Fic: The Young and the Restless (Part 1)

[nursedarry]

Title: The Young and the Restless
Author: nursedarry
Artist: candygram_5000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Set: Hogwarts Era
Rating: NC-17 (just)
Word Count: ~19,000
Character/Pairings: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy (mentions of Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley)
Warnings: Sexual content, strong language. Also, this fic is unfinished. Although it stops at a natural point, there’s absolutely no resolution aside from them both getting a leg-over. There will be an ending eventually, I promise.
Summary: 6th year, AU. Boredom has set in at Hogwarts. But Harry’s life becomes anything but boring when he ends up sitting next to Draco Malfoy in class. This is mostly just fluffy smut – basically a thinly-veiled excuse to get to the good bits.
Author's Notes: Obviously, this project would be nothing without the wonderful art by candygram_5000. Huge thanks and a date with the Edmund Blackadder of your choice to my beta delphipsmith. And much love goes out toalovelycupoftea and cassie_black12 for being the best cheerleaders this side of Dallas.
Special note: Although the art is embedded in the fic, please make sure to click on candygram_5000’s page and leave her some love. She deserves it!


Part 1

Nothing. They’d heard nothing of Voldemort since the death of Sirius, the imprisonment of Lucius Malfoy, and the return of the students to school in the autumn. People were tense; their moods mercurial. They knew it was only a matter of time before the battle was brought to them.

They were starting to take chances. Odds that would normally have been considered overwhelming were being ignored in a desperate attempt to find success in any endeavour, no matter what the nature. No one knew how much time they had left for the business of growing up as traditional Hogwarts students, and few were willing to wait around to find out. It made for interesting viewing in the corridors and for distracting gossip in the Great Hall.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Both arriving late to class after a heated round of insults following lunch, Harry had been forced to sit with Malfoy in their next class. Harry was pleased to get a seat at the back — it was a good place to doze in History of Magic — but with Malfoy sitting right next to him, he knew he’d never be allowed to, not with the other boy’s feet and elbows close enough to kick and poke him awake whenever he might drift off. And he was sure that Malfoy would not hesitate to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

*

Seeing as how Harry wasn’t going to be able to get any sleep, he resorted to glowering and doodling on the sheet of parchment in front of him. He carried on with this, trying his hardest to ignore Malfoy’s presence beside him for the first twenty minutes of class.

Just as Harry thought it might be safe to shut his eyes for a few moments, the parchment was yanked away. Malfoy wrote something on it and thrust it back toward Harry.

Stop that. It’s distracting.

Harry read the message and looked over at Malfoy, whose attention was still fixed on the front of the class. Git, Harry thought. He dipped his pen into his inkwell.

I don’t give a toss.

He pushed the parchment across to the other side of the desk. Malfoy took it, glanced down and wrote again.

God, I want to kill you.

The parchment was passed over and back several times between the two boys:

Tell me something I don’t know.

Screw you.

You want to screw me?! That IS something I didn’t know. Before or after you kill me?

Before, of course.

Really? I figured you’d be the type that would go for corpses.

Disgusting.

Exactly my point.

Malfoy took some time to consider his next comment, so long that Harry thought the conversation was over. He was just folding his arms on the table with the intention of laying his head on them when Malfoy passed the parchment back.

If you were dead, and I was screwing you, you wouldn’t be able to put your hands all over me.

Harry’s eyes went very wide and he couldn’t stop himself from looking over at Malfoy. The other boy steadfastly refused to meet his gaze, his expression unreadable. Harry took quill in hand and hurriedly wrote out a response.

You want me to put my hands all over you??? He passed the parchment back.

Malfoy took it, still not looking at him and immediately wrote back. You want me to screw you???

Harry read the new comment. Unbelieving, he folded the parchment, put it on the desk and laid his hand over it. It was unlikely Professor Binns had been aware of the note-passing and the ghost had never confiscated anything from a pupil before, but Harry wasn’t going to risk it.

And just as that thought crossed his mind, Malfoy slowly reached over and slid the parchment out from under Harry’s hand. Harry watched him carefully. Malfoy appeared to re-read the note. Further down the parchment, he wrote one word and left the note in front of him, almost as if he didn’t want Harry to see it but had been clarifying something for his own benefit.

Nonetheless, Harry reached out and took the sheet.

Yes.

Harry scribbled quickly. Yes, what?

Yes to what I wrote before.

You wrote you wanted to kill me. Could Malfoy possibly be referring to... the other thing he wrote?

Yes, that’s what I meant.

Try it.

Malfoy put down his quill and attempted to surreptitiously smash his fist into Harry’s leg. The table got in the way, but he managed to get some force behind the blow. Harry grimaced and grabbed Malfoy’s fist and held on to it under the table. The two boys sat like this for a few seconds.

Slowly, Malfoy stretched out his fingers along Harry’s palm and left them there. Hardly thinking about what he was doing, Harry threaded his fingers between Malfoy’s, their hands resting gently on Harry’s thigh. Neither boy looked at the other.

Harry felt slightly hysterical. This was certainly a bizarre tableau, one he didn’t know quite how to interpret. There was no doubt that the written banter had taken a decidedly sexual turn. It was obvious, too, that Malfoy wanted something besides the normal verbal sparring and fisticuffs which had so far defined their relationship. But, was this just another attempt at humiliation, this time using sexual taunts as the weapon? Or was Malfoy serious about his admission on the parchment?

Presently, Malfoy leaned over and whispered into Harry’s ear, interrupting his inner musings. “I’m right-handed, Potter. I won’t be able to take notes now.”

Harry remained motionless for a moment and then whispered back. “You don’t need to, you prat. Binns isn't saying anything important. If he does, I’ll write it down.” He sat up straight and fingered his quill with his unoccupied hand.

Malfoy leaned over once more. “I’ll never be able to read your writing; it’s rubbish.”

Harry squeezed Malfoy’s hand hard but Malfoy didn’t let go. Indeed, when Harry stopped squeezing, Malfoy began stroking Harry’s leg with the tips of his fingers.

“This is crazy,” Harry muttered. His hand hurt where Malfoy’s ring had pressed into his flesh but what Malfoy was doing now helped detract from the pain.

Malfoy was thoughtful for a moment. “But it feels good,” he murmured very quietly, almost as if to himself.

He was right, which, in itself was a novelty. It did feel good. Not just the physical contact, which Harry had been craving as only a sixteen-year-old boy can, but it also provided a much-needed release of tension. Of course, holding hands with Draco Malfoy under a table during History of Magic provided its own special tension, but at least neither boy was thinking about Voldemort.

“So what do we do now?” Harry whispered hesitantly, still not taking his eyes off Professor Binns. Both the boys’ hands were becoming damp with perspiration and Harry wondered if Malfoy felt as nervous as he did.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to the library,” Malfoy whispered flippantly.

“No,” Harry said, completely missing Malfoy’s sarcastic tone. “I mean about ‘this’?” He squeezed Malfoy’s hand again, this time more gently, and then began tentatively rubbing it with his thumb. Malfoy’s fingers pressed a little harder into Harry’s thigh. It was then Harry realised Malfoy’s reply had been nervous — just something to say in an attempt to keep the conversation firmly away from the path down which Harry had tried to take it.

Both boys began breathing just a little faster.

Ron chose that moment to glance back at his friend. Harry thought he probably looked flushed and agitated, which was exactly what Ron would expect, seeing as Harry had had to spend the last forty minutes sitting next to Malfoy.

Harry shrugged at Ron and shook his head slightly, hopefully giving the impression that he was less than happy about the seating arrangements, but would stalwartly tolerate them until the end of class. Ron turned his attention to Malfoy, who glared at him until Ron shifted his eyes back to the front of the classroom.

Ron and Hermione were sitting very close together at their shared table, Harry noticed. He wondered if they were holding hands underneath it. Then he began to wonder how many other people were doing this — had been doing this — maybe for ages, and he’d never been aware until now.

When Harry looked over at Malfoy, he found him looking back. Harry’s thumb was still stroking Malfoy’s hand while the other boy's fingers continued stroking Harry’s thigh. At this rate, Harry thought, a little panicked, he would have trouble making a dignified exit. Fortunately, Professor Binns was winding up his lecture about the disastrous results of attempts at substituting Veela feathers for phoenix feathers in early wands.

Harry let go of Malfoy and wiped the sweat off his hand on his robes. He picked up the sheet of parchment and the quill again. Hastily scoring out all of the lines of text with bold strokes, he obscured the earlier conversation but added a new line:

Here. Tonight. After Prefect rounds. To discuss the thing that wasn’t about killing me.

The class ended just as Harry finished writing the note. He passed it to the other side of the desk and Malfoy picked it up, folded it and stuck it into a pocket in his robes. If he’d read it, he made no indication, only brushed past and out of the classroom without any acknowledgement of the previous hour’s activities, indeed without looking back.


o0o0o0o0o0o


“Mate, aren’t you going to eat that?” Ron motioned to Harry’s plate on which sat an untouched piece of treacle tart.

“Huh?” Harry said, glancing over at his friend.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione leaned across the table, speaking quietly. “It’s not your scar bothering you, is it? Do you need to talk to Dumbledore?” Harry had spent most of the meal pushing his food around his plate and stealing glances at the blond figure at the table across from him. He’d wanted to sit looking at Malfoy, to see if he could glean whether or not the day’s activities had affected him. Harry wondered if Malfoy would ignore the suggestion to meet, or worse — tell someone about it.

“Harry? Hello?”

“What? No! No, I’m fine!” Harry replied a bit too adamantly. “Look, I’ve got a lot of homework to do; I’ll see you guys in the common room. He pushed back from the table, all the time watching as Malfoy studiously ignored him.

“That’s not good,” Hermione said as Harry strode through the doors to the Great Hall with a few other students.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ron said, snagging the tart off Harry’s abandoned plate. “You know he’d tell us anything that had to do with You-Know-Who. Maybe he really does want to study.” Ron dug into the dessert.

Hermione didn’t look convinced.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Studying was a useless pursuit. Harry slouched in a chair in the Gryffindor common room and tried three or four times to start his Herbology reading, but he’d get only two paragraphs into The Healing Herbs Handbook before his mind began to wander. What was I thinking? he chided himself. What in the hell am I going to do with Malfoy? He knew what he’d like to be doing. But could he go through with it? And why did he want to with Malfoy, of all people? Don’t I have plenty of other possibilities whose families and friends aren’t trying to kill me? Why couldn’t I fancy one of them? What made Malfoy so special? More to the point, what made him so special to Malfoy?

No doubt Malfoy wouldn’t show up. Or he’d show up with a group of Slytherins, all harsh laughter and cruel taunts. And that would finish him here at Hogwarts, he thought sickly. He would just have to transfer to St. Brutus’ Home for Criminally Incurable Boys, the school his Aunt Marge already presumed he was attending.

But what if…? What if Malfoy did come to the room on his own, keen to continue what he’d started in class? After all, it had been Malfoy who instigated the touching, Harry reminded himself. And Malfoy had told him — maybe — that he wanted Harry to put his hands all over him. Could I have misinterpreted that? He shook his head. No. I didn’t misread Malfoy’s actions.

Unless it meant that Malfoy wanted to beat him up. Maybe? Harry shook his head. No, if he wanted to beat me up, he wouldn’t have sat through the entire second half of that class holding my bloody hand under the desk! And how could “if I was screwing you...” mean something other than what it said? Malfoy had never said anything to Harry in the past that hadn’t been brutally blunt. Harry wasn’t sure Malfoy was even capable of subtlety where the two of them were concerned.

So let’s assume he meant what he said and he shows up expecting…something. What am I going to do? Harry’s mind’s eye exploded with images of any number of things he and Malfoy could do. He pictured his hands on that pale skin, his fingers trailing up and down Malfoy’s arms, his shoulders, pushing Malfoy’s shirt up, exposing his chest, his belly, whilst Malfoy was screwing —

Harry was instantly hard. The Healing Herbs Handbook was forgotten as he made a dash to the dorm.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Harry entered the classroom at five to eleven that night. He left the door partially open as an invitation, hoping that Malfoy would get there before Filch noticed. He could barely see anything; the room was dark, the long velvet drapes covering the windows and the sconces no longer ablaze. Harry walked to the tall window, pushed aside the curtain and looked out into the night. From up here he could see the entire lake in the moonlight. Watching the glassy surface of the water, Harry saw something large and sinuous drifting slowly beneath it, enjoying the quiet of the night. So enrapt was Harry with watching the giant squid, that he didn’t hear the door open further and a figure walk into the room. It was only when Harry heard the door click shut that he turned, startled.

Malfoy ignored him and walked casually to the far wall behind the desks, where he pretended to study the large mouldering tapestry that hung there.

Harry moved slowly from the window to the back of the classroom, as if worried he might frighten Malfoy and cause him to leave. The closer he got the slower he walked, hesitantly taking small steps until he stood just behind the Slytherin. Although Malfoy did not turn, he must have been aware of Harry’s presence; surely he could hear Harry's breathing.

They stood absolutely still for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a thirty seconds. Who can really stand that still after all? Particularly in the state Harry was quickly working himself up into.

He felt, rather than saw, Malfoy move, and when the other boy’s left hand slowly swung back toward Harry’s thigh, Harry caught it and laced their fingers together. He took a step closer… and pressed his face against Malfoy’s shoulder blade.

It was exhilarating but awkward to stand with so little to steady him. If he leaned too far forward, Harry would push Malfoy into the tapestry. If he leaned back, he’d lose the lovely just-established contact.

There was nothing for it. Holding his breath, Harry reached around Malfoy with his right arm, holding him and steadying himself against the other boy. And was delighted as Malfoy placed his arm over his, hands twining together.

But Harry's satisfaction turned almost instantly into panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Now what? I don’t have the first fucking clue what to do. Think, Harry... I can’t fucking think like this! What did Malfoy say on the note? He wants to fuck me. Holy shit, I’m getting so hard. What else did he say? He wants me to put my hands on him. And fucking hell — I do want to put my hands on him. This feels so good, and I’m just standing here holding his fucking hand! But shit! We’re not fighting, not arguing and it’s so damned uncomfortable but feels so damn good. What should I say? No, don’t talk, just do. What would I want? What do I want? I want him to touch my cock, that’s what I want. I’m as hard as a rock and if one of us doesn’t touch it soon I’m going to pass out. And how the hell did I manage to get so hard holding fucking hands with Malfoy, for fuck’s sake? Gods, I’m a... Fuck... I wonder if he’s as hard as I am. Screw it, he wants my hands on him. Fine, Malfoy, fine, whatever you want...

Harry took a deep breath and ran their entwined right hands down the front of Malfoy’s robes. His hand encountered exactly what was pressing uncomfortably against the front of his own robes. Malfoy hissed through his teeth, his hand pushing against Harry’s, increasing the pressure against his trousers.

Harry pressed himself even closer to Malfoy’s back; there was no way the other boy couldn’t feel his erection against it. Harry wanted nothing more than to stand there rubbing himself against Malfoy’s body, and it seemed pretty obvious that Malfoy wanted the same. Harry began stroking the bulge in Malfoy’s trousers. The Slytherin groaned, leaned forward let go of Harry’s left hand to brace himself against the tapestry. Now that they had established some support, Harry could push forward as much as he wanted, and he wanted... He really wanted. With his left hand, Harry reached around Malfoy and grasped gently between his legs, hands fisting in the expensive robe.

Something in the charged air snapped.

“Not... enough— ” Malfoy abruptly turned around in Harry’s embrace. Harry’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor as Malfoy wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s waist and pulled him as close as he could. Harry had no choice but to follow suit.

Their bodies were now pressed together from chin to knee, Malfoy’s hands blindly scrabbling at Harry’s back while Harry reached up and pulled at the other boy’s hair, their faced pressed into each other’s shoulders. Harry spared a vague thought to the silky feel of Malfoy’s hair, but the delicious friction of cock against cock quickly drew all his focus. Harry doubted Malfoy even noticed when Harry’s mouth moved to his neck and panted against it, not tasting, not sucking, just attempting to get even closer.

Eventually, Harry realised they’d been travelling across the floor when the backs of his thighs connected with a desk. Unthinking, he hitched himself up to sit on it, wrapping a leg around Malfoy’s thigh. Forward and backward motion stopped, the boys were now free to press the most sensitive parts of the bodies together as closely as they possibly could.

Even through robes, trousers and pants Harry could feel everything.

“Oh g-g—o—d,” Harry stammered, his body now completely lost to any kind of control. Malfoy pushed further into him and the boys toppled full-length onto the desk.

Harry yanked Malfoy even closer, his legs now firmly wrapped around the other boy’s hips, with Harry’s back pressed against the hard wooden table. The Slytherin’s weight on top of him felt incredibly good, and the added pressure of gravity between their bodies increased their need for more stimulation. Harry’s hands left Malfoy’s waist and found their way into his robes.

Malfoy inhaled sharply as Harry’s hands pulled his shirt from his trousers and found smooth bare skin. Harry wound his arms around Malfoy’s waist underneath his shirt and ran his nails up and down his back. The action seemed to set fire to Malfoy’s nervous system and he lurched forward against Harry.

This time it was Harry’s turn to gasp. “More,” Harry pleaded and then sloppily applied his mouth to Malfoy’s neck. That was all the incentive the other boy needed — he pushed against Harry again and again, grunting with each thrust. It took only moments before this became more than either boy could take.

“H-oly ssshit, Malfoy…” Harry hissed into Malfoy’s ear and then went completely rigid.

Malfoy grunted through clenched teeth mere seconds later and collapsed on top of Harry.

Harry's body slowly wound down but his brain was just winding up. Not how he'd imagined having his first orgasm at the hands of someone else. It hadn't even been at the hands of someone else, now that he thought about it.

Suddenly, Malfoy pushed himself upright, stood a little shakily and retrieved his wand from his robe. He muttered a cleaning spell before Harry had a chance to panic, thinking he was about to be hexed. Malfoy stowed his wand away and began to tuck his shirt back into his trousers.

“Er, where’s my wand gone?” Harry asked, sitting up on the desk and looking around but seeing nothing in the darkness.

“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, retrieved his own wand, and muttered the same cleaning spell at Harry followed by “Lumos.” He reached down beside the table leg and picked up Harry’s wand, then backed slowly toward the door.

Harry looked at Malfoy and laughed.

“What?” Malfoy said, scowling.

“You should see yourself,” Harry said, absently running a hand through his hair. “Your face is flushed and your clothes are all over the place.”

“And you look like the back end of a blast-ended skrewt, thank you very much, Potter.” Malfoy said, starting to turn toward the door.

“Oi, Malfoy,” Harry called, jumping off the desk and moving toward Malfoy. “Give it to me.”

Malfoy turned back and gave Harry a smirk.

Harry, recognizing his unintentional double entendre, made a rude face. “Ha, ha. My wand, Malfoy?” He stalked toward the other boy and pushed Malfoy up against the locked door with one hand, while with the other he snatched his wand back.

Still pressing Malfoy into the door, Harry pointed his wand at the handle and ended the locking charm. “Definitely better than being killed,” Harry whispered into Malfoy’s ear and released his hold on the other boy.

Malfoy opened the door and made a quick exit. Harry stared after him.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Oh my god, what have I done? I had a... I had a... A what? Tryst? With Draco Malfoy last night! I had a fucking orgasm with Draco Malfoy last night! What the fuck was I thinking?! What have I done? Harry’s thoughts galloped in mad circles from the minute he opened his eyes the next morning until he descended the steps and walked along the corridor leading to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry had resolved to sit with his back to the Slytherin table at breakfast; he was quite sure he didn’t want to look at Malfoy. Avoiding him completely seemed the best way to quash any fantasies he entertained that Malfoy had felt more than just simple sexual release. Harry wasn’t sure what he himself felt beyond that; and until he’d settled his own mind, he didn’t want to explore what might be going through Malfoy’s.

His stomach rumbling, both from hunger and anticipation, Harry arrived at the Great Hall noting that the Slytherin sixth years had yet to make an appearance. He sat as planned, his back to their table, and Ron sat down next to him, already reaching across Harry’s plate for the pitcher of pumpkin juice.

Harry stared down at the table for a moment and collected his thoughts. The experience, as first times go, had been pretty amazing. The physical gratification part was, of course. But Harry also sensed that this (whatever this was), like Quidditch, was an area in which Malfoy didn’t feel as secure about his prowess as he might pretend. After all, though Malfoy had technically made the first move with the note and the hand-holding, when it came down to taking the next step beyond flirting, he had relied on Harry to take real action. Harry suspected that if Malfoy had thought properly about what was happening — as it was happening — he might not have let himself respond the way he had.

And it was that thought, posed as a challenge in Harry’s sleepy mind, which caused him to break his morning’s vow and turn to glance quickly at the Slytherin table.

Malfoy was there, sitting with his back to Harry.

Harry smiled.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Of course it was impossible for them to avoid one another all day, and eventually they ended up facing each other in the greenhouse. Each pretended to be interested in Professor Sprout’s lecture about the soothing properties of certain herbs, and they managed not to make eye contact for almost ten whole minutes.

Harry looked across and affected an air of boredom with the whole process. Malfoy glanced over and before Harry could even blink, had turned his attention back to the lecture.

And so it went for half the lesson. Harry was almost grateful when he and Neville began the practical assignment – the splicing together of lavender and camomile plants to create a magical hybrid – so that he could turn his full attention to the task at hand.

But Harry found this to be less than easy to do with Malfoy not five feet away. A benefit to being paired with Neville, Harry thought, was that he could rely on Neville’s doing the assignment in the correct manner without relying on his own input. Harry was sure that after a restless night and an even more restless recent twenty minutes, he was very little help.


o0o0o0o0o0o


Harry was expecting History of Magic to be as dull and uninspiring as it ever was, with the exception of the last class. He hadn’t looked at Malfoy as he entered the room and took his regular seat next to Seamus two rows from the front. Harry assumed the Slytherin was where he normally sat, next to Crabbe in the second-to-last row on the opposite side of the central aisle.

As Harry watched Seamus put the finishing touches on a very detailed drawing of the Space Shuttle on the inside cover of one of his textbooks, Harry felt his quill wobble in his hands. He dropped it on the parchment he had taken out of his bag with the intention of producing a doodle of his own, and watched as it slid into his lap.

Harry glanced at Seamus, but the Irish boy now had a magical stick figure beginning an EVA from the shuttle toward the book’s spine, and was not paying any attention to the goings-on next to him.

As Harry looked back to the parchment, it too, slid into his lap. He resisted the urge to twist around to peek in Malfoy’s direction and was just about to replace his quill and parchment on the desk, when one of the myriad scratches of graffiti embedded into the wood in front of him began to glow.

Tonight, it read and then faded as quickly as it had burned to life.

It wasn’t a suggestion, it wasn’t a request; it was a statement. More importantly, it was a message. And Harry had received it, loud and clear.

*

“What’s this?” Malfoy frowned as he walked into the classroom. The room was aglow with several large candles placed randomly on desks. He motioned to the large old-fashioned red leather sofa which occupied the space “their” desk formerly had.

“Er... I didn’t want to... er... do anything on a desk again; that kinda hurt afterwards,” Harry admitted, rubbing his back for effect. Was it too much? he wondered. Too... girly? Nervous now, he stood and shifted his weight from foot to foot as Malfoy studied the sofa. “I can make it green if that would be better.”

Malfoy snorted. “I don’t care what colour the bloody sofa is, Potter,” he said sardonically. “I just wondered why we’re back in here?”

“I thought—” Harry hesitated. “I thought, um, you wanted to, you know, maybe do some more of — well — that stuff we did in here last time.”

“I do,” said Malfoy slowly. “What I meant was if you weren’t keen on hurting your back, couldn't you have found a more appropriate place?”

Harry felt a surge of relief. For a moment he’d thought – well, he didn’t know exactly. He lifted his wand and shot a locking spell at the door now that he was sure Malfoy wasn't going to bolt out of the room. “I can’t think of anyplace else," he said. "The Astronomy Tower is full of fourth years, the Prefect’s bathroom is haunted by a... very annoying ghost, and the Room of Requirement has a—" he stopped, unsure of how to describe it.

“A what?” asked Malfoy, perching himself carefully on the edge of the sofa.

Harry sighed. “A rota system; you have to sign up to use it.”

“Really?” Malfoy was amused. He smiled evilly, obviously thinking of the names that sign-up sheet might contain.

“And as you can imagine, I was not keen to sign up. So, it’s either here or the dorm, because it’s too bloody cold outside to run down to the Quidditch shed.”

Malfoy considered as he looked around. “I suppose it could be worse…”

“Yeah. It could be Snape’s classroom.” Harry walked back over to the sofa. He had originally considered transfiguring the desk into a bed, but then changed his mind. Even if, as seemed likely, one of them ended up on his back again (Harry’s cock had become, if not hard, then certainly firmer just thinking about it), a bed just seemed too... suggestive. And he wasn’t sure he could manage that transfiguration. Transfiguring a worn, comfortable sofa from a desk had seemed a nice compromise and was something he’d managed in the past.

Of course, he’d forgotten what a snob Malfoy was. It belatedly occurred to him that Malfoy’s initial look of distaste was more likely due to the appearance of the sofa itself rather than the concept of it.

“Maybe we should try to go slower this time,” Harry suggested as he sat down. Malfoy unconsciously scooted away. “Where are you going?” Harry smiled.

Malfoy stifled a snort. “Huh. Force of habit.” He carefully scooted back toward Harry and took a deep breath.

Harry didn’t lean in to kiss him, or touch his hand, or do any of the number of things he could have. He remained motionless for so long, he wondered if Malfoy would get up and leave.

The last time they'd met here together, they'd been in near-darkness and it had been easier to be brave. Now, Harry found himself struggling to overcome the awkward feelings accompanying this new aspect of their still somewhat hostile relationship and find the courage to move it forward. Which he did, finally.

He slowly reached out and began to tentatively pull open Malfoy’s robe. The other boy sat perfectly still as Harry peeled the black garment from him.

When it became obvious that Malfoy would have to move in order for the robe to be removed completely, he shrugged it down his arms and sat forward so Harry could pull it away altogether. His eyes never left Harry, but Harry didn’t look at Malfoy’s face once; instead he concentrated solely on removing this barrier between himself and his objective.

The robe was tossed aside (Malfoy must have been too distracted to complain about the mistreatment of the expensive garment). Underneath, he wore his school shirt and trousers, but had dispensed with the tie and jumper. Harry reached out to the shirt’s buttons, but Malfoy held up a hand. “Wait,” he said.

Now Harry did look up, frowning and wondering if he was about to do something wrong.

“My turn,” said Malfoy.

Harry’s anxiousness vanished in a rush of anticipation. He pulled off his glasses, carelessly abandoning them on the floor under the sofa. He looked back at Malfoy with a little self-conscious smile. Malfoy reached out and tugged at the hem of the hooded sweatshirt Harry was wearing, then scooted closer and raised himself up on a knee to pull the top over Harry’s head.

The action left Harry’s hair even more dishevelled than usual and Malfoy smiled. Harry’s insides turned to mush. That smile, a true smile, so rarely seen, was doing wonders for his health.

Looking dismayed by his spontaneous show of warmth, Malfoy quickly returned to his standard look of disdain and threw the sweatshirt over the back of the sofa. “Potter, how can you stand to wear this ugly Muggle clothing?”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry said and set to work on Malfoy’s shirt buttons. His hands were a little shaky and the task took longer than it should have. When he finished, Harry pushed the shirt off Malfoy’s shoulders it fell to the floor.

Harry wondered if his own breathing sounded as laboured as Malfoy’s, as the Slytherin pulled Harry’s t-shirt off. Malfoy’s willingness to participate in this mutual undressing as well as his earlier display of affection were... unexpected. Harry had thought that Malfoy, like nearly every other student his age, just wanted to get off with someone. No doubt Malfoy had his reasons for choosing him as a partner over anyone else, but Harry had to admit he was completely baffled by what those reasons might be.

Up till now that night, neither boy had touched the other, short of the brief contact involved in taking off each other’s shirts. Harry knew that once they started laying their hands on one another, there might be no stopping. He wanted this encounter to go more slowly than the previous one, so their restraint was probably a good thing.

After their closeness in class and the previous time they'd met in this room, Harry wondered why Malfoy seemed to find it difficult to touch him again. Sure, he might not have the courage of a Gryffindor to throw himself headlong into the moment, but surely he did have the lust-fuelled desire to be physically closer to someone.

As if reading Harry’s mind, Malfoy leaned over and placed a cautious kiss on Harry’s mouth. It was questioning and shy — more than just a touch of lips to lips but with little pressure behind it.

Harry’s bare skin immediately blossomed into goose flesh which had little to do with the cold. As with his kiss with Cho the year before, he felt as if a hundred butterflies had just lifted themselves from inside his belly and were now fluttering around in his chest and down along his limbs. But this was different, too. Unlike that kiss, Harry didn’t feel that this was a delicate moment — one which he could easily ruin with the wrong word or expression. This was freer and all about sensation, rather than communion. He allowed himself to feel this kiss. And he kept his eyes open; he’d never believe it was happening if he didn’t watch.

Slowly Malfoy pulled away. Sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself, he asked, “All right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling. He peered up at the other boy, whose pale pointed features were impossible to read. “That was great.”

Malfoy had been holding his breath. Now he exhaled across Harry’s face.

Harry almost melted. “Can we do it some more?”

This time there was no hesitancy. Malfoy’s kiss was vigorous and sloppy and Harry loved it. “Potter,” Malfoy muttered, lips still against Harry’s. “Open your mouth.”

Harry complied and in the next instant found his mouth full of Malfoy’s tongue. If Harry had had butterflies fluttering around his insides before, now he had dragons. Nothing he’d imagined came close to this feeling. It was the most intimate experience he’d ever had and his mouth wasn’t the only part of his body reacting to it.

As he kissed back, Harry grabbed at Malfoy’s shoulders, squeezing them. In response, Malfoy groaned into Harry’s mouth, which caused Harry to squeeze harder.

When the need for air became too great, they broke apart.

“Shit, Malfoy, where did you learn to do that?” Harry gasped against Malfoy’s smooth cheek.

“Around,” Malfoy panted. Harry, through force of habit, assumed Malfoy was lying, but there was no denying he'd kissed someone before. Harry wondered who it was, and how many times. Oddly, as their kisses continued, slowly, languorously, Harry wondered why Malfoy wasn't still kissing whoever it was. Why was Malfoy kissing him, of all people? And would he find Harry's technique as poor as Harry found Malfoy’s good?

Kissing had been part of Harry’s go-slow plan for tonight, but he was unprepared for the reaction he’d have. He forced himself to sit back and look at Malfoy - lips swollen and bare to the waist.

And then all intention of patience fled in an instant.

Harry lunged, forcing Malfoy backwards, pressing him into the sofa and stretching out on top of him. His hands roamed over as much of the pale skin as they could and tangled themselves into the nearly white hair, while at the same time, Harry aggressively kissed him.

“Very smooth, Potter,” Malfoy observed when Harry had finished exploring his mouth.

Harry rested his chin on Malfoy’s chest, staring up at him. “Like you hate it, Malfoy” he said, with a sly smile. He turned his head downwards and slowly – very slowly – licked a path from one collarbone to the other.

Malfoy arched up with a hiss.

Harry jerked up and with his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders and guided the other boy back down into the cushions. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“No, no,” said Malfoy breathlessly. “It’s good.” He tangled his fingers in Harry’s messy hair.

Hands still on the other boy’s shoulders, Harry laid his head down on Malfoy’s smooth chest and closed his eyes. Malfoy’s fingers in his hair felt amazing. He'd never had anyone do that to him; he’d had no idea his scalp could be so sensitive.

From where he lay, Harry could feel the quick rise and fall of Malfoy’s chest and hear the strong rapid heartbeat. Harry wondered what secrets this heart held, realising he really knew so little about him. At the moment, however, secrets weren’t nearly as interesting as what they were openly sharing.

Harry inhaled. Malfoy’s skin smelled of soap and sweat. Harry exhaled across his belly. It must have tickled, because Malfoy laughed lightly.

Opening his eyes, Harry saw, at close range and in startling detail, Malfoy’s erection pushing against the fabric of his trousers. He reached out a hesitant hand and carefully placed his palm over the bulge. The Slytherin sucked air through his teeth again and arched his back off the sofa once more. Harry rubbed his palm over the fabric several times, and listened to the resultant sounds of choked arousal from the boy beneath him.

Gingerly, Harry slid his hand under the waistband of Malfoy’s pants and began to explore. His fingertips brushed against coarse hair, and then felt damp, velvety hardness. He trailed his fingers along Malfoy’s cock, marvelling at the differences between this and the only other cock he’d ever touched: his own. Harry went to push his hand further under the material but a sudden movement from above stopped him. Malfoy reached down and quickly undid the button and zip of his trousers. Then he pushed them and his pants down his hips.

Pleasantly unencumbered by clothing now, Harry wrapped his hand around Malfoy’s cock and began slowly stroking it. “Is this all right?” he whispered, lifting his head to look at the other boy.

Malfoy’s head lay back on the sofa’s armrest. His eyes were closed. “Yes... Yes... Yes,” he panted in time with the movement of Harry's hand.

Harry’s mouth went dry and Malfoy wrapped a hand around Harry’s, urging him to stroke faster. Despite all of the activity centred around that delicious-looking part of the Slytherin, Harry found he couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy’s face. For long moments, Malfoy worried his bottom lip with his teeth as his other hand began to painfully clench Harry’s hair.

A haze of pure lust descended on Harry and he leaned up for a kiss. It was messy and rough, Malfoy cutting it short to gasp for air. “I... I... close,” he panted into Harry’s mouth. Harry draped himself over Malfoy as their hands, one atop the other, pumped up and down quickly on rigid flesh.

A few moments later, Malfoy’s clenched fingers left Harry’s hair and he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's body. Harry tried to kiss him again but Malfoy arched his back and groaned. Harry’s mouth found Malfoy’s pointy chin instead, his teeth scraping against it. The other boy pressed himself into Harry with a surprising, almost desperate strength, oblivious to Harry's actions.

Harry slowly became aware of a warm wetness seeping through his fingers and he looked down to see semen ooze between their hands which were still wrapped around Malfoy’s penis. Several seconds later Harry noticed the same warmth spreading through his own trousers from within. As he was still lying across Malfoy, the other boy had probably noticed too.

He'd had been so enrapt with bringing Malfoy off, thinking of the kiss he'd wanted to give him at just that right moment, he'd not even noticed how close he himself had been.

Embarrassed, Harry looked back up at the Slytherin. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s okay,” Malfoy said, idly stroking Harry’s back. Then he seemed to notice what he was doing and stopped.

Harry propped himself up awkwardly to allow Malfoy to mutter a cleaning spell.

“Why me?” Harry asked and he watched Malfoy’s face change at the question, transformed from a blank expression to a sneer.

“Why not you, Potter?” Malfoy said, as if it should have been obvious. He pulled up and buttoned his trousers, not meeting Harry’s eyes. When Harry didn't respond, Malfoy sighed. “You’re the only one at this school who has no reason to court my favour. Part of the attraction.”

“You’re attracted to me?”

“I thought I just said that.” Malfoy adjusted his belt.

“Don’t you like girls?”

The Slytherin didn’t reply and struggled to sit up. Harry didn't move.

“But you like me,” Harry ploughed on.

“I didn’t say that.” Malfoy said, sneering again and pushing Harry awkwardly until he had no choice than to sit up, allowing Malfoy to do the same.

“Okay, you’re attracted to me.”

“God, Potter, no wonder you’re rubbish at all of your classes." He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, you’re a powerful wizard, much as it pains me to say it. And yes, I find that attractive. Any Slytherin would.”

“But you and everyone you associate with still wants to kill me.” Harry couldn’t reconcile Malfoy’s desire for sexual experimentation with the desire to fight. Although now that Harry thought about it, he could name many couples who possessed the same dynamic.

“What about you? Don’t you like girls? There must be dozens of them ready to throw themselves at you. The Boy Who Lived. The Hero. The Chosen One,” he recited in a mocking tone.

This time Harry didn’t respond. He pulled on a loose thread on his jumper. The boys sat side by side in silence, not looking at each other. From their body language, no one would suspect what had gone on in this room less than three minutes ago. Aside from the room smelling distinctly of teenage hormones run amok.

Finally Malfoy spoke. “So, you hate me and everything I stand for and you still want to shag.”

“Shag?” Harry nearly choked on the word.

“I did say ‘screw you’ on that note,” Malfoy reminded him.

“I didn’t know you meant it literally.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said flatly.

“I mean — I didn’t know it at the time. I do now.”

“Now you know I’m being literal, or now you do want to shag?” Malfoy asked.

“Uh...er...yes. To both questions, I guess. I dunno. Do you?”

Malfoy said nothing.

“I don’t want to shag right now,” Harry added hastily, when he realised he wasn’t going to get a reply. “I don’t want my first—” He stopped, embarrassed.

“Your first...? You’ve never had sex before?”

“Er, no. Have you?”

Once again, Malfoy said nothing.

Harry felt the need to explain. “I just don’t want my first time to be in a classroom. Even if it is on a sofa."

“Does that mean you don’t mind if it’s me?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Silence.

“Potter?”

“No. I don’t mind if it’s you,” Harry whispered.

If he were honest with himself, Harry couldn’t imagine anyone else he would rather lose his virginity to. Anyone he knew well would probably make all kinds of assumptions about love and commitment, and with anyone he didn’t know very well he’d worry about saying something (not least of all to the Prophet) about the experience of deflowering The Boy Who Lived.

Harry didn’t want to entertain either scenario. He didn’t think it was anyone’s business, and he’d like to have at least this one aspect of his life remain out of the public domain.

“Why?” Malfoy asked.

Harry thought about his answer and finally turned and looked at the other boy, who was staring resolutely at his shoes. “Because you don’t care.”

“That’s right,” Malfoy said with no emotion. They sat in silence for another long moment.

“So what now?” Harry asked, all innocence and Malfoy flushed. Even in the dim light Harry could see his face go slightly pink.

“Well...” Malfoy began, then stopped. “Well, if you don’t want to...do it in a classroom, where do you want to do it?” The sentence was said with an undertone of bitterness. It sounded almost like a challenge.

“My bed,” Harry said.

“Are you crazy?” Malfoy stared at him. “How in Hades are we going to manage that? There is no way I’m stepping foot in that place for a start, and even if I were, how would I get in there without being seen? Keep dreaming, Potter. I don’t want to fuck you that badly.”

Harry’s emotional state went through several changes in the course of Malfoy’s brief rant. Disappointment that Malfoy would berate him for wanting his first time to be somewhere he felt comfortable and safe gave way to vexation that Malfoy would have so little faith in his ability to bring about such a plan. But Malfoy’s last words, Harry had to admit, turned him on – both the obscenity and its implications.

Harry couldn’t resist. He placed a hand high on Malfoy’s trouser-clad thigh — two could play at this game. “Would you change your mind if I told you that I could get you into the Gryffindor dorm with no one knowing you were there? And I’ll prove it, tomorrow ‘cause I...plan to give you a blowjob there.” What the hell made me say that? he thought, frozen in shock. What if he thinks it’s disgusting? What am I getting myself into??

Malfoy’s face went several shades redder but his voice stayed cool. “Sure, Potter, whatever you say,” he said facetiously.

Harry stroked Malfoy’s thigh. “I mean it. Meet me here tomorrow after Prefect rounds again.” He stood up. “And wear something...easier to get into.”

Harry pointed his wand at the door, whispered Alohamora, and walked out without a backward glance.



continued in Part 2