TITLE: The Hunger

The Hunger
by Firestorm17

The morning sunlight shining straight into his half-closed eyes, Draco Malfoy pulled the covers up over his face and burrowed deeper into the comfort of the bed. As soon as he got up, he was going to have whoever had the brilliant idea of putting a window into his bedroom sacked. It just didn't need to be this bright where people were trying to get some sleep.

As his higher mental functions slowly started to come back to life, it occurred to Draco that neither the dormitories in the Slytherin dungeons nor his private rooms at Malfoy Manor had an eastern exposure. The accompanying realization didn't particularly shock him. Of course, it was far from the first time that the blond had spent the night away from the comforts of his own bed. Draco couldn't even begin to count the number of times that he'd woken up with backache from falling asleep on the floor of the astronomy tower. However, Draco had never spent the whole night in the tower as the sunlight seemed to indicate he had done wherever the fuck he currently was. The stones in the floor there tended to wake him up long before sunrise. As puzzling as his current situation was, there was a great deal to be said for making it to an actual bed.

With little else to do, Malfoy began to take mental inventory of his surroundings. If nothing else, it might help him figure out where he was since his memory was being so uncooperative. Without having to leave the comfort and warmth of the bed, he could tell that he was in the sort of four-poster Hogwarts had for the students, the accompanying curtains in a frankly worrying red and gold. Through the lingering haze in his brain, something was telling Draco that seeing those colors ought to be enough to send him screaming from the room, but his body vehemently protested the idea of getting out of this nice warm bed to run naked through a draughty castle. Pushing aside the nagging suspicion, Draco snuggled farther into the cushioning mattress. Sensual creature that he was, Malfoy couldn't help but appreciate how soft the sheets felt against his skin, barring the odd tackiness beneath him. He envied the unknown owner his warming charm, as well. Though many such spells tried to mimic the heat of another person in the bed, the Slytherin had never seen one that reproduced the sensation so accurately before. He could practically feel the warm, live flesh pressed up against his back.

As Draco lay there enjoying the amenities, the mass against his back stirred, and an arm slid over his side, coming to rest wrapped across his abdomen. Considering the appendage, the blond quickly revised his conclusions since other than the one that used to be in his mum and dad's guestroom beds tended to not have disembodied limbs in them. Either the owner of the bed had extremely strange taste, or said owner was still in the bed with Draco.

The shift in position had pressed the length of the other's body tighter to Malfoy's back, and something rather interesting was beginning to firm up against his bum. At least, Draco seemed to have found it endlessly interesting the night before, judging from the faint tingling of a healing spell at work up his backside. Cross as he was with himself over not noticing the sensation earlier, the blond was nonetheless cheered by this evidence that he'd been thinking clearly enough to make sure that he'd be able to sit down the morning after. Surely he couldn't have done anything too idiotic. Of course, Draco would have been a great deal more reassured if he had the slightest idea who and what he had been doing for the last twelve hours. Not to mention the fact that the forces of the universe hated to be called Shirley.

The solid form pressed against Malfoy didn't feel like a horrible mistake, though. Physically if nothing else, whomever he was sharing a bed with seemed to be just his type. Lean muscles made themselves felt along Draco's back, and the figure they brought to mind closely resembled his own, which more than suited his desires. Once again, the young wizard probed the space where last night's memory ought to be, this time with more prurient motives. It just wasn't fair for him to know that he'd shagged that gorgeous body last night and not remember a second of it.

Eyeing the arm draped across him, the blond noted to his great relief its evenly tanned skin. He'd been half dreading the possibility of seeing an armful of freckles, which would probably have had him streaking horrified through the corridors cold notwithstanding and then being thoroughly sick. Freckling wasn't exactly uncommon in the wizarding world, but only one family was gauche enough not to potion the unsightly things away. Pushing away a number of unwelcome mental pictures, Malfoy eased the lingering worry by reminding himself that if he'd really let a Weasley have him, he'd know about it by now. Self-healing charms could only do so much, and from what was going around school about the Weasley family jewels they weren't built to be put up anything vaguely human. Suppressing a shudder, the Slytherin started at the sensation of fingertips sliding down past his navel.

As he'd considered it, the arm had shifted, coming maddeningly close to parts of Draco that were starting to take a definite interest in the proximity. Behind him, the blond could feel the other's hips start to move against him, each leisurely thrust making something long and very hard brush up against the tender opening to Malfoy's arse. The rhythmic pressure at his anus stiffened Draco's already- hard prick, making his insides ache for release. It would be ridiculously easy for him to take over and put an end to this tease. All the Slytherin would have to do was push back hard on one of the forward thrusts, and that nice, thick cock would be buried deep inside him, fucking him properly. Draco practically itched for sex, and he couldn't think of any reason not to try for a repeat of last night's apparently satisfying shag. Maybe this time, he'd even remember it afterwards.

As Malfoy prepared to impale himself, a sudden desire struck him. There was more than one way for him to get what he wanted, and once Draco had pictured the shameless tease in bed with him writhing on the end of his cock, the image stuck in his head. Malfoy could just imagine the gorgeous arse that went with the lean body behind him: the sort of hot, tight, sexy bum that made his mouth water, among other parts. Draco's prick swelled almost painfully at the thought of that arse tightening around it, making the Slytherin's decision for him. Edging forward to give himself room, Draco twisted under the other's arm. As the blond rolled, his right hand reached over to
take hold of his companion's hard, dripping cock, and his left knee insinuated itself between strong thighs.

As Malfoy's hand closed on its prize, a set of green eyes popped open in shock, drawing Draco's own eyes upward for their first look at his de facto lover's face. As the Slytherin stared in growing horror at a certain lightning bolt scar, several appalling thoughts smashed into his consciousness at once. Harry Potter was in bed with him. Harry Potter was *naked* in bed with him. Draco was holding Harry Potter's very hard cock in his hand. Draco had been about to shag the living daylights out of Harry Potter. And then, just before the shock lifted, one last realization solidified in Malfoy's brain: unless he was badly mistaken, last night he'd been buggered senseless by Harry Fucking Potter.

At that disturbing thought, Draco jerked away from the other boy as if the contact burned him, managing to get as far from Harry as possible without falling out of bed.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?"

Green eyes narrowed, glaring at him in a manner that definitely should not have been redirecting Draco's blood the way it was.

"Me? This is *my* bed, Malfoy. What do you think you're doing here?"

Pulling his admittedly filthy mind away from several likely answers to that question, Draco sneered at the indignant Gryffindor, incidentally giving himself a good look at the obscenely shaggable arse he hadn't needed to know Potter had.

"Good question, Scar-head. Since we're both naked in your bed, I'd have to say 'playing Exploding Snap.' Are you naturally this stupid, Potter, or do you have to work at it?"

To Malfoy's great annoyance, the familiar pattern of trading insults with the Gryffindor wasn't working to relieve the considerable tension as well as expected. In fact, if Draco wasn't sure that it was anatomically impossible, he would have sworn that arguing with Potter was making him even harder than before. It didn't help that Potter was talking at him again, in a tone that would probably make reading the Floo Directory sexy.

"Very funny. What I meant to ask, you overgrown ferret, was if you knew how you ended up in here with me. Because everybody knows you show up in my bed so often."

The Slytherin boy nearly found himself agreeing with that last sentence before he realized it was meant sarcastically. Somehow, talking to Harry Potter was a great deal more difficult when Draco could practically still feel the other wizard inside him. As pleasant as some of the less intelligent parts of him thought it would be, Malfoy was not a regular visitor to Gryffindor Tower, much less the Boy-Who-Lived's bedroom. Unfortunately, it seemed that Potter was going to be less than helpful in figuring out what beyond the obvious had happened last night.

"You should be so lucky, Potter."

Without a better place to start, Draco began running through his own memories, such as they were. Everything was clear enough up until halfway through last night's Halloween feast. After that, things just grew fuzzier and fuzzier until finally there was only a blank space that stretched from around eleven the night before to waking up with the Gryffindor Golden Boy against his back. If there was a worse time to have a memory blackout, Malfoy really didn't want to know what it was.

Off the top of his head, Draco could think of at least eight potions that could have wiped out the last nine hours from his brain. Unfortunately for him, most of them would have addled Malfoy to the point that he would have cheerfully spread his legs for anyone who showed the slightest interest. Merlin, he hoped he hadn't done that. Letting Harry Potter fuck him was one thing, but if it turned out that Draco had spent the night as the Gryffindor bike, his life was over. Of course, the mere fact that having had sex with the Boy Who Would Not Fucking Die was currently his good option didn't say much for his prospects either.

He'd have thought Potter would be too disgustingly noble to take advantage of someone as far out of it as Draco would have to have been to hold still long enough. Then again, Malfoy hadn't been aware that hexing someone for telling the truth was in the Gryffindork playbook either until fourth year. For all the Slytherin knew, Potter had dosed him with whatever it was personally. Draco bristled at the affront, firmly stopping himself from doing anything as humiliatingly girly as clutching the sheets to his chest like some sort of ravished virgin. The last thing he needed at the moment was to show any more weakness in front of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck did you give me?"

The Gryffindor had the cheek to roll his eyes at Malfoy as if he was out of his mind and then peer exaggeratedly at his own cock. To his great annoyance, the blond couldn't help but look down at it as well. Catching himself checking out the Prick That Lived did absolutely nothing to improve Draco's mood.

"You actually want to talk about that?"

Completely livid, the Slytherin tore his eyes away from the other boy's groin and seized him by the shoulders.

"This isn't funny, you filthy pervert. I know you drugged me so you could drag me back here and bugger me, and you are going to tell me what you gave me, right n-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off when Potter clapped his hand over Draco's mouth.

"Keep it down. Do you want everyone to know you're in here?"

Malfoy stilled in the middle of trying to bite the offending palm. Being caught naked in Harry Potter's bed by the rest of Gryffindor House was one of the few things that would make his day even worse.

"I have no idea why you'd think that I'd be after your scrawny arse in the first place. But even if I was, everyone knows that I'm barely passing Potions in the first place. *Somebody* announced my marks to the whole school. Anything I tried to dose you with would probably just make you sick or something."

Pushing the restraining arm away, Draco mentally kicked himself for forgetting about Potter's complete lack of Potions skills. He had to have been very rattled not to remember that the other boy couldn't successfully brew tea without help from Granger.

"What about the Mudblood? She hates me just as much as you do."

Potter rolled his eyes.

"If I'd asked Hermione for an illegal potion to help me get under your robes, we wouldn't be here having this conversation. I'd be locked in the mental ward of St. Mungo's."

Malfoy couldn't argue with that. Merlin knew his friends would have him committed if he expressed an interest in shagging Potter. Without waiting for a response, the Gryffindor continued.

"I do, however, remember drinking two or three cups of that orange and black striped punch last night and not much after that."

The Slytherin stifled a groan. His own last clear memory was of his fifth or sixth cup of that severely spiked punch. It was looking more and more likely that they'd both just gotten wasted and done something monumentally stupid. If that was the case, he was never drinking again. Draco couldn't afford to regularly show up in the Gryffindor dorms with no clothes and worse yet no wand.

"Accio wand!"

Potter automatically slipped into a defensive pose as the wand slapped into Malfoy's hand, as if he expected Draco to cast Avada Kedavra right then and there.

"Calm down, Potter. If I was going to kill you, you'd be dead already. Some of us just have better sense than to go around without it."

The Gryffindor scowled at Draco and summoned his own wand, looking for all the world like he was about to participate in the world's first nude wizard's duel. The effect was spoiled when Harry suddenly grimaced and squirmed uncomfortably. Apparently, Draco wasn't the only one whose arse had been thoroughly screwed last night. In the abstract, the realization was somewhat reassuring in that he hadn't let Potter do anything to him that he hadn't done back. It was amazing how easily the logic he usually applied to their fights translated to this sort of situation. In the concrete, however, the Boy Who Lived (TM) walking like he'd been riding his broom lengthwise would not reflect well on either of them if it got out just where Draco had spent the night. He raised his wand and pointed it at Potter. Potter startled and raised his own to meet it.

"What the fuck are you-"

Not being stupid or suicidal enough to get into a fight with the Git Who Lived while naked in said git's bed, Draco put up his hands in a poor imitation of surrender.

"I didn't know you wanted all your little Gryffindork friends to know you let me fuck you in the arse. Or are they too stupid to figure out why you can't sit down?"

Potter blushed, and then rapidly paled. Malfoy couldn't help but notice how well the shift in coloring set off the other boy's mouth. The blond prick chose that moment to remind him that it had yet to find the good sense to go down.

"What's the spell then? Because there's no way I'm letting you use that thing on me."

Resisting the impulse to jump all over that kind of setup had never been one of Draco's strong points.

"It's a bit late for you to be scared of my *wand*, Potter."

The Gryffindor continued to glare at him but lowered his wand anyway.

"Whatever, Malfoy. I'm all yours."

Despite the flat tone that statement was delivered in, Malfoy's body reacted like it was about to do something more interesting to Potter's bum than patch it up. With as much cool Slytherin dignity
as he could manage with a hard-on he could use as a Beater bat, Draco once again raised his wand to the other boy.

"Integro podex."

Potter yelped as the spell went to work on his arse, wriggling that part of him in the most distracting fashion. The Slytherin deliberately turned his attention from the display and applied
himself to searching for his clothes. Draco's robes were nowhere in sight, which could not be a good sign. Either his clothing, complete with "Property of Draco Malfoy" nametapes, was strewn about the Gryffindor dorms, or he'd already been bollocks naked upon arrival. Both options would make it that much easier for someone to find out he'd been in here. Ironically enough, having paraded nude through Hogwarts would be the better deal, provided no one had seen him come up here. If his clothes were on the floor of Potter's dorm room, it was too late to do anything about that, and Draco was screwed. However, if he'd left his robes somewhere else, such as the middle of the Great Hall or the top branches of the Whomping Willow, his reputation was salvageable with the main problem being how to get a naked Slytherin out of Gryffindor territory without being seen.

"Are your roommates going anywhere this morning?"

Potter shrugged.

"Probably. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, after all."

Finally something was going Draco's way.

"Good. Once they're gone, I'm getting out of here."

There wasn't anything to say after that. Lying as still as he could, Malfoy listened to the Gryffindors moving around them and tried unsuccessfully to avoid staring at Harry's bits. By the time the noises outside quieted, Draco was actively fighting off and insane urge to lick Potter's bits and wondering if that was another thing he'd done last night. As soon as he was sure that the coast was clear, the Slytherin pushed off the bed and opened the curtains. And then he froze at the sight of Potter's roommates clustered around the bed staring at him as if Fwoopers were flying out of his bum.

"Fuck."

Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed.

* * * * * * *

For the first History of Magic class since Binns had become a teacher no one was sleeping in class. They were all staring at Draco Malfoy and in some cases pointing and whispering. For his part, Draco was pretending to pay close attention to what Binns was saying about some goblin rebellion or other. The ghost teacher at least showed no interest whatsoever in the sex life of anyone more recent than Uric the Oddball. History of Magic was quickly becoming Draco's second favorite class on the ground that the teacher didn't look at him like he was growing a second head.

His newfound appreciation of the course did not extend to actually listening to the mind-numbingly dull lecture. Draco's valuable time was better spent looking for his missing memory. It had to be
somewhere. Barring memory charms, his memories never really disappeared; they just got misplaced. He was working from the assumption that any of his thoughts involving Potter naked had to come from Friday night's escapades because he definitely didn't know any other way images like that could have gotten into his head. Draco had spent the last hour of class thinking about Potter's naked body and what he might have done with it, and for reasons he was not about to analyze, it was making him hard as a rock.

Cupping himself distractedly through his robes, Malfoy returned to where he'd left off in his recollections. He'd been making some real progress. He was almost sure he remembered how Potter had spread apart his arsecheeks and wriggled that little pink tongue against Draco's hole. After a few minutes of focusing on that image, the blond noticed that it was slowly starting to change so that Potter's tongue dipped deeper into him each time until the Gryffindor Golden
Boy was eating Draco out with relish. It seemed that Potter was a great deal less vanilla than he'd suspected. Malfoy hadn't thought that the irritatingly wholesome Boy Who Lived knew what rimming was, let alone how to do it that well. Not that Draco had been thinking about Potter having sex or having sex with Potter before he'd actually done it.

Putting that train of thought out of his head, Malfoy concentrated on how it must have felt to have that hot, flexible tongue fucking his tight hole. His face turning hot, Draco hoped that nobody had heard all the screaming and moaning and begging he had no doubt been doing that night. His image of Potter had just replaced that wicked tongue with a pair of long fingers that teased his insides mercilessly. It was all Draco could do not to give the entire class a free show. His hips had already started to move against the hand he had pressed to the front of his robes. He could practically feel it when his virtual Potter stopped toying with him and just pushed right in.

Malfoy was sure that he had cried out at the imagined penetration, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His world had narrowed to the image of Harry fucking him raw and his own painfully hard cock. The edge of his desk was cutting off circulation to Draco's arm as his hand worked at the bulge under his robe. His eyes squeezed closed as the orgasm ripped through him, shutting down his brain.

When Draco came back to himself, he was a disheveled mess. His underwear was soaked through and sticking to his skin in an extremely uncomfortable way. Everyone was still staring at him, and most of the boys and even some of the girls were starting to fan themselves. Malfoy swept the classroom with an affronted glare and went back to his note-taking one-handed.

* * * * * * *

As hard as it was for even him to believe, Draco was having a miserable time in Potions class. For reasons known only to Snape, he'd been partnered with Blaise Zabini who was easily the biggest slut in Slytherin. Granted, Blaise wasn't staring at him with the same mixture of horror and admiration as most of his housemates. Of course, after the incident with Seamus Finnegan, the chocolate syrup and the Fizzing Whizbees, Zabini was hardly in a position to poke fun at Draco's little indiscretions. The problem lay in the opposite direction.

"So how was he?"

Draco glared at his classmate.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Unfortunately, Blaise was not that easily dissuaded.

"Come off it, Draco. You fucked *the* Harry Potter, and you're not going to tell me about it?"

Malfoy tried to focus on chopping up dandelion roots without chopping his fingers as well.

"Bite me, Zabini."

Ignoring his lab partner, the blond turned to smirk at his least favorite Weasel, who was currently shooting him a look that probably translated as "fuck off and die, you scum-sucking son of a bitch." At least somebody hated this whole bloody mess more than Draco did. Poor Weasel hadn't even gotten laid out of the deal. Even if he couldn't remember it properly, the Slytherin at least had that.

Draco had tried to recall what had happened at least seven times since Monday's History of Magic. His pants had been a total loss, and he hadn't gotten quite the same results twice. At first, Malfoy had thought that meant that he and Potter had done the deed several times, but after the fourth iteration, he'd realized that if such were the case certain of his valued bits would have required a trip to the hospital wing in the morning. Knowing his own body, Draco was sure that he'd only fucked and been fucked by Potter once each. If he concentrated on trying to remember, he thought he could recall some of the details of what they'd done. Most of the specifics, however, were frustratingly out of reach. Maybe trying one more time would make the memories gel in his head. Not remembering what seemed to have been good sex annoyed the fuck out of him.

Starting to mix his deflating draught on autopilot, Draco called up a variation on his favorite. That scenario started out with Potter's little pink tongue stroking over the head of his half-hard cock. The Harry in his thoughts continued to lick him across the glans as Draco swelled to full mast, both in his own mind and in reality. Once Malfoy was completely hard, his imagined Potter's mouth sucked him in, the hot, little tongue slipping under his foreskin. Draco reminded himself over and over that he was not going to toss off in front of his Head of House over getting head from Potter. The explanations alone would be murder. The fact that he probably had potion residue that should not be spread over his more vulnerable parts on his hands helped keep them above his waist.

An imaginary throat opened around Draco's length, and he could just picture that dark head going down into his own blond pubes. The image of the mouth slid up and down his prick once and then again before releasing him. The blond forcibly stopped himself from publicly whimpering at the loss of contact. The Potter in his head didn't waste time making up for it, though. The little slut already has two fingers up his own arse, opening himself for what came next. With the utmost efficiency, the image removed the fingers, straddled Draco's hips and sat down on his prick.

Malfoy nearly bit his tongue through trying to keep quiet. He had no doubts that when Potter had done that to him in reality Draco had screamed like he was under the Cruciatus curse with just as much of an audience, but in Potions class screaming tended to draw a lot more attention. That was especially true if the person doing the screaming happened to be one cauldron away from Longbottom.

Imaginary Potter ground his arse into Draco's balls and twisted on his cock, moaning desperately. Malfoy's underwear was simultaneously painfully tight and not quite tight enough on his swollen prick. He had started rolling his hips without really noticing, fucking the constricting cloth of his underwear as his mental version of Potter fucked himself on Draco's cock. His hands shook as he worked, itching to slip under his robes. Malfoy was sure that if he didn't come soon he was going to burst. In his head, his enemy turned fantasy rode him harder and faster, pushing them both toward a much- needed orgasm.

It took Draco a few minutes to realize that the warm fluid splattering over him was not a figment of his imagination. The fact that he was being physically dragged away from his cauldron by a
swearing Snape helped him reach the conclusion that whatever it was did not belong on his face. Noticing the sudden frustrating limpness in his y-fronts, Malfoy abruptly remembered the deflating draught he'd been brewing. At least now he knew that his potion had worked. It had definitely deflated him.

"Rinse your face, Mr. Malfoy. I will deal with you after class."

Draco hastened to obey his teacher's instruction, knowing better than to second-guess Snape over potions. When he could finally open his eyes without risk of getting potion in them, he carefully checked the damage to his reputation with the class. His bodyguards both looked blankly puzzled: no change there. Weasley's "die, ferret, die" glare was unchanged as well. Longbottom just looked surprised that someone else had blown up a cauldron. That mudblood Granger, however, was wearing that smugly superior expression that made him want to turn her into something disgusting or rather more disgusting. Potter, on the other hand, was blatantly eyeing Draco as if he could see
straight through the blond's robes. Malfoy's prick tried its hardest to stand up and wave hello, but the deflating draught in his system was too strong for it. Turning to check the other side of the room, Draco found himself face to face with a smirking Blaise Zabini.

"That good, then?"

It was only the threat of getting lectured over the importance of Slytherin solidarity as well as the consequences of shagging Gryffindors that stopped him from strangling his housemate. Thank
Merlin class was almost over. The blond Slytherin started quietly edging toward the door.

"Class dismissed. Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco instantly froze, swearing under his breath. Exploding cauldrons tended to annoy Snape quite badly under the best of circumstances, which these definitely weren't. The young wizard hated disappointing his professor, which the situation with Potter would certainly accomplish. The older man had practically been a father to him ever since Lucius Malfoy had been arrested, and Draco valued his opinions far more than the original's. For a few minutes, he watched Snape work on the antidote to his exploded potion, dreading the inevitable dressing down. It was nearly a relief when the professor began to speak.

"Tell me something, Mr. Malfoy. Were your antics in my classroom today somehow connected to our resident celebrity?"

There was little point in lying then since he knew his Head of House was neither blind nor stupid.

"Yes, sir."

Professor Snape began to look vaguely ill.

"Then the rumors concerning Mr. Potter and yourself are in fact true?"

Draco took a moment to consider everything they'd been saying about him since Friday. He was reasonably sure that he and Potter hadn't had sex on any of the teacher's desks or done it airborne over the Quidditch pitch or, Merlin forbid, had a three-way with the Weasel.

"Not all of them, but I did wake up naked in bed with him Saturday."

This time, Snape turned a distinctively Slytherin green before shaking off what had to be a severely disturbing mental picture.

"Your bedroom activities, with or without Mr. Potter, are none of my concern, thank Merlin. However, as I am responsible for your well-being while you are at this school, I would advise you not to put your trust in those of his ilk. That sort tends to think of our kind as expendable."

Malfoy wasn't sure what he had expected of this conversation, but this was not it. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Snape was talking about Draco having all sorts of messy feeling for Potter, which was certainly not the case.

"You have nothing to worry about, Professor. My trust is not what I'd be putting in him."

His teacher raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he thought that Draco was exceptionally naive.

"That is, of course, your prerogative, Mr. Malfoy. But I would advise you to be careful. Though I doubt that Mr. Potter will attempt to eat you, he may prove otherwise treacherous."

Draco considered informing Snape that he'd rather enjoyed it when Potter had eaten him but decided against it. He didn't want to give the one professor he actually liked a nervous breakdown.

"I can take care of myself."

At that moment, Snape put out the fire under his cauldron and ladled some of the finished potion into a phial.

"See that you do. Now drink that and go clean yourself up. I will notify Professor McGonagall that you will be late for her class."

Malfoy drank quickly, trying to minimize contact between the potion and his tongue. The stuff smelled vile and tasted even worse.

"Thank you, professor."

The antidote took effect slowly, bringing the sensation back to numb, limp flesh. As he made his way down the hall to the nearest bathroom, Draco could even feel himself getting hard again from the persistent image of Potter's mouth on him. In the back of his head, he wondered why Snape had warned him against being eaten. Gryffindorks were annoying, but none of them struck him as the type to feed on wizard flesh, other than in the sexual sense. It wasn't as if they were hippogryffs or acromantulas or werewolves…

The pieces suddenly clicked together, much to the blond's disgust. This year's returning DADA who was sickeningly Gryffindor also happened to be a werewolf. A number of images that Malfoy definitely didn't need slammed into his brain at once. All of them were of his favorite and least favorite teachers screwing each other senseless, and the majority concerned what they might have been doing to nearly get Snape eaten. None of it was anything he wanted to picture his professors doing. It would be no use trying to wank now. Even if Draco could get it back up in time, tossing off with that sort of pictures loose in his head would probably scar him for life.
Wondering if it was possible to successfully obliviate yourself, he started out for his next class.

* * * * * * *

Draco Malfoy stormed out of his Arithmancy class, livid with humiliation. He'd been so preoccupied that instead of integrating the energy shield spell across the doorway he'd integrated the memory of Potter's prick straight up his arse. Draco had come in front of the entire class, most of whom were still killing themselves laughing. As far as he was concerned, they could all go ahead and drop dead of it. The Gryffindor Divination class would just be getting out. If he was lucky, Draco would be able to catch Potter between classes and deal with this whole mess once and for all.

He tracked a juvenilely snickering Granger up and down the moving staircases on what he presumed was the way to the Divination classroom. At least, he thought so until the stairs came to a dead end at the top of the North Tower. If he'd climbed Merlin knew how many flights of steps just to witness the Mudblood's afternoon snog with the Weasel, Draco was going to be violently ill.

While Malfoy was trying to evict that thought from his mind, a resonant female voice spoke up from somewhere over his head. After listening to a few moments of idiotic chatter, Draco was surprised to hear his own name mentioned. The surprise quickly turned to irritation as the voice went on. He didn't even know what an "STB" was, and he certainly wasn't planning on killing Potter with one, whatever it was. He needed Potter alive for the foreseeable future. Otherwise, his current plans would end up being rather disgusting.

Thinking of the other boy appeared to have summoned him as a round piece of ceiling swung down, allowing a ladder to drop. As he watched Potter descend, he noticed to his fascination that the Gryffindor was not wearing any underwear. The blond was standing in just the right place to see straight up his robe if he tilted his head the right way. Watching that tight arse flex made Malfoy even more impatient to get his plan underway so he could see if Potter's bum would do that with his prick up it. Once the other boy's backside had completely disappeared from view, Draco closed the distance between himself and the ladder, dropping a hand onto the Gryffindor's shoulder as he stepped down.

"Potter."

The dark-haired boy's shoulder pressed into Malfoy's hand as Potter turned to face him.

Draco decided to use the direct approach.

"You're going to fuck me."

Potter looked stunned for a second before he composed himself enough to glare.

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

Draco ignored that and pressed on, lowering his voice to a tone calculated to make pricks hard.

"You're going to tongue-fuck me until I scream. Then, you're going to take that-" Malfoy reached down and groped the sizable bulge tenting the front of Potter's robe. "And put it right up my hot,
tight arse." He leaned in closer, speaking directly into the other boy's ear. "Then after you've made me come, you're going to take me into that sweet mouth of yours and suck me hard again." Potter's tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Draco could tell he was interested. "And then you are going to sit on my cock and ride me senseless." The Gryffindor's prick twitched under Draco's hand, showing its approval.

"Right here in front of everyone?"

Somehow, it didn't sound like Potter would object to that. Malfoy considered the possibility for a moment. He was by no means shy about his body, and he'd be lying if he said the idea of laying claim to Harry Potter in front of his goody-goody fan club didn't turn him on. On the other hand, the Weasel would probably try to castrate him before they got to the main event.

"Meet me after dinner outside the Head Boy's rooms in Slytherin. If you don't show up, I will hunt you down and fuck you in front of the whole fucking school."

With that scene playing itself out in his head, Malfoy found himself half-hoping that the Gryffindor would stand him up so that Draco could have the pleasure of punishing him. He could tell by the way Potter was licking his lips that the other boy was considering the same thing.

"Right. I forgot you were *Head Boy,* Malfoy."

The way that Potter thrust into Draco's hand as he pronounced the title left nothing to interpretation. Malfoy quickly suppressed the image those words brought on. Going down on Potter wasn't part of the plan. After he replaced last Friday's missing memories, perhaps
Draco could start thinking about other possibilities, assuming that Wonder Boy was any good in the first place.

"Be there or else, Potter."

The blond's punctuated his sentence with a sharp squeeze to the other boy's cock before he finally let go. Draco had already turned to make his sweeping exit when he heard his name called.

"Malfoy!"

The Slytherin whirled around in irritation.

"What?"

If Potter was trying to back out now, Draco was going to kill him.

"Did you get your tests from Madam Pomfrey yet?"

For a moment, Draco had no clue what the Gryffindor was on about. Then he remembered the ordeal that had made Tuesday so fucking pleasant. Nothing improved having blood drawn quite like being lectured over how lucky he was to be a wizard. Malfoy already had plenty of reasons to be glad he wasn't a Muggle without adding not having to wait six months to find out if he had Muggle Defensive Disease to their number.

"Of course I did. Unlike some people, I don't like taking stupid risks with my life."

Pleased at once again having the last word with the Golden Boy, Draco turned to leave a second time, giving Potter an excellent view of his arse as he climbed down the stairs. It couldn't hurt to give the other boy an added incentive to show up that night, especially since that surreal question had interrupted his dramatic exit.

Draco couldn't figure out why the Gryffindor had asked. He wasn't naive enough to believe that Potter would be concerned about a Slytherin's welfare. It made a bit more sense to consider the
possibility that the dark-haired boy was worried about being infected himself since they'd slept together. The only problem with that theory was that everybody knew that Potter's own test results had practically made headlines on Wednesday. The Boy Who Lived couldn't expect to get an MDD test without the world finding out. As it stood, there was no need for the other wizard to ask about Draco's tests.

As the pieces came together in Draco's head, he started to smile in triumph. The only reason for the Gryffindor to want to know would be that he was planning to put himself at risk again. Draco was going to have Potter in his bed by sunset.

* * * * * * *

Malfoy didn't particularly care how much of the school had noticed him leaving the Great Hall halfway through dinner. After what had happened in the North Tower, he could probably make an announcement in the Daily Prophet without enlightening anyone who didn't already know what he had planned. He hadn't been able to maintain an interest in the meal anyway.

In fact, Draco hadn't managed to focus all afternoon. He still thought it had been horribly unfair of McGonagall to take twenty points from Slytherin over that little misunderstanding, especially
given the extra effort he'd put into his assignment. Any idiot could change a spider into a peanut. As far as the blond wizard was concerned, he deserved extra credit for making the transfiguration so lifelike. Unfortunately, the professor hadn't agreed. At least the old bat wasn't making him serve detention for it. If he'd had to cancel shagging Potter that night, Draco would have been ready for St. Mungo's by Sunday.

Rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, Malfoy mentally reviewed how he was planning on getting the infamous Boy Who Lived into bed. Even though the Gryffindor was practically a sure thing, Draco did have a reputation to uphold. After he finished his shower, he should have enough time to gel his hair again and slip into something just meant to be torn off. It couldn't hurt to get the other wizard thinking with his prick. Malfoy could use the company.

Hearing someone knock on the wall next to the painting that served as his door, Draco cursed reflexively and ducked his head under the spray to clear the soap. The son of a mudblood was early, and he wasn't ready yet. Wrapping a towel low around his hips, the blond did his best to make himself presentable before he answered the portrait.

"Potter. You're early. Of course, you're probably used to hearing that."

Potter's eyes narrowed, set off by the absence of his glasses, and they swept casually up and down Draco's body, all but stripping him naked.

"I just thought I should get here before the line got too long."

If the Gryffindork thought that bringing up his rather active sex life would get under Draco's skin, he was about to be sorely disappointed. The blond was far from ashamed of how many wizards he'd had sex with.

"Then you didn't hear that I'm trying to cut down on shagging. What else would I want with that tiny little thing you call a prick?"

Potter smiled in that unsettling way that made Malfoy's own dick twitch under his towel, and then he shook his head.

"Tiny? Little? Poor Malfoy. Only seventeen and your memory's going already. I suppose I'll have to remind you."

The next thing he knew, Draco had one hand up Potter's robes, and his fingers were being wrapped around a long, thick cock. He started to stroke it demandingly, trying to make Potter as desperate as he was himself. The Gryffindor let him know that it was working by releasing Draco's hand to its own devices and making short work of the towel at the blond's waist. Potter's free hand cupped the nape of Malfoy's neck, bringing their mouths together in a bruising kiss.
Their bodies pressed against each other full length, and Draco's hands reached around to take hold of the other boy's tight bum. In the process, the hem of Potter's robe was pushed up between the boys' navels to let skin meet skin.

The two wizards stumbled off toward the bedroom, their hard cocks rubbing together at every step. As they collapsed sideways onto the bed, Draco realized abruptly that the Boy Who Lived was now naked. The Gryffindor pulled back then, but before Malfoy could protest, Potter was already climbing over top of his body, the dark-haired boy's teeth deliberately bruising Draco's shoulder in the process. As soon as Potter was settled behind him, the blond felt himself being rolled onto his front and spread his legs in a blatant invitation.

"Let's see. I'm supposed to start by eating out your tight little arse, right?"

Before Malfoy could answer, a warm, wet tongue slid over his bared arsehole, turning his response to a scream. Potter's hands gripped Draco's hips tightly, holding the Slytherin still as the wriggling tongue teased him mercilessly. A pair of thumbs eased the blond's buttocks apart laying his tight hole open to the Gryffindor's attentions. Potter's tongue stroked evenly into Malfoy's arse,
sliding just a little deeper each time. Draco was sure that he was bruising his hips on the other wizard's fingers as he tried to get more of that hot, limber flesh inside of him, and he was probably
making an embarrassing amount of noise as well. Then suddenly, Potter's wicked tongue was slipping completely out of Draco's backside.

"Is that what you want next, then?"

Draco didn't answer as he had no idea what he had just said. Potter continued, shifting up the blond's back to whisper directly into his ear.

"Do you want me to fuck your tight arse raw? Do you want me to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for days? Or maybe you want my prick so deep in you that you'll be feeling it in your throat?"

The Slytherin arched his back and pushed his arse back into Potter's crotch.

"Bastard. Do it. Fuck me!"

Then, Draco could feel the other boy start to look around the room from against his back.

"Where the fuck do you keep-"

Ready to scream from frustration, the blond snapped out a reply.

"The bottles on the nightstand. Pick any of them. I don't fucking care. Just hurry the fuck up."

After what seemed to be an eternity of Potter rifling through his supplies, Draco finally felt the other boy settle behind him again and the first slick finger push inside. To his surprise, he recognized the potion being applied to his arse as one that he knew from experience would leave his passage almost unbearably sensitive. Already the finger within him wasn't enough as his body was aching to be fucked. If Draco had the slightest suspicion that Potter had chosen that bottle deliberately, he would have been impressed.

A second finger joined the first, stretching the blond's entrance methodically. Draco's insides felt like they were on fire, and Potter was taking his bloody time getting to the main event. Malfoy was in the middle of informing Potter for the hundredth time that he was a fucking cocktease when the third finger penetrated him. The blond's snarky comment gave way to a moan when those fingers brushed over a spot that Draco had counted as sensitive even before the potion had coated it.

Draco could practically feel the other wizard's predatory gaze on his back as Potter toyed with that tender place inside Draco's body. The Gryffindor was fingering Malfoy's arse in just the right way to keep him desperate without letting him come, and the Slytherin was starting to wonder just how much Potter had managed to recall from the last time. Every time Draco tried to push himself back onto those clever fingers, the other boy always managed to draw his hand back in time. Realizing that his movements were making Potter slow down even more, the blond tried his hardest to remain still. However, when he felt the fourth finger start to enter him, Malfoy couldn't help but turn his head and try to face the Gryffindor.

"What the fuck are you trying to do back there, Potter, shove your whole hand up my arse?"

As he said the words, Draco found that he wasn't sure if it bothered him more that the other wizard might be planning on fisting him or that as much as he would have himself for it in the morning, Malfoy was only a few minutes from thinking it was a fairly good idea. Before Draco could seriously panic, Potter's free hand reached out and patted him on the bum.

"Why? Does that turn you on?"

Draco glared back at Potter who appeared to take that as a definite yes.

"There'll be plenty of time for the kinky stuff later. Right now I'm just trying to make sure you're ready for my cock."

Malfoy mentally called the Gryffindor a series of names that would probably lead to serious innuendo had he said them out loud and thrust his rear back onto the impaling fingers.

"Just fuck me already. I've seen your prick, and it's not that fucking big."

Potter's hand slowly withdrew as its owner crawled up Draco's body. The tips of the other wizard's fingers were still holding him open when Malfoy felt the swollen cockhead fit itself to his entrance. He heard the gasp that meant that the Gryffindor was spreading the potion over his own cock. Then, the blond could practically feel the other boy's breath on the nape of his neck as Potter answered his provocation.

"It's not the size, Draco. It's what you do with it."

The Gryffindor punctuated his sentence by burying his full length up Malfoy's arse, not particularly fast but with considerable force put into it. As his insides stretched around the invading prick, Draco immediately understood why Potter had used all four fingers in him. Without enough preparation, that move would have hurt like a son of a bitch. The Gryffindor barely left Malfoy time to catch his breath before pulling almost all the way out only to plunge right back in. The Slytherin was pleasantly surprised to find that the Boy Who Lived fucked like a rutting beast, but now that he was experiencing it, Draco had no idea why he'd ever thought otherwise.

The thrusts into Malfoy's arse built up to their full speed with the strength of Potter's whole body behind them. Bracing himself on his hands and knees, Draco managed to meet each and every one. In the position they had taken, neither boy could lay hands on the blond's hard cock, but with the pounding he was taking, that wasn't going to matter much longer. The Slytherin closed his eyes and held the breath he had just taken, centering his considerable focus on the prick spreading open his arse. Pleasure spiked within Draco at every thrust until the sensation finally overwhelmed him. A shattering orgasm tore through him, and Malfoy arched off the bed, impaling himself as deeply as he could in the process. Draco's screams filled the room as he collapsed limp and sated onto the mattress.

As he lay there trying to catch his breath, Malfoy was caught off guard by Potter's next thrust into his over-sensitized hole. He put up no resistance when he felt his backside lifted to better accommodate Potter's cock as the Gryffindor took his own gratification in Draco's more than willing body. The pressure it put on Malfoy's tender insides as he was relentlessly fucked wouldn't let the blond come down from his climax at all. By the time that Potter finally came inside Draco's arse, the Slytherin's prick was starting to take an interest again. The Gryffindor settled his frame against Malfoy's back, panting heavily into the blond's ear. One hand left Draco's hip and slid underneath to toy with more important bits. After a few minutes of clever fingers teasing his increasingly responsive privates, Draco felt the other boy's cock withdraw from his bum.

Rolling the Slytherin onto his back, Potter knelt between Draco's legs and set to work. A hand wrapped around the blond's length to steady it, and soft lips fit themselves to the very tip. The point of a tongue slipped under Draco's foreskin to pet the head of his cock. The flexible strip of muscle pressed farther along Malfoy's shaft, pushing the loose skin back from the head. Draco's hands tangled in the mess that was Potter's hair, pulling when the Gryffindor lick him straight across the exposed slit over and over again. The Slytherin's cock was taken into a warm, welcoming mouth down to the balls, and he felt himself swell to fill a yielding throat. Wild black hair tickled Malfoy's equipment, adding to the stimulation, as Potter's head bobbed over his groin.

The Gryffindor's reddened mouth slipped off of Draco's hard-on with a brazen smack of the lips. Potter shook off Malfoy's attempts to put his cock back down that wide open throat and gave the blond wizard at fingers buried up the Golden Boy's tight arse as he positioned himself over Draco's supine body. Potion was spread over the Slytherin's begging prick, and he barely had time to realize that the unspeakable bastard had switched bottles on him before every last inch of him was seated deep in Potter's bum.

Just like before, Draco had little time to adjust before Potter was moving again, this time raising his little round behind off of the Slytherin's aching prick. The blond braced himself on the bed frame and tried to thrust back into the hot, tight passage, but with the Gryffindor's weight centered on Draco's hips, he couldn't get the leverage. With his cock almost completely out of the other wizard's body, Malfoy had started to wonder if the Bastard Who Lived was trying to torment him when Potter finally began to sink down onto him at an agonizingly slow pace. Then, he knew without a doubt that he was being tortured.

As Potter's prick stiffened between the two wizards' bellies, the Gryffindor quickened the pace of their coupling his internal muscles pulling at Draco's cock at every stroke. The Slytherin raked his
nails down his tormentor's back, urging the other boy on as he was ridden harder and faster. Potter's tight, round bum sank into the blond's groin again and again, and Draco could practically feel the Golden Boy's throat around his cockhead. The Gryffindor's head was thrown back in ecstasy, and the muscles of his arse milked Draco's prick mercilessly. Potter took him in to the hilt once more, and then warm seed splatter across the blond's chest.

The hold on Malfoy's hips eased, finally letting him fuck the tightening hole. Draco's back arched off the bed as he buried his cock deep in the Gryffindor's body with each stroke sending sharp
twinges through his own well-used arse. The Slytherin only got in a few hard thrusts before he was spurting as deep inside the other wizard's grasping hole as he could fit. His throat raw from
screaming, he dropped back onto the sheets, letting Potter collapse onto his chest. They lay there quietly as they recovered from their climaxes. Draco's cock had almost completely softened before Potter broke the silence.

"So that's what it takes for you to call me Harry."

From his position flat on his back with his legs wide open, Malfoy aimed his most confidant smirk at the other wizard. If it got him this well fucked, he would happily call Potter any sappy thing the Gryffindork wanted. A palm pressed firmly into Draco's crotch, and the Gryffindor's bum slipped the rest of the way off of his prick. The Slytherin allowed himself to be rolled onto his side, and Potter curled up tightly against his back. The other wizard's muttered summons brought a wand sailing over Draco's body, and then the blond felt the familiar sensation of a healing charm expanding up into his arse. A mild cleaning spell quickly followed, cleaning the drying come from Draco's chest and presumably the sheets as well. He heard the wand being set down, and then Potter's body molded itself even more closely to the Slytherin's back.

"Good night, Draco."

Malfoy drew the blankets that had been pushed onto the floor by the pair's antics up over their bodies, and then snuggled back into the other wizard's lean frame.

"Good night, *Potter.*"

As Draco fell asleep, he was already starting to plot how he would get Harry to agree to a next time. The Gryffindor wouldn't even know what hit him.

* * * * * * *

For the second time in little more than a week, Harry Potter contemplated a naked Draco Malfoy sleeping against his chest. It was hard to believe that just a few day's before he had thought the other wizard utterly untouchable, at least as far as Harry was concerned.

Halfway through fifth year, the first photograph, the one that started it all, had come out in the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter's equally shameless replacement had been trying to make a name for
herself by publishing the private life of Cedric Diggory. Over half of Hogwarts had opened their papers that day to stare in total shock at a picture of the martyred Hufflepuff deeply involved in a liplock with the one and only Draco Malfoy. A serious commotion had started in the Great Hall, but Harry hadn't heard any of it. He hadn't listened to a word of Hermione's drawn-out explanation of the spell that kept the photo from showing anything more risqué than a passionate snog, to her later irritation. He hadn't even noticed when Cho Chang fled the room in tears. Harry had only had eyes for the way Cedric's busy hands were making Malfoy's robe ride up to bare his inner thighs. The Gryffindor had hardened instantly under the table, even as the guilt tore at him.

Then, when he'd looked up, Harry had seen the intense look on the real Malfoy's face. The same look had been on that face when he'd been all but accusing Harry of Cedric's murder. The Boy Who Lived had never recognized grief in Malfoy before. Somehow, it had made the Slytherin seem more like a real human being.

While Harry had still been kicking himself for getting hot and bothered over another of Cedric Diggory's lovers, the first of the Howlers had arrived. Apparently, homophobia was yet another of
Draco's father's charming personality traits. By the time Mr. Malfoy had started shouting about how no son of his would be a "friend of Dorothy," Draco's face had fallen into a much more familiar expression: anger. If he'd been asked, Potter could have told Lucius Malfoy just how far his son could carry a grudge, but he hadn't been consulted. It had turned out to be a very good year to be a Hufflepuff.

Somewhere between the first and second Howlers, Colin Creevey and his ever present Muggle camera had gotten their start in what proved to be a very lucrative business venture by selling the first set of prints showing Draco Malfoy being fucked. Harry now had the whole collection at the bottom of his trunk from the first picture of a barely legal Malfoy sandwiched between Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan to last month's tryst with a blond Ravenclaw Harry didn't recognize. The Gryffindor couldn't recall how many times he'd tossed off over that photograph, watching a dark-haired boy take Malfoy from behind while the blond sucked and was sucked by a fiery redhead. His arm had ached for months, but other bits hadn't minded the pain.

Harry was far from the only one to think that way. The first set of pictures had sold out within two hours. Speculation of the most sordid kind had run through the school over how Colin had come close enough to take the shots without Malfoy killing him. Personally, Harry thought that the circumstances had something to do with the way Lucius Malfoy had been kept apprised of his son's illicit exploits. He knew from experience that rebellion wasn't quite as satisfying if the parents don't find out.

Once the pictures had started being taken, the Howlers had arrived more and more frequently until Mr. Malfoy had finally slipped up. In the middle of one breakfast in April, the entire school had been treated to the announcement that the Dark Lord had no more use for "disgusting, little pillow-biting queers" than he did for "Mudbloods" at the top of Lucius Malfoy's voice. With a little prompting from Dumbledore, the Ministry's Conjuring Science Investigators had had no problems reconstituting the Howler, and the Aurors had reached Malfoy Manor within the hour. By the end of the school year, the elder Malfoy had been enjoying the hospitality of the prison that had replaced Azkaban.

The effects of the revelation hadn't stopped there. Through some quirk of fate or the Sorting Hat, a disproportionate number of young Slytherins happened to be queerer than the proverbial five-Sickle coin. None of them were particularly interested in joining up with the sort for evil overlord who would most likely make them the next target. The mass desertion had made it that much easier to put Voldemort down for good last year as well as expanding the Hufflepuff's good fortune to include the Ravenclaws. But with the obvious exception of Zabini, who had left a goofy smile on Seamus's face for weeks after the fact, no Slytherin had deigned to bed any of the Gryffindors. Under the sheets at night fucking his hand, Harry had fantasized about changing that fact with the boy who had started it all.

Consequentially, when he'd found a very naked Draco Malfoy asleep in his bed after what turned out to be five or six cups of heavily spiked punch, Harry hadn't kicked the other wizard out of bed to go find his pants. How Malfoy had gotten there was anyone's guess, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Ron had been allowed to pick the security codes for the week. As a password, "bouncing ferret" was somewhat less than secure

It had been the easiest thing in the world for Harry to strip off and lie down in his own bed. The hard part had come later while he was fighting off the urge to seize the sleeping Malfoy and screw the daylights out of him. Harry had almost reached the end of his self- control when he'd come up with the scheme, and even then he'd come very close to convincing himself that he could fuck Malfoy's brains out then and there and still go ahead with the plan.

To stop himself acting on that impulse and joining Draco's dad in prison, Harry had wasted no time starting to set the stage for morning. For obvious, not to mention pressing, reasons, he'd made the first step having a quick one off the wrist. Coming on Malfoy had done a decent job helping him put off the urge to come in Malfoy. With his concentration more or less restored, Harry had moved on to the most delicate part of the operation. Experience told him that most of the appropriate healing charms felt like being goosed with an icicle, and if Draco had woken up to that sort of spell, the Slytherin would have relieved him of his balls without stopping to ask for an explanation. Harry had needed to put just enough power into the spell to make it feel like it was actually doing something. Even with the care he'd taken, he'd still had one nerve-wracking moment when Draco had stirred, rubbing at his backside, but then the blond had settled back down as if nothing had happened.

With the evidence of sex planted on and in Malfoy, Harry had set about playing up his assets. He'd skipped over his eyes, his scar and the rest of the "Boy Who Lived" trappings when he put on the attention-drawing spells. For some reason, not even the other wizards Harry had taken to bed associated that side of him with the sort of good hard sex he'd wanted running through Draco's head when the Slytherin woke up. Instead, he'd cast the charms over his more entertaining parts, setting off his prick, his mouth and his arse. Potter had started getting hard again thinking about how the Slytherin wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off those parts of Harry
and would with any luck be thinking of putting them to good use.

After he'd put up the charm to make sure that he would be the first to wake up, Harry had slipped a hand between them again. Despite his earlier climax, he had been even more desperate that second time as some sympathetic reaction had stirred Malfoy into a moaning, writhing wet dream. Harry had fallen asleep right after creaming over Draco's little round bum.

The next morning, it had been child's play to snuggle up to an awakening Malfoy and let the other boy draw his own conclusions. Harry would be willing to bet that it had never crossed the Slytherin's mind that they hadn't really had sex Halloween night.

Of course, someday he might have to tell Draco the truth. If he was lucky, maybe they could even laugh about it.

As he lay down to sleep, Harry wrapped his arm possessively across Malfoy's abdomen. The truth could wait.

END