Fic: Welcome to the Pleasure Dome or Draco Malfoy and the Garden Shed of Delight
Title: Welcome to the Pleasure Dome or Draco Malfoy and the Garden Shed of Delight
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Draco/Neville
Word Count:3100 ish
Rating:R for Ridiculous
Warnings: Language and Suggestiveness
A/N:(if any) Thanks to the most excellent autumn_veela for the top beta duties, she rocks! I'm just sorry for fiddling afterwards
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!
“Stupid, fucking Hannah Abbot!” exclaimed an irate Draco Malfoy. “Ten bastard minutes I’ve been stood at that bar waiting to get served and Potter and his cronies just waltz in and get served in less than thirty seconds flat!” Draco plonked down the tray of drinks, spilling Firewhiskey over his hand. “Bloody, buggering, bastard! That fucking hurt!” he grimaced as he lapped at his hand. “This wouldn’t have happened in the old days…. a Malfoy carrying drinks!”
“No, your Father would have Imperiused everyone else to do it.” Blaise Zabini deadpanned, before reaching for a shot.
Draco narrowed his eyes then gracefully perched upon the edge of a bar stool that crowded around their small table. He ran a finger along the crease of his worst woollen trousers and tutted. “It simply won’t do,”
“What won’t do, Draco?” asked a bored looking Pansy Parkinson. “The Malfoy waiter service!” she sniggered whilst gesturing towards the tray of drinks with a nod of her head.
Goyle and Blaise burst out laughing whilst Crabbe looked puzzled. “I don’t get it.”
“No?” enquired Draco, sweetly. “You don’t get the bill, either.”
“Now, play nice, Draco,” warned Blaise.
Draco huffed. “No, the time has come to leave the crumby table nearest the Gents and regain our footing in society!”
“You want to revive the Death Eaters?” Blaise asked, somewhat bemused. “Only most of them are fat and over forty now and busting them out through the bars of Azkaban would be a job and a half even for your wand work, Draco.”
“No, you cretin,” rebuked Draco. “We are going to integrate with-” Draco paused and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth that was threatening to erupt, “-them!”
The group’s eyes shifted sideways and then they all casually looked over their shoulders towards the table of former Gryffindors.
“Why?” asked Pansy dryly.
“Because because, well, because I’m sick unto death of my hand made Italian Dragon hide shoes sticking to the carpets of dives like this, and because we are always given the crap seats! I’m fed up of seating-plans where ex-Slytherins are situated behind Flobberworms!”
Blaise rubbed at his temples. “And how, pray tell me, are ‘we’ expected to do that?” he asked, blandly.
Draco folded his arms. “Hmmm, I have no idea…yet,” he admitted. “But we will do what Slytherins are good at and what we have been doing for years!”
“What? Piss and moan about Potter and his pals?” remarked Blaise.
“No,” snapped Draco, “stalk and then perhaps blackmail.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Obviously, because that worked so well in the past.”
Draco sniffed distastefully. “Well, killing the little fuckers didn’t work, did it?”
Blaise looked at Pansy and shrugged. “He’s got a point.”
“Unfortunately,” said Pansy with a nod of her head.
Draco smirked then quickly banged his fist upon the table, startling a few of the other patrons of the Inn who were seated close by. “Right. That’s settled, we’ll divide and conquer. We’ll each befriend one of them, improve our social status, then tell them to piss off once it’s been achieved. Any questions?”
“Who are we friending?” Pansy asked. “I can’t have Granger, I can’t be seen with that hair, for clean feet or not!”
Draco briefly chewed his lip in puzzlement. “Well, I can’t have Potter, Weasel, She-Weasel or Granger - they’d never believe me.”
“Nor let you within ten feet of them,” Blaise pointed out helpfully.
“True,” said Draco with a shrug of his shoulders. “Therefore, I believe I should take Longbottom.” He risked a quick glance at Neville, who was sat with an amiable smile upon his face, listening closely to whatever latest thing Potter was bragging about.
Draco decided that Longbottom would be passable. He was a Pureblood, he was quiet, he was male and most importantly he was easily lead and would therefore be easier to befriend.
“Why?” asked Pansy, with a smile.
“Because because he was a seventh year and actually present for it,” remarked Draco.
“And because he’s male and a soft touch,” added Blaise.
“Because nothing of the sort,” retorted Draco, somewhat stung that his true motives had been revealed. If Potter could persuade Longbottom to risk life and limb by being all brave and whatnot during the war then there was no way on earth that Draco couldn’t befriend him, because there was one thing that Draco could do like no other; persuade or moan or nag to his will.
“Right,” said Blaise with a roll of his eyes. “Draco gets Longbottom because he can’t be arsed, Pansy can take Potter, I’ll take the female Weasley, Greg and Vince can duke it out for Granger and Weasley.”
“Right,” confirmed Draco.
Pansy thinned her lips but stayed silent.
Greg and Vince looked at each other and then nodded before playing a swift game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
“We’ll met here again next week and report on our progress,” stated Draco, feeling somewhat smug in the belief that he couldn’t fail. He downed his shot of Firewhiskey and bade goodnight to his friends.
After all, he had a friend to make.
##
Draco’s army of house elves and lackeys had produced a dossier on Longbottom’s activities and it was quite possibly the most boring read of Draco’s life. He fell asleep twice whilst reading the first page; Longbottom was the most boring Wizard in England, if not the world. He did nothing of interest and spent ridiculous amounts of time in his garden shed, doing Merlin knows what and then when he wasn’t in his shed, he was spending time fixing the damned thing. By Hand.
Draco’s brow furrowed.
Befriending Longbottom was going to be harder than he first thought. He needed an angle. He needed a common interest that didn’t involve Potter.
He needed a garden shed.
After all, Draco mused, men didn’t just have hobbies, they had obsessions and every man’s obsession was greater than the next man’s. If it took bonding over bits of plywood then so be it. Draco would get his Longbottom along with a shed. He just needed to know where one acquired garden sheds from and what one did with them once they had one.
The answer came by scrutinizing a photograph of Longbottom’s shed with a magnifying glass.
Two hours of peering closely at Longbottom’s shed, staring at random knots of wood, blacked-out windows and tongue and groove, resulted in a stiff neck, kinked shoulders and the sight of a small, stamped label bearing the words, “B&Q”.
Draco didn’t have a clue what B&Q stood for, his first thoughts were ‘boring’ and ‘queer’ but Draco quickly scoffed at that idea Longbottom dressed far too poorly for a gay man, boring or otherwise, and Draco had met some boring gay men in his time. Hell, he’d even shagged some of them.
But Draco’s week was running out and the stale scent of desperation was starting to seep into his tailored Egyptian cotton shirts so he Apparated with the words ‘B’ and ‘Q’ firmly etched in his brain.
And arrived in hell.
Actually, he arrived at a Muggle DIY store, situated on the edge of an industrial estate that sold carpets and cheap food but Draco didn’t know this, nor did he care to.
The Weasley- orange lettering of the store’s décor gave him a headache and the sight of the shop assistants wearing aprons that needed an ironing-charm left him feeling queasy. But the shop had garden sheds, and a garden shed would get him Longbottom.
Draco marched up to shop assistant who looked the cleanest and the least creased. “I’d like the most expensive garden shed you have and I’ll pay in gall- I mean cash.”
The assistant punched some buttons upon a screen. “It’s not in stock. We are getting an order in sometime next week.”
“But I need it today!” fumed Draco. Once in this hellhole was enough, an Incendio was too good for this place. “Just give me what you’ve got then!”
The shop assistant narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Sure?”
“Oh for the love of- Of course I’m sure. Do I look like an idiot?”
The shop assistant’s mouth gaped like a goldfish’s before wordlessly punching buttons upon a computer screen. A small roll of paper poured out from the machine and the shop assistant handed it over to Draco.
Draco looked down at the piece of paper. “What do I do with this? Where’s my shed?”
The shop assistant nodded his head in the general direction of the tills. “Over there, pay then pick-up.”
Draco sneered then stalked off.
An hour later, after battling with something known as ‘chip and pin’ and narrowly avoiding the police being called in for something known as ‘identity fraud’, Draco found himself in the car park with a metal contraption on wonky wheels, with bits of thin, pink pieces of plywood and a set of complicated instructions that rivalled the hardest Arithmancy equation.
After aimlessly staring at the instructions for ten minutes, Draco realised that they were upside down, and after turning them the correct way and staring at them for a further twenty minutes Draco decided he didn’t give a shit that they made no sense to him whatsoever. A house elf would be dealing with it.
Decision made, he summoned an elf, barked out his instructions and stomped off, stubbing his toe on the trolley in the blasted process.
Draco could feel his headache growing worse as he dodged cars and hideous women pushing trolleys overflowing with foul food and their even fouler children. He cursed Longbottom and his plebeian ways and he cursed himself for walking around muggle hell when he no longer had any business being there.
He Apparated back to the Manor and poured himself a large Firewhiskey, impatiently awaiting the erection of his shed by drumming his fingertips against the side of the tumbler. When Draco realised he’d been tapping out the Hogwarts School song he dropped the glass, spilling the contents into his lap.
“Bastard! Motherfucking hell!” he exclaimed, whilst hopping around and feverishly fanning his groin with his hands. The burning sensation brought tears to his eyes and his hands fumbled with the placket of his trousers. Draco shoved his trousers down as soon as he was able to sending the last of his trouser buttons flying across the room in his impatience to be free. He quickly drew his wand and cast Aguamenti at his groin then winced as icy cold water poured forth.
“Oh piss,” Draco shuddered as he surveyed the damage. Small pink, mottled patches dotted his groin and thighs and his arse felt decidedly soggy. He stomped off towards the main staircase towards his bedroom, screeching as he went.
###
Draco looked on, aghast. There, cluttering up the lush, green, immaculate landscape that was the Manor’s gardens and grounds was a candyfloss pink eyesore that would have been classed as a blot on the landscape if it had any height and girth wider than Goyle’s.
Draco stalked over to Timby the house elf, who was hopping around with excitement.
“What the fuck is that?” snarled Draco.
Timby’s mood deflated. “Mister Malfoy, this is your Deluxe Barbie Playhouse.”
“What!?!”
Timby offered up the instructions in lieu of an explanation.
Draco snatched the instructions and stared angrily at them. He turned them upside and down and narrowed his eyes in an effort to assimilate the diagram with the object before him.
Timby pointed helpfully to the diagram and Draco read with horror.
He’d bought a child’s playhouse.
“For fuck’s sake! What the-”
“Sir?” Timby asked timidly.
“Oh, fuck off, you little twerp!”
Draco stomped over to the wendyhouse and crouched down to wrench the door open. He peered inside and grimaced at the pinkness of it all. Yes, he could certainly win Longbottom’s friendship with this. Why, he could even hold a tea-party in it and Longbottom could bring his toad, too.
Draco was supposed to be befriending Longbottom over manly chunks of wood, not asking him to squat in an over grown-vagina.
He’d firecall Pansy. Potter would surely be easier than this.
###
Half an hour later and Draco was dramatically sprawled upon his bed, with a damp cloth across his forehead and the entire army of Malfoy house elves fussing and wailing around him.
Draco was traumatised. Deeply.
He’d floo’d over to Pansy’s flat after she had failed to answer his firecall and he’d discovered Potter cooking in Pansy’s kitchen, wearing only an apron and some love bites.
Pansy had- well, Draco didn’t want to think about what exactly Pansy had gotten out of or off Potter(hopefully it tasted vile), but he could safely say that Pansy and Potter were friends, or at the very least two people who did things with each other, whereas he had a giant vagina in his garden.
Draco let out a small breath. Even more desperate measures were needed.
He lifted his arm slowly, earning the attention of his army. “Whomever can get me past the Longbottom wards, and I mean all of them, can sleep in the-” Draco paused to think of a suitable place that would still be out of his way, “-portrait room.” There that would do it; the lucky house elf in question would probably explode with multiple orgasms from having the entire history of Malfoys to serve.
The elves buzzed with excitement, before the repeated sound of popping filled the room.
Draco grimaced at the sound, but mentally he began to plan, mainly what he was going to wear, but plan none the less.
Draco settled for an all-black ensemble, comprising of snug trousers and a turtle-neck jumper, perfect for hiding behind bushes or trees or sheds in the dead of the night, not that Draco ever hid anywhere. Ever. And certainly not near sheds if he ever did decide to hide which was why his ensemble was perfect. His cunningness knew no bounds, really.
###
Draco's elves had done him proud. He was peering through the blacked-out window of the infamous Longbottom shed, although he couldn’t see a blasted thing except for his hot breath condensing upon the pane. He stood like this for fifteen minutes before deciding enough was enough and Longbottom was merely hiding his dullness away in a sea of cheap black paint. He moved towards the door and pushed it open.
Neville Longbottom’s shed was rather interesting to say the least. Draco Malfoy stood in the centre of what could only be described as a gay sauna but without the steam or the obligatory fat bloke.
Bookcases packed full of both wizarding and muggle gay porn lined the walls, vibrators and dildos of various sizes and girths nestled upon a battered coffee table and a rather peculiar plastic object sat primly upon an old armchair.
Draco bent to retrieve it.
It was an arse, a fake, plastic arse but an arse none the less. Draco handled it gingerly, marvelling at the kinkiness of it all. The two, round globes of buttocks were firm but they yielded slightly beneath Draco’s fingers and Draco was amazed at their lifelikeness.
He idly wondered exactly how realistic the model was. He glanced around the shed, ensuring the coast was clear, then ran his index finger down the arse’s crack.
The fake arse had what felt like a pucker and Draco swallowed down the excitement that stirred in the pit of his stomach. His finger stroked against the pucker then slowly pushed in.
Draco sucked in his breath Merlin, the arsehole felt realistic; the heat, the tightness, the slow willingness to yield. They were all there and under the right circumstances, Draco could see this product getting him off spectacularly. His finger burrowed deeper, then wriggled - it even had a prostate to slide against.
Draco’s cock began to firm within the tight confines of his trousers and he bit back laughter as he brushed the back of his burgeoning erection with the heel of his hand. He felt naughty and rather warm and he seriously considered tossing off or seeing if certain other things would fit into the arse. He just needed to-
“What the fuck?” exclaimed a loud, angry voice. “Accio wand.”
Draco spun around quickly, sending the fake arse sailing through the air along with his wand. He watched in horror as the arse smacked Longbottom on the chest before bouncing to the ground.
Draco smiled weakly. “Erm hello, nice night, isn’t it?”
Neville Longbottom stared hard at Draco then pointedly glanced down at the fake arse. “What the fuck are you doing in here and how the hell did you get in? And stop rubbing your cock!”
Draco whipped his hand away and blushed. “Yes, well, you see, it’s a bit of a funny story.” He trailed off when he realised that Longbottom was probably going to kill him, not offer him tea and biscuits for the amusing anecdote of how or why he was there.
Neville folded his arms. “Go on,” he prompted.
“Yes,” Draco cleared his throat. “Well, I bought a shed and I knew you had this and I thought we could-” he flapped his hands, “-you know, play.”
“Play?” questioned Neville, sceptically.
“Yes, play. Do whatever it is that you do with a shed but together.”
“Together?”
Draco rolled his eyes at the simple-mindedness of Longbottom. They landed upon a stack of porn. Oh.
Neville watched Draco and cleared his throat. “So, you do this,” he nodded towards the stack of porn, “in your shed, then?
“Yes, but I have to squat,” blurted Draco because that’s all he had done in his shed/playhouse/vagina and what else could he say.
“You squat?”
“Yes. Repeatedly.”
“Oh,” smiled Neville before licking his lips and taking a step towards Draco.
Draco took a step back, not knowing if he liked Longbottom’s smile or not. He stumbled against the armchair. “Bugger!”
Neville grinned wolfishly. “Well, if you insist.”
###
Two days later, the former Slytherins once against sat around the table nearest the toilets at the Leaky. This time however, their table had been magically expanded. Pansy perched upon Potter’s knee looking decidedly smug, Blaise had his arm slung around Ginny Weasley’s shoulder, Granger was stroking Goyle’s arm, looking somewhat besotted, whilst Crabbe and Ron were enthusiastically belching their way through the Hogwarts School song.
Draco’s chair was empty.
“Where’s Draco?” asked Blaise as his hand slipped down to cover Ginny’s breast.
“Oh, he firecalled to say he was tied up in Longbottom’s shed with things and that he’d be free sometime next week,” answered Pansy.
Blaise sniffed distastefully. “In other words, he hasn’t done a fuck with Longbottom.”
Potter whispered into Pansy’s ear and she smiled slowly. “Perhaps or perhaps Longbottom likes to top.”
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Draco/Neville
Word Count:3100 ish
Rating:R for Ridiculous
Warnings: Language and Suggestiveness
A/N:(if any) Thanks to the most excellent autumn_veela for the top beta duties, she rocks! I'm just sorry for fiddling afterwards
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!
“Stupid, fucking Hannah Abbot!” exclaimed an irate Draco Malfoy. “Ten bastard minutes I’ve been stood at that bar waiting to get served and Potter and his cronies just waltz in and get served in less than thirty seconds flat!” Draco plonked down the tray of drinks, spilling Firewhiskey over his hand. “Bloody, buggering, bastard! That fucking hurt!” he grimaced as he lapped at his hand. “This wouldn’t have happened in the old days…. a Malfoy carrying drinks!”
“No, your Father would have Imperiused everyone else to do it.” Blaise Zabini deadpanned, before reaching for a shot.
Draco narrowed his eyes then gracefully perched upon the edge of a bar stool that crowded around their small table. He ran a finger along the crease of his worst woollen trousers and tutted. “It simply won’t do,”
“What won’t do, Draco?” asked a bored looking Pansy Parkinson. “The Malfoy waiter service!” she sniggered whilst gesturing towards the tray of drinks with a nod of her head.
Goyle and Blaise burst out laughing whilst Crabbe looked puzzled. “I don’t get it.”
“No?” enquired Draco, sweetly. “You don’t get the bill, either.”
“Now, play nice, Draco,” warned Blaise.
Draco huffed. “No, the time has come to leave the crumby table nearest the Gents and regain our footing in society!”
“You want to revive the Death Eaters?” Blaise asked, somewhat bemused. “Only most of them are fat and over forty now and busting them out through the bars of Azkaban would be a job and a half even for your wand work, Draco.”
“No, you cretin,” rebuked Draco. “We are going to integrate with-” Draco paused and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth that was threatening to erupt, “-them!”
The group’s eyes shifted sideways and then they all casually looked over their shoulders towards the table of former Gryffindors.
“Why?” asked Pansy dryly.
“Because because, well, because I’m sick unto death of my hand made Italian Dragon hide shoes sticking to the carpets of dives like this, and because we are always given the crap seats! I’m fed up of seating-plans where ex-Slytherins are situated behind Flobberworms!”
Blaise rubbed at his temples. “And how, pray tell me, are ‘we’ expected to do that?” he asked, blandly.
Draco folded his arms. “Hmmm, I have no idea…yet,” he admitted. “But we will do what Slytherins are good at and what we have been doing for years!”
“What? Piss and moan about Potter and his pals?” remarked Blaise.
“No,” snapped Draco, “stalk and then perhaps blackmail.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Obviously, because that worked so well in the past.”
Draco sniffed distastefully. “Well, killing the little fuckers didn’t work, did it?”
Blaise looked at Pansy and shrugged. “He’s got a point.”
“Unfortunately,” said Pansy with a nod of her head.
Draco smirked then quickly banged his fist upon the table, startling a few of the other patrons of the Inn who were seated close by. “Right. That’s settled, we’ll divide and conquer. We’ll each befriend one of them, improve our social status, then tell them to piss off once it’s been achieved. Any questions?”
“Who are we friending?” Pansy asked. “I can’t have Granger, I can’t be seen with that hair, for clean feet or not!”
Draco briefly chewed his lip in puzzlement. “Well, I can’t have Potter, Weasel, She-Weasel or Granger - they’d never believe me.”
“Nor let you within ten feet of them,” Blaise pointed out helpfully.
“True,” said Draco with a shrug of his shoulders. “Therefore, I believe I should take Longbottom.” He risked a quick glance at Neville, who was sat with an amiable smile upon his face, listening closely to whatever latest thing Potter was bragging about.
Draco decided that Longbottom would be passable. He was a Pureblood, he was quiet, he was male and most importantly he was easily lead and would therefore be easier to befriend.
“Why?” asked Pansy, with a smile.
“Because because he was a seventh year and actually present for it,” remarked Draco.
“And because he’s male and a soft touch,” added Blaise.
“Because nothing of the sort,” retorted Draco, somewhat stung that his true motives had been revealed. If Potter could persuade Longbottom to risk life and limb by being all brave and whatnot during the war then there was no way on earth that Draco couldn’t befriend him, because there was one thing that Draco could do like no other; persuade or moan or nag to his will.
“Right,” said Blaise with a roll of his eyes. “Draco gets Longbottom because he can’t be arsed, Pansy can take Potter, I’ll take the female Weasley, Greg and Vince can duke it out for Granger and Weasley.”
“Right,” confirmed Draco.
Pansy thinned her lips but stayed silent.
Greg and Vince looked at each other and then nodded before playing a swift game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
“We’ll met here again next week and report on our progress,” stated Draco, feeling somewhat smug in the belief that he couldn’t fail. He downed his shot of Firewhiskey and bade goodnight to his friends.
After all, he had a friend to make.
##
Draco’s army of house elves and lackeys had produced a dossier on Longbottom’s activities and it was quite possibly the most boring read of Draco’s life. He fell asleep twice whilst reading the first page; Longbottom was the most boring Wizard in England, if not the world. He did nothing of interest and spent ridiculous amounts of time in his garden shed, doing Merlin knows what and then when he wasn’t in his shed, he was spending time fixing the damned thing. By Hand.
Draco’s brow furrowed.
Befriending Longbottom was going to be harder than he first thought. He needed an angle. He needed a common interest that didn’t involve Potter.
He needed a garden shed.
After all, Draco mused, men didn’t just have hobbies, they had obsessions and every man’s obsession was greater than the next man’s. If it took bonding over bits of plywood then so be it. Draco would get his Longbottom along with a shed. He just needed to know where one acquired garden sheds from and what one did with them once they had one.
The answer came by scrutinizing a photograph of Longbottom’s shed with a magnifying glass.
Two hours of peering closely at Longbottom’s shed, staring at random knots of wood, blacked-out windows and tongue and groove, resulted in a stiff neck, kinked shoulders and the sight of a small, stamped label bearing the words, “B&Q”.
Draco didn’t have a clue what B&Q stood for, his first thoughts were ‘boring’ and ‘queer’ but Draco quickly scoffed at that idea Longbottom dressed far too poorly for a gay man, boring or otherwise, and Draco had met some boring gay men in his time. Hell, he’d even shagged some of them.
But Draco’s week was running out and the stale scent of desperation was starting to seep into his tailored Egyptian cotton shirts so he Apparated with the words ‘B’ and ‘Q’ firmly etched in his brain.
And arrived in hell.
Actually, he arrived at a Muggle DIY store, situated on the edge of an industrial estate that sold carpets and cheap food but Draco didn’t know this, nor did he care to.
The Weasley- orange lettering of the store’s décor gave him a headache and the sight of the shop assistants wearing aprons that needed an ironing-charm left him feeling queasy. But the shop had garden sheds, and a garden shed would get him Longbottom.
Draco marched up to shop assistant who looked the cleanest and the least creased. “I’d like the most expensive garden shed you have and I’ll pay in gall- I mean cash.”
The assistant punched some buttons upon a screen. “It’s not in stock. We are getting an order in sometime next week.”
“But I need it today!” fumed Draco. Once in this hellhole was enough, an Incendio was too good for this place. “Just give me what you’ve got then!”
The shop assistant narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Sure?”
“Oh for the love of- Of course I’m sure. Do I look like an idiot?”
The shop assistant’s mouth gaped like a goldfish’s before wordlessly punching buttons upon a computer screen. A small roll of paper poured out from the machine and the shop assistant handed it over to Draco.
Draco looked down at the piece of paper. “What do I do with this? Where’s my shed?”
The shop assistant nodded his head in the general direction of the tills. “Over there, pay then pick-up.”
Draco sneered then stalked off.
An hour later, after battling with something known as ‘chip and pin’ and narrowly avoiding the police being called in for something known as ‘identity fraud’, Draco found himself in the car park with a metal contraption on wonky wheels, with bits of thin, pink pieces of plywood and a set of complicated instructions that rivalled the hardest Arithmancy equation.
After aimlessly staring at the instructions for ten minutes, Draco realised that they were upside down, and after turning them the correct way and staring at them for a further twenty minutes Draco decided he didn’t give a shit that they made no sense to him whatsoever. A house elf would be dealing with it.
Decision made, he summoned an elf, barked out his instructions and stomped off, stubbing his toe on the trolley in the blasted process.
Draco could feel his headache growing worse as he dodged cars and hideous women pushing trolleys overflowing with foul food and their even fouler children. He cursed Longbottom and his plebeian ways and he cursed himself for walking around muggle hell when he no longer had any business being there.
He Apparated back to the Manor and poured himself a large Firewhiskey, impatiently awaiting the erection of his shed by drumming his fingertips against the side of the tumbler. When Draco realised he’d been tapping out the Hogwarts School song he dropped the glass, spilling the contents into his lap.
“Bastard! Motherfucking hell!” he exclaimed, whilst hopping around and feverishly fanning his groin with his hands. The burning sensation brought tears to his eyes and his hands fumbled with the placket of his trousers. Draco shoved his trousers down as soon as he was able to sending the last of his trouser buttons flying across the room in his impatience to be free. He quickly drew his wand and cast Aguamenti at his groin then winced as icy cold water poured forth.
“Oh piss,” Draco shuddered as he surveyed the damage. Small pink, mottled patches dotted his groin and thighs and his arse felt decidedly soggy. He stomped off towards the main staircase towards his bedroom, screeching as he went.
###
Draco looked on, aghast. There, cluttering up the lush, green, immaculate landscape that was the Manor’s gardens and grounds was a candyfloss pink eyesore that would have been classed as a blot on the landscape if it had any height and girth wider than Goyle’s.
Draco stalked over to Timby the house elf, who was hopping around with excitement.
“What the fuck is that?” snarled Draco.
Timby’s mood deflated. “Mister Malfoy, this is your Deluxe Barbie Playhouse.”
“What!?!”
Timby offered up the instructions in lieu of an explanation.
Draco snatched the instructions and stared angrily at them. He turned them upside and down and narrowed his eyes in an effort to assimilate the diagram with the object before him.
Timby pointed helpfully to the diagram and Draco read with horror.
He’d bought a child’s playhouse.
“For fuck’s sake! What the-”
“Sir?” Timby asked timidly.
“Oh, fuck off, you little twerp!”
Draco stomped over to the wendyhouse and crouched down to wrench the door open. He peered inside and grimaced at the pinkness of it all. Yes, he could certainly win Longbottom’s friendship with this. Why, he could even hold a tea-party in it and Longbottom could bring his toad, too.
Draco was supposed to be befriending Longbottom over manly chunks of wood, not asking him to squat in an over grown-vagina.
He’d firecall Pansy. Potter would surely be easier than this.
###
Half an hour later and Draco was dramatically sprawled upon his bed, with a damp cloth across his forehead and the entire army of Malfoy house elves fussing and wailing around him.
Draco was traumatised. Deeply.
He’d floo’d over to Pansy’s flat after she had failed to answer his firecall and he’d discovered Potter cooking in Pansy’s kitchen, wearing only an apron and some love bites.
Pansy had- well, Draco didn’t want to think about what exactly Pansy had gotten out of or off Potter(hopefully it tasted vile), but he could safely say that Pansy and Potter were friends, or at the very least two people who did things with each other, whereas he had a giant vagina in his garden.
Draco let out a small breath. Even more desperate measures were needed.
He lifted his arm slowly, earning the attention of his army. “Whomever can get me past the Longbottom wards, and I mean all of them, can sleep in the-” Draco paused to think of a suitable place that would still be out of his way, “-portrait room.” There that would do it; the lucky house elf in question would probably explode with multiple orgasms from having the entire history of Malfoys to serve.
The elves buzzed with excitement, before the repeated sound of popping filled the room.
Draco grimaced at the sound, but mentally he began to plan, mainly what he was going to wear, but plan none the less.
Draco settled for an all-black ensemble, comprising of snug trousers and a turtle-neck jumper, perfect for hiding behind bushes or trees or sheds in the dead of the night, not that Draco ever hid anywhere. Ever. And certainly not near sheds if he ever did decide to hide which was why his ensemble was perfect. His cunningness knew no bounds, really.
###
Draco's elves had done him proud. He was peering through the blacked-out window of the infamous Longbottom shed, although he couldn’t see a blasted thing except for his hot breath condensing upon the pane. He stood like this for fifteen minutes before deciding enough was enough and Longbottom was merely hiding his dullness away in a sea of cheap black paint. He moved towards the door and pushed it open.
Neville Longbottom’s shed was rather interesting to say the least. Draco Malfoy stood in the centre of what could only be described as a gay sauna but without the steam or the obligatory fat bloke.
Bookcases packed full of both wizarding and muggle gay porn lined the walls, vibrators and dildos of various sizes and girths nestled upon a battered coffee table and a rather peculiar plastic object sat primly upon an old armchair.
Draco bent to retrieve it.
It was an arse, a fake, plastic arse but an arse none the less. Draco handled it gingerly, marvelling at the kinkiness of it all. The two, round globes of buttocks were firm but they yielded slightly beneath Draco’s fingers and Draco was amazed at their lifelikeness.
He idly wondered exactly how realistic the model was. He glanced around the shed, ensuring the coast was clear, then ran his index finger down the arse’s crack.
The fake arse had what felt like a pucker and Draco swallowed down the excitement that stirred in the pit of his stomach. His finger stroked against the pucker then slowly pushed in.
Draco sucked in his breath Merlin, the arsehole felt realistic; the heat, the tightness, the slow willingness to yield. They were all there and under the right circumstances, Draco could see this product getting him off spectacularly. His finger burrowed deeper, then wriggled - it even had a prostate to slide against.
Draco’s cock began to firm within the tight confines of his trousers and he bit back laughter as he brushed the back of his burgeoning erection with the heel of his hand. He felt naughty and rather warm and he seriously considered tossing off or seeing if certain other things would fit into the arse. He just needed to-
“What the fuck?” exclaimed a loud, angry voice. “Accio wand.”
Draco spun around quickly, sending the fake arse sailing through the air along with his wand. He watched in horror as the arse smacked Longbottom on the chest before bouncing to the ground.
Draco smiled weakly. “Erm hello, nice night, isn’t it?”
Neville Longbottom stared hard at Draco then pointedly glanced down at the fake arse. “What the fuck are you doing in here and how the hell did you get in? And stop rubbing your cock!”
Draco whipped his hand away and blushed. “Yes, well, you see, it’s a bit of a funny story.” He trailed off when he realised that Longbottom was probably going to kill him, not offer him tea and biscuits for the amusing anecdote of how or why he was there.
Neville folded his arms. “Go on,” he prompted.
“Yes,” Draco cleared his throat. “Well, I bought a shed and I knew you had this and I thought we could-” he flapped his hands, “-you know, play.”
“Play?” questioned Neville, sceptically.
“Yes, play. Do whatever it is that you do with a shed but together.”
“Together?”
Draco rolled his eyes at the simple-mindedness of Longbottom. They landed upon a stack of porn. Oh.
Neville watched Draco and cleared his throat. “So, you do this,” he nodded towards the stack of porn, “in your shed, then?
“Yes, but I have to squat,” blurted Draco because that’s all he had done in his shed/playhouse/vagina and what else could he say.
“You squat?”
“Yes. Repeatedly.”
“Oh,” smiled Neville before licking his lips and taking a step towards Draco.
Draco took a step back, not knowing if he liked Longbottom’s smile or not. He stumbled against the armchair. “Bugger!”
Neville grinned wolfishly. “Well, if you insist.”
###
Two days later, the former Slytherins once against sat around the table nearest the toilets at the Leaky. This time however, their table had been magically expanded. Pansy perched upon Potter’s knee looking decidedly smug, Blaise had his arm slung around Ginny Weasley’s shoulder, Granger was stroking Goyle’s arm, looking somewhat besotted, whilst Crabbe and Ron were enthusiastically belching their way through the Hogwarts School song.
Draco’s chair was empty.
“Where’s Draco?” asked Blaise as his hand slipped down to cover Ginny’s breast.
“Oh, he firecalled to say he was tied up in Longbottom’s shed with things and that he’d be free sometime next week,” answered Pansy.
Blaise sniffed distastefully. “In other words, he hasn’t done a fuck with Longbottom.”
Potter whispered into Pansy’s ear and she smiled slowly. “Perhaps or perhaps Longbottom likes to top.”