You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Boy) [Harry/Draco, R]
I'm finally getting around to posting my reversathon fic. Obviously not DH compliant.
Title: You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Boy)
Author: mizBean
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Just good clean fun. Don't sue.
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3,600
Summary: Draco/Harry's miracle arse = OTP, or why Pansy Parkinson will always be more brilliant than you.
Author's Note: Written for reversathon 2007. Beta by florahart and Brit-picked by ell_dee. Thanks also go to ella_bane for her suggestions on making this a better fic.
You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Boy)
It so happened that after the war ended, and Draco was forgiven for his misdeeds (nearly murdering his headmaster and assorted others), he found himself back at Hogwarts, wanting very much to be left alone.
And as so often was the case Pansy Parkinson had other ideas.
"Well?" she said, hands perched on her pink beruffled hips.
Everyone had been abuzz in anticipation for the evening's ball, a victory party to celebrate the reopening of Hogwarts. Everyone, that is, except Draco. He had decided that a bracing evening of study and quiet reflection would be a much better use of his time. It was his NEWTs year, after all.
He put down his book, Advanced Transfiguration and You, and tried to affect the bland smile that his father always used to employ on his mother when she nattered on too long about the Dark Lord's deplorable table manners or the pathetic size of her winter wardrobe. Sadly, this particular tactic worked about as well to deflect Pansy as it did on Narcissa, which was to say, not at all.
"We're leaving in five minutes," Pansy announced.
Pansy was a meddlesome bint (meant in the most affectionate way possible, of course); thus she was not one give up on her quarry so easily. Draco was forced to start whining.
"Why do we care about some stupid ball?" he huffed, wrinkling his nose. "There’ll be Gryffindors there."
"You're not staying here alone," said Pansy, now joined by Millicent at her side. Millicent was stuffed into a set of dress robes Snape would never have allowed to cross the common room threshold, were he still alive, and Draco felt the vague stirrings of grief. Which Snape would never have approved of. Damn it.
Pansy was a formidable opponent, not one to be discounted by her penchant for pink and girlish attire. Desperate times called for desperate measures; therefore, there was only one thing left to say. "I didn't want to have to tell you this," he said, nodding sagely. " It's a trick. Trust me."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "A trick?"
"The Ministry." Draco lowered his voice. "They want to turn us all into Gryffindor drones. Indoctrinate us into their weird faith in bravery and rule-breaking."
Pansy and Millicent exchanged bewildered glances. "Okay, I'm not following," said Pansy. "What does that have to do with the ball tonight, exactly?"
"Fraternization with the enemy." Draco explained slowly. "You know why McGonagall is hosting this ball, don't you?"
"To promote the spirit of Inter-House cooperation," chirped Millicent before scowling under Draco's withering glare. Honestly, it was times like these he worried for his Slytherin brethren.
"Don't you get it?" Draco rose to his feet, stalking across the room. He whirled around suddenly, robes snapping around him (It had taken months of practice to acquire the proper snappage). "Now that the war is over, nothing can stop them."
"Them?" Crabbe frowned at Draco from the opposite couch.
"They call it 'Inter-House cooperation,' but we know what that really means, don't we?" said Draco.
Goyle frowned too. "A party?" he said, looking vexed.
"No! Brain-washing!" Draco tapped his head for emphasis. "Gryffindor-ness can rub off. It’s a slippery slope, Pans. Mark my words. It's only a party today. Tomorrow it will be campfire songs and then, God forbid, charity work!"
"You don't say," said Pansy.
"I do say, " said Draco with a satisfied smirk. Such talent for paranoia was a Black trait. His Aunt Bella would be so proud if she weren't deader than the Dark Lord himself. "Therefore, I will not be joining you for tonight's festivities." He sat back down and picked up his book.
Pansy pursed her lips, considering. "All right, you have a point," she said. "Maybe we shouldn't go."
"What?" Millicent gasped. "I spent thirty Galleons on this dress."
"Hush," Pansy told her. "You know what will happen if we go to the ball tonight, don't you?" Her eyes swept the room.
Crabbe frowned. "Daphne will flash everyone her tits?"
Daphne began to giggle shamelessly from where she was sitting next to Blaise, who was trying to affect a look of endless ennui while looking down her blouse. "I know, I know," she shouted, raising her hand. "Draco will say something inappropriate."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Besides that. Harry Potter will lord over the place. It will be all about him. Mr. Savior of the Wizarding World. 'I won the war. Love me.' Yeah, I don't think I want to go either."
Harry Potter. The very name made Draco burn with fury. Of course, Potter had killed the Dark Lord, which had pretty much saved Draco's arse. It didn't mean he had to like it.
"Potter," Draco spat, licking his lips. "I forgot about him."
"Did you? I'm surprised, frankly," said Pansy.
Draco ignored her. "We can't let Potter get away with this."
"No, we can't," said Crabbe loudly, jumping to his feet. Goyle stood too, cracking his knuckles.
"We're going to this party," said Draco, leading the charge. "And we're going to show Potter exactly who we are."
"Exactly who are we?" Millicent asked.
"Slytherins, darling," said Pansy, taking her elbow. "You know, the few, the proud. The green."
:: :: :: :: ::
Now, Pansy really had no use for Harry Potter. He was a Gryffindor, after all, but she wanted her old Draco back, and sometimes one had to make sacrifices for the greater good. Draco hated Potter, that much she knew; but she would be naïve to think there wasn't something more. And it hadn't escaped her notice that Everyone's Favorite Hero had returned to school looking almost as miserable as Draco, and it didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out why. Potter was bored. He had lost his focus and he was getting soft. What he really needed was someone to save.
Pansy had a pretty good idea who.
Now she just had to figure how.
Draco led the Slytherins to the Great Hall, throwing open its heavy doors. The thump, thump, thump of industrial dance music immediately assaulted their ears, the gothic space transformed for the night into a dance club with floating disco balls and colored torches. Pansy sniffed the air, heady with the sweet scent of stale beer and teen hormones, and smiled.
"What is it?" Millicent whispered.
"Just watch," she replied, nodding toward Draco.
Indeed, Draco had already focused his attention on the star Gryffindor, looking a little crazed. "I told you," he was muttering to himself, watching morose-looking Potter, shaking hands with some Ministry hack. "Look at him, Ministry people everywhere, all trying to get a piece of the Potter mojo."
"Mm. Can I get a piece of that?" said Daphne. "It sounds tasty."
"Would that be before or after you flash Potter your tits?" asked Blaise.
Draco gave them all a derisive glare. "When we're all forced to sing Kumbaya like a bunch of Hufflepuffs, you won't be amused then," he threatened.
"So, what do we do?" asked Crabbe, turning pale.
"We need a plan," said Draco, eyes on Potter again as he worried his lower lip.
It hadn't escaped Pansy's notice that Draco's eyes had drifted south to focus on Potter's tight little arse, which was wrapped in the snuggest set of dress robes that she had ever witnessed outside of Mr. Wizard's Exotic Dancing Emporium in Knockturn Alley. It was scandalous, really, that Potter would think such attire was appropriate considering there were children in attendance. Well, Fourth and Fifth Years. Same thing. It was like Potter actually wanted to attract attention to his behind and then inspiration struck. Draco had always been an arse man. She turned to her fellow Slytherins. "We need to get Potter drunk," she announced.
"What?" Draco whirled around.
"Sure, why not? It'll be fun." She winked at Millicent and Daphne, knowing both would be up for some lewd entertainment. "You don't think the professors are only drinking Butterbeer, do you?" She gestured toward Headmistress McGonagall, weaving through the dance floor, her tartan hat askew. "Slughorn's got a stash. I just know it. Daphne?" Pansy turned to the busty blond, telling her with a nod, "You know what to do."
Daphne smirked, already unbuttoning the top of her blouse.
Blaise suddenly cleared his throat, no longer looking bored. "I think I'm going to go, um, watch." He took off with a trot, following Daphne.
"I thought we were going to kick Potter's arse," a crestfallen Crabbe asked. Goyle nodded.
"After we ply him with alcohol." Pansy had moved between them, taking both their elbows and giving them each a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be more fun that way. Trust me," she said, pausing to grin winningly at Draco.
Draco was watching her performance with narrowed eyes. Draco was no fool, and it was entirely possible he had figured out that something was up, but there was a spark of interest there, too.
A spark that just might be enough to get the old Draco back.
:: :: :: :: ::
It had to be serendipity. Harry was standing by himself (Finally, Scrimgeour and his Ministry goons had left him alone!), tugging uncomfortably at the tight robes that Hermione had insisted he wear ("Quit moping over Ginny. Go out and get some!") when Parkinson and Bulstrode tottered over, leering at his arse.
Maybe Hermione was right, Harry thought, standing up straight, letting the two Slytherins admire his backside. A little fun couldn't hurt. He had no interest in Slytherin girls, but Parkinson had claimed to know of a secret stash of Firewhisky, and Harry was bored. He was tired of this hero shit, always having to be on his best behavior because he was a role model. Whatever the hell that meant.
It was certainly better that watching Ron and Hermione do the nasty on the dance floor. Besides he'd been meaning to ask Malfoy why he was always glaring at him. The war was over. Couldn't Malfoy just let it go?
::
"Do you always wear dress robes this tight?" a tittering Parkinson asked Harry, as she poured a glug of Firewhisky into his glass of fruit punch. They were standing behind the head table where a full array of spirits had been curiously left unguarded. Really, anyone could sneak up and filch some.
Harry immediately reddened at the question. "No, Hermione's idea. She said they looked good on me." He attempted a brave smile before taking a sip from his glass and nearly gagged, his tongue on fire. "Hot stuff," he said in a tight voice. He waved his hand frantically in front of his mouth. "Not much of a drinker," he managed to squeak.
"You're doing fine. It takes practice. Lots of it," said Parkinson, leaning close and pouring more into his glass. Her hand skimmed down his back, his skin prickling in her wake. "That Granger is a smart girl," she murmured, her voice husky, before reaching down suddenly and pinching him on the arse.
Harry jumped, gathering his robes around him like blushing virgin (which, um, wasn't that far from the truth) and backed away. He was going to have to have a stern word with Hermione when he got back to the Gryffindor common room. Really, Parkinson was not his type at all. She was way too bosomy, for one thing. Not lean and long like Ginny had been. And she was a Slytherin, and everyone knew Slytherins were bad news, even if they did have a storied reputation for sexual deviancy. Harry tugged on his robes, suddenly feeling constricted, and looked up.
Malfoy was glaring at him, still. He looked, quite frankly, like he wanted to eat Harry alive, and Harry had had just about enough. "You," he said, gesturing at the pointy-faced ferret. "Why aren't you drinking?"
Malfoy started as if he had been woken from some sort of trance and turned a bright shade of pink. "Erm," he stammered in a very un-Malfoy-ish way, "I- I do strange things when I drink."
"He's not kidding," Pansy whispered conspiratorially in Harry's ear. "Shall we pour him a glass?"
Harry took another sip and grinned back at her. "I think we shall," he replied, and he watched with glee as Parkinson snatched Malfoy's empty punch glass out of his hands and returned it to him filled to the top.
"Bottoms up, darling," she said.
"Don't do this to me," Malfoy pleaded, eyeing the smoking glass with trepidation.
"One sip," urged Parkinson.
"What, are you scared?" Harry taunted. Honestly, when did Malfoy become such a girl?
Malfoy's eyes shot up, leveling straight at Harry. The hair on the back of Harry's neck began to stand as he tensed under the scrutiny. When did Malfoy have such fiery eyes? Harry wondered, transfixed. He quickly had to amend that. When did Malfoy get so hot?
"No, Potter. I'm not scared," said Malfoy before pausing to take a long sip, his eyes fluttering briefly as he swallowed the Firewhisky down with one gulp. Unlike Harry, he hardly grimaced, and Harry wanted to ask him where he learned to drink like that, but he was too addled by the sight of Malfoy's red whisky-soaked lips to think straight. Malfoy caught Harry staring and his mouth slid into a croaked grin. "Are you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
Harry shook his head dumbly and plucked the Firewhisky bottle out of Parkinson's hands, eager for more.
Pansy cleared her throat, as the two of them closed the distance between each other. "I'll just leave you two alone, then," she said, pulling Millicent behind her.
:: :: :: :: ::
Hermione's hands were on her hips. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of Harry since that slut Greengrass had opened her shirt and scared him off. Honestly, as Head Girl it was bad enough that she had to deal with Harry's moods -- he was her best friend, but did he ever get gloomy - but she had a Slytherin who seemed to think brassieres were an optional part of the uniform. It had been ten points off for Slytherin for that stunt. It should have been twenty, but Ron had awarded Greengrass ten points for "spirited spontaneity." (Hogwarts with Ronald Weasley as Head Boy could be a very scary place.)
But, honestly, where could Harry have gone?
She squinted through the sweaty morass of bodies grinding against each other on the dance floor before finally spying a shock of blond hair. Honestly, Malfoy's hair was like a beacon. It was a miracle he'd never got caught spying during the war. Good thing, too. Harry would have never found the last Horcrux. She crept closer, her wand drawn and her Head Girl badge gleaming in the flashing disco lights before suddenly coming to an abrupt halt.
So that's what Harry had been up to. She tilted her head, watching the two boys fumbling in the shadows behind the head table.
"Granger."
Hermione jumped, whirling around. "Parkinson," she said breathlessly, pushing her hair away from her flushed face.
The two witches said nothing at first, each sizing the other up.
"Nice work convincing Potter to wear those robes," said Parkinson finally.
Hermione cracked a small smile. "Well, something had to be done."
Parkinson smirked. "Quite."
:: :: :: :: ::
There was only one explanation for this… this travesty, thought Draco fervently. He did not like Harry Potter. He did not. Potter had awful hair and wore glasses, had rough Quidditch-hewn hands and long, Quidditch-toned legs, and, oh God, the roundest, firmest arse, he had ever felt. Er… No, Potter was a Gryffindor, and everyone knew that Gryffindors were voracious creatures and quick studies to the ways of the flesh. Oh God, he was doomed and Imperio-ed, obviously.
That was it. He had been Imperio-ed. Of course. That was why he was so taken with Potter and his miracle arse.
"What?" Potter had stopped sucking on the tender part of Draco's neck and was staring at him with bewilderment instead.
"Did I say that out loud?" Draco gasped, breathless, as he leaned his head against the cool stone wall. "Didn't mean to."
Potter nodded his head, tendrils of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. God, with his kiss-damaged mouth, Draco thought he looked like pure sex. Definitely mind control.
"S'okay," Potter said, returning to Draco's neck. He bit down and Draco winced as Harry's teeth scraped against his collarbone. "Miracle arse, huh?"
Draco yanked Potter's head away by his hair before he did permanent damage to Draco's skin. "Didn't say that." he said, trying to direct Potter toward something more productive like unfastening his flies. With his teeth.
Potter wrenched his hair out of Draco's grip and straightened up. Potter was two inches shorter than Draco, yet he still seemed to loom over him, even when drunk. It wasn't fair. "Admit it. You like me," he said, tugging Draco's tie out of his collar with a snap. "And my miracle arse," he added, looking gleeful as he started working open the buttons of Draco's shirt
Draco crossed his arms mutinously in front of his chest. "No, I don't like you or your… arse. You obviously have me under some sort of spell."
"With my arse."
"I hate you," Draco snapped, meaning it. Well, most of it.
Potter pushed his glasses up with his middle finger. "Is this the part you warned me about? That you act strangely when you drink?"
"I'm not strange, Potter."
Potter looked amused. "I didn't say you were. I think you're a narcissistic pain in the arse with some misplaced loyalties. And possibly too paranoid for your own good."
"Are you quite finished?" Draco snarled. He tried to push himself off the wall, but Potter stopped him with one arm.
"No, I'm not," he said, peering down Draco's unbuttoned shirt with obvious interest.
"I didn't know you liked boys," Draco spat, glaring back. "What happened to your girlfriend?"
"You mean, the one everyone is telling me to get over? I suspect she's off snogging Seamus. She's working her way through the Gryffindor dorm, didn't you know?" He let out a bitter-sounding laugh and pressed Draco harder against the wall. Draco felt his spine begin to protest.
"Poor you," Draco replied, shifting under Potter's weight to give his body some relief and finding something hard poking him in the hip. He grinned sharply, pressing his leg against Potter's erection. "Maybe that's why she left you."
Potter reared up, glaring at him, before finally Thank God. Thank God moving to unsnap Draco's trousers. "You're not far off," Potter gasped, his breath hot as he yanked down Draco's zip and wormed his hand inside. Potter was obviously an amateur as he fumbled with Draco's cock, pulling on it with crude strokes. However that didn't stop Draco melting bonelessly against the wall behind him, his head thrown back, mindless of the spectacle they were probably making. Oh God. The thought that someone might be watching made Draco suddenly jerk in Potter's hand, and he had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from coming so soon.
"Wait," he gasped, head spinning from arousal and drink. Draco fumbled between them, his hands not moving fast enough as he tried to yank open the buttons on Potter's robes. The tight, slick material wouldn't give. "I can't, you fucking ponce," he cried out in frustration, hitting Potter on the shoulder. "You're robes are too tight."
"Not a ponce," Potter groaned, tugging unsuccessfully at his own zipper. "Fuck, I hate Hermione."
Draco snorted. "Anyone who would wear robes like yours in public is a ponce."
"Shut up," Potter snapped, trying to catch his breath. His eyes briefly lolled back in his head, as Draco's palm reached to cup his erection, giving Potter a tight squeeze.
"Are too a ponce," said Draco, feeling superior. Really, he should have done this years ago. He would have enjoyed school more.
"Stop it," Potter cried, pushing Draco's hand away. "I can’t think when you do that."
"How about this instead?" Draco reached around with both hands, palming the cheeks of Potter's (miracle!) arse and forcing their bodies together.
"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God," Potter chanted, their pelvises grinding together, but Draco wasn't finished yet. He reached further, his fingers probing until he found the center of Potter's crack through his robes. "Stop. Don't. Don't. Oh, my God, I am a ponce," Potter gasped suddenly, as Draco pressed his fingertips against his arsehole, grinning.
Draco removed his hand and leaned back against the wall to look at Potter's face. "Revelation time," he asked, not unkindly.
Potter nodded, his mouth slack. "I need to come," he said, sounding a little desperate.
"You need to come. What about me?" Draco retorted. "You and your arse have been driving me mad all night. Figure out a way to get that cock out of your pants and let's have a wank!"
Potter grinned breathlessly. "I know." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "We have magic."
Draco shut his eyes. He must be drunk. He hadn't even thought of that.
"I have a miracle arse," Potter said, sounding smug as he Alohomora-ed open his zip.
"Shut up and give me your cock," Draco barked back. Somewhere he knew Pansy was smiling.
:: :: :: :: ::
Ron Weasley was not a happy Gryffindor. It was bad enough he had to deal with his girlfriend constantly telling him that he didn't do his Head Boy duties properly -- Honestly, Daphne Greengrass was a lovely young woman, and he wasn't going to let anyone say otherwise -- He had to deal with a ferret infestation in his dorm room.
"Wakey-wakey," he said, yanking the sheet off Malfoy's bare shoulders where he lay sprawled on Harry's bed. "Argh! What the fuck, you're naked?" He clenched his eyes shut, blinded by Malfoy's bony white arse. "My eyes. My eyes. Thousand points from Slytherin."
"Honestly, Ronald," said Hermione, suddenly appearing by his side. "Don't you think you're over reacting just a bit? I might take away twenty points for trespassing, but then I'd have to award Malfoy thirty points for good taste."
Ron gaped at her. "Hermione, he's naked. In Harry's bed. Malfoy. Naked. Do you know what this means?" He was frighteningly aware that he was starting to squeak.
Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Do tell."
"It's a plot, Hermione. Mark my words. The Slytherins. They're trying to infiltrate our ranks and make us do bad, Slytherin things." Ron's horrified words barely registered above a whisper.
"Really?" Hermione said.
"Did you see the robes Harry was wearing? Hermione, I couldn't stop staring at his arse." Ron patted his forehead, feeling flushed. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"There, there," Hermione soothed. "You're right, Slytherins are bad people. Deviant."
Draco cracked open an eyelid and smirked.
Title: You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Boy)
Author: mizBean
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Just good clean fun. Don't sue.
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3,600
Summary: Draco/Harry's miracle arse = OTP, or why Pansy Parkinson will always be more brilliant than you.
Author's Note: Written for reversathon 2007. Beta by florahart and Brit-picked by ell_dee. Thanks also go to ella_bane for her suggestions on making this a better fic.
You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Boy)
It so happened that after the war ended, and Draco was forgiven for his misdeeds (nearly murdering his headmaster and assorted others), he found himself back at Hogwarts, wanting very much to be left alone.
And as so often was the case Pansy Parkinson had other ideas.
"Well?" she said, hands perched on her pink beruffled hips.
Everyone had been abuzz in anticipation for the evening's ball, a victory party to celebrate the reopening of Hogwarts. Everyone, that is, except Draco. He had decided that a bracing evening of study and quiet reflection would be a much better use of his time. It was his NEWTs year, after all.
He put down his book, Advanced Transfiguration and You, and tried to affect the bland smile that his father always used to employ on his mother when she nattered on too long about the Dark Lord's deplorable table manners or the pathetic size of her winter wardrobe. Sadly, this particular tactic worked about as well to deflect Pansy as it did on Narcissa, which was to say, not at all.
"We're leaving in five minutes," Pansy announced.
Pansy was a meddlesome bint (meant in the most affectionate way possible, of course); thus she was not one give up on her quarry so easily. Draco was forced to start whining.
"Why do we care about some stupid ball?" he huffed, wrinkling his nose. "There’ll be Gryffindors there."
"You're not staying here alone," said Pansy, now joined by Millicent at her side. Millicent was stuffed into a set of dress robes Snape would never have allowed to cross the common room threshold, were he still alive, and Draco felt the vague stirrings of grief. Which Snape would never have approved of. Damn it.
Pansy was a formidable opponent, not one to be discounted by her penchant for pink and girlish attire. Desperate times called for desperate measures; therefore, there was only one thing left to say. "I didn't want to have to tell you this," he said, nodding sagely. " It's a trick. Trust me."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "A trick?"
"The Ministry." Draco lowered his voice. "They want to turn us all into Gryffindor drones. Indoctrinate us into their weird faith in bravery and rule-breaking."
Pansy and Millicent exchanged bewildered glances. "Okay, I'm not following," said Pansy. "What does that have to do with the ball tonight, exactly?"
"Fraternization with the enemy." Draco explained slowly. "You know why McGonagall is hosting this ball, don't you?"
"To promote the spirit of Inter-House cooperation," chirped Millicent before scowling under Draco's withering glare. Honestly, it was times like these he worried for his Slytherin brethren.
"Don't you get it?" Draco rose to his feet, stalking across the room. He whirled around suddenly, robes snapping around him (It had taken months of practice to acquire the proper snappage). "Now that the war is over, nothing can stop them."
"Them?" Crabbe frowned at Draco from the opposite couch.
"They call it 'Inter-House cooperation,' but we know what that really means, don't we?" said Draco.
Goyle frowned too. "A party?" he said, looking vexed.
"No! Brain-washing!" Draco tapped his head for emphasis. "Gryffindor-ness can rub off. It’s a slippery slope, Pans. Mark my words. It's only a party today. Tomorrow it will be campfire songs and then, God forbid, charity work!"
"You don't say," said Pansy.
"I do say, " said Draco with a satisfied smirk. Such talent for paranoia was a Black trait. His Aunt Bella would be so proud if she weren't deader than the Dark Lord himself. "Therefore, I will not be joining you for tonight's festivities." He sat back down and picked up his book.
Pansy pursed her lips, considering. "All right, you have a point," she said. "Maybe we shouldn't go."
"What?" Millicent gasped. "I spent thirty Galleons on this dress."
"Hush," Pansy told her. "You know what will happen if we go to the ball tonight, don't you?" Her eyes swept the room.
Crabbe frowned. "Daphne will flash everyone her tits?"
Daphne began to giggle shamelessly from where she was sitting next to Blaise, who was trying to affect a look of endless ennui while looking down her blouse. "I know, I know," she shouted, raising her hand. "Draco will say something inappropriate."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Besides that. Harry Potter will lord over the place. It will be all about him. Mr. Savior of the Wizarding World. 'I won the war. Love me.' Yeah, I don't think I want to go either."
Harry Potter. The very name made Draco burn with fury. Of course, Potter had killed the Dark Lord, which had pretty much saved Draco's arse. It didn't mean he had to like it.
"Potter," Draco spat, licking his lips. "I forgot about him."
"Did you? I'm surprised, frankly," said Pansy.
Draco ignored her. "We can't let Potter get away with this."
"No, we can't," said Crabbe loudly, jumping to his feet. Goyle stood too, cracking his knuckles.
"We're going to this party," said Draco, leading the charge. "And we're going to show Potter exactly who we are."
"Exactly who are we?" Millicent asked.
"Slytherins, darling," said Pansy, taking her elbow. "You know, the few, the proud. The green."
:: :: :: :: ::
Now, Pansy really had no use for Harry Potter. He was a Gryffindor, after all, but she wanted her old Draco back, and sometimes one had to make sacrifices for the greater good. Draco hated Potter, that much she knew; but she would be naïve to think there wasn't something more. And it hadn't escaped her notice that Everyone's Favorite Hero had returned to school looking almost as miserable as Draco, and it didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out why. Potter was bored. He had lost his focus and he was getting soft. What he really needed was someone to save.
Pansy had a pretty good idea who.
Now she just had to figure how.
Draco led the Slytherins to the Great Hall, throwing open its heavy doors. The thump, thump, thump of industrial dance music immediately assaulted their ears, the gothic space transformed for the night into a dance club with floating disco balls and colored torches. Pansy sniffed the air, heady with the sweet scent of stale beer and teen hormones, and smiled.
"What is it?" Millicent whispered.
"Just watch," she replied, nodding toward Draco.
Indeed, Draco had already focused his attention on the star Gryffindor, looking a little crazed. "I told you," he was muttering to himself, watching morose-looking Potter, shaking hands with some Ministry hack. "Look at him, Ministry people everywhere, all trying to get a piece of the Potter mojo."
"Mm. Can I get a piece of that?" said Daphne. "It sounds tasty."
"Would that be before or after you flash Potter your tits?" asked Blaise.
Draco gave them all a derisive glare. "When we're all forced to sing Kumbaya like a bunch of Hufflepuffs, you won't be amused then," he threatened.
"So, what do we do?" asked Crabbe, turning pale.
"We need a plan," said Draco, eyes on Potter again as he worried his lower lip.
It hadn't escaped Pansy's notice that Draco's eyes had drifted south to focus on Potter's tight little arse, which was wrapped in the snuggest set of dress robes that she had ever witnessed outside of Mr. Wizard's Exotic Dancing Emporium in Knockturn Alley. It was scandalous, really, that Potter would think such attire was appropriate considering there were children in attendance. Well, Fourth and Fifth Years. Same thing. It was like Potter actually wanted to attract attention to his behind and then inspiration struck. Draco had always been an arse man. She turned to her fellow Slytherins. "We need to get Potter drunk," she announced.
"What?" Draco whirled around.
"Sure, why not? It'll be fun." She winked at Millicent and Daphne, knowing both would be up for some lewd entertainment. "You don't think the professors are only drinking Butterbeer, do you?" She gestured toward Headmistress McGonagall, weaving through the dance floor, her tartan hat askew. "Slughorn's got a stash. I just know it. Daphne?" Pansy turned to the busty blond, telling her with a nod, "You know what to do."
Daphne smirked, already unbuttoning the top of her blouse.
Blaise suddenly cleared his throat, no longer looking bored. "I think I'm going to go, um, watch." He took off with a trot, following Daphne.
"I thought we were going to kick Potter's arse," a crestfallen Crabbe asked. Goyle nodded.
"After we ply him with alcohol." Pansy had moved between them, taking both their elbows and giving them each a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be more fun that way. Trust me," she said, pausing to grin winningly at Draco.
Draco was watching her performance with narrowed eyes. Draco was no fool, and it was entirely possible he had figured out that something was up, but there was a spark of interest there, too.
A spark that just might be enough to get the old Draco back.
:: :: :: :: ::
It had to be serendipity. Harry was standing by himself (Finally, Scrimgeour and his Ministry goons had left him alone!), tugging uncomfortably at the tight robes that Hermione had insisted he wear ("Quit moping over Ginny. Go out and get some!") when Parkinson and Bulstrode tottered over, leering at his arse.
Maybe Hermione was right, Harry thought, standing up straight, letting the two Slytherins admire his backside. A little fun couldn't hurt. He had no interest in Slytherin girls, but Parkinson had claimed to know of a secret stash of Firewhisky, and Harry was bored. He was tired of this hero shit, always having to be on his best behavior because he was a role model. Whatever the hell that meant.
It was certainly better that watching Ron and Hermione do the nasty on the dance floor. Besides he'd been meaning to ask Malfoy why he was always glaring at him. The war was over. Couldn't Malfoy just let it go?
::
"Do you always wear dress robes this tight?" a tittering Parkinson asked Harry, as she poured a glug of Firewhisky into his glass of fruit punch. They were standing behind the head table where a full array of spirits had been curiously left unguarded. Really, anyone could sneak up and filch some.
Harry immediately reddened at the question. "No, Hermione's idea. She said they looked good on me." He attempted a brave smile before taking a sip from his glass and nearly gagged, his tongue on fire. "Hot stuff," he said in a tight voice. He waved his hand frantically in front of his mouth. "Not much of a drinker," he managed to squeak.
"You're doing fine. It takes practice. Lots of it," said Parkinson, leaning close and pouring more into his glass. Her hand skimmed down his back, his skin prickling in her wake. "That Granger is a smart girl," she murmured, her voice husky, before reaching down suddenly and pinching him on the arse.
Harry jumped, gathering his robes around him like blushing virgin (which, um, wasn't that far from the truth) and backed away. He was going to have to have a stern word with Hermione when he got back to the Gryffindor common room. Really, Parkinson was not his type at all. She was way too bosomy, for one thing. Not lean and long like Ginny had been. And she was a Slytherin, and everyone knew Slytherins were bad news, even if they did have a storied reputation for sexual deviancy. Harry tugged on his robes, suddenly feeling constricted, and looked up.
Malfoy was glaring at him, still. He looked, quite frankly, like he wanted to eat Harry alive, and Harry had had just about enough. "You," he said, gesturing at the pointy-faced ferret. "Why aren't you drinking?"
Malfoy started as if he had been woken from some sort of trance and turned a bright shade of pink. "Erm," he stammered in a very un-Malfoy-ish way, "I- I do strange things when I drink."
"He's not kidding," Pansy whispered conspiratorially in Harry's ear. "Shall we pour him a glass?"
Harry took another sip and grinned back at her. "I think we shall," he replied, and he watched with glee as Parkinson snatched Malfoy's empty punch glass out of his hands and returned it to him filled to the top.
"Bottoms up, darling," she said.
"Don't do this to me," Malfoy pleaded, eyeing the smoking glass with trepidation.
"One sip," urged Parkinson.
"What, are you scared?" Harry taunted. Honestly, when did Malfoy become such a girl?
Malfoy's eyes shot up, leveling straight at Harry. The hair on the back of Harry's neck began to stand as he tensed under the scrutiny. When did Malfoy have such fiery eyes? Harry wondered, transfixed. He quickly had to amend that. When did Malfoy get so hot?
"No, Potter. I'm not scared," said Malfoy before pausing to take a long sip, his eyes fluttering briefly as he swallowed the Firewhisky down with one gulp. Unlike Harry, he hardly grimaced, and Harry wanted to ask him where he learned to drink like that, but he was too addled by the sight of Malfoy's red whisky-soaked lips to think straight. Malfoy caught Harry staring and his mouth slid into a croaked grin. "Are you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
Harry shook his head dumbly and plucked the Firewhisky bottle out of Parkinson's hands, eager for more.
Pansy cleared her throat, as the two of them closed the distance between each other. "I'll just leave you two alone, then," she said, pulling Millicent behind her.
:: :: :: :: ::
Hermione's hands were on her hips. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of Harry since that slut Greengrass had opened her shirt and scared him off. Honestly, as Head Girl it was bad enough that she had to deal with Harry's moods -- he was her best friend, but did he ever get gloomy - but she had a Slytherin who seemed to think brassieres were an optional part of the uniform. It had been ten points off for Slytherin for that stunt. It should have been twenty, but Ron had awarded Greengrass ten points for "spirited spontaneity." (Hogwarts with Ronald Weasley as Head Boy could be a very scary place.)
But, honestly, where could Harry have gone?
She squinted through the sweaty morass of bodies grinding against each other on the dance floor before finally spying a shock of blond hair. Honestly, Malfoy's hair was like a beacon. It was a miracle he'd never got caught spying during the war. Good thing, too. Harry would have never found the last Horcrux. She crept closer, her wand drawn and her Head Girl badge gleaming in the flashing disco lights before suddenly coming to an abrupt halt.
So that's what Harry had been up to. She tilted her head, watching the two boys fumbling in the shadows behind the head table.
"Granger."
Hermione jumped, whirling around. "Parkinson," she said breathlessly, pushing her hair away from her flushed face.
The two witches said nothing at first, each sizing the other up.
"Nice work convincing Potter to wear those robes," said Parkinson finally.
Hermione cracked a small smile. "Well, something had to be done."
Parkinson smirked. "Quite."
:: :: :: :: ::
There was only one explanation for this… this travesty, thought Draco fervently. He did not like Harry Potter. He did not. Potter had awful hair and wore glasses, had rough Quidditch-hewn hands and long, Quidditch-toned legs, and, oh God, the roundest, firmest arse, he had ever felt. Er… No, Potter was a Gryffindor, and everyone knew that Gryffindors were voracious creatures and quick studies to the ways of the flesh. Oh God, he was doomed and Imperio-ed, obviously.
That was it. He had been Imperio-ed. Of course. That was why he was so taken with Potter and his miracle arse.
"What?" Potter had stopped sucking on the tender part of Draco's neck and was staring at him with bewilderment instead.
"Did I say that out loud?" Draco gasped, breathless, as he leaned his head against the cool stone wall. "Didn't mean to."
Potter nodded his head, tendrils of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. God, with his kiss-damaged mouth, Draco thought he looked like pure sex. Definitely mind control.
"S'okay," Potter said, returning to Draco's neck. He bit down and Draco winced as Harry's teeth scraped against his collarbone. "Miracle arse, huh?"
Draco yanked Potter's head away by his hair before he did permanent damage to Draco's skin. "Didn't say that." he said, trying to direct Potter toward something more productive like unfastening his flies. With his teeth.
Potter wrenched his hair out of Draco's grip and straightened up. Potter was two inches shorter than Draco, yet he still seemed to loom over him, even when drunk. It wasn't fair. "Admit it. You like me," he said, tugging Draco's tie out of his collar with a snap. "And my miracle arse," he added, looking gleeful as he started working open the buttons of Draco's shirt
Draco crossed his arms mutinously in front of his chest. "No, I don't like you or your… arse. You obviously have me under some sort of spell."
"With my arse."
"I hate you," Draco snapped, meaning it. Well, most of it.
Potter pushed his glasses up with his middle finger. "Is this the part you warned me about? That you act strangely when you drink?"
"I'm not strange, Potter."
Potter looked amused. "I didn't say you were. I think you're a narcissistic pain in the arse with some misplaced loyalties. And possibly too paranoid for your own good."
"Are you quite finished?" Draco snarled. He tried to push himself off the wall, but Potter stopped him with one arm.
"No, I'm not," he said, peering down Draco's unbuttoned shirt with obvious interest.
"I didn't know you liked boys," Draco spat, glaring back. "What happened to your girlfriend?"
"You mean, the one everyone is telling me to get over? I suspect she's off snogging Seamus. She's working her way through the Gryffindor dorm, didn't you know?" He let out a bitter-sounding laugh and pressed Draco harder against the wall. Draco felt his spine begin to protest.
"Poor you," Draco replied, shifting under Potter's weight to give his body some relief and finding something hard poking him in the hip. He grinned sharply, pressing his leg against Potter's erection. "Maybe that's why she left you."
Potter reared up, glaring at him, before finally Thank God. Thank God moving to unsnap Draco's trousers. "You're not far off," Potter gasped, his breath hot as he yanked down Draco's zip and wormed his hand inside. Potter was obviously an amateur as he fumbled with Draco's cock, pulling on it with crude strokes. However that didn't stop Draco melting bonelessly against the wall behind him, his head thrown back, mindless of the spectacle they were probably making. Oh God. The thought that someone might be watching made Draco suddenly jerk in Potter's hand, and he had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from coming so soon.
"Wait," he gasped, head spinning from arousal and drink. Draco fumbled between them, his hands not moving fast enough as he tried to yank open the buttons on Potter's robes. The tight, slick material wouldn't give. "I can't, you fucking ponce," he cried out in frustration, hitting Potter on the shoulder. "You're robes are too tight."
"Not a ponce," Potter groaned, tugging unsuccessfully at his own zipper. "Fuck, I hate Hermione."
Draco snorted. "Anyone who would wear robes like yours in public is a ponce."
"Shut up," Potter snapped, trying to catch his breath. His eyes briefly lolled back in his head, as Draco's palm reached to cup his erection, giving Potter a tight squeeze.
"Are too a ponce," said Draco, feeling superior. Really, he should have done this years ago. He would have enjoyed school more.
"Stop it," Potter cried, pushing Draco's hand away. "I can’t think when you do that."
"How about this instead?" Draco reached around with both hands, palming the cheeks of Potter's (miracle!) arse and forcing their bodies together.
"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God," Potter chanted, their pelvises grinding together, but Draco wasn't finished yet. He reached further, his fingers probing until he found the center of Potter's crack through his robes. "Stop. Don't. Don't. Oh, my God, I am a ponce," Potter gasped suddenly, as Draco pressed his fingertips against his arsehole, grinning.
Draco removed his hand and leaned back against the wall to look at Potter's face. "Revelation time," he asked, not unkindly.
Potter nodded, his mouth slack. "I need to come," he said, sounding a little desperate.
"You need to come. What about me?" Draco retorted. "You and your arse have been driving me mad all night. Figure out a way to get that cock out of your pants and let's have a wank!"
Potter grinned breathlessly. "I know." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "We have magic."
Draco shut his eyes. He must be drunk. He hadn't even thought of that.
"I have a miracle arse," Potter said, sounding smug as he Alohomora-ed open his zip.
"Shut up and give me your cock," Draco barked back. Somewhere he knew Pansy was smiling.
:: :: :: :: ::
Ron Weasley was not a happy Gryffindor. It was bad enough he had to deal with his girlfriend constantly telling him that he didn't do his Head Boy duties properly -- Honestly, Daphne Greengrass was a lovely young woman, and he wasn't going to let anyone say otherwise -- He had to deal with a ferret infestation in his dorm room.
"Wakey-wakey," he said, yanking the sheet off Malfoy's bare shoulders where he lay sprawled on Harry's bed. "Argh! What the fuck, you're naked?" He clenched his eyes shut, blinded by Malfoy's bony white arse. "My eyes. My eyes. Thousand points from Slytherin."
"Honestly, Ronald," said Hermione, suddenly appearing by his side. "Don't you think you're over reacting just a bit? I might take away twenty points for trespassing, but then I'd have to award Malfoy thirty points for good taste."
Ron gaped at her. "Hermione, he's naked. In Harry's bed. Malfoy. Naked. Do you know what this means?" He was frighteningly aware that he was starting to squeak.
Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Do tell."
"It's a plot, Hermione. Mark my words. The Slytherins. They're trying to infiltrate our ranks and make us do bad, Slytherin things." Ron's horrified words barely registered above a whisper.
"Really?" Hermione said.
"Did you see the robes Harry was wearing? Hermione, I couldn't stop staring at his arse." Ron patted his forehead, feeling flushed. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"There, there," Hermione soothed. "You're right, Slytherins are bad people. Deviant."
Draco cracked open an eyelid and smirked.