Here it is, that fic I was talking about!
This was recently posted as a gift fic for twistedm.
Title: Poetic Justice
Author: Scrtkpr
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 10,000
Summary: In which Peter Pettigrew gets captured, The Weasley Twins get an idea, Harry and Draco get drugged, Moody gets an Eyeful, and everyone involved gets exactly what they deserved.
Author's Note: Written for the following prompt: i'd love a harry/draco where they get together for the first time and proceed to have incredibly wild sex. i slightly prefer harry to top. i like kissing. i like anal sex. i like rimming. For some reason, it took me 10,000 words to meet this simple request. Huge thanks to owens_mom, 13_moons, eeyore9990, and furiosity for the feedback and encouragement!
Warnings: Aside from language and the above-mentioned rimming, I must also warn for the smutty haikus. And please, everyone, pay attention to the rating! If you are under the age of 18, you should not be here.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and do not own these characters. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.
On the morning of his twenty-second birthday, Harry Potter was sitting at his desk staring at a clock. He was early to work that day. There were still fifteen minutes before Malfoy could reasonably be expected to show up and a good two hours before Harry would be allowed to interrogate Peter Pettigrew.
St. Mungo's staff had finally deemed Pettigrew in adequate health to undergo questioning and had released him to Auror custody late the previous night. That, along with the demise of Bellatrix Lestrange several days before, ought to have made for a fantastic birthday, but Harry felt far more unsettled than celebratory. The irony was, if it hadn't been for Pettigrew, Harry might never have lived to see this birthday, or at least that was Malfoy's strongly expressed opinion. In a baffling move, Pettigrew had responded to the attack not by fighting back, not by running away, but by intercepting a vicious hex Bellatrix had sent in Harry's direction and murdering her himself before losing consciousness.
Had Pettigrew done something like this during the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry might have attributed it to the Life Debt Pettigrew supposedly owed him, but too many years and missed opportunities had gone by for Harry to give that idea any credence now. Why Pettigrew had done it was anyone's guess, but Harry intended to find out. Maybe once he had, he'd be able to dredge up some interest in the already substantial pile of birthday greetings and gifts stacked haphazardly on his desk. The owls had been tapping at his window every few minutes since he'd arrived. In fact...yes, there was another one now.
"That's it, I'm leaving the window open," Harry grumbled, as he got up once again to admit the newest owl. He'd never been plagued by owls at the window back when the DMLE had been located underground.
But this owl, Harry noticed with a bit more interest, looked to be from Ron. He couldn't remember the name, but he was certain this was the (much more even-tempered) replacement of Pig that Molly and Arthur had given Ron after the war. The owl flew in, deposited a smallish rectangular box on Harry's desk, and perched beside it. Curious despite himself, Harry moved to open it.
The box, he discovered, contained an assortment of chocolates and nothing else. That was a bit odd. Ron was rarely one for correspondence, but Harry was surprised he hadn't bothered to include at least a brief note.
"Are you sure there's no note?" Harry asked the owl. The owl blinked at him. Shrugging, Harry popped one of the chocolates into his mouth.
"I'm out of owl treats, you know," Harry said, gesturing at the morning's earlier deliveries. Ron's owl just stared back with wide eyes, causing Harry to feel a twinge of irritation. This new owl had no personality. As annoying as Pigwidgeon had been, Harry missed him.
"I don't have anything else to give you, either," Harry pointed out. Again, no response. "So you might as well leave," he continued, more bluntly, and then felt a bit stupid for being rude to his best mate's owl. "Or stay, I don't care."
Contrarily, the owl took that as its cue to depart and sailed out the open window, through which, Harry realized with alarm, the Weasley twins' owl had just entered. Fantastic. He had no idea what the twins might have taken into their heads to gift him with this year, and frankly, he had no interest in finding out. He was just wondering how well it would go over if he returned their gift unopened when he noted with relief that there appeared to be no package after all.
Taking the proffered scroll with a sigh, Harry was amused to see that this owl seemed to have no inclination to hang around afterward. Lingering after delivery was probably a bad idea for anyone carrying out the bidding of the Weasley twins.
Picking up another chocolate, Harry sat down and began reading with slight trepidation.
Happy Birthday, Harry! We’d have sent our gift along with this letter, but we feared you wouldn’t be as trusting of a gift from us. (Merlin knows why you’re so suspicious of such well-intentioned friends.)
Harry rolled his eyes, remembering last year's birthday fiasco. One would think they would realize that the older they got, the less amusing everyone found their pranks, but the twins, if no one else, still thought themselves hilarious. To give them credit, they could still be very funny at times, but they generally took things too far. Perhaps it was a natural result of running the type of business they did, but six years after leaving Hogwarts and four years after the war, they were still perpetual adolescents who often showed little appreciation for the adult responsibilities with which their friends and family were now occupied. Shaking his head, Harry read on.
All right, so we know you for some reason did not enjoy last year's gift, though why you wouldn't want everyone's hair to change color when they wished you Happy Birthday is still beyond us. That was brilliant! Especially when the Minister for Magic made that public announcement.
Harry snorted. That bit with the Minister for Magic had been funny, he had to admit. But the rest of it? The changes in hair color had been permanent! Even the most advanced charms had failed to change the color back, and everyone had been forced to wait until it grew out. There was a reason short hair had been in style the summer of 2001. Harry had been apologizing for weeks! And now that he thought about it, he strongly suspected that the Weasley twins' was the only "Happy Birthday" he would receive all day. All those other notes and cards were probably filled with cautiously worded wishes for many joyful returns.
As you for some reason failed to appreciate that, however, we thought long and hard about what to do for you this year, and we came to the conclusion that you are badly in need of help in the romance department. We know that you fancy a coworker, Harry, and it's time you did something about it. It would have helped if you'd given us a little more to work with, but we think we've come up with something that would help you break the ice with anyone.
God. He was never drinking with the Weasley twins again. He was never drinking with anyone again. At least they'd never discovered which coworker was the object of Harry's idiotic, one-sided crush. However laughable the twins' romantic advice turned out to be, it would prove doubly so if he were to try it out on Draco Malfoy. The thought was both amusing and depressing. Harry had believed that he and Malfoy had reached an understanding, were becoming friends even, but Malfoy had made it more than clear this week how very mistaken Harry had been. Frowning, Harry reached for his third chocolate and continued on with the letter.
That's right, Harry. Today you'll be speaking poetry, the language of love.
The hell he was, Harry thought, biting viciously into the chocolate.
And to ensure that you do, we've drugged those chocolates that you're eating right now.
Harry flung the half-eaten chocolate away from himself and continued reading on in horror.
Yes, we borrowed Ronnie's owl and carefully instructed our own not to deliver this letter until you'd tried at least one. By now it's surely taken effect. You'll be speaking in poetry a half hour for each one that you've eaten.
Harry frantically calculated. The effects should wear off before Pettigrew's interrogation. It could have been worse.
What type of poetry we couldn't exactly say. It seems to be influenced by personality. We find we speak in limerick when we try them. One of our testers spoke in cinquain and the other in ballad. And when we slipped one to Percy last night, he spoke in strict iambic pentameter. You'll have to let us know how they work out with you. We're quite curious.
Harry was going to kill the Weasley twins.
The truth serum effects, on the other hand, should last a bit longer than half an hour per chocolate.
KILL. THEM.
We put that in as well so you'd be a bit more forthcoming with the object of your affections. It's not as strong as Veritaserum, but the effects do intensify as the dose increases.
Now don't be angry, Harry. You've given up too much of your life already, and you deserve a little happiness while you can still enjoy it. Recent events ought to remind you that everyone's time runs out sooner or later. Seize the day! With any luck, you two lovebirds will have all your misunderstandings cleared up in no time.
F&G
Crumpling the letter in frustration, Harry tossed it on the floor and shouted, "Well fuck my luck!"
Wait a second. That wasn't quite what he'd meant to say. What kind of poetry was that, anyway? Whatever it was, it probably didn't reflect so well on his personality as cinquain would have.
"I'm speaking in rhyme..." Harry tried, and quickly found himself following that up with, "all the time!"
Wonderful. No one was going to notice that. He had absolutely nothing to worry about.
And would anything he said truly come out in rhyme? What would happen if he tried a word like...
"Orange." "Orange!" he was forced to spit out again. Harry quickly decided not to experiment further. That was bloody unsettling.
He couldn't believe Fred and George had done this, on today of all days! Okay, so they had no way of knowing the interrogation was today, but he was at work! And on top of that, it was a stupid plan! They probably thought Harry was smitten with...with the office secretary or something, and didn't they realize that on a normal day, Malfoy was the only one he interacted with this early in the morning? Didn't they realize that... Harry's thoughts trailed off as he came to his own horrifying realization that Mafloy would arrive at any moment. Frantically, Harry leapt up from his desk and rushed from the room.
It would be all right. He'd just find a quiet spot to wait until it was time for the interrogation, and by then the poetry would have worn off.
It really was a damn good thing for Fred and George that this wasn't going to prevent the interrogation. Harry had pressed long and hard all week to be allowed a chance to question Pettigrew himself. He'd been firmly refused the opportunity to be the official interrogating Auror, but he'd been promised fifteen minutes to ask questions after the main interrogation was over. The official explanation was that Harry was still recovering from his injuries, but Harry suspected that no one trusted him to keep a cool head during the questioning. It was widely known that Harry was not exactly objective with regard to Pettigrew or Pettigrew's most recent victim.
There were very few people in the world that Harry truly hated, but Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew were two of them. After Voldemort's death, Harry had chosen to become an Auror because people like them were still out there, poisoning the world with every breath they took. When Harry had confronted them, Bellatrix had done nothing unexpected. She existed solely to inflict death and suffering, and that's exactly what she'd attempted to do. But Pettigrew. Pettigrew hadn't behaved properly.
Of course, he'd betrayed someone, Harry reflected bitterly. He'd got that part right. And perhaps Bellatrix was the only one he had left to betray. But he wasn't supposed to have done it for Harry's benefit. He wasn't supposed to have leapt in front of that hex. It hadn't even been necessary. That was the part that frustrated Harry the most. He could have handled that hex. He could have killed or captured them both, no matter what Malfoy said. Pettigrew needn't have interfered. Harry wanted to know why he had done it. He needed to know.
But if he was going to get the chance to find out, he would need to hide his condition until it resolved itself. He was near the file room. Perhaps he could find a quiet corner and pretend to be unapproachably occupied with paperwork. Quickly ducking through the door, Harry bumped solidly into someone on his way out. Glancing up apologetically, he found himself looking into Neville's friendly face. Sometimes Harry still found himself surprised that it was Neville, not Ron, who had accepted the invitation to the Auror training program that had been extended to all war heroes when the DMLE found itself dangerously understaffed. Harry had never felt much surprise that Neville had passed Auror training, as Neville had more than proven himself during the war.
"Sorry, Harry! And hey, Hap--uh," Neville said, and then roughly ran his fingers through his hair. "That is," he finally continued, with a wry twist to his mouth, "I hope your special day is as special as you deserve."
"Thank you. I'm twenty-two!" Harry replied automatically and then immediately wanted to kick himself.
Neville appeared slightly puzzled. "Yes, I know. We were in the same year at Hogwarts, and our birthdays are rather close together."
"Right. Right," Harry said, and he breathed a sigh of relief that repetition apparently worked with words other than "orange."
Neville's expression of confusion changed to one of sympathy. "So I heard they brought Pettigrew in last night. I suppose you're anxious to hear what he has to say for himself."
Harry, not trusting himself to speak, nodded. He wondered how Neville was taking Bellatrix's death. Of all people, Neville had more reason than just about anyone to feel conflicted about the events of this week. Harry felt a violent surge of satisfaction that Bellatrix's death had been as painful as it was, and it suddenly occurred to him how astoundingly appropriate it was that she had been driven insane by her own obsession long before she died.
"I heard Malfoy has been giving you a pretty hard time the last few days," Neville continued. "I guess this was a rough week for him too, considering. Try not to let him get to you, though. It's hard when you've almost lost someone so important to you. He'll be more reasonable when he's not so upset."
"Er...sure," Harry said, not clear what Neville was getting at. Yes, Bellatrix had been Malfoy's aunt, and family was very important to him. But what Neville had said just didn't make sense. Aunt or not, there was no love lost between Bellatrix and Malfoy, hadn't been for years, not since she'd tortured Narcissa. And even if there had been, after Pettigrew was through with her, Bellatrix was about as "lost" as one could get. No "almost" about it.
"Well," Neville finally said, "you seemed to be in a hurry. I suppose I should let you get to it." Harry nodded again and gestured toward the file cabinets to indicate the pressing business that was supposedly contained within them.
They stepped apart, but Neville suddenly stopped and turned back to Harry.
"Thank you, Harry," he said. "For finding her."
Looking into Neville's sincere brown eyes, Harry knew he couldn't just nod in response to this. Thinking carefully, he said, "I wish I could do something more for you."
Neville smiled a little sadly. "Thank you," he said again, and continued on down the hall.
Harry stepped into the file room, shut the door behind himself, and leaned against it. The room was empty, so that small table in the corner was free as he'd been hoping. He supposed he should grab a file or two and settle in before someone else showed up. It was really too bad he hadn't brought some paperwork to catch up on. His supervisor had been getting on him about that last week, and here was the perfect opportunity to work on it. If only he hadn't left it on his desk, right next to...the box of chocolates. Which Malfoy would see. And Malfoy had a sweet tooth and no compunction about taking things that didn't belong to him, like Harry's quills, and his affections, and, undoubtedly, his thrice-damned box of drugged chocolates.
Tearing back down the hall, Harry could only hope that Malfoy might have come in late, just this once, out of disgust for Harry's birthday and the huge deal everyone made of it these days. Perhaps when Harry opened the door, the room would still be empty and the chocolates right where he'd left them.
But, no. Harry let out a small groan of frustration. There was Malfoy, licking chocolate off his fingers, and looking only very slightly embarrassed at being caught. Refusing to be distracted by the fingers and the licking, Harry crossed his arms and shot Malfoy an accusing glare.
"Oh, hello Potter," Malfoy drawled.
"I reckoned you could spare some." He paused only very briefly, glancing at the birthday cards and gifts scattered across Harry's desk, and then continued,
"I'm sure you'll get more."
This all sounded completely normal for Malfoy. Par for the course, especially this week. But it was apparently not what Malfoy had intended to say, as he was blinking at Harry in confusion.
"How many did you eat?" Harry demanded. And then, "They're very sweet." God. No. He had not just said that.
But yes, yes he had. Malfoy had abandoned his expression of confusion in favor of a raised eyebrow and a mocking smirk.
"I've only had two.
You've still got at least twenty,
So don't complain. And...
Yes, Potter, they're sweet.
They're made with sugar, you see." Malfoy seemed satisfied to stop there but suddenly opened his mouth again to say,
"Sugarcane grows tall."
So perhaps Malfoy was more affected than he'd first appeared. The timing for this was horrible, but Harry couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in amusement.
"What the fucking fuck!" Malfoy shouted. His eyes, which had been wide in alarm, began to narrow in anger.
"You know about this, don't you?
Answer me, Potter!"
"Don't look at me like that," Harry said, raising his hands defensively. "It's your own fault, you prat."
"It is not my fault.
Do you think I hexed myself?" Malfoy looked truly outraged.
"Not. Bloody. Likely."
"That chocolate's from the Weasley twins." This was surely enough information to go on, but Harry resignedly continued, "I'm sure they're wearing git-faced grins."
Draco stepped back from Harry's desk and the box of chocolate in horror and fixed an accusing glare on Harry.
"And you left it out.
Sitting right there on your desk.
For others to eat."
"Not for others to eat! It was my birthday treat!" Barely pausing to shudder at this latest humiliation, Harry continued, "And that's why I came back. So these wouldn't be your snack."
Oh, this was perfect. Yes, Fred and George were right, this was certainly clearing up misunderstandings. Malfoy had just been presented with proof positive that Harry was as buffoonish and unsophisticated as Malfoy had always thought him. Malfoy's respect, admiration, and affections were as good as his.
Harry would normally have expected some sarcasm from Malfoy by now, but he supposed it was two chocolates' worth of truth serum that caused Malfoy to instead say,
"I don't believe that.
You left them out there for me
On purpose, Potter.
You know you did this
Just to humiliate me." Malfoy appeared to be done speaking but paused only for a moment before adding,
"Like you always do."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of that last bit, but Malfoy clearly hadn't meant to say it. If he had appeared angry before, he looked apoplectic now.
"Oh, I did not!" Harry replied in irriation. "That's a bunch of rot. And I wouldn't do something like this today. There's truth serum in the chocolate anyway. I couldn't lie to you if I wanted to."
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, took a heavy breath, and then crossed his arms over his chest, fixing Harry with a severe look.
"Let me get this straight.
The Weasley twins wanted you
Spouting poetry.
And in addition,
Unable to tell a lie.
As a birthday gift."
Harry blinked and nodded. It did sound like rather an atrocious thing to do when Malfoy put it like that.
"And why, exactly," Malfoy began, in a snide voice.
Harry, panicked at the thought of having to answer that question, rushed to ask a question of his own before Malfoy could complete it.
"You had some too. Why aren't you?"
"I am speaking in haiku," replied Malfoy, looking more than a bit irritated.
Not rhyming couplets."
Haiku. Right. Harry would have figured that out. Malfoy's last line had been said with a mocking sneer that left no doubt what he thought of Harry's plebeian rhymes, and Harry was certain he would have added, "You uncultured swine" if only he'd had the syllables left to do so. Harry suddenly felt eleven years old again, being measured for robes and asked questions about Quidditch.
"I know about haiku!" Harry asserted defensively only to find himself continuing, "Just the same as you!" and rolled his eyes in exasperation and embarrassment.
Malfoy, who clearly and quite unfairly held Harry personally responsible for this mess, glared stonily at Harry for a moment before asking,
"Potter, do you know
Which is the simplest rhyme scheme
In all poetry?"
Oh, this was so typical. What did he see in this git anyway? Harry wanted to punch him right in his sneering mouth.
"Couplets are just so...
Predictable and plodding." Malfoy's eyes widened innocently at Harry's infuriated expression.
"Or don't you agree?"
This was a question that did not deserve a response, and Harry had no intention of providing Malfoy with one. Unfortunately, the truth serum wouldn't permit silent indignation, even when one was obviously in possession of the moral high ground. Not in response to a direct question. "Yes, I agree," Harry gritted out. "They're just like me." Stupid truth serum.
Malfoy looked taken aback. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and Harry had no idea which of them would eventually have spoken next if Moody hadn't chosen that moment to enter their office.
Malfoy and Moody exchanged looks. Moody made it no secret he thought it a travesty that Malfoy had earned an order of Merlin for his actions in the final weeks of the war and had therefore been eligible, despite his incomplete 7th year and the Dark Mark on his arm, to become an Auror along with Harry, Neville, and the other "real" war heroes. His attention did not stay focused on Malfoy for long, though. Moody appeared to inspect every corner of the room, as usual, before turning to address Harry.
"A pleasant anniversary of your birth," he said, with polite gruffness. Harry, feeling no inclination to announce his age again, nodded.
Moody's roving eye continued to scan the room thoroughly, and he focused on the pile of gifts on Harry's desk. "I hope you're exercising appropriate caution while opening those. They appear harmless, yes. Most of them probably are. Several of them contain women's undergarments." Well, now Harry really had no interest in those packages. What were those women thinking? Sending someone your knickers seemed a stupid thing to do as it was, but Harry wasn't even straight. Though he supposed they couldn't be expected to know that. Harry had come to that surprising realization himself several years before, but he hadn't exactly made it public knowledge.
Moody, however, wasn't finished. His Mad Eye was still swiveling frantically in his head, inspecting Harry's birthday packages and, presumably, the women's undergarments. "But you can't be too careful" he continued. "Hexes might be placed on anything. Let your guard down while handling a pair of lacy knickers, and you could meet a sticky end." Harry blinked. That. Had been intentional, hadn't it? With Moody it was hard to tell. The man never smiled.
"And what is that I see left incomplete and buried underneath your pile of gifts?" Damn, but the bastard didn't miss much.
"My paperwork...I often shirk," Harry found himself replying. Malfoy snickered. His paperwork was always done on time. The git.
"I've noticed that," Moody replied. "I understand, when you've become an Auror for the right reasons," he continued, with a brief yet pointed glance at Malfoy, "paperwork can seem like a pointless exercise. You don't want to waste time on it when you could be out there tracking down dark wizards. But it serves a purpose and it must be done. And it's far better not to let it pile up on you, because too many hours of it can dull your wits. When your wits are dulled, you lose sight of the most important thing, which is..." Harry felt quite strongly that he saw where this was going, but Moody had not missed the pinched and furious expression Malfoy was directing at the back of Moody's head.
"But then some of us have different ideas, don't we?" Moody turned back to face Malfoy, so that both eyes were trained in the same direction once more. "What do you think, Malfoy?"
"I think you're insane," Malfoy spat out,
"And should never have returned
From your retirement."
Harry took a moment to wonder whether Malfoy was truly angry enough to have chosen to say that or if it had been largely the truth serum at work there.
Moody, however, appeared unaffected by Malfoy's anger. "Now that Pettigrew and the Lestranges are no longer at large, I am retiring." The Lestranges? Pettigrew must have revealed the location of Rabastan, Harry realized with surprise.
But Moody wasn't finished. "With Aurors like Harry here to pick up the slack, I doubt I'll be missed. He's done well even when left without a partner at his back." Malfoy's expression found previously unexplored depths of outrage. "In future," Moody continued, "you'll be submitting your paperwork to Kingsley Shacklebolt. And while we're speaking so candidly, let me just say that I think your entire family was insane and you should never have been permitted to become an Auror."
With that, Moody seemed to dismiss Malfoy entirely, and he turned to Harry again. "Harry, the interrogation is going more quickly than expected, and your session with Pettigrew has been moved up. I'll see you in the interrogation room. Fifteen minutes." His message delivered, Moody apparently felt no need to wait for a response. He lumbered from the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Harry and Malfoy were both once again speechless, Malfoy with rage, and Harry with the horrified realization that there was no way the effects of the chocolate would wear off in the next fifteen minutes. Malfoy found his voice first.
"Constant Vigilance," he sneered.
"If Moody's so vigilant
He'd notice your rhymes."
Well, there had only been the one, but Harry had far more pressing concerns and couldn't be bothered to point that out. "He'll notice if I talk to Pettigrew. You've got to talk to him, I need you to."
"Oh, now you need me," Malfoy said bitterly.
You didn't need me last week.
Why is that, Potter?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration. They'd been through this! "I didn't have a choice, I've told you that. There wasn't time to owl or floo your flat."
Draco didn't take the explanation any better this time than he had any other time that week.
"Right, there wasn't time," he said, in an understanding tone that was anything but.
"Well, I don't have time for you.
Deal with it, Potter."
Of course, Malfoy would be petty and difficult and turn his back on Harry when he was the only one who could help. "Oh, god damn it, Malfoy, just cut the song and dance. I need to talk to him and can't afford to miss this chance!"
Malfoy looked singularly unimpressed.
"There's just one reason
You're even getting this chance.
You're Harry Potter.
Poor little hero.
For once your celebrity
Isn't quite enough
But hey, don't worry.
You like to go it alone.
You don't need my help."
Harry was sick, so sick, of hearing crap like this from Malfoy, but beyond that he felt bewildered. He hadn't seen this level of antagonism since their Hogwarts days. "You're being an arsehole, even for you. Why this hostility? What did I do?"
This appeared to be a question Malfoy did not want to answer.
"Well, why do you think?" he finally spluttered
"You nearly got yourself killed.
You moronic prat."
Wait, he really was this worked up over a bit of a close call last week? "How can you say that? You weren't even there!" Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously at this, but Harry ignored him and continued, "I'd already put out the fire in my hair."
"The fire in your hair," Malfoy parroted back.
"You survived due to blind luck.
As per usual."
This wasn't worth debating. "And so what if I did? It was my choice to make. It isn't your job to say what risks I can take."
This just seemed to infuriate Malfoy further. His cheeks had those pink blotches that only showed up when he was truly outraged.
"Yes it is my job.
I am your partner, Potter.
Or did you forget?"
"You utter bastard." Malfoy spat out, obviously intending to stop there, but this was not a complete haiku, and he was forced to continue,
"My anger at you is fire
That consumes my heart."
Flushing even further, Malfoy compressed his lips into a tight, thin line and turned to stare at the wall.
Harry didn't know quite what to say. He knew that haikus traditionally incorporated nature imagery, which seemed to feature more prominently in Malfoy's haikus when he left off speaking halfway through, but that had sounded suspiciously like Malfoy actually cared. Maybe he wasn't just ticked off at being left out. Maybe he'd been worried. "I know you're my partner; I can't forget that. I suppose that you're right; I'm a bit of a prat."
Malfoy didn't respond for a moment. Still staring at the wall, he finally asked,
"Explain to me why.
Why do you want to see him?
What can he tell you?"
Harry wasn't certain he knew how to answer this in a simple rhyme, but apparently he did. "He didn't want me to die...and I need to know why."
Malfoy sighed, and some of the tenseness seemed to leave his shoulders.
"You never did say
Why the Weasley twins did this.
Why drug you like this?"
And there it was, the question Harry thought he'd successfully avoided. The one he least wanted to answer, asked by the person he least wanted to confide in. He hadn't seen it coming. Harry's jaw was tight and his voice flat when he answered. "They knew I fancied someone here and hadn't spoken out of fear."
"Oh, they did, did they?" Malfoy's jaw now looked tight as well, and his expression was slightly malicious.
"They're quite the little cupids.
And you were frightened."
Harry nodded, terrified what might slip out if he spoke. Please, let Malfoy drop the subject. Only he wouldn't, would he? He'd spotted a weakness. It was too much to hope that he'd pass it up.
"You're a Gryffindor," Malfoy sneered.
"That's quite pathetic, Potter.
Who's the lucky girl?"
So Malfoy still thought Harry was straight. That made sense, he supposed. He hadn't given Malfoy that much reason to think otherwise, but there would be no preventing him finding out now. He didn't even try to stop the words from coming. "There's no lucky girl, Malfoy, there's only you. And you can't be lucky when you don't want me too."
Harry didn't know how Malfoy reacted to that. He couldn't look. He couldn't stay in the room. He shouldn't stay in the room; it was time for the interrogation. Abruptly, and without saying another word, Harry strode through the door and toward the interrogation room.
He hadn't made it far down the hall when Malfoy caught up to him, matching his quick pace. Harry didn't look at his face, but when Malfoy spoke, he sounded upset.
"Potter, you can't just.
You can't say something like that.
And then just walk out."
The hell he couldn't. Malfoy had already gotten far more than rightfully belonged to him. Harry wasn't giving him anything else.
"Harry, god damn it!
Just stop for a minute, please.
You need to explain."
Malfoy sounded truly distressed, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt for upsetting him this much before remembering Malfoy's refusal to help him, and then the guilt was swallowed up in anger. Finally turning to him, Harry spat out, "I need to talk to Pettigrew, since I won't have any help from you."
Malfoy looked stung.
"You know that won't work.
Just keep your stupid mouth shut.
I'll do the talking."
They proceeded on toward the interrogation room in silence. Harry stared at the floor, mostly, although he darted one glance to the side halfway there. Malfoy's posture was rigid, and he wore an unreadable expression on his face. Harry couldn't bring himself to look again.
Unexpectedly, Malfoy did speak once before they arrived.
"When will this wear off?
Will I be talking like this
The rest of my life?"
Malfoy's tone was cool and clipped, and Harry sighed before answering. "I think that the poetry should wear off pretty soon. The truth serum lasts longer but should be gone before noon." Malfoy nodded, Harry saw out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise didn't respond.
When they entered the room, Harry was surprised to see only Moody and Pettigrew there waiting for them. Moody tossed an irritated glance in Malfoy's direction but otherwise didn't acknowledge his presence. "You're a little early, but we're ready for you, as it turns out. Pettigrew here has been quite cooperative. You have fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting outside." Moody left the room, and again, Harry was surprised. He'd thought Moody would stay to supervise. But then, with that eye, he could probably supervise from right out there in the hall. And he probably wasn't overly concerned for Pettigrew, either. Not if they already had all the information they needed.
Pettigrew now had scars over much of his body from the extensive burns he'd suffered last week. His silver hand was missing. He still looked like a rat, cowering in the corner. Malfoy seated himself in a chair across from him. Harry leaned against the wall, a little further away. He didn't think he could bear to stand any closer.
"Peter Pettigrew.
I'm Auror Draco Malfoy.
We have met before."
Harry wasn't sure what memories Malfoy might have of Pettigrew from his Death Eater days, but he was sure they couldn't be pleasant.
"You know Potter there.
We have some questions for you.
It shouldn't take long."
"All right," Pettigrew said. "I'll tell you whatever you want."
"And will you agree
To take Veritaserum
For this interview?"
This was a formality. No one expected prisoners to consent to it, and the approval process for administering Veritaserum to an unwilling prisoner was long and complicated. They always asked, though. It was procedure.
"I've already had Veritaserum. I agreed to it earlier," Pettigrew surprisingly said.
Pettigrew could have been lying, of course. Harry thought perhaps they should ask Moody, but Malfoy had a different approach.
"Well, what would you say
If I offered you some more?
Any objections?"
"Go ahead. Give me as much as you want. I don't care."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
"All right, Pettigrew.
We might just do that later.
Let's talk a bit first."
They really would have to find out how much Pettigrew had already had before giving him any more, but perhaps it wouldn't be necessary.
Pettigrew blinked up at Malfoy. "You look just like your father, you know that?"
Malfoy stiffened but otherwise gave no indication of his discomfort. Lucius Malfoy had been dead for several years, but Harry was still surprised at Malfoy's restraint.
"I'm aware of that.
But that is not what we're here
To discuss today."
Malfoy had stiffened, Harry knew, not just because of the mention of his father, but because he'd had no choice but to answer that question. It wasn't exactly the conventional interrogation scenario.
"Do you remember
The incident with Lestrange
And Potter last week?"
"Yes, of course I do," Pettigrew whined. "That's where I got these injuries."
Malfoy did not appear overly concerned with what Pettigrew might have suffered.
"She tried to kill him.
You didn't want him to die.
You prevented it."
It wasn't a question, but Pettigrew responded anyway, turning to Harry and trying to catch his eyes. "That's right, I tried to save you, Harry." Harry felt his lip curling in disgust. Malfoy looked a little disgusted as well.
"You did the right thing,
Over two decades later.
Why is that, Peter?"
"I couldn't stay with Bellatrix," Pettigrew babbled. "She was insane. She was convinced we could still somehow bring back the Dark Lord. She killed Rabastan because he said it was hopeless, and she tortured him before she did it. She only kept me around because I'd succeeded in helping him come back before."
Pettigrew had done it, Harry realized, for entirely selfish reasons. He'd thought he would suffer more in Bellatrix's company than he would either dead or in Auror custody.
Malfoy seemed to agree.
"I can tell you why.
You had nothing left to lose
You're still a coward."
Pettigrew winced, but Malfoy wasn't finished and didn't give him a chance to respond.
"It's too late for you
After everything you've done.
I'm sure you know that.
You won't get the kiss.
We don't do that anymore.
In your case, I'm glad.
Azkaban, Peter.
Forced to live with your choices.
It's what you deserve."
Pettigrew seemed to shrink further into his chair. "I know I've done terrible things, but I've suffered for them." He looked appealingly to Malfoy and then, incredibly, to Harry. "I've done nothing I haven't already more than paid for."
This infuriated Harry. "You betrayed my mum and dad! That makes me really mad!"
Leaning forward, Malfoy leveled a malevolent glare at Pettigrew.
"You betrayed them all.
James, and Lily, and their son.
Why did you do it?"
"I hated him," Pettigrew rasped. "Perfect Potter. Never thought I was good enough for him."
Malfoy flinched.
"But I didn't hate him. I did, but I didn't. I loved him too." And Pettigrew started to cry.
Malfoy stood up abruptly and crossed swiftly to the door.
"Unless Potter here
Has anything more to add,
I think we're finished."
Harry most definitely did not have anything to add. He didn't think he could stand to stay in that room for another minute. They both left without saying another word. He could still hear Pettigrew sobbing quietly as they shut the door behind them.
"I see you're all finished," Moody said. "I hope you got your answers." Harry nodded.
Neither of them spoke on the way back to the office. Malfoy seemed unusually subdued. Harry numbly wondered if Malfoy's silence was due to Harry's earlier unwelcome revelation or if Malfoy was perhaps just sick of speaking in haiku. When they arrived, Malfoy sat at his desk and began tidying it. There wasn't much tidying to be done, as his desk wasn't covered in birthday greetings or incomplete paperwork, and the task didn't take long. He picked up a quill and distractedly ran the feather through his fingers. It was Harry's quill, Harry indignantly noted, and for a moment he irrationally considered grabbing it back. Perhaps Malfoy noticed whose quill it was too, as he suddenly looked up from the quill and straight at Harry.
"That must have been rough.
Listening to Pettigrew.
How are you feeling?"
Harry blinked. Draco Malfoy had not just said something sympathetic and asked him how he was feeling. This was the weirdest day ever. But then the Slytherin git was probably just digging for information while the truth serum was still in effect. Harry glared at him half-heartedly. How was he supposed to answer that question anyway? He'd just had a gut-wrenching conversation with the betrayer of his parents and humiliated himself in front of the object of his affections, all in the same day.
"I'm feeling bad. And really sad." Harry really could have done without saying that last part. Wasn't it about time for the poetry to be wearing off by now?
Malfoy cleared his throat.
"You didn't tell me...
I didn't know you were gay.
Why the big secret?"
Of course, Harry should have been expected to advertise yet another thing about himself that made him different, strange, and subject to ridicule. "And why should I have confided in you? So you could have mocked me about that too?"
Malfoy looked insulted, which he had no bloody right to.
"I wouldn't mock you," Malfoy began, and Harry stared at him, incredulous that those words had actually escaped Malfoy's lips.
"Not over something like that.
I'm gay too, you prat."
So Malfoy was gay too. It didn't change anything, and Harry quickly squashed the small part of himself that wanted to hope it ever could. His emotions had been battered enough for one day. Enough for a year, even. He focused instead on the fact that Malfoy had finally said a stupid rhyme too, but he couldn't bring himself to find it funny. "Thanks for sharing, but I can hardly see what that could possibly have to do with me."
Malfoy fidgeted. That just seemed wrong somehow.
"Why did you assume
I wouldn't want you, Potter?
What made you so sure?"
He had to be joking. But no, there he was, just staring at Harry as if Harry's next words were the most meaningful ones he was ever going to hear. Harry's gut clenched painfully. "Because no matter what I do, I'm never good enough for you."
Whatever revelation Malfoy had been expecting, that had apparently not been it. He couldn't have appeared more startled if Harry had made to answer but then tipped a bucket of cold water over him instead.
"I'm sorry, did you.
I can't believe you said that.
You're not good enough..."
Rising from his chair, Malfoy began pacing behind his desk. He'd placed both hands in his pockets but pulled them out again almost immediately to punctuate his words with sharp gestures.
"Remember first year?
Not the right sort? My hand spurned?
Ringing any bells?"
Of course, leave it to Malfoy to bring up something that had happened half a lifetime ago, on their first day at Hogwarts. "Yes, of course I remember. It happened in September."
Malfoy looked at him as if he were too stupid to live. This was exactly what Harry meant! Even his bloody rhymes weren't good enough!
"I could understand
If you thought I wasn't gay
Or with someone else."
"But not good enough?" he said, gesturing at Harry, apparently finding it necessary to indicate to all those who might not have been following along exactly which wizard it was who had never been up to Draco Malfoy's standards.
"And which part's too good for you?
Is it the Dark Mark?"
Frustrated, Harry shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant! You're missing my intent! It's just been always plain to see. You've never thought too much of me."
Malfoy stopped his pacing and sat heavily back in his chair.
"Always plain to see.
That's really funny, Potter.
You're blind as a bat."
He said this last with a bitter twist to his mouth, and now Harry was confused as well as angry. "Well if I've been wrong since god knows when...how do you feel about me then?"
"I. How do I feel?" Harry was fascinated to see an expression of pure panic cross Malfoy's face, but it was quickly replaced by an exaggerated leer.
"I feel attracted to you.
I wank off to you.
I thought about you
In the shower this morning
While I pulled my cock."
Harry knew, on some level, that Malfoy was attempting to avoid the question, answering without really answering, but he couldn't bring himself to object or even to care. He felt paralyzed. And astoundingly turned on. Malfoy pushed himself back from his desk a bit and spread his legs wider. He slowly ran a hand up one thigh.
"You make me so hard
I want to wank off sometimes
Right here at my desk.
I sit in this chair,
And I picture you kneeling
Here between my legs."
And, god, now Malfoy was rubbing himself, and he really was hard. Half an hour ago, Malfoy had hated him like he always did, and now he was hard and touching himself and saying these things. It didn't make sense.
"I think about you
And your scar and your broomstick
All the fucking time.
I borrow your quills
Because they've been in your mouth.
I watch you suck them.
I look at your mouth
And I want you to rim me.
I want you, Potter."
Malfoy wanted Harry to rim him. Malfoy wanted Harry. Except that couldn't be true, could it? Harry was suddenly filled with the cold conviction that it couldn't. "You bastard, you're fucking with me!"
"Truth serum, Potter.
I want your tongue in my arse,
And I want it now.
And then I want you
To bend me over this desk
And fuck me right here.
So, Potter, tell me.
Are you going to fuck me?
Do you want me too?"
Truth serum. Suddenly Harry didn't feel paralyzed anymore. "Yes," he gasped, and crossed the room toward Malfoy, who was standing up and watching Harry's approach with wide eyes. And then they were kissing, something Malfoy hadn't mentioned at all, had he? But that was what Harry wanted, that's what he spent his time thinking about when he watched Malfoy from across the office, and that's what he was taking, right now, with Malfoy leaning back over his desk and scattering all those neat stacks of files and papers and quills.
When Harry finally pulled back, Malfoy's eyes were tightly closed, but they opened quickly. Malfoy's breaths were coming in quick gasps, and he was staring into Harry's face with an almost bewildered expression. It seemed rather unreasonable, to Harry, for Malfoy to look so surprised. He had been quite direct in his proposition. But then, Harry was surprised too. He couldn't believe he was standing here, between Mafloy's thighs, holding him firmly and pressing him against that desk Malfoy always kept so immaculate.
Malfoy's hair, usually so perfectly arranged, wasn't looking so immaculate anymore either. Harry grabbed a handful of that hair and gripped it tightly. Malfoy's eyes fell closed again, and he leaned his head against Harry's hand. Harry's other hand moved lower, found Malfoy's straining erection, and rubbed Malfoy just as Malfoy had been rubbing himself. "You wanted this?" Harry demanded.
"Yes..." Malfoy hissed. "I wanted this.
Wanted you so fucking much." His eyes slitted open in irritation.
"Don't ask me questions."
Fair enough. "I want to fuck you," Harry said in a rough voice.
Malfoy's eyes shut, and he drew in a shuddering breath.
"Yes. Do it. Fuck me.
Your awful rhymes have worn off.
You can cast the spells."
Harry blinked. The rhymes had worn off? When had that happened? Quickly dismissing the thought as irrelevant, he reached for his wand. Before he could grab it, though, Malfoy caught hold of his hand.
"Make sure that you use
All the appropriate spells
To make this private."
Right, good idea. They were lucky no one had walked in on them already. Harry nodded distractedly and quickly cast spells to lock the door and ensure that no one overheard them. He then turned back to Malfoy and eyed him with interest. There were some spells he wanted to try on him too. "Turn around."
Malfoy blinked but complied without protest. God, that shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, but Malfoy, just giving himself to Harry like this, it was incredible. And incredibly arousing.
Before setting down his wand, Harry cast other spells, for cleaning, protection, and lubrication, which caused Malfoy to start and look back at Harry questioningly over his shoulder. Harry took this opportunity to kiss Malfoy again, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his own erection firmly against Malfoy. Malfoy pushed back against him, and, groaning, Harry pulled back. There was another spell he wanted to try. A moment later, Malfoy was entirely nude and extremely startled. Malfoy's clothes, Harry was pleased to note, were on the floor, right where they should be.
"Bloody hell, Potter!
Where the fuck did you learn that?
I don't know that spell!"
Damn it. Harry had been hoping Malfoy would just assume Harry was experienced and leave it at that. "I learned it from a book Hermione gave me." Malfoy gave a startled laugh.
"Bend over," Harry said, and the smile slipped off Malfoy's face. "Bend over," Harry said again, more gently. Silently, Malfoy leaned over the desk. Kneeling behind Malfoy, Harry leaned forward as well. Parting Malfoy's arse cheeks, he gave a long lick upward. Malfoy jerked in surprise.
"Oh my god, Potter!
Potter, what are you doing?
I can't believe you..."
Harry lifted his head for a moment, perplexed. "I'm rimming you. You said you wanted this, Malfoy. Didn't you mean it?"
"Yes, of course I did.
I just didn't know if you." Harry leaned forward again and teased the hole with his tongue before pushing in slightly.
"Fuck! If you'd want to."
Harry continued his explorations. The flavorless lube felt slippery against his tongue. Malfoy was trembling and obviously struggling to maintain his composure.
"And I said...oh god.
I said don't ask me questions.
And I meant that too."
Harry pushed his tongue further, and Malfoy's whole body spasmed, but as Harry continued with gentle licks, nips, and kisses, Malfoy slowly began to relax. Malfoy had wanted this. Harry knew Malfoy had wanted this, because Malfoy couldn't lie to him right now. Knowing that Malfoy had sat at this desk, watching him, thinking about this, it was almost too much. Suddenly, it occurred to Harry that he could do the same to Malfoy. Malfoy knew that Harry couldn't lie right now, either.
Stroking Malfoy's back gently, to encourage him to remain relaxed, Harry stood up and leaned over, placing his mouth close to Malfoy's ear. "I'm going to fuck you now, Malfoy," he whispered. "You have no idea how many times I've thought about doing this." Malfoy shivered and didn't reply, but he shifted his legs slightly further apart.
As Harry struggled to unfasten his trousers, he realized his own hands were trembling. Finally succeeding, he placed one hand on Malfoy's hip, used the other to align his cock, and pressed slowly forward. It felt so good, and at first, Harry couldn't speak. After a moment, though, he leaned forward and whispered roughly into Malfoy's ear, "You're so quiet, Malfoy. I always imagined you'd have more to say. If I were fucking you." He punctuated this with another thrust, and Malfoy gave a soft moan. Harry wondered hazily if it might count as a syllable, but it apparently didn't, as Malfoy lapsed back into silence instead.
"You don't want to say anything because of the truth serum," Harry continued, as he established a steady rhythm. "I wonder what it is you don't want me to know." Malfoy tensed slightly, and Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I won't ask you." As Malfoy relaxed again, Harry gave a particularly hard thrust and continued, "But I plan on fucking you until you say something on your own."
With that, Harry reached down and grabbed Malfoy's prick. Malfoy began moaning again, quietly, with every thrust. "I wanted this, Malfoy. I've wanted you for such a long time. I wank off to you, too, you know." Malfoy moaned more loudly, and Harry gripped Malfoy's hip more firmly in response. "I didn't want to. I thought it was stupid of me, that you'd never want me, and I'd be so angry at myself after. Sometimes I'd really hate myself. When I said your name. That was the worst, but sometimes I couldn't help it." And then Harry leaned forward again to whisper in Malfoy's ear, "Draco."
"Oh, god..." Malfoy groaned, and he was spurting wetly in Harry's hand and pressing his face into his arm, muffling the words that followed. Harry didn't know what it was that Malfoy was groaning into his arm, but imagining what it might be was enough to push him over the edge as well. Legs trembling, he leaned into Malfoy, eyes closed tightly as the sharp, rhythmic surges coursed through him.
Malfoy rested his head on the desk, and Harry leaned on top of him, both of them breathing heavily. Harry ran a hand through Malfoy's hair. It was soft, and damp with sweat. Malfoy's back was slick with sweat too, and Harry kissed one shoulder.
"Gentlemen! Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on in there?"
Malfoy's head snapped up in alarm. "What?"
"And take that damn silencing spell down. There's no point in leaving it up. I can see you right through this door." That was Moody's voice.
Malfoy glared at Harry. "I thought you used all the appropriate spells to ensure privacy."
Damn. Closed doors generally did ensure privacy. "Sorry, I forgot that one. But..." Something was different. What was it? "Hey, you're not speaking in haiku anymore."
Malfoy didn't look as if that in any way made up for Mad Eye Moody witnessing him nude and bent over his desk while a near-fully-clothed Harry Potter fucked him into quivering insensibility.
Harry grabbed his wand, but before he took the spells down, he cast a surreptitious cleaning charm and sheepishly handed Malfoy his trousers. Malfoy yanked them from Harry's grasp and began dressing in angry silence.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you both to Kingsley Shacklebolt!" shouted Moody.
"It's my birthday?" Harry finally tried in response.
There an ominous silence from the other side of the door, and Malfoy gave Harry a scathing look. "Because we were drugged!" Malfoy shouted back.
Right. That explanation probably would go over better. In fact, it would come in really handy if the truth serum had worn off by now. It might possibly have. The rhymes had been gone for a while.
"Explain!" Moody barked.
"The Weasley Twins sent me chocolates for my birthday. They had unusual side effects," Harry hedged.
"Those redheaded terrors have gone too far!" Moody sounded truly outraged. "Arthur may not like it, but drugging Aurors is a serious offense. I see no choice but to press charges."
Malfoy looked as if he thought this was an excellent idea, but Harry shot him a pleading look to remain silent. "I don't think that will be necessary, Moody. Please, let me handle them. I'll make it more than clear that they will regret it if they ever try something like this again."
"I suppose I should leave it to you to handle. You're the one who's suffered the most by this abominable prank. I can't imagine how horrible this must have been for you." Harry had never heard such a degree of sympathy in Moody's voice. Not even when he'd told Arthur about Charlie's death.
"Actually, I quite enjoyed it," Harry found himself replying. "I've been wanting to do this for ages." No, the truth serum had definitely not worn off yet.
Malfoy looked amused but shot Harry a warning glance. There was once again a resounding silence from the other side of the door. "Oh, but I'm quite certain this would NOT have occurred if it hadn't been for the chocolates," Harry belatedly added.
The silence continued for another long moment before Moody finally spoke. "I never realized, until just now, how overdue my retirement really was. I'm going home. I'll tell Shacklebolt the both of you are sick." Harry had a feeling Moody meant every word of that. "Take the rest of the day to get yourselves sorted out. Perhaps I should warn you what consequences you might face if you were ever caught engaging in such flagrantly unprofessional behavior again, but I'm not going to. I wash my hands of the both of you."
Harry and Malfoy stared at each other silently for a long moment after Moody had stumped away down the hall.
"I wish I could have seen the old bastard's face," Malfoy finally said. "He deserved that." He then got a quizzical, slightly disgusted look on his face. "How long do you think he was there watching?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Harry replied firmly.
"But Moody had one thing right," Malfoy said. "The twins have gone too far. You may not want to press charges, but I'm at least going to take them into custody and leave them to worry about it for a few hours."
Harry was about to object but then paused, reconsidering.
"They deserve it, Potter, don't tell me they don't," Malfoy pressed. "I know they're friends of yours, but that's no excuse. In fact, it makes things worse! No decent person inflicts things like this on their friends."
Harry looked pointedly at the desk Malfoy had so recently been bent over. Malfoy looked annoyed. "I don't care if the end results turned out to be rather pleasant, those two are a menace, and they need to be taught a lesson. I should have hexed them at St. Mungo's when I had the chance."
Harry had the distinct feeling he had missed something. "Wait, what do you mean at St. Mungo's? "
"I...we happened to bump into each other outside your room." Malfoy looked uncomfortable but worked up a healthy note of indignation to say, "The other day, you know, when you nearly got yourself killed?"
Not that again. "I did not! My injuries were hardly serious. But wait, so you bumped into the Weasley twins, and then what?"
This was another question Malfoy obviously did not want to answer. "We had a conversation. They seemed to have the impression that I was concerned about you, and I didn't relieve them of it as it hardly seemed the time, but had I known..."
"Draco," Harry quickly interjected. The poetry had been gone for a while now, and it wouldn't be long before the truth serum had worn off as well. "How do you feel about me?"
"I love you. I mean. That's not what I. Fucking hell!"
He was struggling to speak, Harry realized giddily, because the truth serum was not allowing him to contradict those first three astounding words. Whatever awkward protestations Malfoy would have uttered next, Harry never found out, as he grabbed Malfoy by the back of his neck and crushed their mouths together before anything further could be said. Malfoy hesitated but then returned the kiss forcefully and wrapped his arms around Harry, clutching at the fabric of Harry's shirt with grasping hands.
When they finally broke the kiss, neither of them seemed to know what to say, but that was all right. Harry thought they'd said about enough for one day. And hadn't Moody given them the rest of the day to get themselves sorted out? Snatching up their wands and Malfoy's shirt, Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and Apparated them both to his flat.
The Weasley twins could wait. They'd get what they had coming.
Title: Poetic Justice
Author: Scrtkpr
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 10,000
Summary: In which Peter Pettigrew gets captured, The Weasley Twins get an idea, Harry and Draco get drugged, Moody gets an Eyeful, and everyone involved gets exactly what they deserved.
Author's Note: Written for the following prompt: i'd love a harry/draco where they get together for the first time and proceed to have incredibly wild sex. i slightly prefer harry to top. i like kissing. i like anal sex. i like rimming. For some reason, it took me 10,000 words to meet this simple request. Huge thanks to owens_mom, 13_moons, eeyore9990, and furiosity for the feedback and encouragement!
Warnings: Aside from language and the above-mentioned rimming, I must also warn for the smutty haikus. And please, everyone, pay attention to the rating! If you are under the age of 18, you should not be here.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and do not own these characters. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.
On the morning of his twenty-second birthday, Harry Potter was sitting at his desk staring at a clock. He was early to work that day. There were still fifteen minutes before Malfoy could reasonably be expected to show up and a good two hours before Harry would be allowed to interrogate Peter Pettigrew.
St. Mungo's staff had finally deemed Pettigrew in adequate health to undergo questioning and had released him to Auror custody late the previous night. That, along with the demise of Bellatrix Lestrange several days before, ought to have made for a fantastic birthday, but Harry felt far more unsettled than celebratory. The irony was, if it hadn't been for Pettigrew, Harry might never have lived to see this birthday, or at least that was Malfoy's strongly expressed opinion. In a baffling move, Pettigrew had responded to the attack not by fighting back, not by running away, but by intercepting a vicious hex Bellatrix had sent in Harry's direction and murdering her himself before losing consciousness.
Had Pettigrew done something like this during the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry might have attributed it to the Life Debt Pettigrew supposedly owed him, but too many years and missed opportunities had gone by for Harry to give that idea any credence now. Why Pettigrew had done it was anyone's guess, but Harry intended to find out. Maybe once he had, he'd be able to dredge up some interest in the already substantial pile of birthday greetings and gifts stacked haphazardly on his desk. The owls had been tapping at his window every few minutes since he'd arrived. In fact...yes, there was another one now.
"That's it, I'm leaving the window open," Harry grumbled, as he got up once again to admit the newest owl. He'd never been plagued by owls at the window back when the DMLE had been located underground.
But this owl, Harry noticed with a bit more interest, looked to be from Ron. He couldn't remember the name, but he was certain this was the (much more even-tempered) replacement of Pig that Molly and Arthur had given Ron after the war. The owl flew in, deposited a smallish rectangular box on Harry's desk, and perched beside it. Curious despite himself, Harry moved to open it.
The box, he discovered, contained an assortment of chocolates and nothing else. That was a bit odd. Ron was rarely one for correspondence, but Harry was surprised he hadn't bothered to include at least a brief note.
"Are you sure there's no note?" Harry asked the owl. The owl blinked at him. Shrugging, Harry popped one of the chocolates into his mouth.
"I'm out of owl treats, you know," Harry said, gesturing at the morning's earlier deliveries. Ron's owl just stared back with wide eyes, causing Harry to feel a twinge of irritation. This new owl had no personality. As annoying as Pigwidgeon had been, Harry missed him.
"I don't have anything else to give you, either," Harry pointed out. Again, no response. "So you might as well leave," he continued, more bluntly, and then felt a bit stupid for being rude to his best mate's owl. "Or stay, I don't care."
Contrarily, the owl took that as its cue to depart and sailed out the open window, through which, Harry realized with alarm, the Weasley twins' owl had just entered. Fantastic. He had no idea what the twins might have taken into their heads to gift him with this year, and frankly, he had no interest in finding out. He was just wondering how well it would go over if he returned their gift unopened when he noted with relief that there appeared to be no package after all.
Taking the proffered scroll with a sigh, Harry was amused to see that this owl seemed to have no inclination to hang around afterward. Lingering after delivery was probably a bad idea for anyone carrying out the bidding of the Weasley twins.
Picking up another chocolate, Harry sat down and began reading with slight trepidation.
Happy Birthday, Harry! We’d have sent our gift along with this letter, but we feared you wouldn’t be as trusting of a gift from us. (Merlin knows why you’re so suspicious of such well-intentioned friends.)
Harry rolled his eyes, remembering last year's birthday fiasco. One would think they would realize that the older they got, the less amusing everyone found their pranks, but the twins, if no one else, still thought themselves hilarious. To give them credit, they could still be very funny at times, but they generally took things too far. Perhaps it was a natural result of running the type of business they did, but six years after leaving Hogwarts and four years after the war, they were still perpetual adolescents who often showed little appreciation for the adult responsibilities with which their friends and family were now occupied. Shaking his head, Harry read on.
All right, so we know you for some reason did not enjoy last year's gift, though why you wouldn't want everyone's hair to change color when they wished you Happy Birthday is still beyond us. That was brilliant! Especially when the Minister for Magic made that public announcement.
Harry snorted. That bit with the Minister for Magic had been funny, he had to admit. But the rest of it? The changes in hair color had been permanent! Even the most advanced charms had failed to change the color back, and everyone had been forced to wait until it grew out. There was a reason short hair had been in style the summer of 2001. Harry had been apologizing for weeks! And now that he thought about it, he strongly suspected that the Weasley twins' was the only "Happy Birthday" he would receive all day. All those other notes and cards were probably filled with cautiously worded wishes for many joyful returns.
As you for some reason failed to appreciate that, however, we thought long and hard about what to do for you this year, and we came to the conclusion that you are badly in need of help in the romance department. We know that you fancy a coworker, Harry, and it's time you did something about it. It would have helped if you'd given us a little more to work with, but we think we've come up with something that would help you break the ice with anyone.
God. He was never drinking with the Weasley twins again. He was never drinking with anyone again. At least they'd never discovered which coworker was the object of Harry's idiotic, one-sided crush. However laughable the twins' romantic advice turned out to be, it would prove doubly so if he were to try it out on Draco Malfoy. The thought was both amusing and depressing. Harry had believed that he and Malfoy had reached an understanding, were becoming friends even, but Malfoy had made it more than clear this week how very mistaken Harry had been. Frowning, Harry reached for his third chocolate and continued on with the letter.
That's right, Harry. Today you'll be speaking poetry, the language of love.
The hell he was, Harry thought, biting viciously into the chocolate.
And to ensure that you do, we've drugged those chocolates that you're eating right now.
Harry flung the half-eaten chocolate away from himself and continued reading on in horror.
Yes, we borrowed Ronnie's owl and carefully instructed our own not to deliver this letter until you'd tried at least one. By now it's surely taken effect. You'll be speaking in poetry a half hour for each one that you've eaten.
Harry frantically calculated. The effects should wear off before Pettigrew's interrogation. It could have been worse.
What type of poetry we couldn't exactly say. It seems to be influenced by personality. We find we speak in limerick when we try them. One of our testers spoke in cinquain and the other in ballad. And when we slipped one to Percy last night, he spoke in strict iambic pentameter. You'll have to let us know how they work out with you. We're quite curious.
Harry was going to kill the Weasley twins.
The truth serum effects, on the other hand, should last a bit longer than half an hour per chocolate.
KILL. THEM.
We put that in as well so you'd be a bit more forthcoming with the object of your affections. It's not as strong as Veritaserum, but the effects do intensify as the dose increases.
Now don't be angry, Harry. You've given up too much of your life already, and you deserve a little happiness while you can still enjoy it. Recent events ought to remind you that everyone's time runs out sooner or later. Seize the day! With any luck, you two lovebirds will have all your misunderstandings cleared up in no time.
F&G
Crumpling the letter in frustration, Harry tossed it on the floor and shouted, "Well fuck my luck!"
Wait a second. That wasn't quite what he'd meant to say. What kind of poetry was that, anyway? Whatever it was, it probably didn't reflect so well on his personality as cinquain would have.
"I'm speaking in rhyme..." Harry tried, and quickly found himself following that up with, "all the time!"
Wonderful. No one was going to notice that. He had absolutely nothing to worry about.
And would anything he said truly come out in rhyme? What would happen if he tried a word like...
"Orange." "Orange!" he was forced to spit out again. Harry quickly decided not to experiment further. That was bloody unsettling.
He couldn't believe Fred and George had done this, on today of all days! Okay, so they had no way of knowing the interrogation was today, but he was at work! And on top of that, it was a stupid plan! They probably thought Harry was smitten with...with the office secretary or something, and didn't they realize that on a normal day, Malfoy was the only one he interacted with this early in the morning? Didn't they realize that... Harry's thoughts trailed off as he came to his own horrifying realization that Mafloy would arrive at any moment. Frantically, Harry leapt up from his desk and rushed from the room.
It would be all right. He'd just find a quiet spot to wait until it was time for the interrogation, and by then the poetry would have worn off.
It really was a damn good thing for Fred and George that this wasn't going to prevent the interrogation. Harry had pressed long and hard all week to be allowed a chance to question Pettigrew himself. He'd been firmly refused the opportunity to be the official interrogating Auror, but he'd been promised fifteen minutes to ask questions after the main interrogation was over. The official explanation was that Harry was still recovering from his injuries, but Harry suspected that no one trusted him to keep a cool head during the questioning. It was widely known that Harry was not exactly objective with regard to Pettigrew or Pettigrew's most recent victim.
There were very few people in the world that Harry truly hated, but Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew were two of them. After Voldemort's death, Harry had chosen to become an Auror because people like them were still out there, poisoning the world with every breath they took. When Harry had confronted them, Bellatrix had done nothing unexpected. She existed solely to inflict death and suffering, and that's exactly what she'd attempted to do. But Pettigrew. Pettigrew hadn't behaved properly.
Of course, he'd betrayed someone, Harry reflected bitterly. He'd got that part right. And perhaps Bellatrix was the only one he had left to betray. But he wasn't supposed to have done it for Harry's benefit. He wasn't supposed to have leapt in front of that hex. It hadn't even been necessary. That was the part that frustrated Harry the most. He could have handled that hex. He could have killed or captured them both, no matter what Malfoy said. Pettigrew needn't have interfered. Harry wanted to know why he had done it. He needed to know.
But if he was going to get the chance to find out, he would need to hide his condition until it resolved itself. He was near the file room. Perhaps he could find a quiet corner and pretend to be unapproachably occupied with paperwork. Quickly ducking through the door, Harry bumped solidly into someone on his way out. Glancing up apologetically, he found himself looking into Neville's friendly face. Sometimes Harry still found himself surprised that it was Neville, not Ron, who had accepted the invitation to the Auror training program that had been extended to all war heroes when the DMLE found itself dangerously understaffed. Harry had never felt much surprise that Neville had passed Auror training, as Neville had more than proven himself during the war.
"Sorry, Harry! And hey, Hap--uh," Neville said, and then roughly ran his fingers through his hair. "That is," he finally continued, with a wry twist to his mouth, "I hope your special day is as special as you deserve."
"Thank you. I'm twenty-two!" Harry replied automatically and then immediately wanted to kick himself.
Neville appeared slightly puzzled. "Yes, I know. We were in the same year at Hogwarts, and our birthdays are rather close together."
"Right. Right," Harry said, and he breathed a sigh of relief that repetition apparently worked with words other than "orange."
Neville's expression of confusion changed to one of sympathy. "So I heard they brought Pettigrew in last night. I suppose you're anxious to hear what he has to say for himself."
Harry, not trusting himself to speak, nodded. He wondered how Neville was taking Bellatrix's death. Of all people, Neville had more reason than just about anyone to feel conflicted about the events of this week. Harry felt a violent surge of satisfaction that Bellatrix's death had been as painful as it was, and it suddenly occurred to him how astoundingly appropriate it was that she had been driven insane by her own obsession long before she died.
"I heard Malfoy has been giving you a pretty hard time the last few days," Neville continued. "I guess this was a rough week for him too, considering. Try not to let him get to you, though. It's hard when you've almost lost someone so important to you. He'll be more reasonable when he's not so upset."
"Er...sure," Harry said, not clear what Neville was getting at. Yes, Bellatrix had been Malfoy's aunt, and family was very important to him. But what Neville had said just didn't make sense. Aunt or not, there was no love lost between Bellatrix and Malfoy, hadn't been for years, not since she'd tortured Narcissa. And even if there had been, after Pettigrew was through with her, Bellatrix was about as "lost" as one could get. No "almost" about it.
"Well," Neville finally said, "you seemed to be in a hurry. I suppose I should let you get to it." Harry nodded again and gestured toward the file cabinets to indicate the pressing business that was supposedly contained within them.
They stepped apart, but Neville suddenly stopped and turned back to Harry.
"Thank you, Harry," he said. "For finding her."
Looking into Neville's sincere brown eyes, Harry knew he couldn't just nod in response to this. Thinking carefully, he said, "I wish I could do something more for you."
Neville smiled a little sadly. "Thank you," he said again, and continued on down the hall.
Harry stepped into the file room, shut the door behind himself, and leaned against it. The room was empty, so that small table in the corner was free as he'd been hoping. He supposed he should grab a file or two and settle in before someone else showed up. It was really too bad he hadn't brought some paperwork to catch up on. His supervisor had been getting on him about that last week, and here was the perfect opportunity to work on it. If only he hadn't left it on his desk, right next to...the box of chocolates. Which Malfoy would see. And Malfoy had a sweet tooth and no compunction about taking things that didn't belong to him, like Harry's quills, and his affections, and, undoubtedly, his thrice-damned box of drugged chocolates.
Tearing back down the hall, Harry could only hope that Malfoy might have come in late, just this once, out of disgust for Harry's birthday and the huge deal everyone made of it these days. Perhaps when Harry opened the door, the room would still be empty and the chocolates right where he'd left them.
But, no. Harry let out a small groan of frustration. There was Malfoy, licking chocolate off his fingers, and looking only very slightly embarrassed at being caught. Refusing to be distracted by the fingers and the licking, Harry crossed his arms and shot Malfoy an accusing glare.
"Oh, hello Potter," Malfoy drawled.
"I reckoned you could spare some." He paused only very briefly, glancing at the birthday cards and gifts scattered across Harry's desk, and then continued,
"I'm sure you'll get more."
This all sounded completely normal for Malfoy. Par for the course, especially this week. But it was apparently not what Malfoy had intended to say, as he was blinking at Harry in confusion.
"How many did you eat?" Harry demanded. And then, "They're very sweet." God. No. He had not just said that.
But yes, yes he had. Malfoy had abandoned his expression of confusion in favor of a raised eyebrow and a mocking smirk.
"I've only had two.
You've still got at least twenty,
So don't complain. And...
Yes, Potter, they're sweet.
They're made with sugar, you see." Malfoy seemed satisfied to stop there but suddenly opened his mouth again to say,
"Sugarcane grows tall."
So perhaps Malfoy was more affected than he'd first appeared. The timing for this was horrible, but Harry couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in amusement.
"What the fucking fuck!" Malfoy shouted. His eyes, which had been wide in alarm, began to narrow in anger.
"You know about this, don't you?
Answer me, Potter!"
"Don't look at me like that," Harry said, raising his hands defensively. "It's your own fault, you prat."
"It is not my fault.
Do you think I hexed myself?" Malfoy looked truly outraged.
"Not. Bloody. Likely."
"That chocolate's from the Weasley twins." This was surely enough information to go on, but Harry resignedly continued, "I'm sure they're wearing git-faced grins."
Draco stepped back from Harry's desk and the box of chocolate in horror and fixed an accusing glare on Harry.
"And you left it out.
Sitting right there on your desk.
For others to eat."
"Not for others to eat! It was my birthday treat!" Barely pausing to shudder at this latest humiliation, Harry continued, "And that's why I came back. So these wouldn't be your snack."
Oh, this was perfect. Yes, Fred and George were right, this was certainly clearing up misunderstandings. Malfoy had just been presented with proof positive that Harry was as buffoonish and unsophisticated as Malfoy had always thought him. Malfoy's respect, admiration, and affections were as good as his.
Harry would normally have expected some sarcasm from Malfoy by now, but he supposed it was two chocolates' worth of truth serum that caused Malfoy to instead say,
"I don't believe that.
You left them out there for me
On purpose, Potter.
You know you did this
Just to humiliate me." Malfoy appeared to be done speaking but paused only for a moment before adding,
"Like you always do."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of that last bit, but Malfoy clearly hadn't meant to say it. If he had appeared angry before, he looked apoplectic now.
"Oh, I did not!" Harry replied in irriation. "That's a bunch of rot. And I wouldn't do something like this today. There's truth serum in the chocolate anyway. I couldn't lie to you if I wanted to."
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, took a heavy breath, and then crossed his arms over his chest, fixing Harry with a severe look.
"Let me get this straight.
The Weasley twins wanted you
Spouting poetry.
And in addition,
Unable to tell a lie.
As a birthday gift."
Harry blinked and nodded. It did sound like rather an atrocious thing to do when Malfoy put it like that.
"And why, exactly," Malfoy began, in a snide voice.
Harry, panicked at the thought of having to answer that question, rushed to ask a question of his own before Malfoy could complete it.
"You had some too. Why aren't you?"
"I am speaking in haiku," replied Malfoy, looking more than a bit irritated.
Not rhyming couplets."
Haiku. Right. Harry would have figured that out. Malfoy's last line had been said with a mocking sneer that left no doubt what he thought of Harry's plebeian rhymes, and Harry was certain he would have added, "You uncultured swine" if only he'd had the syllables left to do so. Harry suddenly felt eleven years old again, being measured for robes and asked questions about Quidditch.
"I know about haiku!" Harry asserted defensively only to find himself continuing, "Just the same as you!" and rolled his eyes in exasperation and embarrassment.
Malfoy, who clearly and quite unfairly held Harry personally responsible for this mess, glared stonily at Harry for a moment before asking,
"Potter, do you know
Which is the simplest rhyme scheme
In all poetry?"
Oh, this was so typical. What did he see in this git anyway? Harry wanted to punch him right in his sneering mouth.
"Couplets are just so...
Predictable and plodding." Malfoy's eyes widened innocently at Harry's infuriated expression.
"Or don't you agree?"
This was a question that did not deserve a response, and Harry had no intention of providing Malfoy with one. Unfortunately, the truth serum wouldn't permit silent indignation, even when one was obviously in possession of the moral high ground. Not in response to a direct question. "Yes, I agree," Harry gritted out. "They're just like me." Stupid truth serum.
Malfoy looked taken aback. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and Harry had no idea which of them would eventually have spoken next if Moody hadn't chosen that moment to enter their office.
Malfoy and Moody exchanged looks. Moody made it no secret he thought it a travesty that Malfoy had earned an order of Merlin for his actions in the final weeks of the war and had therefore been eligible, despite his incomplete 7th year and the Dark Mark on his arm, to become an Auror along with Harry, Neville, and the other "real" war heroes. His attention did not stay focused on Malfoy for long, though. Moody appeared to inspect every corner of the room, as usual, before turning to address Harry.
"A pleasant anniversary of your birth," he said, with polite gruffness. Harry, feeling no inclination to announce his age again, nodded.
Moody's roving eye continued to scan the room thoroughly, and he focused on the pile of gifts on Harry's desk. "I hope you're exercising appropriate caution while opening those. They appear harmless, yes. Most of them probably are. Several of them contain women's undergarments." Well, now Harry really had no interest in those packages. What were those women thinking? Sending someone your knickers seemed a stupid thing to do as it was, but Harry wasn't even straight. Though he supposed they couldn't be expected to know that. Harry had come to that surprising realization himself several years before, but he hadn't exactly made it public knowledge.
Moody, however, wasn't finished. His Mad Eye was still swiveling frantically in his head, inspecting Harry's birthday packages and, presumably, the women's undergarments. "But you can't be too careful" he continued. "Hexes might be placed on anything. Let your guard down while handling a pair of lacy knickers, and you could meet a sticky end." Harry blinked. That. Had been intentional, hadn't it? With Moody it was hard to tell. The man never smiled.
"And what is that I see left incomplete and buried underneath your pile of gifts?" Damn, but the bastard didn't miss much.
"My paperwork...I often shirk," Harry found himself replying. Malfoy snickered. His paperwork was always done on time. The git.
"I've noticed that," Moody replied. "I understand, when you've become an Auror for the right reasons," he continued, with a brief yet pointed glance at Malfoy, "paperwork can seem like a pointless exercise. You don't want to waste time on it when you could be out there tracking down dark wizards. But it serves a purpose and it must be done. And it's far better not to let it pile up on you, because too many hours of it can dull your wits. When your wits are dulled, you lose sight of the most important thing, which is..." Harry felt quite strongly that he saw where this was going, but Moody had not missed the pinched and furious expression Malfoy was directing at the back of Moody's head.
"But then some of us have different ideas, don't we?" Moody turned back to face Malfoy, so that both eyes were trained in the same direction once more. "What do you think, Malfoy?"
"I think you're insane," Malfoy spat out,
"And should never have returned
From your retirement."
Harry took a moment to wonder whether Malfoy was truly angry enough to have chosen to say that or if it had been largely the truth serum at work there.
Moody, however, appeared unaffected by Malfoy's anger. "Now that Pettigrew and the Lestranges are no longer at large, I am retiring." The Lestranges? Pettigrew must have revealed the location of Rabastan, Harry realized with surprise.
But Moody wasn't finished. "With Aurors like Harry here to pick up the slack, I doubt I'll be missed. He's done well even when left without a partner at his back." Malfoy's expression found previously unexplored depths of outrage. "In future," Moody continued, "you'll be submitting your paperwork to Kingsley Shacklebolt. And while we're speaking so candidly, let me just say that I think your entire family was insane and you should never have been permitted to become an Auror."
With that, Moody seemed to dismiss Malfoy entirely, and he turned to Harry again. "Harry, the interrogation is going more quickly than expected, and your session with Pettigrew has been moved up. I'll see you in the interrogation room. Fifteen minutes." His message delivered, Moody apparently felt no need to wait for a response. He lumbered from the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Harry and Malfoy were both once again speechless, Malfoy with rage, and Harry with the horrified realization that there was no way the effects of the chocolate would wear off in the next fifteen minutes. Malfoy found his voice first.
"Constant Vigilance," he sneered.
"If Moody's so vigilant
He'd notice your rhymes."
Well, there had only been the one, but Harry had far more pressing concerns and couldn't be bothered to point that out. "He'll notice if I talk to Pettigrew. You've got to talk to him, I need you to."
"Oh, now you need me," Malfoy said bitterly.
You didn't need me last week.
Why is that, Potter?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration. They'd been through this! "I didn't have a choice, I've told you that. There wasn't time to owl or floo your flat."
Draco didn't take the explanation any better this time than he had any other time that week.
"Right, there wasn't time," he said, in an understanding tone that was anything but.
"Well, I don't have time for you.
Deal with it, Potter."
Of course, Malfoy would be petty and difficult and turn his back on Harry when he was the only one who could help. "Oh, god damn it, Malfoy, just cut the song and dance. I need to talk to him and can't afford to miss this chance!"
Malfoy looked singularly unimpressed.
"There's just one reason
You're even getting this chance.
You're Harry Potter.
Poor little hero.
For once your celebrity
Isn't quite enough
But hey, don't worry.
You like to go it alone.
You don't need my help."
Harry was sick, so sick, of hearing crap like this from Malfoy, but beyond that he felt bewildered. He hadn't seen this level of antagonism since their Hogwarts days. "You're being an arsehole, even for you. Why this hostility? What did I do?"
This appeared to be a question Malfoy did not want to answer.
"Well, why do you think?" he finally spluttered
"You nearly got yourself killed.
You moronic prat."
Wait, he really was this worked up over a bit of a close call last week? "How can you say that? You weren't even there!" Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously at this, but Harry ignored him and continued, "I'd already put out the fire in my hair."
"The fire in your hair," Malfoy parroted back.
"You survived due to blind luck.
As per usual."
This wasn't worth debating. "And so what if I did? It was my choice to make. It isn't your job to say what risks I can take."
This just seemed to infuriate Malfoy further. His cheeks had those pink blotches that only showed up when he was truly outraged.
"Yes it is my job.
I am your partner, Potter.
Or did you forget?"
"You utter bastard." Malfoy spat out, obviously intending to stop there, but this was not a complete haiku, and he was forced to continue,
"My anger at you is fire
That consumes my heart."
Flushing even further, Malfoy compressed his lips into a tight, thin line and turned to stare at the wall.
Harry didn't know quite what to say. He knew that haikus traditionally incorporated nature imagery, which seemed to feature more prominently in Malfoy's haikus when he left off speaking halfway through, but that had sounded suspiciously like Malfoy actually cared. Maybe he wasn't just ticked off at being left out. Maybe he'd been worried. "I know you're my partner; I can't forget that. I suppose that you're right; I'm a bit of a prat."
Malfoy didn't respond for a moment. Still staring at the wall, he finally asked,
"Explain to me why.
Why do you want to see him?
What can he tell you?"
Harry wasn't certain he knew how to answer this in a simple rhyme, but apparently he did. "He didn't want me to die...and I need to know why."
Malfoy sighed, and some of the tenseness seemed to leave his shoulders.
"You never did say
Why the Weasley twins did this.
Why drug you like this?"
And there it was, the question Harry thought he'd successfully avoided. The one he least wanted to answer, asked by the person he least wanted to confide in. He hadn't seen it coming. Harry's jaw was tight and his voice flat when he answered. "They knew I fancied someone here and hadn't spoken out of fear."
"Oh, they did, did they?" Malfoy's jaw now looked tight as well, and his expression was slightly malicious.
"They're quite the little cupids.
And you were frightened."
Harry nodded, terrified what might slip out if he spoke. Please, let Malfoy drop the subject. Only he wouldn't, would he? He'd spotted a weakness. It was too much to hope that he'd pass it up.
"You're a Gryffindor," Malfoy sneered.
"That's quite pathetic, Potter.
Who's the lucky girl?"
So Malfoy still thought Harry was straight. That made sense, he supposed. He hadn't given Malfoy that much reason to think otherwise, but there would be no preventing him finding out now. He didn't even try to stop the words from coming. "There's no lucky girl, Malfoy, there's only you. And you can't be lucky when you don't want me too."
Harry didn't know how Malfoy reacted to that. He couldn't look. He couldn't stay in the room. He shouldn't stay in the room; it was time for the interrogation. Abruptly, and without saying another word, Harry strode through the door and toward the interrogation room.
He hadn't made it far down the hall when Malfoy caught up to him, matching his quick pace. Harry didn't look at his face, but when Malfoy spoke, he sounded upset.
"Potter, you can't just.
You can't say something like that.
And then just walk out."
The hell he couldn't. Malfoy had already gotten far more than rightfully belonged to him. Harry wasn't giving him anything else.
"Harry, god damn it!
Just stop for a minute, please.
You need to explain."
Malfoy sounded truly distressed, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt for upsetting him this much before remembering Malfoy's refusal to help him, and then the guilt was swallowed up in anger. Finally turning to him, Harry spat out, "I need to talk to Pettigrew, since I won't have any help from you."
Malfoy looked stung.
"You know that won't work.
Just keep your stupid mouth shut.
I'll do the talking."
They proceeded on toward the interrogation room in silence. Harry stared at the floor, mostly, although he darted one glance to the side halfway there. Malfoy's posture was rigid, and he wore an unreadable expression on his face. Harry couldn't bring himself to look again.
Unexpectedly, Malfoy did speak once before they arrived.
"When will this wear off?
Will I be talking like this
The rest of my life?"
Malfoy's tone was cool and clipped, and Harry sighed before answering. "I think that the poetry should wear off pretty soon. The truth serum lasts longer but should be gone before noon." Malfoy nodded, Harry saw out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise didn't respond.
When they entered the room, Harry was surprised to see only Moody and Pettigrew there waiting for them. Moody tossed an irritated glance in Malfoy's direction but otherwise didn't acknowledge his presence. "You're a little early, but we're ready for you, as it turns out. Pettigrew here has been quite cooperative. You have fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting outside." Moody left the room, and again, Harry was surprised. He'd thought Moody would stay to supervise. But then, with that eye, he could probably supervise from right out there in the hall. And he probably wasn't overly concerned for Pettigrew, either. Not if they already had all the information they needed.
Pettigrew now had scars over much of his body from the extensive burns he'd suffered last week. His silver hand was missing. He still looked like a rat, cowering in the corner. Malfoy seated himself in a chair across from him. Harry leaned against the wall, a little further away. He didn't think he could bear to stand any closer.
"Peter Pettigrew.
I'm Auror Draco Malfoy.
We have met before."
Harry wasn't sure what memories Malfoy might have of Pettigrew from his Death Eater days, but he was sure they couldn't be pleasant.
"You know Potter there.
We have some questions for you.
It shouldn't take long."
"All right," Pettigrew said. "I'll tell you whatever you want."
"And will you agree
To take Veritaserum
For this interview?"
This was a formality. No one expected prisoners to consent to it, and the approval process for administering Veritaserum to an unwilling prisoner was long and complicated. They always asked, though. It was procedure.
"I've already had Veritaserum. I agreed to it earlier," Pettigrew surprisingly said.
Pettigrew could have been lying, of course. Harry thought perhaps they should ask Moody, but Malfoy had a different approach.
"Well, what would you say
If I offered you some more?
Any objections?"
"Go ahead. Give me as much as you want. I don't care."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
"All right, Pettigrew.
We might just do that later.
Let's talk a bit first."
They really would have to find out how much Pettigrew had already had before giving him any more, but perhaps it wouldn't be necessary.
Pettigrew blinked up at Malfoy. "You look just like your father, you know that?"
Malfoy stiffened but otherwise gave no indication of his discomfort. Lucius Malfoy had been dead for several years, but Harry was still surprised at Malfoy's restraint.
"I'm aware of that.
But that is not what we're here
To discuss today."
Malfoy had stiffened, Harry knew, not just because of the mention of his father, but because he'd had no choice but to answer that question. It wasn't exactly the conventional interrogation scenario.
"Do you remember
The incident with Lestrange
And Potter last week?"
"Yes, of course I do," Pettigrew whined. "That's where I got these injuries."
Malfoy did not appear overly concerned with what Pettigrew might have suffered.
"She tried to kill him.
You didn't want him to die.
You prevented it."
It wasn't a question, but Pettigrew responded anyway, turning to Harry and trying to catch his eyes. "That's right, I tried to save you, Harry." Harry felt his lip curling in disgust. Malfoy looked a little disgusted as well.
"You did the right thing,
Over two decades later.
Why is that, Peter?"
"I couldn't stay with Bellatrix," Pettigrew babbled. "She was insane. She was convinced we could still somehow bring back the Dark Lord. She killed Rabastan because he said it was hopeless, and she tortured him before she did it. She only kept me around because I'd succeeded in helping him come back before."
Pettigrew had done it, Harry realized, for entirely selfish reasons. He'd thought he would suffer more in Bellatrix's company than he would either dead or in Auror custody.
Malfoy seemed to agree.
"I can tell you why.
You had nothing left to lose
You're still a coward."
Pettigrew winced, but Malfoy wasn't finished and didn't give him a chance to respond.
"It's too late for you
After everything you've done.
I'm sure you know that.
You won't get the kiss.
We don't do that anymore.
In your case, I'm glad.
Azkaban, Peter.
Forced to live with your choices.
It's what you deserve."
Pettigrew seemed to shrink further into his chair. "I know I've done terrible things, but I've suffered for them." He looked appealingly to Malfoy and then, incredibly, to Harry. "I've done nothing I haven't already more than paid for."
This infuriated Harry. "You betrayed my mum and dad! That makes me really mad!"
Leaning forward, Malfoy leveled a malevolent glare at Pettigrew.
"You betrayed them all.
James, and Lily, and their son.
Why did you do it?"
"I hated him," Pettigrew rasped. "Perfect Potter. Never thought I was good enough for him."
Malfoy flinched.
"But I didn't hate him. I did, but I didn't. I loved him too." And Pettigrew started to cry.
Malfoy stood up abruptly and crossed swiftly to the door.
"Unless Potter here
Has anything more to add,
I think we're finished."
Harry most definitely did not have anything to add. He didn't think he could stand to stay in that room for another minute. They both left without saying another word. He could still hear Pettigrew sobbing quietly as they shut the door behind them.
"I see you're all finished," Moody said. "I hope you got your answers." Harry nodded.
Neither of them spoke on the way back to the office. Malfoy seemed unusually subdued. Harry numbly wondered if Malfoy's silence was due to Harry's earlier unwelcome revelation or if Malfoy was perhaps just sick of speaking in haiku. When they arrived, Malfoy sat at his desk and began tidying it. There wasn't much tidying to be done, as his desk wasn't covered in birthday greetings or incomplete paperwork, and the task didn't take long. He picked up a quill and distractedly ran the feather through his fingers. It was Harry's quill, Harry indignantly noted, and for a moment he irrationally considered grabbing it back. Perhaps Malfoy noticed whose quill it was too, as he suddenly looked up from the quill and straight at Harry.
"That must have been rough.
Listening to Pettigrew.
How are you feeling?"
Harry blinked. Draco Malfoy had not just said something sympathetic and asked him how he was feeling. This was the weirdest day ever. But then the Slytherin git was probably just digging for information while the truth serum was still in effect. Harry glared at him half-heartedly. How was he supposed to answer that question anyway? He'd just had a gut-wrenching conversation with the betrayer of his parents and humiliated himself in front of the object of his affections, all in the same day.
"I'm feeling bad. And really sad." Harry really could have done without saying that last part. Wasn't it about time for the poetry to be wearing off by now?
Malfoy cleared his throat.
"You didn't tell me...
I didn't know you were gay.
Why the big secret?"
Of course, Harry should have been expected to advertise yet another thing about himself that made him different, strange, and subject to ridicule. "And why should I have confided in you? So you could have mocked me about that too?"
Malfoy looked insulted, which he had no bloody right to.
"I wouldn't mock you," Malfoy began, and Harry stared at him, incredulous that those words had actually escaped Malfoy's lips.
"Not over something like that.
I'm gay too, you prat."
So Malfoy was gay too. It didn't change anything, and Harry quickly squashed the small part of himself that wanted to hope it ever could. His emotions had been battered enough for one day. Enough for a year, even. He focused instead on the fact that Malfoy had finally said a stupid rhyme too, but he couldn't bring himself to find it funny. "Thanks for sharing, but I can hardly see what that could possibly have to do with me."
Malfoy fidgeted. That just seemed wrong somehow.
"Why did you assume
I wouldn't want you, Potter?
What made you so sure?"
He had to be joking. But no, there he was, just staring at Harry as if Harry's next words were the most meaningful ones he was ever going to hear. Harry's gut clenched painfully. "Because no matter what I do, I'm never good enough for you."
Whatever revelation Malfoy had been expecting, that had apparently not been it. He couldn't have appeared more startled if Harry had made to answer but then tipped a bucket of cold water over him instead.
"I'm sorry, did you.
I can't believe you said that.
You're not good enough..."
Rising from his chair, Malfoy began pacing behind his desk. He'd placed both hands in his pockets but pulled them out again almost immediately to punctuate his words with sharp gestures.
"Remember first year?
Not the right sort? My hand spurned?
Ringing any bells?"
Of course, leave it to Malfoy to bring up something that had happened half a lifetime ago, on their first day at Hogwarts. "Yes, of course I remember. It happened in September."
Malfoy looked at him as if he were too stupid to live. This was exactly what Harry meant! Even his bloody rhymes weren't good enough!
"I could understand
If you thought I wasn't gay
Or with someone else."
"But not good enough?" he said, gesturing at Harry, apparently finding it necessary to indicate to all those who might not have been following along exactly which wizard it was who had never been up to Draco Malfoy's standards.
"And which part's too good for you?
Is it the Dark Mark?"
Frustrated, Harry shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant! You're missing my intent! It's just been always plain to see. You've never thought too much of me."
Malfoy stopped his pacing and sat heavily back in his chair.
"Always plain to see.
That's really funny, Potter.
You're blind as a bat."
He said this last with a bitter twist to his mouth, and now Harry was confused as well as angry. "Well if I've been wrong since god knows when...how do you feel about me then?"
"I. How do I feel?" Harry was fascinated to see an expression of pure panic cross Malfoy's face, but it was quickly replaced by an exaggerated leer.
"I feel attracted to you.
I wank off to you.
I thought about you
In the shower this morning
While I pulled my cock."
Harry knew, on some level, that Malfoy was attempting to avoid the question, answering without really answering, but he couldn't bring himself to object or even to care. He felt paralyzed. And astoundingly turned on. Malfoy pushed himself back from his desk a bit and spread his legs wider. He slowly ran a hand up one thigh.
"You make me so hard
I want to wank off sometimes
Right here at my desk.
I sit in this chair,
And I picture you kneeling
Here between my legs."
And, god, now Malfoy was rubbing himself, and he really was hard. Half an hour ago, Malfoy had hated him like he always did, and now he was hard and touching himself and saying these things. It didn't make sense.
"I think about you
And your scar and your broomstick
All the fucking time.
I borrow your quills
Because they've been in your mouth.
I watch you suck them.
I look at your mouth
And I want you to rim me.
I want you, Potter."
Malfoy wanted Harry to rim him. Malfoy wanted Harry. Except that couldn't be true, could it? Harry was suddenly filled with the cold conviction that it couldn't. "You bastard, you're fucking with me!"
"Truth serum, Potter.
I want your tongue in my arse,
And I want it now.
And then I want you
To bend me over this desk
And fuck me right here.
So, Potter, tell me.
Are you going to fuck me?
Do you want me too?"
Truth serum. Suddenly Harry didn't feel paralyzed anymore. "Yes," he gasped, and crossed the room toward Malfoy, who was standing up and watching Harry's approach with wide eyes. And then they were kissing, something Malfoy hadn't mentioned at all, had he? But that was what Harry wanted, that's what he spent his time thinking about when he watched Malfoy from across the office, and that's what he was taking, right now, with Malfoy leaning back over his desk and scattering all those neat stacks of files and papers and quills.
When Harry finally pulled back, Malfoy's eyes were tightly closed, but they opened quickly. Malfoy's breaths were coming in quick gasps, and he was staring into Harry's face with an almost bewildered expression. It seemed rather unreasonable, to Harry, for Malfoy to look so surprised. He had been quite direct in his proposition. But then, Harry was surprised too. He couldn't believe he was standing here, between Mafloy's thighs, holding him firmly and pressing him against that desk Malfoy always kept so immaculate.
Malfoy's hair, usually so perfectly arranged, wasn't looking so immaculate anymore either. Harry grabbed a handful of that hair and gripped it tightly. Malfoy's eyes fell closed again, and he leaned his head against Harry's hand. Harry's other hand moved lower, found Malfoy's straining erection, and rubbed Malfoy just as Malfoy had been rubbing himself. "You wanted this?" Harry demanded.
"Yes..." Malfoy hissed. "I wanted this.
Wanted you so fucking much." His eyes slitted open in irritation.
"Don't ask me questions."
Fair enough. "I want to fuck you," Harry said in a rough voice.
Malfoy's eyes shut, and he drew in a shuddering breath.
"Yes. Do it. Fuck me.
Your awful rhymes have worn off.
You can cast the spells."
Harry blinked. The rhymes had worn off? When had that happened? Quickly dismissing the thought as irrelevant, he reached for his wand. Before he could grab it, though, Malfoy caught hold of his hand.
"Make sure that you use
All the appropriate spells
To make this private."
Right, good idea. They were lucky no one had walked in on them already. Harry nodded distractedly and quickly cast spells to lock the door and ensure that no one overheard them. He then turned back to Malfoy and eyed him with interest. There were some spells he wanted to try on him too. "Turn around."
Malfoy blinked but complied without protest. God, that shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, but Malfoy, just giving himself to Harry like this, it was incredible. And incredibly arousing.
Before setting down his wand, Harry cast other spells, for cleaning, protection, and lubrication, which caused Malfoy to start and look back at Harry questioningly over his shoulder. Harry took this opportunity to kiss Malfoy again, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his own erection firmly against Malfoy. Malfoy pushed back against him, and, groaning, Harry pulled back. There was another spell he wanted to try. A moment later, Malfoy was entirely nude and extremely startled. Malfoy's clothes, Harry was pleased to note, were on the floor, right where they should be.
"Bloody hell, Potter!
Where the fuck did you learn that?
I don't know that spell!"
Damn it. Harry had been hoping Malfoy would just assume Harry was experienced and leave it at that. "I learned it from a book Hermione gave me." Malfoy gave a startled laugh.
"Bend over," Harry said, and the smile slipped off Malfoy's face. "Bend over," Harry said again, more gently. Silently, Malfoy leaned over the desk. Kneeling behind Malfoy, Harry leaned forward as well. Parting Malfoy's arse cheeks, he gave a long lick upward. Malfoy jerked in surprise.
"Oh my god, Potter!
Potter, what are you doing?
I can't believe you..."
Harry lifted his head for a moment, perplexed. "I'm rimming you. You said you wanted this, Malfoy. Didn't you mean it?"
"Yes, of course I did.
I just didn't know if you." Harry leaned forward again and teased the hole with his tongue before pushing in slightly.
"Fuck! If you'd want to."
Harry continued his explorations. The flavorless lube felt slippery against his tongue. Malfoy was trembling and obviously struggling to maintain his composure.
"And I said...oh god.
I said don't ask me questions.
And I meant that too."
Harry pushed his tongue further, and Malfoy's whole body spasmed, but as Harry continued with gentle licks, nips, and kisses, Malfoy slowly began to relax. Malfoy had wanted this. Harry knew Malfoy had wanted this, because Malfoy couldn't lie to him right now. Knowing that Malfoy had sat at this desk, watching him, thinking about this, it was almost too much. Suddenly, it occurred to Harry that he could do the same to Malfoy. Malfoy knew that Harry couldn't lie right now, either.
Stroking Malfoy's back gently, to encourage him to remain relaxed, Harry stood up and leaned over, placing his mouth close to Malfoy's ear. "I'm going to fuck you now, Malfoy," he whispered. "You have no idea how many times I've thought about doing this." Malfoy shivered and didn't reply, but he shifted his legs slightly further apart.
As Harry struggled to unfasten his trousers, he realized his own hands were trembling. Finally succeeding, he placed one hand on Malfoy's hip, used the other to align his cock, and pressed slowly forward. It felt so good, and at first, Harry couldn't speak. After a moment, though, he leaned forward and whispered roughly into Malfoy's ear, "You're so quiet, Malfoy. I always imagined you'd have more to say. If I were fucking you." He punctuated this with another thrust, and Malfoy gave a soft moan. Harry wondered hazily if it might count as a syllable, but it apparently didn't, as Malfoy lapsed back into silence instead.
"You don't want to say anything because of the truth serum," Harry continued, as he established a steady rhythm. "I wonder what it is you don't want me to know." Malfoy tensed slightly, and Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I won't ask you." As Malfoy relaxed again, Harry gave a particularly hard thrust and continued, "But I plan on fucking you until you say something on your own."
With that, Harry reached down and grabbed Malfoy's prick. Malfoy began moaning again, quietly, with every thrust. "I wanted this, Malfoy. I've wanted you for such a long time. I wank off to you, too, you know." Malfoy moaned more loudly, and Harry gripped Malfoy's hip more firmly in response. "I didn't want to. I thought it was stupid of me, that you'd never want me, and I'd be so angry at myself after. Sometimes I'd really hate myself. When I said your name. That was the worst, but sometimes I couldn't help it." And then Harry leaned forward again to whisper in Malfoy's ear, "Draco."
"Oh, god..." Malfoy groaned, and he was spurting wetly in Harry's hand and pressing his face into his arm, muffling the words that followed. Harry didn't know what it was that Malfoy was groaning into his arm, but imagining what it might be was enough to push him over the edge as well. Legs trembling, he leaned into Malfoy, eyes closed tightly as the sharp, rhythmic surges coursed through him.
Malfoy rested his head on the desk, and Harry leaned on top of him, both of them breathing heavily. Harry ran a hand through Malfoy's hair. It was soft, and damp with sweat. Malfoy's back was slick with sweat too, and Harry kissed one shoulder.
"Gentlemen! Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on in there?"
Malfoy's head snapped up in alarm. "What?"
"And take that damn silencing spell down. There's no point in leaving it up. I can see you right through this door." That was Moody's voice.
Malfoy glared at Harry. "I thought you used all the appropriate spells to ensure privacy."
Damn. Closed doors generally did ensure privacy. "Sorry, I forgot that one. But..." Something was different. What was it? "Hey, you're not speaking in haiku anymore."
Malfoy didn't look as if that in any way made up for Mad Eye Moody witnessing him nude and bent over his desk while a near-fully-clothed Harry Potter fucked him into quivering insensibility.
Harry grabbed his wand, but before he took the spells down, he cast a surreptitious cleaning charm and sheepishly handed Malfoy his trousers. Malfoy yanked them from Harry's grasp and began dressing in angry silence.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you both to Kingsley Shacklebolt!" shouted Moody.
"It's my birthday?" Harry finally tried in response.
There an ominous silence from the other side of the door, and Malfoy gave Harry a scathing look. "Because we were drugged!" Malfoy shouted back.
Right. That explanation probably would go over better. In fact, it would come in really handy if the truth serum had worn off by now. It might possibly have. The rhymes had been gone for a while.
"Explain!" Moody barked.
"The Weasley Twins sent me chocolates for my birthday. They had unusual side effects," Harry hedged.
"Those redheaded terrors have gone too far!" Moody sounded truly outraged. "Arthur may not like it, but drugging Aurors is a serious offense. I see no choice but to press charges."
Malfoy looked as if he thought this was an excellent idea, but Harry shot him a pleading look to remain silent. "I don't think that will be necessary, Moody. Please, let me handle them. I'll make it more than clear that they will regret it if they ever try something like this again."
"I suppose I should leave it to you to handle. You're the one who's suffered the most by this abominable prank. I can't imagine how horrible this must have been for you." Harry had never heard such a degree of sympathy in Moody's voice. Not even when he'd told Arthur about Charlie's death.
"Actually, I quite enjoyed it," Harry found himself replying. "I've been wanting to do this for ages." No, the truth serum had definitely not worn off yet.
Malfoy looked amused but shot Harry a warning glance. There was once again a resounding silence from the other side of the door. "Oh, but I'm quite certain this would NOT have occurred if it hadn't been for the chocolates," Harry belatedly added.
The silence continued for another long moment before Moody finally spoke. "I never realized, until just now, how overdue my retirement really was. I'm going home. I'll tell Shacklebolt the both of you are sick." Harry had a feeling Moody meant every word of that. "Take the rest of the day to get yourselves sorted out. Perhaps I should warn you what consequences you might face if you were ever caught engaging in such flagrantly unprofessional behavior again, but I'm not going to. I wash my hands of the both of you."
Harry and Malfoy stared at each other silently for a long moment after Moody had stumped away down the hall.
"I wish I could have seen the old bastard's face," Malfoy finally said. "He deserved that." He then got a quizzical, slightly disgusted look on his face. "How long do you think he was there watching?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Harry replied firmly.
"But Moody had one thing right," Malfoy said. "The twins have gone too far. You may not want to press charges, but I'm at least going to take them into custody and leave them to worry about it for a few hours."
Harry was about to object but then paused, reconsidering.
"They deserve it, Potter, don't tell me they don't," Malfoy pressed. "I know they're friends of yours, but that's no excuse. In fact, it makes things worse! No decent person inflicts things like this on their friends."
Harry looked pointedly at the desk Malfoy had so recently been bent over. Malfoy looked annoyed. "I don't care if the end results turned out to be rather pleasant, those two are a menace, and they need to be taught a lesson. I should have hexed them at St. Mungo's when I had the chance."
Harry had the distinct feeling he had missed something. "Wait, what do you mean at St. Mungo's? "
"I...we happened to bump into each other outside your room." Malfoy looked uncomfortable but worked up a healthy note of indignation to say, "The other day, you know, when you nearly got yourself killed?"
Not that again. "I did not! My injuries were hardly serious. But wait, so you bumped into the Weasley twins, and then what?"
This was another question Malfoy obviously did not want to answer. "We had a conversation. They seemed to have the impression that I was concerned about you, and I didn't relieve them of it as it hardly seemed the time, but had I known..."
"Draco," Harry quickly interjected. The poetry had been gone for a while now, and it wouldn't be long before the truth serum had worn off as well. "How do you feel about me?"
"I love you. I mean. That's not what I. Fucking hell!"
He was struggling to speak, Harry realized giddily, because the truth serum was not allowing him to contradict those first three astounding words. Whatever awkward protestations Malfoy would have uttered next, Harry never found out, as he grabbed Malfoy by the back of his neck and crushed their mouths together before anything further could be said. Malfoy hesitated but then returned the kiss forcefully and wrapped his arms around Harry, clutching at the fabric of Harry's shirt with grasping hands.
When they finally broke the kiss, neither of them seemed to know what to say, but that was all right. Harry thought they'd said about enough for one day. And hadn't Moody given them the rest of the day to get themselves sorted out? Snatching up their wands and Malfoy's shirt, Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and Apparated them both to his flat.
The Weasley twins could wait. They'd get what they had coming.