Fic: Vent (Harry, Ron/Draco, NC17)
I suspect I should avoid discussion anytime someone mentions certain pairings, perhaps. Because otherwise my sick, easily excitable little mind gets a work out, and -this- happens.
Writing this did make me feel better, however. I do warn you there's no threesomes and quite a bit of... um, pissed!Harry angst. Not that this is news, since I did write it. Actually, Harry-centric Ron/Draco was so obvious I couldn't not write it, once it hit me. Oh man oh man -.-
Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's Note: the moral of the story is... I really really don't like Ron/Draco, but am a masochistic bitch.
- Vent -
It wasn't something Harry was going to forgive. That much, he decided as soon as he'd heard those slick wet noises like squelching bugs, saw Ron's bare freckled arse moving above Malfoy's, heard the sickening little grunts; as soon as he'd -smelled- them there, behind the Greenhouse in the rotting dirt.
He looked at Ron at dinner and it hurt so much he choked on his soup, so he didn't look anymore. He swallowed carefully, looking down at his spoon. There was a half-eaten fish head with a single rheumy eye, staring at him. Somehow, he doubted it was supposed to be there.
"All right, Harry?" Hermione said softly, and he nodded. He knew she couldn't talk to Ron right now, that she -needed- him, but he just-- couldn't. He couldn't say he was sorry, either, and he wasn't sure he really was.
He looked at Malfoy instead, and suddenly the hate was back so strong his heart leapt up in his throat, beating wildly in his gums and fingertips and behind his temples.
It wasn't that Ron -loved- that git, of course. It wasn't. It couldn't be, because.... This was only something disgusting and perverted that had no real reason for being, that Ron was doing because he and Hermione weren't enough anymore. It was dirty, like sex was dirty. Wet and sick and dirty.
Harry thought he hated sex.
--
"What do you want?" Ron asked him, in a calm sort of voice. "I'm not going to wait for you to--"
He didn't finish the sentence, but Harry nodded. "I don't want to hear it," Harry said, and Ron left silently.
"He's still the old Ron, you know," Hermione said quietly. She had quit knitting house-elf caps, so now she busied herself making vests with big red bull's eyes on the back for the DA. "He's your best friend." Hermione's hand was on his forearm, and it took all he had not to slap her away. "Harry, don't you think if you said something, he'd-- Oh Harry...."
He didn't want to explain or have things explained to him. He didn't want to be reasonable. He didn't want to -understand-, or to listen, or to stop Ron from doing whatever the bloody hell he wanted with absolutely anyone. It was none of his business.
"No, I don't," he mumbled, but it came out more like a hiss.
"This isn't like you, Harry," Hermione whispered, and finally he looked her straight in the eye.
"Yeah?" he said. "Because Ron has been sticking it into Malfoy's arse since third year, right?" And Hermione's face scrunched up predictably right before she stormed off, blinking rapidly. "You fucking knew, didn't you?" he called after her. "You were protecting him, right? Just admit it!"
The others in the Common Room were looking at him, but then they always were.
He wanted to yell something stupid like 'what happened to you two?!'-- he wanted to pretend he didn't know. Somehow they'd grown up in every way he didn't, and he could forgive them if he could figure out what to do about it.
--
Malfoy always said the exact right thing, Harry thought; he could count on him, in a really messed up way. He never acted like anything but what he was: a twisted spoiled little fucker. He wasn't surprised Malfoy had let Ron do it to him; it had probably been the best thing that'd ever happened to him, after all the times Ron and Harry showed Malfoy together. He'd probably begged for it. Harry could almost hear those words in that whiny voice right before he fell asleep lately: do me, Weasley!
He'd have rather heard Voldemort again, he thought. But he wasn't that lucky anymore.
On the other hand, he was getting lots of practice at hating people so much he could burst. So much he could unscrew their heads as soon as look at them-- him-- Malfoy. Though he himself wasn't worth it. Not nearly. He'd have said Malfoy wasn't worth a hair on Ron's head, but it seemed he was wrong. Quite literally.
He didn't think he'd have that much trouble when it came time to cast an Unforgivable again. In fact, he looked forward to letting off a little steam.
"You want in on the action, don't you Potter?" Malfoy drawled.
He never even got the time to twitch.
Harry forgot the stillborn talk with Ron when the back of Malfoy's head hit the stone wall, because his eyes rolled back in satisfaction. There was a dull thud but not quite a crack; Malfoy's whole body jerked like a doll's and there were tears leaking out of Malfoy's scrunched shut eyes. His whole face was pinched and white and -ugly-, and maybe Harry knew what Ron came to Malfoy for, except not really. Not at all, really.
It was only normal to need to vent a little.
--
Malfoy was in the Hospital Wing and Ron and Hermione were there, watching him. Harry was in Dumbledore's office; he'd bumped into Snape on the way over, who gave him a look like he wanted him dead. Likewise, Harry thought.
Dumbledore was going to tell him Snape recommended he be kicked out of Hogwarts or something like it, and Harry looked forward to saying he didn't care, because what did it matter where Voldemort came looking for him?
He'd had a non-talk with Hermione earlier that morning, though Ron was the one who couldn't bear to look at him now, it seemed. Everyone was quiet, casting disappointed, almost fearful looks at him, like he was about to snap and beat -their- heads against the wall. Of course he couldn't be teaching the DA anymore, which was a relief, no matter what anyone thought.
Dumbledore didn't bother offering him any candy. He'd only have thrown it in his face like the time before, anyway. "Have you considered starting counseling, Harry? I know Mr. Lupin hasn't been in touch with you recently, so perhaps our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor could--"
"Fuck you," Harry said, and went for the door. Dumbledore knew enough by now to let it open.
--
"Have you ever wanted to kill someone?" Harry asked Luna conversationally, because she was there and it didn't matter what he said.
"Hmm." There was a pause, but not an uncomfortable one. She chewed on a piece of brown November grass, scratched her nose, and finally rested her elbows on her knees. "Not that I recall. How does it feel?"
"Like a itch you can never quite scratch, and if you even start thinking too hard about it, it immediately feels worse than before."
"Oh," she said. "There are a lot of other methods to cure itching, though. Besides scratching, that is."
"No kidding," Harry said, but his mouth quirked. "You would know, wouldn't you."
"I would," she told him seriously. "You just have to ask me."
"And what would you tell me if I asked?" he said idly.
"Only the truth."
Harry laughed.
--
Harry snuck out after Ron, having heard the tell-tale signs of moving about. He didn't sleep very soundly anymore, and Ron was never nearly as good at sneaking about as Harry.
He didn't let himself think about what he was doing: he just did it. He was silent and invisible, barefoot and shivering by the door.
They were doing it in the Slytherin changing rooms, which was -wrong- on a number of levels, and the sounds were different this time, but that might have been because Malfoy had Ron's cock in his mouth. The desperate bastard was wanking himself as he did it, making whorish noises as Ron tugged him forward repeatedly by the hair, over and over again. That must hurt, Harry thought distantly, though of course Malfoy must like that sort of thing. It only made sense.
Harry felt nauseous and dizzy, weak with vertigo, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and lean against the door, losing himself in the noise.
When Malfoy came, he made a sound like when Harry's fist hit his stomach, and Harry's cock pulsed and jerked wetly in his pajama bottoms. He gave a faint gasp, hand flying guiltily to his crotch, and ran blindly, somehow avoiding Filch before he collapsed back onto his bed, panting. His hand remained stuck between his legs somehow, rubbing without his volition every now and then, though the fabric was all gluey and gross and it reeked of sex. Harry felt flushed all the way down to his collarbones.
It needed another couple of quick tugs, between periods of silent staring into the dark, until he could fall asleep. He didn't dream.
--
The next morning he went to see Dumbledore.
"So did you want me to talk to What's-his-name, then?" he said disinterestedly.
"Professor Mudpie has had quite a few years with St. Mungo's, so you can be assured he'll be able to understand what an old man like me fails to, Harry...."
Harry just stared at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, my dear boy, of course I didn't mean your personal affliction is so bad as to merit treatment at St. Mungo's, it's only that your mental health should be as important as any broken bone from Quidditch. You understand, don't you?"
"Snape threatened to leave if something wasn't done about me, didn't he? I'll bet they're all scared of me by now."
"Worried, Harry. We're all -worried-," he said, raising an index finger. "And you have to admit you have given us good reason up till now, but since you're finally talking, things will naturally even out, you see...."
"Don't take me for a fool, -Professor-," Harry bit out.
"You must make these gestures to keep the peace, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "We need you, but there are those we can't afford to alienate right now. Not yet."
Harry smiled tightly, his mouth resisting movement. "Thank you. But I'd rather talk to Snape."
"If you wish."
--
"Would you do it with me instead of him if I asked, then?" Harry wanted to say 'fuck', but he couldn't, quite, looking into Ron's familiar old face. He couldn't punch him, and he couldn't actually raise his voice anymore. He was left with saying stupid things on a whim, sprawling tiredly next to Ron against a birch tree after Care of Magical Creatures.
Ron did a blatant double take. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"
"I don't know, what do you think I mean?"
"I think you're trying to get a good left hook out of me."
"Is it working?"
"What do you think?" Ron said through his teeth.
Great. Now -Harry- wanted to punch him. "Kidding," he said, ducking as Ron swung at him half-seriously. "So. How long has she known?"
"You fucking -twit-!" Ron yelled, and stomped off towards the Quidditch pitch.
People really need to control their need for acting out in public all the time, Harry thought.
--
"Snap out of it, Potter," Snape sneered at him, drumming his spidery fingers against an inkwell. "You're seventeen years old. This sort of-- closeted moping of yours is frankly pathetic, besides simply being ill-timed."
"If you're implying I'm a homo, I--"
"I'm not implying anything whatsoever, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a seething tone. "I am merely stating the facts as I see them, since quite obviously you're too oblivious to see two fingers held in front of you. Consider it a rare favor and be grateful, you brat!"
"What if I don't want any favors from you, Professor?" Harry shot back in a matched tone.
"Then we're perfectly understood, I take it."
"Dumbledore would dismiss you before he'd ever allow me to go back to the Dursleys, you know."
Snape's expression curdled impossibly further, lips thinning into nonexistence and his eyes turned into little pitch-black pinpricks of focused hate. At the back of his mind, Harry realized Malfoy used to look at him just like that, and that it felt... different coming from Snape. Like he really meant it. The whole nine yards. Harry knew with a burning certainty that Snape must've enjoyed casting Crucio, more than once, and he immediately recoiled from the barest hint of empathy this inspired as if struck.
"I suggest you leave my sight before I am forced to wipe that arrogant look from your face in a most unpleasant way, Potter." Snape was still looking at him like that, and the longer he did, the stronger Harry felt. He really looked forward to the day he was better than Snape in a fair fight. "You know nothing about Dumbledore or anything else worthwhile, excepting, of course, ganging up unprovoked on people and shoving your-- big stick in their faces. You make me -sick-," Snape spat. "It's always your kind behind any act of tasteless violence, you self-righteous little-- what are you still doing here?!"
Harry thought it would have been much worse, trying to talk about it with someone who actually gave a damn.
--
"Malfoy." Harry stood, gripping the back of a wooden chair.
"Potter," Malfoy said, coughing as he lounged-- smugly, Harry thought-- in his hospital bed, arms folded primly above his chest. His hair was brushed back just as carefully as usual. Harry could still see him with his cock out and his hair in his eyes, doing filthy things with that mouth to Harry's -best friend-. He shifted his grip on the chair.
"Here to finish what you started, is that it?"
'I hate you,' he nearly heard himself say with some relish. It'd be almost nice to say, knowing there'd be no consequences. Or maybe, speaking of consequences: 'Suck me, slut.' Harry was so hard it was painful, and he was almost startled at how much he hated, though hardly Malfoy at this point. More like himself, except that was stupid, because it was still all Malfoy's fault. "Why the hell are you here?" That wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it was better than the alternatives. "Aren't you bored without--" Harry blushed, tongue suddenly awkward in his mouth; he didn't know why he thought this was a good idea.
"They think you might attack me again if I had free run of Hogwarts once more," Malfoy smirked. He -knew-. He probably sniggered with his Slytherin cronies about-- everything. About finally coming out on top, even if that meant taking it up the arse from Ron Weasley. "I suppose I hadn't disagreed loudly enough."
Harry's fists clenched. "You're bloody well -enjoying- this, aren't you."
"I'm not some traumatized little virgin, Potter, if that's what you're wondering. You're the one who's been fixating on that one unfortunate incident. I myself happen to move on from my more unflattering--"
"Humiliating, you mean--"
"--moments, Potter. And no, humiliation is something you can choose not to feel. If you've got the mind for it, as I do."
"You're-- you're a nasty-- dirty liar, that's what-- you--" Harry flushed. God, was he ever going to stop getting distracted by flashbacks of Malfoy on his back in the dirt?
More than anything, he wished he could get back the pure disgust he'd felt back then; the rising bile as he'd stared at Ron's flexing thighs and heard Malfoy make those stupid grunts at every single slap of Ron's hips. Right when Ron started keening low in his throat, Harry could see the thick jizz trickling down Malfoy's inner thighs and pooling on the flattened grass. He hadn't been able to move and he was barely four feet away, though Ron wouldn't have noticed because he was coming so hard into Malfoy's bony arse.
To complete Harry's nightmare, of course Malfoy had seen him; was staring right up into his eyes when his hips bucked up against Ron's and he wrapped his legs around, grinding his lower body upwards spastically until his mouth gaped open, his tongue between his teeth, and his whites showed. For all his whining, Malfoy was nearly silent when he came, stuttering something indecipherable as Ron bit down on his neck.
Harry didn't know how the hell he was supposed to look Ron in the eye after that ever again; even worse, he didn't know when he'd finally stop staring fixedly at the sheet over the bulge between Malfoy's legs like it could disintegrate from his gaze alone. Now -that- was humiliating, all right.
"Fancy a bit of an angry hand-job, do you? Will that get you to leave me in peace? I have a nice deal going, Potter, if you haven't noticed, and I don't need you mucking around where you're not needed."
Harry remained where he was by sheer force of will. "Ron would drop you like a hot potato if I-- if I asked him to," he mumbled in a low voice.
"Some friend you are, Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry almost took him seriously.
"He doesn't bloody fancy you, all right?! Get a sodding clue!" Harry knocked the chair over with a loud clatter.
There was a pause. "Who're you trying to convince now, Potter? Should I call Madam Pomfrey to restrain you already?"
"I'm not trying to convince anyone!" Harry wasn't about to manhandle a bloke lying down, no matter how much he deserved it. He knew Ron wouldn't. "You're just Malfoy!" he yelled. "And Ron-- Ron is my best friend, and you're not fucking about to take him away from me, all right?! I won't let you!"
Malfoy stared at him silently for a moment, but Harry was already on his way out. "Well, woo-hoo, good on you, Boy Who Fucking Wanked," Malfoy whispered mockingly, right before the door clicked shut.
--
The next morning, as they took the same corridor to Charms together, Harry pondered what he could possibly say to Ron now that'd make any difference. "Er," he said. "I didn't mean it, you know."
"Which part?" Ron said immediately. "Y'mean about shagging me, half-killing Malfoy without me, or maybe that part about Hermione?"
"Umm--" Harry cringed, wishing he could just walk into a wall and never come out. "I already told you I didn't mean it about the shagging, Ron."
"So what did you mean?"
"I'm just-- sorry, okay? That's all."
Ron shook his head, laughing slightly. "I know how hard that sort of thing is for you."
"Yeah...."
"Yeah."
"By the way, you're not really... gay, are you?" Harry said tentatively, not having the time to wince as they walked into the Charms classroom.
"Nah. I'm just gagging for Malfoy." Ron laughed. "Merlin, it was worth it just to see your expression right now, mate. Bloody priceless."
"Eww," Harry put in half-heartedly, figuring he might as well make a show of it.
"I know you've got a stiffie thinking of it as we speak," Ron said good-naturedly, every line in his body radiating satisfaction in revenge well-taken.
"I hate you both," Harry said with feeling. It wasn't like he -forgave- him or anything, but it was a relief, Ron being around to actually say that to.
"Wait till you see us again," Ron grinned.
Writing this did make me feel better, however. I do warn you there's no threesomes and quite a bit of... um, pissed!Harry angst. Not that this is news, since I did write it. Actually, Harry-centric Ron/Draco was so obvious I couldn't not write it, once it hit me. Oh man oh man -.-
Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's Note: the moral of the story is... I really really don't like Ron/Draco, but am a masochistic bitch.
- Vent -
It wasn't something Harry was going to forgive. That much, he decided as soon as he'd heard those slick wet noises like squelching bugs, saw Ron's bare freckled arse moving above Malfoy's, heard the sickening little grunts; as soon as he'd -smelled- them there, behind the Greenhouse in the rotting dirt.
He looked at Ron at dinner and it hurt so much he choked on his soup, so he didn't look anymore. He swallowed carefully, looking down at his spoon. There was a half-eaten fish head with a single rheumy eye, staring at him. Somehow, he doubted it was supposed to be there.
"All right, Harry?" Hermione said softly, and he nodded. He knew she couldn't talk to Ron right now, that she -needed- him, but he just-- couldn't. He couldn't say he was sorry, either, and he wasn't sure he really was.
He looked at Malfoy instead, and suddenly the hate was back so strong his heart leapt up in his throat, beating wildly in his gums and fingertips and behind his temples.
It wasn't that Ron -loved- that git, of course. It wasn't. It couldn't be, because.... This was only something disgusting and perverted that had no real reason for being, that Ron was doing because he and Hermione weren't enough anymore. It was dirty, like sex was dirty. Wet and sick and dirty.
Harry thought he hated sex.
--
"What do you want?" Ron asked him, in a calm sort of voice. "I'm not going to wait for you to--"
He didn't finish the sentence, but Harry nodded. "I don't want to hear it," Harry said, and Ron left silently.
"He's still the old Ron, you know," Hermione said quietly. She had quit knitting house-elf caps, so now she busied herself making vests with big red bull's eyes on the back for the DA. "He's your best friend." Hermione's hand was on his forearm, and it took all he had not to slap her away. "Harry, don't you think if you said something, he'd-- Oh Harry...."
He didn't want to explain or have things explained to him. He didn't want to be reasonable. He didn't want to -understand-, or to listen, or to stop Ron from doing whatever the bloody hell he wanted with absolutely anyone. It was none of his business.
"No, I don't," he mumbled, but it came out more like a hiss.
"This isn't like you, Harry," Hermione whispered, and finally he looked her straight in the eye.
"Yeah?" he said. "Because Ron has been sticking it into Malfoy's arse since third year, right?" And Hermione's face scrunched up predictably right before she stormed off, blinking rapidly. "You fucking knew, didn't you?" he called after her. "You were protecting him, right? Just admit it!"
The others in the Common Room were looking at him, but then they always were.
He wanted to yell something stupid like 'what happened to you two?!'-- he wanted to pretend he didn't know. Somehow they'd grown up in every way he didn't, and he could forgive them if he could figure out what to do about it.
--
Malfoy always said the exact right thing, Harry thought; he could count on him, in a really messed up way. He never acted like anything but what he was: a twisted spoiled little fucker. He wasn't surprised Malfoy had let Ron do it to him; it had probably been the best thing that'd ever happened to him, after all the times Ron and Harry showed Malfoy together. He'd probably begged for it. Harry could almost hear those words in that whiny voice right before he fell asleep lately: do me, Weasley!
He'd have rather heard Voldemort again, he thought. But he wasn't that lucky anymore.
On the other hand, he was getting lots of practice at hating people so much he could burst. So much he could unscrew their heads as soon as look at them-- him-- Malfoy. Though he himself wasn't worth it. Not nearly. He'd have said Malfoy wasn't worth a hair on Ron's head, but it seemed he was wrong. Quite literally.
He didn't think he'd have that much trouble when it came time to cast an Unforgivable again. In fact, he looked forward to letting off a little steam.
"You want in on the action, don't you Potter?" Malfoy drawled.
He never even got the time to twitch.
Harry forgot the stillborn talk with Ron when the back of Malfoy's head hit the stone wall, because his eyes rolled back in satisfaction. There was a dull thud but not quite a crack; Malfoy's whole body jerked like a doll's and there were tears leaking out of Malfoy's scrunched shut eyes. His whole face was pinched and white and -ugly-, and maybe Harry knew what Ron came to Malfoy for, except not really. Not at all, really.
It was only normal to need to vent a little.
--
Malfoy was in the Hospital Wing and Ron and Hermione were there, watching him. Harry was in Dumbledore's office; he'd bumped into Snape on the way over, who gave him a look like he wanted him dead. Likewise, Harry thought.
Dumbledore was going to tell him Snape recommended he be kicked out of Hogwarts or something like it, and Harry looked forward to saying he didn't care, because what did it matter where Voldemort came looking for him?
He'd had a non-talk with Hermione earlier that morning, though Ron was the one who couldn't bear to look at him now, it seemed. Everyone was quiet, casting disappointed, almost fearful looks at him, like he was about to snap and beat -their- heads against the wall. Of course he couldn't be teaching the DA anymore, which was a relief, no matter what anyone thought.
Dumbledore didn't bother offering him any candy. He'd only have thrown it in his face like the time before, anyway. "Have you considered starting counseling, Harry? I know Mr. Lupin hasn't been in touch with you recently, so perhaps our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor could--"
"Fuck you," Harry said, and went for the door. Dumbledore knew enough by now to let it open.
--
"Have you ever wanted to kill someone?" Harry asked Luna conversationally, because she was there and it didn't matter what he said.
"Hmm." There was a pause, but not an uncomfortable one. She chewed on a piece of brown November grass, scratched her nose, and finally rested her elbows on her knees. "Not that I recall. How does it feel?"
"Like a itch you can never quite scratch, and if you even start thinking too hard about it, it immediately feels worse than before."
"Oh," she said. "There are a lot of other methods to cure itching, though. Besides scratching, that is."
"No kidding," Harry said, but his mouth quirked. "You would know, wouldn't you."
"I would," she told him seriously. "You just have to ask me."
"And what would you tell me if I asked?" he said idly.
"Only the truth."
Harry laughed.
--
Harry snuck out after Ron, having heard the tell-tale signs of moving about. He didn't sleep very soundly anymore, and Ron was never nearly as good at sneaking about as Harry.
He didn't let himself think about what he was doing: he just did it. He was silent and invisible, barefoot and shivering by the door.
They were doing it in the Slytherin changing rooms, which was -wrong- on a number of levels, and the sounds were different this time, but that might have been because Malfoy had Ron's cock in his mouth. The desperate bastard was wanking himself as he did it, making whorish noises as Ron tugged him forward repeatedly by the hair, over and over again. That must hurt, Harry thought distantly, though of course Malfoy must like that sort of thing. It only made sense.
Harry felt nauseous and dizzy, weak with vertigo, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and lean against the door, losing himself in the noise.
When Malfoy came, he made a sound like when Harry's fist hit his stomach, and Harry's cock pulsed and jerked wetly in his pajama bottoms. He gave a faint gasp, hand flying guiltily to his crotch, and ran blindly, somehow avoiding Filch before he collapsed back onto his bed, panting. His hand remained stuck between his legs somehow, rubbing without his volition every now and then, though the fabric was all gluey and gross and it reeked of sex. Harry felt flushed all the way down to his collarbones.
It needed another couple of quick tugs, between periods of silent staring into the dark, until he could fall asleep. He didn't dream.
--
The next morning he went to see Dumbledore.
"So did you want me to talk to What's-his-name, then?" he said disinterestedly.
"Professor Mudpie has had quite a few years with St. Mungo's, so you can be assured he'll be able to understand what an old man like me fails to, Harry...."
Harry just stared at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, my dear boy, of course I didn't mean your personal affliction is so bad as to merit treatment at St. Mungo's, it's only that your mental health should be as important as any broken bone from Quidditch. You understand, don't you?"
"Snape threatened to leave if something wasn't done about me, didn't he? I'll bet they're all scared of me by now."
"Worried, Harry. We're all -worried-," he said, raising an index finger. "And you have to admit you have given us good reason up till now, but since you're finally talking, things will naturally even out, you see...."
"Don't take me for a fool, -Professor-," Harry bit out.
"You must make these gestures to keep the peace, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "We need you, but there are those we can't afford to alienate right now. Not yet."
Harry smiled tightly, his mouth resisting movement. "Thank you. But I'd rather talk to Snape."
"If you wish."
--
"Would you do it with me instead of him if I asked, then?" Harry wanted to say 'fuck', but he couldn't, quite, looking into Ron's familiar old face. He couldn't punch him, and he couldn't actually raise his voice anymore. He was left with saying stupid things on a whim, sprawling tiredly next to Ron against a birch tree after Care of Magical Creatures.
Ron did a blatant double take. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"
"I don't know, what do you think I mean?"
"I think you're trying to get a good left hook out of me."
"Is it working?"
"What do you think?" Ron said through his teeth.
Great. Now -Harry- wanted to punch him. "Kidding," he said, ducking as Ron swung at him half-seriously. "So. How long has she known?"
"You fucking -twit-!" Ron yelled, and stomped off towards the Quidditch pitch.
People really need to control their need for acting out in public all the time, Harry thought.
--
"Snap out of it, Potter," Snape sneered at him, drumming his spidery fingers against an inkwell. "You're seventeen years old. This sort of-- closeted moping of yours is frankly pathetic, besides simply being ill-timed."
"If you're implying I'm a homo, I--"
"I'm not implying anything whatsoever, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a seething tone. "I am merely stating the facts as I see them, since quite obviously you're too oblivious to see two fingers held in front of you. Consider it a rare favor and be grateful, you brat!"
"What if I don't want any favors from you, Professor?" Harry shot back in a matched tone.
"Then we're perfectly understood, I take it."
"Dumbledore would dismiss you before he'd ever allow me to go back to the Dursleys, you know."
Snape's expression curdled impossibly further, lips thinning into nonexistence and his eyes turned into little pitch-black pinpricks of focused hate. At the back of his mind, Harry realized Malfoy used to look at him just like that, and that it felt... different coming from Snape. Like he really meant it. The whole nine yards. Harry knew with a burning certainty that Snape must've enjoyed casting Crucio, more than once, and he immediately recoiled from the barest hint of empathy this inspired as if struck.
"I suggest you leave my sight before I am forced to wipe that arrogant look from your face in a most unpleasant way, Potter." Snape was still looking at him like that, and the longer he did, the stronger Harry felt. He really looked forward to the day he was better than Snape in a fair fight. "You know nothing about Dumbledore or anything else worthwhile, excepting, of course, ganging up unprovoked on people and shoving your-- big stick in their faces. You make me -sick-," Snape spat. "It's always your kind behind any act of tasteless violence, you self-righteous little-- what are you still doing here?!"
Harry thought it would have been much worse, trying to talk about it with someone who actually gave a damn.
--
"Malfoy." Harry stood, gripping the back of a wooden chair.
"Potter," Malfoy said, coughing as he lounged-- smugly, Harry thought-- in his hospital bed, arms folded primly above his chest. His hair was brushed back just as carefully as usual. Harry could still see him with his cock out and his hair in his eyes, doing filthy things with that mouth to Harry's -best friend-. He shifted his grip on the chair.
"Here to finish what you started, is that it?"
'I hate you,' he nearly heard himself say with some relish. It'd be almost nice to say, knowing there'd be no consequences. Or maybe, speaking of consequences: 'Suck me, slut.' Harry was so hard it was painful, and he was almost startled at how much he hated, though hardly Malfoy at this point. More like himself, except that was stupid, because it was still all Malfoy's fault. "Why the hell are you here?" That wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it was better than the alternatives. "Aren't you bored without--" Harry blushed, tongue suddenly awkward in his mouth; he didn't know why he thought this was a good idea.
"They think you might attack me again if I had free run of Hogwarts once more," Malfoy smirked. He -knew-. He probably sniggered with his Slytherin cronies about-- everything. About finally coming out on top, even if that meant taking it up the arse from Ron Weasley. "I suppose I hadn't disagreed loudly enough."
Harry's fists clenched. "You're bloody well -enjoying- this, aren't you."
"I'm not some traumatized little virgin, Potter, if that's what you're wondering. You're the one who's been fixating on that one unfortunate incident. I myself happen to move on from my more unflattering--"
"Humiliating, you mean--"
"--moments, Potter. And no, humiliation is something you can choose not to feel. If you've got the mind for it, as I do."
"You're-- you're a nasty-- dirty liar, that's what-- you--" Harry flushed. God, was he ever going to stop getting distracted by flashbacks of Malfoy on his back in the dirt?
More than anything, he wished he could get back the pure disgust he'd felt back then; the rising bile as he'd stared at Ron's flexing thighs and heard Malfoy make those stupid grunts at every single slap of Ron's hips. Right when Ron started keening low in his throat, Harry could see the thick jizz trickling down Malfoy's inner thighs and pooling on the flattened grass. He hadn't been able to move and he was barely four feet away, though Ron wouldn't have noticed because he was coming so hard into Malfoy's bony arse.
To complete Harry's nightmare, of course Malfoy had seen him; was staring right up into his eyes when his hips bucked up against Ron's and he wrapped his legs around, grinding his lower body upwards spastically until his mouth gaped open, his tongue between his teeth, and his whites showed. For all his whining, Malfoy was nearly silent when he came, stuttering something indecipherable as Ron bit down on his neck.
Harry didn't know how the hell he was supposed to look Ron in the eye after that ever again; even worse, he didn't know when he'd finally stop staring fixedly at the sheet over the bulge between Malfoy's legs like it could disintegrate from his gaze alone. Now -that- was humiliating, all right.
"Fancy a bit of an angry hand-job, do you? Will that get you to leave me in peace? I have a nice deal going, Potter, if you haven't noticed, and I don't need you mucking around where you're not needed."
Harry remained where he was by sheer force of will. "Ron would drop you like a hot potato if I-- if I asked him to," he mumbled in a low voice.
"Some friend you are, Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry almost took him seriously.
"He doesn't bloody fancy you, all right?! Get a sodding clue!" Harry knocked the chair over with a loud clatter.
There was a pause. "Who're you trying to convince now, Potter? Should I call Madam Pomfrey to restrain you already?"
"I'm not trying to convince anyone!" Harry wasn't about to manhandle a bloke lying down, no matter how much he deserved it. He knew Ron wouldn't. "You're just Malfoy!" he yelled. "And Ron-- Ron is my best friend, and you're not fucking about to take him away from me, all right?! I won't let you!"
Malfoy stared at him silently for a moment, but Harry was already on his way out. "Well, woo-hoo, good on you, Boy Who Fucking Wanked," Malfoy whispered mockingly, right before the door clicked shut.
--
The next morning, as they took the same corridor to Charms together, Harry pondered what he could possibly say to Ron now that'd make any difference. "Er," he said. "I didn't mean it, you know."
"Which part?" Ron said immediately. "Y'mean about shagging me, half-killing Malfoy without me, or maybe that part about Hermione?"
"Umm--" Harry cringed, wishing he could just walk into a wall and never come out. "I already told you I didn't mean it about the shagging, Ron."
"So what did you mean?"
"I'm just-- sorry, okay? That's all."
Ron shook his head, laughing slightly. "I know how hard that sort of thing is for you."
"Yeah...."
"Yeah."
"By the way, you're not really... gay, are you?" Harry said tentatively, not having the time to wince as they walked into the Charms classroom.
"Nah. I'm just gagging for Malfoy." Ron laughed. "Merlin, it was worth it just to see your expression right now, mate. Bloody priceless."
"Eww," Harry put in half-heartedly, figuring he might as well make a show of it.
"I know you've got a stiffie thinking of it as we speak," Ron said good-naturedly, every line in his body radiating satisfaction in revenge well-taken.
"I hate you both," Harry said with feeling. It wasn't like he -forgave- him or anything, but it was a relief, Ron being around to actually say that to.
"Wait till you see us again," Ron grinned.