Below is one of my contributions -- I'll repost the other two over the weekend. :D As for the guessing poll I posted last year, no one got them all correctly, nyah nyah!
Title: Seven Minutes in Hell
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry and various Slytherins
Warnings: Borderline crack. Boy in leather. Boy in eyeliner and leather.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 5900 words
Summary: It's always the Slytherins. Always. Stupid Slytherins.
Dedication: abusing_sarcasm [in hp_yule_balls]
Beta: bewarethesmirk & shikishi ♥
Note: Originally posted here on LJ and here on IJ.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Harry knew he was going to hate seventh year as soon as he stepped onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters on September the first.
He hadn't known he was going to hate it when Hermione had wrangled a promise out of him and Ron that they would finish their education. He should have refused, but Ron hadn't, and what was Harry going to do without Ron and Hermione?
Harry didn't know. He did know that the reason he was going to hate this year was Ginny Weasley. What had he thought after the battle? That he and Ginny were going to have many happy years together? What a laugh.
The night of the battle, he'd come down from Dumbledore's office, intending to finally find her and talk to her. He'd found her, all right, though talking had been out of the question. What was he supposed to say? By the way, Ginny, I know your older brother just died, but d'you mind explaining why you're sitting in Neville's lap with your arms round his neck? Greatest conversation starter ever.
Neville's grandmother had looked as scandalised as Harry had felt, but it was a small comfort. This year was going to be awful. In the end, Harry couldn't blame Ginny: Neville had been there through the last year, and Harry had not. Simple.
Still, he had to admit to nursing a small hope for the future: after all, Neville wouldn't be there this year. He'd gone to school whilst Harry searched for Horcruxes, and that had been his final year. For Harry -- and, as it happened, Ginny -- their final year was only beginning.
It felt kind of nice to be able to think about normal things -- like winning back his ex-girlfriend, and whether or not he smelled bad -- instead of worrying about evil wizards coming to kill him in his sleep.
Maybe seventh year wouldn't be so terrible after all.
"Harry! Hey, Harry!"
He looked up to see Ron and Hermione hurrying toward him, dragging their trolleys. Harry grinned. "What's been going on?"
"Didn't you hear? Everyone is coming back to school this year!" Hermione said, breathless.
"What do you mean?"
Then Harry saw Ginny and Neville walking down the platform, followed by Dean, Luna, and Seamus. The strange creature in Harry's chest had finally mastered logical reasoning, it appeared: Harry's world no longer went arse over teakettle every time he saw Ginny so much as look at someone else. Still, it was an unexpected -- and guiltily unpleasant -- surprise to see Neville here.
"I don't get it," he said, grinning for all he was worth as Ginny and the rest drew closer. "Didn't Dean and them already do seventh year?"
"Yeah," Hermione said, "But the Board of Governors decided to cancel NEWTs and OWLs last year. They said the war had interfered with proper teaching."
No kidding; especially in the case of Muggle Studies.
"Unfortunately, it means they are back, too," Ron said, jerking his head in the direction of a small group standing next to the train: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Goyle. None of them appeared thrilled to be there.
Malfoy noticed Harry looking, gave him a prissy little nod, and turned away.
"Huh," Harry said.
So much for winning Ginny back, thought Harry -- not for the first time since school started -- as he wandered down a dark dungeon corridor in his Invisibility Cloak. He foresaw many more such wanderings in his near future. Move over, Professor Trelawney, Harry Potter is in the house. Or something.
Ginny and Neville were on a Gryffindor common room sofa right now. So were Ron and Hermione. And Dean and Seamus, but those two weren't trying to eat each other's faces. At least not when Harry had been looking.
So he had dug out his Invisibility Cloak and claimed he was going to the library. No one had questioned him, even though the library had closed hours ago. He was, after all, Harry Potter.
Harry kicked a suit of armour's pedestal.
"How rude," the armour said.
Harry jumped backwards in surprise and promptly fell through a tapestry into a corridor he hadn't visited before: one of the disused dungeons. A light shone from one of the arched doorways up ahead, and Harry heard a girl laughing.
Curious, he walked closer and peered inside the room, which turned out to be full of Slytherins. The laughing girl was Pansy Parkinson; Harry had a brief flashback to the night of the Battle for Hogwarts, when Pansy had wanted to throw him to the wolves. Death Eaters. Whatever. Wolves sounded more dramatic, even though they really couldn't compete with a bunch of power-crazed wizards in ugly masks. Funny that.
Oh right, Pansy. Harry had given it some thought, and he'd realised he couldn't blame her, either. It would have been strange if none of the Slytherins had voted for giving Harry up that night, really. It stung a bit if he were honest with himself, which he sometimes was. But he had come to school having resolved to try and put the past behind him. Voldemort was dead, his Death Eaters in Azkaban, and so forth.
But this, well. This was a bit much. Three of the Slytherins in the room were practically naked. Two of them were girls, and one was Draco Malfoy.
"Your pants, Draco," Pansy said sternly.
"No way," Malfoy replied. "I'm not taking off my pants."
"So you choose truth? Let's hear it, then."
"No!" Malfoy crossed his arms. "Pick a different dare."
"That's cheating," Theodore Nott remarked.
Malfoy scowled. "What are you, new?"
"Now, now," Pansy cooed, eyes lighting up with malicious glee. "All right, then, Draco. Your dare is to wear leather for the rest of the week."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Robes don't come in leather, Pansy."
"Oh, I don't mean robes," Pansy said, batting her eyelashes. "I mean Muggle clothes."
Zabini sniggered. Harry fought the urge to do the same.
"You can't give impossible dares," Malfoy spluttered. "Where am I supposed to find Muggle leather clothes -- Hogsmeade?"
Pansy got up, adjusted her bra, and marched towards a cupboard. Harry found himself inappropriately excited by her swaying hips. Without her face showing, Pansy Parkinson actually wasn't bad-looking. Amazing. Harry quickly looked down at his feet and tried to think of Ginny.
It didn't work; he'd never seen Ginny without her clothes on.
Gritting his teeth, Harry looked back up and resigned himself to Pansy-related fantasies for some nights to come. Fantasies didn't hurt anybody.
Pansy had opened the cupboard in the meantime and was now holding up a pair of black leather trousers, her smirk triumphant. "Knew we'd find a use for these," she said.
"You bitch," Malfoy complained. "You planned this, didn't you?"
Zabini chuckled. "I think you'll look great in them. What do you think, Goyle?"
Goyle scratched his head, looked to Malfoy for guidance, received none, and shrugged. "Shiny," he opined.
Pansy threw the trousers at Malfoy and followed them up with a vest and a jacket. "If you'd rather not wear them, you could always tell the truth."
"I'll wear them," Malfoy snapped, piling the clothes in his lap.
"I don't think anyone's going to beat that," Nott said.
The other practically-naked girl -- whose name Harry didn't know -- giggled. "Not tonight, anyway."
"Let's go back," Zabini said. "Filch isn't due here for another ten minutes."
Harry had forgotten where he'd come through the tapestry and had no idea how to get back to the regular dungeons. He hung back and waited for the Slytherins to troop out of the room. Pansy locked the door with a hefty key and dropped it into her robe pocket with the air of a proud homeowner. How long have they been using this place? Harry wondered. He trailed behind them as they led him out into the main dungeon corridor.
Of all the things Harry didn't think he would see. Slytherins playing Truth or Dare in the dungeons and acting like perfectly normal people. Wonders would never cease.
And Draco Malfoy was going to be wearing Muggle leather to classes.
"Huh," Harry muttered.
Goyle's inane remark from last night was now a chorus in Harry's head. At least there weren't any violins accompanying it.
Malfoy had strolled into Potions wearing leather, and Harry was rapidly developing a habit of glancing at Malfoy's shiny, leather-clad arse far too often for it to be healthy. He didn't understand why he was so fascinated -- Malfoy's arse wasn't even anything to write home about, really. Not that Harry had any point of reference with regard to boys' backsides. He'd never looked at one properly before. But Malfoy's was shiny.
"Harry, Slughorn's coming this way," Hermione hissed. "You're not doing anything!"
"Right," Harry agreed, glancing at the textbook. "Peel the Shinyfig. Got it."
"Shrivelfig," Hermione murmured with a world-weary sigh.
"I like Shinyfig better," Ron piped up. "It is sort of shiny."
If you only knew, thought Harry, eyes skewing towards Malfoy's arse, which was currently -- oh, sweet merciful deities, Malfoy was bending over to pick something up from the floor. Harry's hands, Shrivelfig and all, twitched with a newfound desire to paw at Malfoy's arse and see if it was as firm as it looked. His pulse was going out of control, and he was pretty sure he was turning red.
"Nnn," Harry managed. "Bathroom."
He escaped, keeping his eyes on the door and away from Malfoy's arse. Mostly. After a couple of splashes of cold water on his face, he felt his good sense returning.
"What the hell was that?" he asked his reflection. It didn't reply. Probably a good thing.
However, attempting to make conversation with his own reflection was doing nothing to solve Harry's dilemma. How was he supposed to go back to the Potions classroom when Malfoy was prancing around in leather? Last night, he had gone to bed thinking about the way Pansy's tits had nearly spilled out of her bra when she had thrown the trousers at Malfoy. But Pansy wasn't in NEWT-level Potions, and Harry hadn't anticipated having such an embarrassing reaction to Malfoy. He may not have had Hermione's powers of logical deduction, but he was bright enough to understand that it would probably happen again.
It came as no surprise to Harry that he had, at some point in the thirty minutes since Potions started, already decided to go back to the dungeons tonight. Malfoy had been wearing next to nothing last night during the game. He had also looked reasonably comfortable, which meant Malfoy probably ended up half-naked a lot. Harry reckoned if he went again tonight, he would get to see Malfoy strip off the leather. He decided not to dwell overmuch upon the reasons he found the idea appealing. It was something to do besides mope around the Gryffindor common room. Right?
Seventh year wasn't even a month old, and Harry had a feeling he'd already found trouble.
By the time Harry got to the dungeons, Malfoy was already bare-chested and looking very cross. If Harry was going to keep doing this, he would need to find out what time the Slytherins gathered here. Not that he had any particular plans to keep coming back here.
"You asked that yesterday," Malfoy grumbled at Pansy, hooking his thumbs into the trousers. "Dare."
Pansy giggled. "You already know what to do, don't you?"
Malfoy sighed and began to shimmy out of the trousers. Harry decided he'd have a better view -- of Pansy, because he was totally here for a look at Pansy's tits, thanks -- if he was in the room, so he tiptoed across the threshold.
Intruder Charm. Damn it.
The Slytherins' heads turned towards the entrance, and Harry froze, wondering if this was really a good time to connect with his inner deer.
"It's Potter," Malfoy growled with conviction. "Potter and his Invisibility Cloak. Petrificus Totalus!"
Harry went down in a heap of déjà vu.
Someone tugged the Cloak off him, and he blinked up at a curious-looking Pansy. She was grinning in a way that promised extended torture.
"Isn't this interesting," Nott said, edging into Harry's field of vision. "Our very own Peeping Potter."
"Finite Incantatem," Malfoy muttered. He had thrown on his jacket in the meantime. "Let's hear it, Potter."
Harry, somewhat surprised that Malfoy wasn't attempting to stomp his nose out of existence, struggled up to his elbows. "Er."
"He'll just have to play with us," said the girl from the other night, who wasn't half-naked this time. Harry couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not.
"No way," Malfoy said. "Let's Obliviate him."
"Might be difficult," Zabini said. "How long d'you think he's been coming here to spy on us?"
"I wasn't spying!" Harry said, indignant.
"Then why were you in your Invisibility Cloak?" Malfoy demanded.
Harry flushed. "Um, I didn't want you to see me?"
"Oh, so you were just being a pervert," Pansy said, grinning widely. "I think you'll fit right in."
"I'm not a pervert," Harry muttered, but he could see she didn't believe him. "What are you lot doing here, anyway?"
"Playing Truth or Dare, obviously," Zabini said. "Don't tell me the Gryffindors don't play."
Harry sat up and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Actually, we don't..."
"Good," said Pansy, her carnivorous smirk returning. "Then we'll teach you."
And so Harry ended up sitting next to the no-longer-half-naked girl from the other night -- Daphne Greengrass, as it turned out -- and putting his hand inside a witch's hat. Pansy had put all their names into the hat. Whoever's name came up would be challenged to tell the truth or do a dare.
He knew this was a terrible idea, but Pansy had threatened to tell the whole school about catching him here. Not that Harry had any illusions; he was sure either Pansy or one of the other Slytherins -- most of whom Harry didn't even know -- would tell everyone anyway. Eventually. But if he kept his end of the bargain, at least he would have the moral high ground. Sort of.
Harry unfolded the piece of parchment. "Pansy Parkinson," he read.
Pansy tilted her head to one side. "Well?"
"Um. Truth or dare?"
"You have to ask the question first, stupid," Malfoy said. He'd removed the leather jacket again, and Harry was glad Malfoy's bare chest had no discernible effect on him. Unlike Malfoy's leather-bound arse, which was, thankfully, not visible to Harry at the moment.
"Oh," Harry said, glancing at Pansy. He was pretty sure this wasn't how Truth or Dare was supposed to work, but these were Slytherins he was dealing with. "I can ask anything I want?"
Pansy touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. "Anything you want."
"All right, then," Harry said. "Why did you want to give me up to Voldemort last year?"
There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Harry had reckoned they were all expecting a sex-related question of some sort, but he wasn't interested in Pansy's sex life. Unless she had immediate plans to involve him in it. Granted, just at the moment, that seemed unlikely to ever happen.
"That's harsh, Potter," someone murmured.
Pansy regarded Harry through slightly narrowed eyes. "Dare," she said.
"Oooh," Daphne breathed. "Well done, Potter. No one's made her pick dare since fifth year."
"Do your worst," Pansy said, staring at Harry.
Despite himself, Harry blushed. He wanted to tell her to take her robes off, but the rumours would never stop if he did that. "How's this," he said. "Tomorrow morning at breakfast, I want you to dance on top of the Slytherin table. For three full minutes."
Pansy raised both eyebrows, but Harry thought her expression softened a bit. Must've been the light.
"Done," Pansy said.
"You're evil," Zabini said to Harry. "Pass the hat, wonder boy."
They continued passing the hat around for another hour, but Harry's name didn't come up that night. As they were leaving, Harry saw Malfoy walking away and could do nothing but stare helplessly, heart pounding, hands twitching. It had to be a disease of some sort. He started walking.
A few minutes later, Pansy caught up to him. "You'd have done the same if you were in my place," she threw over her shoulder as she walked past him. "We meet at nine-thirty tomorrow. Don't be late."
"Who said I was coming tomorrow?" Harry yelled after her.
"I just did," Pansy yelled back. "If you don't, I'm telling your girlfriend."
"I haven't got a girlfriend," Harry mumbled and kicked at a suit of armour's pedestal.
"Would you stop it already?" the suit of armour snapped. "Twice in two days. Honestly."
"Sorry!" Harry yelped, springing back.
Apologising to furniture. Getting excited by Malfoy's arse. Making a real enemy out of Pansy Parkinson. Seventh year was going to be terrible.
"Um, what's Parkinson doing?" Ron asked the next morning. He pointed at the Slytherin table, upon which Pansy was performing a complicated sort of jig. Some of the Slytherins were clapping and cheering, but the rest of the Great Hall beheld the spectacle in unanimously bewildered astonishment.
"Probably lost a bet," Harry said conversationally, trying his best not to smile. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did knowing what was going on make him feel oddly warm and fuzzy? "What do you expect from Slytherins?" he added.
But at nine-thirty that night, he was walking inside the Slytherins' game room. He didn't quite understand why he wanted to be here, but at least it beat doing homework.
Malfoy, still in leather, sat with his feet up on a stack of books. Harry wondered if Malfoy was going to have the outfit washed at some point, because he was pretty sure leather made you sweat a lot, and Malfoy had to wear it all week. It was Friday, so two more days. Harry wondered why he cared. He didn't have to share Malfoy's dormitory.
"If Potter's going to be joining us every night, does that mean we're allowed to invite people from other houses as well?" Nott asked. "I've got a Ravenclaw in mind."
"You've always got a Ravenclaw in mind," Malfoy said. "Ask Pansy; she's the game master."
"Mistress," Pansy said, walking in. "Potter. Did you like the show?"
"It wasn't bad," Harry said, not looking at her. "Did you get into trouble?"
"Please," Pansy replied, tossing her hair. "Slughorn's no Professor Snape."
"Is it true you saw Professor Snape die?" Zabini asked abruptly, his dark eyes on Harry. Several other conversations stopped abruptly as everyone turned to listen.
Harry frowned. "Yeah," he said. There was no point in lying; he'd told practically the whole school about it back when he'd fought Voldemort. The Slytherins hadn't been there, though.
"I told you," Malfoy said. Oh, of course. Malfoy had been there. Harry glanced at him, but Malfoy didn't meet his gaze.
"Come now," Pansy said, sitting down in the middle of the circle. "Enough unpleasantness, please. Daphne, the hat, if you will."
Daphne handed her the hat, and Pansy drew out a piece of parchment, unfolded it, and scanned it. She looked at Harry. By the shit-eating grin she now wore, Harry knew whose name had just come out. Pansy had probably cheated somehow, but he wasn't going to get anywhere by arguing his case.
He sighed. "Go on, then."
"Quick on the uptake, aren't you?"
A few people tittered. Pansy regarded Harry for a while, then asked, "Who was the first person you had sex with?"
"Do you ever change your tune?" Malfoy burst out.
"Hush, Draco; it's Potter's turn now, not yours. Well, Potter? Truth or dare?"
Harry was not about to tell a roomful of Slytherins that he was a virgin. He simply was not going to do that. "I'll take the dare," he said.
Zabini laughed. "You and Potter are clearly a match made in heaven, Malfoy."
Malfoy scowled at him, as did Harry, but Pansy brightened. "Oh, what a wonderful idea, Blaise. Potter? I dare you to kiss Draco."
"WHAT?" Harry burst out. "Are you insane?"
"A dare's a dare," Pansy said. "Do it, or tell the truth."
"Doesn't Malfoy get a say in this?" Harry demanded, turning to him.
"I don't mind," Malfoy said with a shrug. "I've kissed worse."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he completely forgot what it was, because his mind was too busy making various frantic connections. Malfoy.
Malfoy in leather.
Malfoy practically naked and completely calm in the same room with pretty girls.
Malfoy in leather.
Pansy, of all people, wanting to know the first person Malfoy had sex with.
Malfoy in leather.
Malfoy kissing other boys. Malfoy...
"Uh--" Harry began.
"Seven minutes in heaven!" someone cried.
"Looks like it's the cupboard of shame for Potter," Pansy said, cackling.
"The what?" Harry asked.
Pansy pointed at the cupboard she'd taken Malfoy's leather outfit from. "Since you won't do it front of everyone, you and Draco will go inside the cupboard and you can kiss him there. You'll have seven minutes. Draco will tell us if you did it or not."
They call that seven minutes in heaven? More like seven minutes in hell.
"Are all Gryffindors so repressed?" someone asked. "We haven't used that thing since Daphne had to suck off Flint."
"You shut up!" Daphne snapped.
Inside the cupboard mightn't be so bad. Harry could convince Malfoy to tell them he did it -- he was sure Malfoy was just acting cool in front of his housemates right now and didn't really want Harry to kiss him. Did he?
Either way, Harry wasn't going to do it. Bloody Pansy Parkinson.
Then Goyle hoisted Harry up onto his shoulder, carried him to the cupboard, and dumped him none too gently to the floor. It was a lot more spacious inside than Harry had thought, but before he could take in the objects littering the floor, Malfoy sauntered in and shut the door.
"It's just a kiss, Potter," he said. "Don't be such a girl about it."
"If I were a girl, there wouldn't be a problem," Harry bit out. He couldn't see Malfoy, but he could smell the leather. It was doing funny things to his insides, because he knew what it looked like.
Malfoy's voice was soft and tinged with unnamed threats. "Are you scared?"
"Of what, syphilis?"
"Who says I've got syphilis?" Were those defensive notes in Malfoy's voice?
Malfoy scoffed. "Of course not. Besides, you don't get syphilis from kissing, idiot."
Harry didn't have a witty comeback to that. He only had a very vague idea about syphilis, anyway.
"I think you're scared that you'll like it," Malfoy continued.
"Don't make me laugh," Harry said. "I just don't want to be traumatised for life."
"It's dark in here. Pretend I'm the girl Weasley or something. Salazar's knickers, Potter, do you dare or don't you?"
Harry could pretend Malfoy was Ginny. Yeah. He could do that. No! What was he thinking? "Why can't you just tell them I did it?"
"That would be lying," Malfoy said loftily.
"Oh, I'm sure it would be a first for you," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Malfoy, just tell them I did it. You owe me." He immediately felt ashamed of himself. He really was desperate to get out of this, wasn't he? Wasn't he?
Malfoy grabbed his robes. "Don't be bringing that up now, Potter. I'm perfectly aware of what you've done, but this has nothing to do with-- with... Just. Don't." Malfoy's breath was too warm across Harry's cheek. The smell of leather was overpowering.
An image of Malfoy's arse flashed in Harry's mind, black leather stretched tight across it as he bent down to the floor. Harry's hands moved of their own accord, moved to cup Malfoy's buttocks, the feeling of firm flesh sending a surge of excitement to his groin, spreading warmth through his lower belly. He was so turned on he wanted Malfoy's tongue in his mouth, wanted more than that, wanted to strip the leather off and leave him bare, to bite into him until he drew blood. The thoughts rushed through his mind, frightening, captivating.
Harry's mouth was at Malfoy's throat then, sucking, and Malfoy gasped, bucking forward, the leather squeaking against Harry's hands. Mindless, wanton, Harry's fingers kneaded Malfoy's arse cheeks, his mouth finally finding Malfoy's, hot and eager, Malfoy's tongue slick and heavy against his, Malfoy's little breathy sounds filling his ears until he heard nothing else. He wanted--
"S-Stop," Malfoy breathed, pulling back. "They'll open the door. They'll see."
Harry's hands felt too empty, his chest too full. He didn't want to stop -- had it really been seven minutes? They stood in darkness, silent, until the cupboard door opened. Malfoy walked out, but Harry hesitated in following. Would they realise what had happened? In a way, it was comforting that he barely knew any of them. It would have been a lot more embarrassing to have to face friends.
Finally, he took a deep breath and walked out. Malfoy was back in his spot, arms arranged carefully across his lap, and a flush stung Harry's cheeks. His robes hid everything, but Malfoy...
"So?" Pansy asked, eyes sparkling.
"I've had better," Malfoy said.
Daphne patted Harry's shoulder. "He says that about everyone."
Harry spent the rest of the night somewhat dazed, wanting to look at Malfoy and at the same time too embarrassed to do it, so he stared at Pansy, who, as it turned out, always removed her robes when another girl was dared to do it, as a show of solidarity. But Pansy's tits weren't enough to distract him from thoughts of how Malfoy's arse had felt beneath his fingers, thoughts of Malfoy's hungry kisses.
Malfoy's name came up, and -- this was clearly a running gag amongst the Slytherins -- a sixth-year asked him about the first person he'd had sex with.
"Dare," Malfoy said wearily.
"Hmmm," the girl said. "Wear eyeliner tomorrow night."
"At the bar?" Malfoy asked with mild trepidation.
Pansy giggled. Malfoy rolled his eyes at her and shook his head.
"The bar?" Harry muttered, mostly to himself.
"Yeah, Bar Six in Edinburgh. We go every Saturday," Daphne said. "It's fun. Want to come?"
Harry was hoping Ron would be too tired to notice Harry's bed was empty. Even better, Ron might assume Harry was off on one of his nightly jaunts through the castle. With any luck, he wouldn't tell Hermione, who had been giving Harry strange looks ever since Harry had found the Slytherins' game room. It was hard to believe that had been only three days ago.
Not everyone from the Truth or Dare game was at the bar; an Age Line at the entrance kept under-seventeens out. The bar itself was nothing special; bar counter, tiny dance floor, a couple of sofas in the back. Most of the Slytherins assembled on these; Malfoy, Harry, and Daphne sat at the bar counter. Harry because he didn't want to be photographed in a possibly compromising position; Daphne, to keep Harry company; Malfoy, who knew? He was Malfoy.
Harry's appearance had caused a mild commotion, but it all seemed to have settled for the moment. If he kept his head down, hopefully no newcomers would recognise him. Why had he even come here? Appearing in public always meant being like the main attraction at a fair, and Harry couldn't stand it. Hermione had told him to give it a couple of years; eventually everyone would move on and forget. Harry wished they'd hurry the hell up.
"Oh, I like this song," Daphne said, perking up. Harry had no idea what it was. Something about being hungry like the Hippogriff. "Want to dance?"
"I, uh, I don't dance," Harry said. "Sorry."
Daphne shrugged and turned to Malfoy. "Draco?"
"I'm not dancing in these ridiculous clothes," Malfoy said and waved his hand at the barman. "Pour me another."
For the past hour, Malfoy had been knocking back glasses of Firewhisky like they were Butterbeer. Harry had begun to wonder if he was going to need help Apparating back to Hogsmeade. Daphne darted off towards a small group of Slytherin girls on the dance floor, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy.
Malfoy drained the Firewhisky and got off his stool. He stalked down the narrow corridor towards the bathrooms. Harry took a surreptitious glance around -- no one seemed to be paying attention to him just then-- and followed. He didn't know what the hell he was doing or why, but he wanted to be alone with Malfoy, if only for a few moments. To clear up any misunderstandings, maybe. Or try to kiss him again and see what happened. Best plan ever.
He stopped outside the gents', hesitating. What if Malfoy turned him down? What if he told everyone?
If he'd wanted to tell everyone, he could have let me keep going in the cupboard last night and let them see for themselves.
Harry opened the door and walked inside. Malfoy was standing with his back against the only stall, looking straight at him. "Took you fucking long enough."
"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy snapped. The Firewhisky didn't seem to have affected him one bit. Lucky bastard.
They stared at each other for a few moments. Malfoy clearly wasn't a dab hand at make-up; the eyeliner was too thick and smudged in places. It made his eyes look startlingly bright. Or maybe it was the Firewhisky.
"Are you just going to stand there like a fuckwit?" Malfoy asked. "Come here."
"Uh, what exactly--"
Malfoy stepped forward, grabbed Harry by the front of his robes, and dragged him into the stall. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?" he hissed, reaching behind Harry to latch the door closed. "Well? Are you only brave in the dark?"
He pressed tightly against Harry, who decided that obviously there weren't any misunderstandings to clear up after all and happily grabbed Malfoy's arse. His brain promptly chose to take a holiday in Harry's pants, and for some length of time he knew nothing but the slide of Malfoy's tongue in his mouth and the rocking of Malfoy's hips against him. The latter caused Malfoy's trousers to slide down, and soon Harry was kneading flesh, which felt better than leather.
Malfoy pulled Harry's robes up and palmed his balls through the underpants; Harry nearly swallowed both their tongues in surprise.
"Do try to be quiet," Malfoy whispered, pulling back. "I've got a reputation to protect."
Harry had no will or desire to protest -- how could he? Malfoy had him by the balls. If only Harry had known that being had by the balls could feel so nice.
Malfoy slipped his hand inside Harry's pants and wrapped it around Harry's cock. Harry made an embarrassingly pitiful noise, and Malfoy's mouth covered his again. Probably to shut him up, though just at the moment, Harry felt disinclined to offer further commentary. Malfoy's strokes were perfectly timed, and Harry was panting into his mouth, arcing off the flimsy door into Malfoy's hand.
Harry felt something warm and hard press against his cock, and then Malfoy's hand was back, stroking both of them at the same time. All Harry could think about was that they could've done this yesterday if only it hadn't been for the stupid seven-minute rule. Though at the rate this was going, he would be finished in less than five.
Malfoy pulled back. Harry opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Malfoy tugged off the leather jacket and shoved it into Harry's arms. "Hold this," he ordered, pulled Harry's robes higher up, and handed him the hem. "And this."
Then Malfoy got to his knees, wrapped one hand around his own cock and the other around Harry's, and licked the head of Harry's cock, rendering him utterly incapable of further movement. Harry must've looked ridiculous, because Malfoy smirked in that self-satisfied way of his, and licked again, from base to tip this time, dipping his tongue delicately into Harry's slit. A clear strand of pre-come came away as Malfoy pulled back again. Harry's arms felt like hunks of lead attached to his torso as all sensation surged towards his centre.
He stared in wonder at Malfoy's lips, kiss-swollen and pink, stretching over his cock. Malfoy's eyes were closed as he sucked Harry off, as if in enjoyment, and with each slow pull-back, Harry had to fight the urge to jerk forward, to fuck Malfoy's mouth until he couldn't breathe. Harry's gaze followed a messy smudge of eyeliner down Malfoy's cheek, and he came, eyes wide open, clutching uselessly at Malfoy's jacket in his hands. His whole body thrummed with the force of it, his legs shook, and he bit the inside of his cheek, making it bleed.
"Oh," he gasped as Malfoy licked him clean. Then Malfoy looked up into Harry's eyes, lips parted slightly, and let out a tiny moan, his head falling back. Harry felt a soft splash against his bare leg, and then warm liquid trickled down to his sock. For a moment, Harry had a vision of Malfoy bending over to lick that away, too, and felt really dirty. And kind of turned on, though his cock didn't care at the moment.
"It was the leather, wasn't it?" Malfoy asked, getting to his feet. The trousers looked battered after their encounter with the bathroom floor, but Malfoy pulled them up anyway, tucking his cock away with a disturbingly business-like expression.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Originally." Well, this was awkward. He'd been kind of hoping Malfoy would stay on his knees a little longer. "Um. Why did you--?"
Malfoy shrugged. "Better than dancing, isn't it? I'll take that." He prised Harry's fingers off the jacket and slipped it back on, hiding pale shoulders Harry hadn't realised he didn't want out of sight yet.
"Wait," Harry said, letting his robes drop. He pulled Malfoy to himself, but Malfoy pressed his hands flat against Harry's chest.
"Don't get so excited," he said. "For your information, this was just the, uh, result of a private dare."
"Like hell it was," Harry growled and slammed Malfoy back against the side of the stall, which shook alarmingly. "You just don't want to admit you liked it. What's the matter? Are you scared?" His mouth was at Malfoy's ear, and Malfoy's hands tightened on the front of Harry's robes.
"Ruffian," Malfoy muttered, turning his head aside.
"Thought so," Harry said, grinning against his neck. "Want to go again?"
He had absolutely no idea what he was going to tell Ron and Hermione if they ever found out about this. But at least he would no longer feel uncomfortable in the same room with Ginny and Neville, because, well. Harry had to face it: he would take getting his cock sucked over garden-variety petting any day.
And if Malfoy didn't object too much, seventh year might turn out pretty good after all.