh-uh,” Hermione shook her head, giving him one of her infuriatingly knowing smiles. “Bottom.” Before he could argue, she continued. “Pushy bottom, but definitely a bottom.”
Draco snapped his fingers. “Pushy bottom! You’re absolutely right, Granger.”
“I’m a top!” Harry was yelling, but hesitated slightly. “Wait, there’s such a thing as a pushy bottom?”
“You’re living proof,” Hermione said archly.
Harry ignored the barb. “Huh. That does sound intriguing…so its almost as if I’m topping, just from the bottom…”
“Definitely a pushy bottom,” Draco nodded at Hermione. “Good call.”
Ron finally snapped. “Will someone explain what the bloody blazes you’re all talking about?” Hermione, taking pity, leaned over and whispered a few words into Ron’s ear, which promptly turned a bright red along with the rest of his face, before dissolving into an unhealthy pallor. “Oh,” he said weakly. “I see. I…I’m just going to sit down now.”
“You are sitting down,” Draco reminded him.
“Oh,” Ron said again. “So I am. Well. I’m just going to try and burn my brain then.”
“So are you ever going to tell us what exactly you wanted to tell us, Malfoy?” Harry asked, feeling only slightly sorry for Ron, whom he was still ticked off with for earlier that morning. “With no digressions this time.”
Draco paused, taking them all in, settling his eyes on Harry for a long moment. He seemed to be thinking something over, before he suddenly broke into a wide, charming grin. “No, actually I think I shan’t,” he said cheerily, and skipped away.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stared after him.
“Is it just me,” Hermione wondered aloud, “or is Draco skipping?”
“Not just you,” Harry told her. “…Is he wearing ballet slippers?”
“Please burn my brain,” Ron whimpered.
*****
“What do you want now, Draco?” Severus growled, when Draco pranced into his room that evening. “And kindly do refrain from prancing so. It’s - disturbing, to say the least. And - dear god, child, are you wearing ballet slippers?”
“They’re comfortable, and in season,” Draco sniffed haughtily, as he settled himself into his transfigured chair. “And you ought to be more polite, you know.”
“I see no reason to alter years of habit,” Severus drawled in return. “And those slippers are pink.”
“In season,” Draco said staunchly then continued, “Well, how about the fact that I’m your favorite godson,” he ignored Severus’ snort, “and I have been studiously doing research on your behalf?”
Severus narrowed his eyes. Draco smiled charmingly. Severus narrowed his eyes further. “Research.”
“Research,” affirmed Draco.
“On what?” Severus frowned. “I didn’t ask you to conduct any -”
“I know whether Potter tops or bottoms,” Draco interjected with a sing-song voice.
Severus willed his expression to remain unchanged, gritting his teeth. “And you believe I have interest in that information?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, Sev. We’ve been through this part. You fancy Potter. Yes, he’s younger and famous and all that, but you fancy him anyway. I don’t blame you; he does have quite the arse on him. Just begs to be spanked, or licked, or -”
“While I agree with your sentiments, do you have a point to this ode to Potter’s arse, Draco?” Severus sighed, rubbing his temple.
Draco blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course. You fancy him. It’s perfectly alright, and you don’t need to lie to me. Besides, I rather think he fancies you too.”
“Do you now - wait, really?” Severus looked up, interest alight in his dark eyes.
Draco smirked. “He notices your hands. He thinks they’re large, and well, you know what they say about men with big hands…”
Severus choked. “You’re joking. And he - he said that?”
Draco nodded, pleased at the reaction he had elicited from his godfather. “Also, Granger thinks you’d be wicked at foreplay,” he added off-handedly.
“I’ve never thought they were particularly big…” Severus was musing aloud, holding out his hands to examine them, but paused. “Wait - Granger?”
“She’s a closet sex fiend, that one,” Draco said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’d take up with her if I were, you know,” he dropped his voice and wrinkled his nose as if saying a dirty word. “Straight.”
“Granger,” Severus repeated again flatly.
“She must put all her reading to good use, I think,” Draco said thoughtfully. “She probably knows loads of kinky things to try out, and -” he noted the acerbic look on Severus’ face. “Right, well. She was the one who figured out that Potter bottoms.”
“She what? Wait, he what?”
“He’ll be a pushy bottom, but a bottom. And I guessed you’re a top, so that all works out well, doesn’t it?” Draco grinned cheerfully, waving his hands in what Severus felt were unnecessarily elaborate gestures, before bringing them together in what Severus felt was an unnecessarily accentuating clap. But he didn’t make any snarky, belittling comments, because all things considered, he was suddenly in rather a gracious mood.
Which he tried to convince himself had nothing to do with the thought that Harry might be interested in him, might be interested in prostrating himself out on his bed, might be interested in having Severus possess him, having Severus thrust into his warm, lithe body, again and again and -
No, nothing to do with that at all.
*****
Chapter Eight!
Yep, you know what I'm gonna say - comments, concrit, &c., s'il vous plait. :)
ETA: Just a note that as of July 16th 2005, this officially became an AU. Also, it remains spoiler-free. Enjoy!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven - Of Bottoms & Ballet Slippers
Harry tried to ignore the wide, cheerful - honestly, Draco Malfoy being cheerful was both confusing and terrifying, and in Harry’s opinion, absolutely uncalled for - grin on Draco’s face.
Draco didn’t make it easy.
“Well, Potter, I didn’t think you were the sort to notice another man’s hands.” Still flashing his perfectly straight - the only straight thing Draco had going, Harry thought wryly - teeth, Draco held up his own pale, smooth, manicured hands. “So what do you think about mine?”
“They’re tiny,” Harry snapped. “Go away.”
“Ooh, bitchy. Feisty little thing, aren’t you? And tiny, Potter? I’ll have you know the word is petite, and I am anything but. In fact, I could prove to you right now -” Draco’s hands dropped to his belt.
There came a faint gurgling sound, and a loud thump. Harry turned to see Ron collapsed on the ground, hands clutching desperately at his chest.
“Ron!” Hermione immediately knelt by his side.
Ron let out a strangled scream, clawing at his eyes. “No!”
“No, what?” Harry blinked, mildly panicked.
“Don’t…don’t let him!” Ron pleaded, whimpering, peering out from behind his hands. “Don’t let him drop his pants.”
Harry turned to see Draco looking very offended. His hands were still resting on his belt buckle, and he scowled at Ron. “And what, exactly, would be wrong with me doing so? It’s a thing of beauty, nothing to be ashamed of, Weasley. Even if yours might be. Mine certainly isn’t.” As if looking to prove his point, Draco tugged firmly at his belt.
As Ron let out another shriek, it occurred to Harry that maybe he was taking a little too long in objecting to Draco’s oncoming exhibitionism.
He stepped forward to Draco and caught his arm. “Malfoy, stop. It’s not good for Ron’s health.” Behind him, Ron gave a supportive groan.
Draco eyed Harry’s hand on his wrist, precariously close to his groin. “Well, I’m sure you have no objections, so you could do it for me,” he purred. “You look like you’re about to, anyway.” Following Draco’s gaze, Harry noted where his hand was, and yanked it away with a yelp.
“Uh - no. No, no,” Harry shook his head vehemently, eyes wide open. “No, no, no. There will be none of that here.”
“Well, then, meet me in the dungeons later, and -”
“NO!” Harry squawked as Draco raised his eyebrows suggestively. “That’s not what I meant!”
Draco actually pouted. “Spoilsport.”
Ron raised his arm from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “Hey, a little more attention here? And a lot less talk of shagging and such?”
Draco gave him a speculative look. “No dirty talk for you, Weasley? Poor Granger, she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”
Ron shot him a dark look as he sat up, and Hermione pursed her lips. “I beg to differ, Malfoy,” she said easily.
“Shut up, Malfoy - what?” Ron whirled to give her a curiously horrified look. “What? With who?” he demanded.
Sensing trouble, Harry hurried to clap his hand over Hermione’s mouth before she could reply. “I don’t think any of us really want to hear the answer to that,” he said nervously.
“Speak for yourself, Potter. I’m keen to know who got Granger all hot and bothered under her robes. Ooh, did you wear your Head Girl badge, Granger?” Draco looked genuinely interested. “Was it some kinky little role-playing thing?”
All three of them stared at him. Harry’s hand suddenly became dead weight and fell away from Hermione’s face. In the background, the Giant Squid stopped thrashing about.
“Because, you know, I’ve always been interested in trying that out,” Draco continued, oblivious - or perhaps all too aware of, you never knew with him - their gobsmacked appearances. He made a show of fingering his own Head Boy badge. “I imagine it would be wicked, bossing someone around. Or maybe the other way around. I could surrender myself over and -”
“That’s enough!” Ron yelped, his face as red as his hair. “We really don’t need to listen to your sordid little fantasies, Malfoy.”
Hermione and Harry took a little while longer to cough and voice their agreement. Harry noticed that Hermione had that look on her face, the one she got when she was making mental notes.
He couldn’t blame her - he’d had many a fantasy of being…disciplined by Snape. In the Potions lab. Bent over Snape’s desk. Usually with his pants down by his ankles -
A polite cough from Hermione brought him back to the present, where he was suddenly forced to think bad, bad thoughts about Hagrid and the now-splashing-about-again Giant Squid in the Lake, as he shoved his hands into his pockets to disguise the growing bulge. “I’m sorry, was just - what did you say?”
Draco smirked at him. “Sickle for your thoughts, Potter. They certainly look interesting,” he said, with a pointed glance at Harry’s crotch. Harry suppressed a squeak and fidgeted.
“Malfoy, do you even have a reason for being here?” Hermione asked suddenly, gaining Harry’s eternal gratitude as he moved to stand in a less revealing position. “Or do you just make it part of your daily activities to annoy us?”
Draco blinked. “Well, there is that,” he admitted. “It’s an oath I took, back in First Year. But this was more of a social call.”
“Wait, an oath?” Ron repeated in disbelief. “You took an oath?”
“Oh, yes,” Draco nodded. “All Slytherin First Years have to swear, upon their little Slytherin hearts, that they will torment all do-gooder Gryffindors on a regular basis, in order to uphold the name of Salazar Slytherin. He made it a point to piss off Godric at least once a week, you know,” he added, smiling fondly.
“An oath,” Harry said. “They take an oath to torment us.”
Draco reached out and patted Harry lightly on the cheek. “Yes. Yes we do. Do try and keep up now, dear.”
“You’re a sadist,” Harry accused him.
Far from looking offended, Draco actually preened. “Right down to the very last drop of evil goodness, thank you for noticing.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione simultaneously dropped their faces into their palms.
“Malfoy,” Hermione huffed, obviously starting to lose patience. “Social call, you said?”
Draco sighed. “You Gryffindors. Always rushing everything. Foreplay is important, you know.”
Ron choked. “F-foreplay? What?”
Draco looked pityingly at Hermione. “No wonder you’re so tense.”
“I meant,” Ron scowled pointedly, “What are we having foreplay for now? You - that is, we - there isn’t going to be any shagging after this!”
“Not with that attitude,” Draco sniffed.
“You know what? I don’t really care to hear anything you have to say, Malfoy, it obviously cant be that important if you’ve had time to torment Ron, proposition me, and ask for details about Hermione’s sex life,” Ron made another choked noise, which Harry was getting used to and thus ignored, “So either say it now, or leave.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Well, I can see why you’re the Hero of the Wizarding World. Very authoritative. I approve,” he nodded once at Harry, who frowned. “I bet you’re a top.”
Ron wrinkled his forehead in confusion, Harry gaped at Draco, and Hermione looked at Harry speculatively. “Actually, I think he’d bottom.”
Ron’s entire face was twisted in bewilderment now, Harry had transferred his shell-shocked expression over to Hermione, and Draco was the one eyeing Harry in speculation. “Yeah, maybe, but still, he’s very aggressive -”
“Definitely a bottom,” Hermione said firmly. Harry scowled at her.
“What?” he demanded. “I’d so top.”
“Nuh-uh,” Hermione shook her head, giving him one of her infuriatingly knowing smiles. “Bottom.” Before he could argue, she continued. “Pushy bottom, but definitely a bottom.”
Draco snapped his fingers. “Pushy bottom! You’re absolutely right, Granger.”
“I’m a top!” Harry was yelling, but hesitated slightly. “Wait, there’s such a thing as a pushy bottom?”
“You’re living proof,” Hermione said archly.
Harry ignored the barb. “Huh. That does sound intriguing…so its almost as if I’m topping, just from the bottom…”
“Definitely a pushy bottom,” Draco nodded at Hermione. “Good call.”
Ron finally snapped. “Will someone explain what the bloody blazes you’re all talking about?” Hermione, taking pity, leaned over and whispered a few words into Ron’s ear, which promptly turned a bright red along with the rest of his face, before dissolving into an unhealthy pallor. “Oh,” he said weakly. “I see. I…I’m just going to sit down now.”
“You are sitting down,” Draco reminded him.
“Oh,” Ron said again. “So I am. Well. I’m just going to try and burn my brain then.”
“So are you ever going to tell us what exactly you wanted to tell us, Malfoy?” Harry asked, feeling only slightly sorry for Ron, whom he was still ticked off with for earlier that morning. “With no digressions this time.”
Draco paused, taking them all in, settling his eyes on Harry for a long moment. He seemed to be thinking something over, before he suddenly broke into a wide, charming grin. “No, actually I think I shan’t,” he said cheerily, and skipped away.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stared after him.
“Is it just me,” Hermione wondered aloud, “or is Draco skipping?”
“Not just you,” Harry told her. “…Is he wearing ballet slippers?”
“Please burn my brain,” Ron whimpered.
*****
“What do you want now, Draco?” Severus growled, when Draco pranced into his room that evening. “And kindly do refrain from prancing so. It’s - disturbing, to say the least. And - dear god, child, are you wearing ballet slippers?”
“They’re comfortable, and in season,” Draco sniffed haughtily, as he settled himself into his transfigured chair. “And you ought to be more polite, you know.”
“I see no reason to alter years of habit,” Severus drawled in return. “And those slippers are pink.”
“In season,” Draco said staunchly then continued, “Well, how about the fact that I’m your favorite godson,” he ignored Severus’ snort, “and I have been studiously doing research on your behalf?”
Severus narrowed his eyes. Draco smiled charmingly. Severus narrowed his eyes further. “Research.”
“Research,” affirmed Draco.
“On what?” Severus frowned. “I didn’t ask you to conduct any -”
“I know whether Potter tops or bottoms,” Draco interjected with a sing-song voice.
Severus willed his expression to remain unchanged, gritting his teeth. “And you believe I have interest in that information?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, Sev. We’ve been through this part. You fancy Potter. Yes, he’s younger and famous and all that, but you fancy him anyway. I don’t blame you; he does have quite the arse on him. Just begs to be spanked, or licked, or -”
“While I agree with your sentiments, do you have a point to this ode to Potter’s arse, Draco?” Severus sighed, rubbing his temple.
Draco blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course. You fancy him. It’s perfectly alright, and you don’t need to lie to me. Besides, I rather think he fancies you too.”
“Do you now - wait, really?” Severus looked up, interest alight in his dark eyes.
Draco smirked. “He notices your hands. He thinks they’re large, and well, you know what they say about men with big hands…”
Severus choked. “You’re joking. And he - he said that?”
Draco nodded, pleased at the reaction he had elicited from his godfather. “Also, Granger thinks you’d be wicked at foreplay,” he added off-handedly.
“I’ve never thought they were particularly big…” Severus was musing aloud, holding out his hands to examine them, but paused. “Wait - Granger?”
“She’s a closet sex fiend, that one,” Draco said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’d take up with her if I were, you know,” he dropped his voice and wrinkled his nose as if saying a dirty word. “Straight.”
“Granger,” Severus repeated again flatly.
“She must put all her reading to good use, I think,” Draco said thoughtfully. “She probably knows loads of kinky things to try out, and -” he noted the acerbic look on Severus’ face. “Right, well. She was the one who figured out that Potter bottoms.”
“She what? Wait, he what?”
“He’ll be a pushy bottom, but a bottom. And I guessed you’re a top, so that all works out well, doesn’t it?” Draco grinned cheerfully, waving his hands in what Severus felt were unnecessarily elaborate gestures, before bringing them together in what Severus felt was an unnecessarily accentuating clap. But he didn’t make any snarky, belittling comments, because all things considered, he was suddenly in rather a gracious mood.
Which he tried to convince himself had nothing to do with the thought that Harry might be interested in him, might be interested in prostrating himself out on his bed, might be interested in having Severus possess him, having Severus thrust into his warm, lithe body, again and again and -
No, nothing to do with that at all.
*****
Chapter Eight!
Yep, you know what I'm gonna say - comments, concrit, &c., s'il vous plait. :)