Harry Potter - Polyjuice Professionals
Polyjuice Professionals
*
“We have an extra special customer coming in a month,” the Mother intoned gravely. “He wants four hours. That’s four thousand galleons, boys.”
There were appreciative whistles around the room. Even Blaise perked up from his sprawl across a plush red couch. “What’s the catch?” There was always a catch.
The Mother pursed her lips. “He wants Draco Malfoy.”
The staff of Polyjuice Professionals erupted. The Mother shushed them. “I realize Draco Malfoy has never agreed to part with a single precious hair on his head for us-” She smirked at the scattered chuckles. “But this is where I think the rest of you come in. This customer will come in exactly one month. Whoever gets Malfoy’s hair first-gets him.”
Conversations and declarations immediately sprung up, but Blaise just lay back and closed his eyes. Inside, he was smiling. He had an ace up his sleeve, and it was decidedly green.
*
“Please, Draco. I will give you half and all of the details if you do this for me.”
“Half?”
“That’s my final offer.”
“Yes, and paying me at all turns me into a prostitute.” Draco’s pale face was larger than life in Blaise’s fire, and so was his disgust with the idea. “I still don’t know why you’re doing this at all. You’re almost as rich as I am.”
Blaise simply grinned. “I like to fuck, Draco. Here I get paid for it.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, and some of your customers are downright disgusting.”
“And some of them…really wouldn’t have to pay me.”
The blond shook his head. “More than I want to know.” His companion laughed. “Anyway, who is this bigshot? If he’s willing to waste four thousand galleons for a roll in the sack, he’s probably extremely rich and extremely ugly.”
“Maybe not. I do know he’s extremely secretive. Only the person who tricks him will know his identity, and we have to sign a contract beforehand never to speak of it.”
“Then how can you tell me?”
Blaise raised a perfectly manicured black eyebrow, opened his mouth, and…closed it again.
“What I thought. I’m not going to do it, Blaise.”
Blaise scowled. “Don’t make me do this, Draco.”
“Do what?”
“Tell Potter.”
Draco’s eyes went wide, then shuttered. “You wouldn’t.”
“For four thousand galleons, I just might.”
“Blaise.”
“Draco.”
“…fucking Slytherins.”
“So you’ll do it?”
A pause. “Yes, but you owe me.”
Blaise nearly crowed with delight.
*
“You’ll never believe who it was.”
Blaise had flooed over the moment the customer left. He now sat in the foyer of Malfoy Manor across from the man his face was slowly changing back from. He had remembered to throw on a robe before he left, but hadn’t done much else. He was still basking in the afterglow of one of the best bottoms he’d ever fucked.
“Who was it?” Draco was trying to sound bored, but wasn’t succeeding. He was also trying not to wince at Blaise’s flippant state of undress on one of the most expensive couches in his house.
“First,” Blaise leaned forward, “let me tell you this. He let me try…pretty much everything.”
“Really. But who was it?”
“And he’s a bottom, which was surprising, but goes perfectly with you-”
“You’re not trying to set me up with one of your customers.”
“He’s never gone to anyone before, actually.” A house elf appeared with a tray full of tea and scones. Blaise reached for a pastry before the tray was even on the table. “I’m starved.” The scone was gone before Draco could comment. “It was really good.”
“To what are you referring?” His voice was snide.
“Oh, the sex, of course. Not that you shouldn’t have a scone, they’re good too, but-”
“Just tell me who the bloody fuck it was, Blaise, I don’t want or need the details.” He ran a hand through his shoulder length hair and let it fall roughly into his lap. “I feel like the prostitute.”
“Sex worker.”
“Whatever. What aren’t you telling me?”
Blaise grinned. “Guess who said he needed to, and I quote, ‘Get Malfoy out of my system’?”
*
“So,” drawled a familiar voice close to his ear, “I heard this week the great Harry Potter spent four thousand galleons just to get bent.”
Harry felt the blood leave his face. He turned as if in a daze. Malfoy’s beautiful, horrible face was smirking at him over robes that matched his stormy eyes and a drink red as the blood Harry knew was rushing to a very bad place.
“Walk with me,” Malfoy’s red lips said. It wasn’t a request.
They ambled outside without exchanging another word. It took a bit to maneuver around the throngs of people in the ballroom, each wanting a piece of the Boy Who Killed Voldemort and the Order’s favorite spy, but eventually they reached a veranda deserted enough to speak privately.
By then, Harry had regained his senses. At least, he had until Malfoy’s grey-blue eyes met his. “Did you have fun at Polyjuice Professionals?”
“I-excuse me?”
A dark light shone in Malfoy’s eyes. “It’s a simple question, Potter. Or are you too turned on even to answer those?”
Before he knew it Malfoy had backed him up against the building wall. Light from the ball illuminated Malfoy’s face, but Harry was sure no one inside could see what the blond was doing. Harry reached for his wand. Suddenly both his hands were trapped in place by cold fingers. Malfoy’s body was pressed flush against his, robe to robe, chest to chest, groin to-oh-groin. At the first rock Harry momentarily lost all semblance of thought. He stared with glazing eyes at the gardens off the veranda, unconsciously dipped his head into Malfoy’s neck and breathed deeply. A warm, slick tongue heralded a warm, full mouth, and Harry’s earlobe was Malfoy’s and so were the shudders he couldn’t suppress. Malfoy released his earlobe and breathed into Harry’s neck.
Harry tried to speak. “W-what ah-are you do-oing?”
Malfoy chuckled, still rocking into the dazed man’s hips. “I should think it obvious by now. Oh,” almost as an afterthought, “a word to the wise: you never get a Malfoy out of your system.” Harry froze. Malfoy slid his cheek across Harry’s until they were face to face, lips millimeters apart. Harry forced himself not to close that tantalizing distance, not to breathe in as Malfoy exhaled. “So don’t try.”
The rush of cold air as Malfoy separated their bodies was like a bucket of ice water. With an unsubtle brush of his hand across Harry’s…privates, Malfoy smirked and left.
Harry was not so fortunate. It took aching minutes for the hardness under his robes to go down enough not to be obvious. When he skulked back into the ballroom, Malfoy was by the double doors. The Slytherin raised an eyebrow at him across the room as if to say, “Are you coming?”
Harry ducked his head, blush staining his cheeks, but hurried after all the same.
***
notes: I was going to write bits of the Blaise-Malfoy/Harry scene, but thought better of it. now I’m not so sure.