Take It And Like It
1. Leather
Black leather.
That was the first thing he noticed. It only took a moment for his field of vision to widen: the black leather was a couch. It widened further. The couch was in a large room. There was a fireplace to his left. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the couch.
Harry frowned. This all seemed very familiar.
Right. The Slytherin common room. In front of him, Malfoy was going on about something, Muggles and Weasleys and heirs and it all seemed very important, but Harry could only wonder what he was doing there. Crabbe was standing to his left, glaring at Malfoy. Frowning, Harry glanced at his hands. They were not his own.
Beside him, he could feel that Crabbe was tensed up and furious. He sneaked a look at him. Crabbe's hair was beginning to turn red. Not Crabbe, then. Ron.
Suddenly it all snapped into place. Second year. The Polyjuice Potion. Malfoy.
Ron was looking at him, horrified. Harry stared back. With a nervous gasp, Ron turned and ran from the room.
Harry frowned. That wasn't right.
He watched dispassionately as his hands shifted, growing smaller, fingers thinning and lengthening.
"Finally," Malfoy said. "I thought he'd never leave."
"What?" Harry asked, confused. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Harry was certain of that.
Malfoy grinned at him, resembling nothing so much as a cat eyeing a particularly fat and helpless bird. "Come here, Potter."
Slowly, Harry approached him. Goyle's robes were far too big on him, and he nearly tripped in the oversized shoes. He kicked them off distractedly. The clasp of the robe was easily undone and then it was slipping from his shoulders to puddle on the floor.
Malfoy nodded approvingly. "Yes. Just like that."
Harry reached the couch and stood between Malfoy's spread legs. No, this definitely wasn't familiar. "It doesn't go like this," Harry said vaguely. Malfoy's hands were working at his belt, tugging him forward by the buckle and carefully unclasping it.
"You're in my world now, Potter," Malfoy said, and carefully slid Harry's belt out through the loops and dropped it onto the couch beside him.
The trousers slipped down Harry's hips and he stepped out of them, surprised to notice that he wasn't wearing anything beneath them. Malfoy was making quick work of Harry's shirt, unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders. Harry reached for the tie to pull it over his head, only to be stopped by Malfoy's hands on his.
"Leave the tie," Malfoy said.
Harry raised an eyebrow, but complied. The silk tickled his stomach. He wondered rather fuzzily why he was standing naked but for a Slytherin tie in front of Malfoy. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could, Malfoy spoke again.
"On your knees," he said quietly.
Slowly, Harry sank to his knees, placing his hands on Malfoy's thighs. It suddenly seemed unfair that Malfoy was still fully clothed. Hesitantly, he unclasped Malfoy's robe, then unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a pale line of skin from neck to waist. He ran his fingers over the bared skin, pushing the fabric out of the way in order to more easily explore. It seemed very much worth exploring, and soon his hands didn't seem sufficient for the job. He leaned forward and placed a light kiss right below Malfoy's navel.
Above him, Malfoy gasped. Harry did it again, then licked a slow, careful line up the middle of Malfoy's torso. Lightly, he scored his fingernails lightly along the pale skin, enthralled by the thin, bright white lines that darkened into red before fading completely.
Abruptly, Malfoy pushed him back. Harry settled more comfortably on his knees and regarded Malfoy curiously. "You know what I want," Malfoy said. "Don't make me wait any longer."
Harry frowned. He hoped that Malfoy didn't want anything exotic. He didn't really have much experience with this sort of thing.
Malfoy grabbed Harry by his tie, pulling him closer. Harry blinked, suddenly confronted with the pleated gray of Malfoy's trousers. They were quite nicely made, and Harry felt an overwhelming urge to see what lay beneath them. With no further hesitation, he unbuttoned them and pulled down the disarmingly shiny silver zipper. The black silk boxers beneath were not entirely unexpected. He pushed them down as best he could, with Malfoy shifting slightly to make the process easier.
It was interesting, to see someone else's cock this close. He was quite well acquainted with his own, of course, but Malfoy's was another matter entirely. A big longer, not quite as thick, hard and dark with a few drops of fluid at the tip. Curiously, Harry leaned forward to taste them.
Malfoy inhaled sharply. Suddenly eager for more, Harry ran his tongue along the underside and then took Malfoy's cock into his mouth, swallowing as much as he could. He curled his hand around the base of Malfoy's cock, increasing the suction as he did so, and wringing a gasp and then a moan from the other boy. Malfoy's fingers threaded into Harry's hair, pushing him down further.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing his throat, taking in as much of Malfoy as he could. Malfoy's hands moved to Harry's shoulders, gripping them hard and shaking, just a little, murmuring Harry's name over and over. Shuddering, Malfoy came.
"Harry. Harry!"
With a gasp, Harry awoke, sitting up fast enough to make him slightly dizzy. He stared straight ahead, breathing heavy, shoulders shaking as the world slowly came into focus. His bed. His room. Ron.
"Harry? What is it? Are you okay?" Ron asked, concerned.
Blinking rapidly, Harry turned to face Ron. Images ran through his head, vague remnants of the dream. "I was dreaming," Harry said.
Ron frowned, taking in Harry's flushed skin and wide eyes. "Something to do with You Know Who?"
"No," Harry said, reaching for his glasses. He put them on with trembling fingers. "Something much, much worse."
2. Wet
"What?" Ron asked, confused. "What could be worse?"
Harry shook his head. "Nevermind. I'm going to take a shower."
"Better make it a quick one," Ron said, seeming to decide to let the subject of the dream go. "That's why I woke you up. Didn't want you to be late."
"Thanks," Harry said, distractedly reaching for his robes. Images from the dream tugged at the edges of his conscience: pale skin against black leather, dark gray eyes, a shining zipper. He headed for the bathroom, remembering the feel of hands running through his hair, and soft skin beneath his fingertips. And the taste of- of- he couldn't even think it.
He stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand it. It wasn't like he had never had a sex dream before, but they were never this vivid, and certainly never involved Malfoy, of all people. Malfoy, who he would have to face in Potions today, which was just not fair, and he was blushing just thinking about it.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward, allowing the water to run down over the back of his neck.
Malfoy. Coming soundlessly into the shower, sliding in behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. Harry tilted his head back, baring his neck and relaxing into Malfoy's embrace with a sigh. Teasingly, Malfoy ran his tongue up Harry's neck, sucking gently on the sensitive spot behind Harry's ear. His hands drifted lower, past Harry's hips to grasp his erection.
"Please," Harry whispered. Malfoy was hard and ready behind him, all hot, wet skin and those lips, doing delightful things to his neck. He felt Malfoy's smile against his skin, and then the slow, grinding pressure of Malfoy's cock against his ass. Malfoy transferred a hand to Harry's hip, holding him in place as he ground harder, and slowly began sliding his hand up and down Harry's cock.
Blindly, Harry turned, running his fingers along Malfoy's neck. It was an awkward angle, but then his lips found Malfoy's, and oh. Water slid down their faces and into their mouths as their lips met in slow, open-mouthed kisses. Harry trembled in Malfoy's grasp, feeling taut as a bowstring and ready to melt at the same time. Malfoy's speed increased, jerking roughly at Harry's cock and grinding so hard that Harry feared he would be bruised from it.
Malfoy sucked Harry's lower lips into his mouth, tongue running over it again and again, and it was all too much, the heat and the water and Malfoy's skin against his, eager kisses and desperate, delicious hands.
With one final stroke, Harry came, his eyes snapping open as shudders racked his body. He could barely see through the steam, except to clarify that yes, he was alone. Really, really alone.
And that had definitely not been a dream.
3. Strip
There was quite a simple explanation for everything, Harry decided. The dream, the- whatever that was, in the shower.
He had gone insane.
Which was sad, really, because the sanity had served him quite well over the years. But there really wasn't any other explanation for what had happened. He'd closed his eyes, and then he wasn't in control anymore. Some evil force had taken over his mind, like a voice in his head, only with pictures and a taste for the obscene. Harry found that comforting. At least it wasn't his fault.
Thus, Harry was taking extra precautions, and trying his best not to close his eyes for any extended period of time. His defenses were up now. Just let the scary sex fantasies try and invade his mind. He was ready.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Ron asked.
Harry was busy staring intently at the desk in front of him. His fingers were drumming an uneven rhythm against his books, and he was trying very hard to resist the urge to start chewing on the end of his quill. "I'm fine, Ron," he murmured.
Ron frowned. "You are not."
With a sigh, Harry lifted his head to assure Ron that yes, he was absolutely marvelous, thanks, and Draco Malfoy chose that exact moment to walk into the room. Harry stopped halfway through the word "yes" and felt his mouth drop open just a bit, because he was suddenly hit with the powerful urge to tear Malfoy's clothes off.
Rationally, he knew that this would be unwise and terribly difficult. It would be better to take Malfoy's clothes off slowly, tossing each item aside to reveal more and more of that pale, lickable skin. Or perhaps Malfoy could remove the clothing by himself, and Harry could just sit back and watch. That sounded nice, too.
"Harry!" Ron said, and snapped his fingers in front of Harry's face. "What are you doing?"
"Um," Harry said.
Across the room, Malfoy smirked.
Harry shook his head, trying to clear it of the unwelcome thoughts. His eyes hadn't even been closed. This whole insanity thing was becoming more insidious by the moment.
"Where are you today?" Ron demanded quietly.
The special Hell, Harry thought, but didn't say anything.
Class progressed. Harry worked mechanically, slicing roots (and nearly a finger) and gathering ingredients. He wondered what he was making. He wondered if Malfoy wore boxers or briefs. Or nothing at all. Definitely nothing, Harry decided. His trousers were much too clingy for either.
He was brought back to alertness via a rather vicious jab in his side, courtesy of Ron. "Ow," Harry said.
"Wake up. It's time to go," Ron said, frowning at him. "What's going on, Harry? You haven't been yourself all day."
"I'm just tired," Harry said, shrugging, then frowned as well. "It's time to go already?"
"Well, yes. What with class being over and everything." He sighed, exasperated. "Maybe you should go back to the room. Take a nap."
Harry shook his head. "No. Library. I probably have an essay to write." There was always an essay to write.
"Fine. See you." Ron waved and headed out.
Now determined, Harry headed for the library. Strange fantasies, disorientation, loss of time, fatigue. He had the symptoms. Now he just needed to find the cause. And hopefully, the cure.
4. Books
Harry frowned at the shelves. He needed Hermione for this sort of research, but he really didn't feel up to explaining exactly why he needed to know about hexes that caused the victim to have alarmingly detailed dirty thoughts about their enemies.
It seemed like a Malfoy thing to do, to mess with him like this. Granted, it was a slightly different approach than the usual cutting wisecracks or flashing badges, but he couldn't think of anyone else that would do such a thing, except for maybe Voldemort, but really. Driving Harry slowly insane didn't seem like Voldemort's sort of thing.
He eyed the various books, reading the spines in hopes that a title would jump out at him, but to his great disappointment he wasn't suddenly confronted with Naughty, Lusty, Dirty, Sexy Hexes and How to Fight Them, or Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex Spells, But Were Afraid To Ask Because, Oh, How Your Friends Would Laugh At You. Exasperated, Harry reached for a few books at random and brought them back to a table, settling down to read.
Trying to tamp down the overwhelming feelings of hopelessness, Harry opened one of the books to the table of contents. Perhaps it was a hallucinogenic spell. He flipped to the appropriate page and began reading.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was on book three and he was beginning to think that perhaps he just had an overactive imagination, or a crush, or his subconscious simply had an inexplicable vendetta against him. Maybe all three. Or perhaps he was really cracking up.
Definitely just cracking up, he decided. After all, he'd just entertained the thought that he had a crush on Malfoy. Next stop, St. Mungo's.
With a defeated sigh, Harry closed the book and put his head in his hands, suddenly feeling very, very tired. It wouldn't hurt to shut his eyes for just a moment.
Harry blinked. He was in the restricted section, and the library appeared to be closed. The windows were , and the only light came from torches at the ends of the shelves. Which was strange, since he'd just closed his eyes not a minute before. It was another dream, he realized. He looked around. No sign of Malfoy.
"Thinking of me, Potter?" Malfoy asked.
Harry spun around. Malfoy was leaning against the shelves opposite him, looking irritatinglt calm. And, Harry noticed quite against his will, also rather attractive. "Yes," said Harry, seeing no reason to lie. It was a dream, after all.
"What were you thinking?" asked Malfoy, conversationally. As he spoke, he stepped closer.
Trying to look as casual as possible, Harry backed up.
"Well?" Malfoy looked at Harry calculatingly. "Just wondering when I was going to show up, were you?"
"What are you, psychic now?" Harry asked, the sarcasm in his tone not quite as strong as he'd hoped.
"I'm anything I want to be, here. In fact," said Malfoy, placing a hand carefully against the shelf, not two inches from Harry's head, "in here, I'm anything you want me to be."
"What if I want you to be gone?" Harry dared.
Malfoy shrugged. "Then I suppose I would leave. But you don't want me to be gone. After all, it's a dream, isn't it?"
That was true, Harry reflected. Surely it was okay to want Malfoy. It was only a dream, after all. "Anything?" Harry asked tentatively.
"It's your dream," Malfoy said, shrugging as if it meant little to him either way.
Harry took a deep breath, and drew himself up to his full height. "I want you," he said.
"That's a good start." Malfoy idly ran a finger over Harry's tie.
Harry swallowed. "I want you on your knees."
Raising an eyebrow, as if impressed, Malfoy complied.
Harry looked down, noting that his hands were shaking, while Malfoy looked as cool as ever. "Don't make me say it," he asked quietly.
Malfoy smirked, and with what Harry deemed a bit more care than necessary, unbuttoned and unzipped Harry's trousers. "Is this what you want?" Malfoy asked, only the barest hint of teasing showing in his voice.
"Please," Harry whispered.
With no further encouragement, Malfoy pushed the offending clothing out of the way and reached for Harry's cock. The first, rather aggressive touch caused Harry to gasp aloud. Malfoy looked pleased and wasted no time in getting further acquainted, running his hand up and down the length of it before leaning forward and flicking his tongue at the tip.
Harry's knees buckled, and he pressed his back hard against the shelf, feeling the spines of innumerable books interspersed with the hard lines of the shelf digging into his back in a not entirely unpleasant way. He stared down at Malfoy, swallowing his cock inch by inch, and tried valiantly to suppress the shudder that ran through his entire body. Tiny tremors wracked his shoulders as his mind attempted to process the feel of Malfoy's mouth on him, and his wonderful, brilliant tongue, and the simple image of Malfoy kneeling in front of him, doing that.
His fingers curled, desperate to grab hold of Malfoy and thrust until he couldn't see straight, but somewhere in the back of his mind Harry realized that wouldn't be terribly polite. Instead, he grasped onto the shelves, clutching at books, digging his fingernails into the leather spines and gripping for all he was worth.
Malfoy was really just much too good at this. He held the base of Harry's cock tightly, alternating long slow licks with deep, enveloping sucks that made Harry question whether Malfoy even had a gag reflex. Harry watched, breath coming in pants, as Malfoy systematically wrecked every last bit of Harry's self-control.
Harry tightened his hold on the books, keeping his mouth tightly closed to prevent any wayward screams of pleasure from emerging. He was shaking all over, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this hot, sweat gathering at his temples and the base of his spine. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer.
With a gasp, he came, his hips thrusting forward roughly. He tensed, his fingers flexing and knocking the books to the floor with a muffled clatter.
Malfoy licked his lips, leaned back on his heels and gave Harry a smug grin. "Good?" he asked.
Harry didn't have a sufficient amount of breath to reply, but he figured that was an answer in itself.
Still grinning, Malfoy stood and kicked idly at the open books at his feet. "Anything else you wanted to try?"
Harry raked a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in several directions. "You are the one doing this to me, aren't you?"
Malfoy's grin turned crafty; his voice, admonishing. "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
Well, yes, Harry was going to say, but suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and everything was very bright, and Hermione was looking at him with a very concerned expression.
"Harry," she said. "Are you asleep?"
"Yes," said Harry, wincing against the light.
Hermione frowned. "Very funny. Honestly, Harry, you don't look well. You've been off all day. Do you need to go see Madame Pomfrey?"
"No," he said, sitting up and gathering his books into a pile. "I'm not sick."
Hermione gave him a reproving look. "You should head back to Gryffindor Tower. Get some rest."
"I just did," Harry said, stretching.
"Well then get some more." She gave him her best mothering look. "Go. Go!"
Harry briefly debated whether or not he should bother arguing with her, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. With a sigh and a wave, he headed out.
5. Tied
Harry entered his room quietly, mentally debating over what he was going to do. On one hand, he really had no proof that this was all Malfoy's doing. It could just be that all these years he had been sublimating his lust for Malfoy into seething hatred (or, well, intense dislike), and had just happened to wake up that particular morning realizing it. On the other hand, well, this was all Malfoy's doing, Harry was sure of it.
Disconsolately, he dropped his books onto his night table and sat down on his bed. Maybe a nap would help.
But no! his brain argued. Then you would only dream of Malfoy again! And that is a Bad Thing.
Yes, but, there may be clues, Harry argued back. In the dream. I could learn something.
His brain then offered up a suggestion concerning exactly what Harry could learn, complete with lurid detail involving certain bits of Malfoy's anatomy. Harry frowned and shook his head, deciding to abandon thought for the moment, as his bed looked like soft and comfortable and, oh bugger it, he just wanted to dream of shagging Malfoy again.
With the insanity option looming ever larger, Harry settled onto the bed. Then he closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
Malfoy was straddling him, which was interesting. He was also naked, which was really quite a bit more interesting. They both were, in fact. Also, Harry couldn't move.
"Hello," Malfoy said cheerfully. "Did you miss me?"
Harry blinked. "This is some sort of spell, isn't it? I'm not going crazy, am I?" He couldn't move his arms. That was probably due to the fact that they were tied to the bedposts. His left wrist was tied with a Slytherin tie, his right with a Gryffindor tie. A nice touch, Harry felt.
"Well." Malfoy tapped a finger on his chin, as if thinking very, very deeply. "I could give you an answer, or I could give you a blowjob."
"Couldn't you give me both?" Harry asked pragmatically.
"If you're good."
"I'm always good," Harry said, affronted.
Malfoy smiled. "Yes indeed. The good little Gryffindor, tied up and at the mercy of Slytherin's golden boy. Which would be me."
"That's." Harry shivered. It was terribly difficult to think of a comeback, because Malfoy had started grinding, just so, and it felt so fantastic that it drove any thoughts from his head that didn't equal "yay." He tried anyway. "That's a good point, actually." Which wasn't much of a comeback, but- grinding! Yay!
"I know." Grinning, Malfoy leaned forward and kissed Harry very hard on the lips. Malfoy was pressed against him, heated skin like the best blanket ever, and yes, again with the grinding.
Harry tugged at the bonds uselessly. They were tied just tightly enough to hold him in place, and he knew he wasn't strong enough to break them. Didn't want to, really. The silk felt pleasantly cold surrounding his wrists and it was interesting, this complete loss of control. At Malfoy's mercy indeed. This suddenly didn't seem like such a bad place to be.
Meanwhile, Malfoy was systematically moving down Harry's chest, dropping a kiss here, a bite there, with the occasional long, slow lick, just for variety. Harry stared down at the pale blond head as it moved over his skin, shadowed gold and dark red in the dim light. The bed curtains were closed; they were surrounded by heavy red velvet, the only illumination coming from blurry circles of light that hovered in the corners of the canopy.
"Look at me," Malfoy said, low and husky. Harry complied and, as their eyes locked, Malfoy lowered his mouth over Harry's straining cock.
Harry gasped at the heat of it, the warmth and wetness of Malfoy's wonderful, wonderful mouth engulfing him. Swallowing him whole for just a moment, it seemed, and then Malfoy was pulling away. A whimper escaped Harry's lips, and then that capable mouth was covering his again, and Malfoy's fingers were pressing into him, slick and hot and right there and almost, not quite, what Harry needed.
"Please," Harry said, beyond rational thought. Malfoy placed a kiss on Harry's collarbone and then slowly pushed inside him. Harry gasped, lifting his hips, accepting. Encouraged, Malfoy pressed in further and then, with a strangled, desperate sound, Harry pushed his hips forward, meeting the base of Malfoy's cock and finally, finally feeling Malfoy fully buried inside him.
The lights around them were dissolving, fading and dissipating, drifting downward to rest in the air around them. Malfoy thrust forward, slowly at first and then harder as Harry met his thrusts halfway. Harry threw his head back against the pillow and stared up at Malfoy, haloed in the misty light like the dream that he was, and Harry realized that he really, really didn't care if he ever woke up.
Malfoy's fist was slowly stroking up and down Harry's cock, the pace of his hand speeding up along with his thrusts. Harry bit back a moan and wrapped his legs around Malfoy's waist as best he could, desperate to pull Malfoy closer. Malfoy obliged, his arms around Harry's middle pressing their chests together and making his thrusts as deep as possible, deep enough to make Harry moan, deep enough to make Malfoy bury his face in Harry's neck and hold back a sob. Gasping, Malfoy came, biting at Harry's neck and grinding down against Harry's cock almost roughly enough to make Harry come with him.
Malfoy trembled against Harry's body, exhausted and sated. With a whimper, Harry pushed his hips up, needing so much to come at that very minute and near tears because there just wasn't enough friction... but then, oh, there was Malfoy's mouth, lovely thing that it was, and the sheer heat of it pulled the climax from Harry quite efficiently. His entire body, which had been drawn tight with tension, suddenly relaxed to such a degree that Harry hoped he wasn't actually melting. That might be embarrassing.
Harry tugged at the ties that bound his wrists; comfort was becoming an issue. Malfoy watched him, eyebrow raised, until he finally sighed and untied Harry, who promptly curled himself around Malfoy and shut his eyes.
"Didn't you want answers?" Malfoy asked, amused.
"Mmm," said Harry sleepily. Answers could wait.
6. Answers
"Well, I think there's something wrong with him. He could be sick!"
"He's not sick. There's just something on his mind."
"And he hasn't told you what?"
"He will."
"What if he doesn't?"
"He will, all right? Even if I have to hold him at wandpoint and force him to."
"That's a bit much, Ron."
"It is n... hey! He's waking up!"
Harry opened his eyes and squinted at his surroundings. Bed. Still daylight. Surreptitiously, he glanced to his left. No Malfoy beside him in bed. He felt a brief flare of disappointment. Though, he supposed, it would have been a bit awkward to explain a naked Malfoy to Ron and Hermione, who were standing by his bed looking at him with identical concerned expressions. "Yes?" he hazarded.
"We were worried about you," Hermione said, sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Why?" Harry asked, reaching for his glasses.
"You've been preoccupied all day," Ron explained.
"And you looked ill," Hermione piped up.
"I have not," Harry said to Ron, and then turned to Hermione. "And also, thanks."
Hermione frowned. "Well, you do. And as your friends, it's our job to badger you ceaselessly until you tell us what's wrong with you."
"I keep trying to sleep, and people keep preventing me from doing so," Harry snarked.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Fine. You want to play it that way? I'll let Ron do the questioning then."
Ron grinned and Harry felt immediately, and not entirely irrationally, scared.
"You've been distracted all day. You constantly want to sleep. There's something going on. Do you want me to guess what?" Ron asked.
"No," said Harry.
"I think you're in need of shag," Ron said matter-of-factly.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.
"Ron!" Harry shrieked, though in a somewhat less shrill tone, thankfully. "You're not my type, thanks."
Ron rolled his eyes. "I wasn't offering, you git. I was just stating a fact. You've obviously been thinking about someone all day. You're constantly trying to sleep. There must be someone you want to dream about."
"Either that, or you're under some sort of spell," Hermione said thoughtfully.
Harry's head snapped up. "Spell? What?"
"It's not out of the question." Hermione shrugged. "I've been reading ahead in our Defense Against the Dark Arts text. Chapters thirty-six through forty-two are all about love spells. There's this one hex that causes the victim to think of nothing but the spell-caster, and it has about a hundred less serious variations. So who do you have your eye on then, Harry?"
Harry was busy staring at his sheets, and thinking of the many creative ways in which he could hurt Malfoy for using a hex to get into his pants. Sort of. He looked at Hermione. "How would I end the spell?"
She looked concerned. "You wouldn't. Only the person that cast the spell is able to end it. Harry, is there something you need to tell us? Is somebody doing this to you?" An expression of alarm crossed her face. "Is it You Know Who?"
"Hermione," Ron interjected. "Ew."
"Well, yes." Hermione shrugged and turned back to Harry. "Harry, this is serious. If someone has hexed you, you need to report it to Dumbledore. Are you sure this is what's really going on?"
"Positive," Harry said, growing more and more outraged. A love hex! How much more tacky could Malfoy get? Actually, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He flung the sheets off of him and commenced with straightening his clothes and getting his shoes back on.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked nervously. "You're not going to do something foolish like try and handle this yourself, are you? Please say you're not."
"I'm not," Harry said, standing and heading for the door.
"Then what are you doing?" Ron demanded.
"I'm going to go and handle this myself, and you're not going to stop me," said Harry obstinately. He reached the hallway, Ron and Hermione at his heels.
"This is a bad idea," said Ron.
"Probably," Harry tossed back.
"You could get hurt!" Hermione said desperately.
"Doubtful," said Harry. He reached the common room and strode for the exit. "Look, I can handle this myself, okay? Trust me."
Hermione wrung her hands. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." With a nod, Harry stepped out of the portrait hole.
"Hey, Harry?" Ron asked. "Who is it, then?"
"Draco Malfoy," Harry said shortly, and closed the opening, and disappeared from sight.
7. Convinced
It wasn't until Harry had rounded the corner that he realized he hadn't the first clue about what exactly he was going to do. He had vague thoughts of finding Malfoy (alone, preferably) and maybe pushing him around a bit, doing some yelling and accusing, and then- eell, that was where the plan fell apart. He was quite sure that it was the spell making him think this, but he didn't actually want the dreams to stop. He kind of liked them. Which, he justified to himself, was completely normal, because he was a teenage boy, after all, and Malfoy wasn't exactly hard to look at. He was even kind of pretty.
Harry cringed. That last thought was definitely the spell. Pretty. Honestly.
Still, the problem remained unsolved. Harry slowed his determined step into a more leisurely stroll. Let Malfoy find him, then. And if Malfoy didn't happen to turn up, well, whose fault was that? Not Harry's, certainly. He would just have to go back to his room. Maybe take another nap.
Absently, he rubbed his wrists, wondering if the whole bondage thing was Malfoy's doing or a product of his own subconscious. He frowned. Maybe he could go back to the library. The library had been interesting.
He rounded a corner, and the problem solved itself. Malfoy was striding toward him, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Potter," Malfoy said, looking pleased. "Not looking for me, are you?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly couldn't find the words.
Malfoy's grin widened, and he motioned imperiously at Crabbe and Goyle. "Go away, you two," he commanded.
"But-" Crabbe started, then stopped at Malfoy's glare. Crabbe shrugged at Goyle and the two of them turned around and headed back down the hallway.
"Well?" Malfoy folded his arms.
A few first year Hufflepuffs passed them, looking nervously at Malfoy, who glared and reached for his wand. The Hufflepuffs squeaked and scurried away.
"Can we go somewhere more private?" Harry said quietly.
Malfoy shrugged. "Fine." He started walking away, not bothering to check if Harry was following.
Harry was reminded quite forcibly of exactly why he hated Malfoy, and why this was such a stunningly bad idea. Then Malfoy was leading him into a dark corridor and charming open a door:
"You're looking quite lovely today," he addressed the door, teasingly caressing the knob. "Could we perhaps come in?" The door emitted what sounded suspiciously like a giggle and unlocked itself.
Malfoy led Harry inside.
Once inside the room, Malfoy turned to Harry with what Harry suspected may have been a flourish, and arched an eyebrow.
Harry glanced around the room, buying some time while he searched for something to say that wouldn't sound completely stupid. Nothing was coming to mind.
Malfoy leaned carelessly against the wall, right beneath the only window in the room. His arms were crossed again, and Harry thought venomously that Malfoy was so obviously posing. Not that it wasn't effective.
"Can we maybe get some light in here?" asked Harry, stalling.
"Afraid of the dark, are you, Potter?"
No, just afraid of the things that lurk in the dark, Harry thought. Like say, you. "No," Harry said feebly.
"I'm sure." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You know, as far as confrontations go, this is lacking a certain something. See, first you accuse me. Then I coolly pretend to have no idea what you're talking about, because really, I enjoy watching you squirm. You get progressively angrier, I get more and more amused, you get in my face, threaten to hurt me - which you won't - and I take advantage of your anger and passion by kissing you senseless, which is really what you came for all along." "
Although," Malfoy continued reflectively. "You certainly won't admit that to yourself, because you're in denial."
"I am not," Harry said, cheeks flushed red from irritation and embarrassment.
"You're not in denial?" Malfoy asked, interested. "Do you want to skip straight to the kissing, then?"
"I. What? No!" Harry spluttered. "Malfoy. You put a hex on me!"
"Hex? I did no such thing." Malfoy smirked. "Okay, you got me. I did. And it was fun."
"Fun? You've been messing with my mind! Making me think things! Dirty things."
Malfoy looked excessively pleased.
"Do you realize I will never again be able to properly concentrate in the library? And in Potions! Making me think I wanted you to strip for me!"
"I didn't make you think that," Malfoy said, confused, then, with a dawning expression of amusement, "Potter! You're having dirty thoughts about me all on your own!"
"I am not!" Harry shrieked, then glanced nervously around the room and lowered his voice. "Tell me why I shouldn't hurt you."
"Because it's not in your Gryffindor nature," Malfoy explained. "Also, you don't really want to hurt me."
"No?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.
"No," Malfoy confirmed. "I'm too good looking."
Harry had to grudgingly admit that was true, though you couldn't pay him a million galleons to get him to say it out loud. He frowned. "Malfoy, let me explain something to you. We're enemies. We hate each other. And there's an unwritten rule in the enemy code of conduct that states that you are not allowed to hex your enemies with lust spells! It just isn't done! Insult me! Berate me! Mock my parentage! But don't make me lust for you, that's just not fair!"
"So, you admit you lust for me!" Malfoy said triumphantly.
"Argh," Harry said succinctly. He tried again. "What do you expect me to do here, Malfoy? Forget everything that's happened in the last five years? Entirely ignore the fact that your father wants me dead? And also, that you hate me and I hate you and that's the way things are?"
"It doesn't have to be," Malfoy said. "And even if it is, think of the shagging, Potter."
Harry thought of the shagging. He could see Malfoy's point. The shagging was nice. "Why are you doing this?" he asked tiredly.
"It seemed like the best way to convince you. Also, as I mentioned earlier, it was fun." Slowly, Malfoy approached him. "Come on, Potter, take a chance. You already know how good it can be."
"This is a very bad idea," Harry stated just for the record and then leaned forward, pulled Malfoy closer, and kissed him.
Malfoy made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but kissed Harry back. It was different, actually kissing Malfoy, not like dream Malfoy at all. It was intensely real, like the difference between seeing a picture of a place and actually being there, and Harry felt surrounded by Malfoy, and cold in the drafty room, and oh, Malfoy's tongue was so terribly clever, even more so than he'd thought.
The wooden door pressed hard against Harry's back, almost enough to hurt, just enough to make Harry squirm and push forward against Malfoy's unyielding body. Malfoy pulled back and grinned slightly, then pointed his wand at the corner of the room and muttered something Harry couldn't make out. A bed sprang up where Malfoy had pointed, a bit small and not in the best of shape, but a bed nonetheless.
"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "A bed."
"What, Potter, did you expect me to shag you up against the wall?" Malfoy said in an amused voice. At Harry's telling silence, Malfoy's voice turned delighted. "You did, didn't you? How fantastically dirty of you. I'm impressed."
Harry resisted the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at Malfoy, and instead pushed him toward the bed. They tumbled down onto it, kicking off shoes and tugging at clothes as they went.
"Did you want that striptease now, Potter?" Malfoy asked, grinning.
"Shut up," Harry muttered, and went for Malfoy's shirt, fumbling at the buttons for a moment before getting annoyed and simply pulling it off over Malfoy's head. They reached for each other's trousers, pulling them down and hastily kicking them off. In moments, they were naked and clinging to each other, trying to get in as much skin to skin contact as possible. Harry arched his back as Malfoy sucked on Harry's neck, their hips pushing together in clumsy, heartfelt thrusts.
Harry rather hoped that Malfoy wasn't expecting too much, because he was dangerously close to climax already, and they'd only been at this for a few minutes. That didn't seem to be much of a problem for Malfoy, though, as their legs tangled and cocks slid against each other in a frantic rhythm. "Malfoy," Harry gasped, bucking his hips.
"Call. Me. Draco," Malfoy gasped, punctuating each word with a bite at Harry's neck. He rolled his hips against Harry's, and it was all too much, the biting and the friction and-
"Draco," Harry called out and came with one last hard thrust, and then Draco was sighing Harry's name and coming with him, and it was very, very good. Harry lay still for a moment, hands running over Draco's back. That was definitely better than dreaming, he decided. Yes, definitely better.
Draco rolled away from him with a sated sigh. Together, they stared blankly up at the ceiling.
"So what do we do now?" Harry asked, finally.
"Well. I suppose we could have sex again. Except," he checked his watch, "we might miss dinner."
"No, no. I mean, now as in," Harry waved his arm expansively, which wasn't very impressive, since he was too tired to move very much, "the future. Are we going to be doing this on a regular basis? Do we tell people? Do we hold hands in the hallways?"
Draco frowned. "Wouldn't you rather just shag for awhile and then answer the big important questions only when we absolutely can't avoid them anymore?"
Harry thought about that. It sounded good to him. "Yeah, okay. We can do that."
"Excellent." Draco kissed him quickly on the lips, cleaned himself and Harry off with a quick cleaning charm, and started getting dressed. "Because I'm rather hungry at the moment."
Harry sighed and reached for his clothes. "I'm going to have to explain this to Ron and Hermione."
Draco laughed. Then he looked at Harry, saw that he was serious, and laughed some more.
"This isn't funny," Harry said, narrowing his eyes.
"No, no, it is," Draco assured him. "It really, really is."
"I hate you," Harry sulked.
"I know you do," said Draco, grinning. He leaned forward and gave Harry another quick kiss. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Right."
It was only when the door clicked shut behind Draco that Harry allowed himself to grin back.
8. Telling
Harry tried his best to sneak into his room. He made it fairly easily through the mostly-deserted common room, and he thought he was home free right up until he opened his door to find Ron and Hermione staring at him.
Ron spoke first. "Well? Did you find him?" he asked excitedly.
"Yes," said Harry.
"And was it him?"
"It was."
"So did you beat him to death?" Ron asked eagerly.
"Not to death, no."
Hermione looked curious. Then she looked Harry and up and down and her expression turned to one of intense suspicion.
Ron frowned. "You fought, though, right? You have a bruise on your neck. How'd you get a...bruise." A dawning expression of horror crossed his face. "A bruise. On your neck. Harry." Hopeful look. "Tell me I'm jumping to the world's wrongest conclusion."
Harry bit his lip.
"Harry, are you shagging Malfoy?" Hermione asked neutrally.
"Not at the moment," Harry hedged.
Ron opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but no sound came out.
"Harry, I think you're making a big mistake," Hermione said, breaking out the lecture voice.
"Probably," Harry acknowledged.
"And I think you're being an idiot, but I trust you."
"Really?"
"Well, no, but if you want to be Malfoy's boyfriend, then we won't stand in your way."
"We will so-" Ron interjected.
"No, we won't," Hermione said, pinching Ron's side in an entirely unsubtle manner.
"Thank you," Harry said, relieved.
Hermione smiled. "I reserve the right to say I told you so when it ends horribly," she said.
"Yes, you do."
"As long as we've got that established." She pulled Ron to the door. "We'll meet you at dinner, okay, Harry?"
"Okay." Harry sat down on his bed, relieved and grateful to have Hermione on his side, at least. Then he sprawled onto his back, stared at the canopy and wondered when he could see Draco again.