Draco Malfoy woke up at the dead of night, securely chained to his bed.
He looked at his feet and hands, securely chained, with mild curiosity, and began to mull over what the reason for this could be.
He had gone to bed right after supper. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and so after the porridge and pumpkin juice…
Oh. That was probably it. The porridge and juice had probably formed some kind of toxic poisonous substance inside his stomach, inducing weird hallucinatory dreams.
He wondered idly if he could peddle porridge juice to the other Slytherins as the new Drug of Choice. Considering the fact he’d seen Crabbe and Goyle snort sawdust, he was optimistic.
That settled, he didn’t think much of this drug-induced hallucinatory dream. He tried to sit up, his chains jangling. He didn’t have to stand for this. He’d had bizarre doped-up dreams before, curse Blaise Zabini’s funny brownies straight to hell, and he knew his rights.
“Hello?” he said. “Excuse me? Where’s the sex?”
There was a funny choking sound.
“Steady on, Malfoy,” a voice said, doing a very bad attempt at drawling. “I was just closing the curtains.”
Huh. That was new. In one of the dreams there’d been an enthusiastically applauding audience.
“Very modest of you, Bizarre Dream Lover,” Draco said.
There was another funny choking sound.
Draco was struck by a sudden dark idea. He had no clue about the potency of porridge juice. Anyone could be out there in the blackness. Even Millicent Bulstrode. Even Crabbe. Even Goyle.
Even—God forbid!—Crabbe and Goyle.
“Could I have some light?” he asked, very cautiously, since he had no wish to inspire dream!Crabbe-and-Goyle to make sudden lustful leaps.
“Anything you want.”
There was a whispered “Lumos” and then a glowing wand flew through the air and landed neatly in Draco’s crystal vase.
“Smooth,” he approved, immeasurably relieved. Even in dreams, Crabbe and Goyle were bound to have the co-ordination of oxen on crack cocaine.
“Thanks,” said Harry Potter, who was lounging against the wall dressed in leather. “I’ve been practising.”
Draco lifted his head to assess the Boy Who Lived critically. His hair wasn’t wet and clinging to his face in a hundred gleaming tendrils like usual. Also, he was still wearing his glasses, and that hardly ever happened.
Unless he was fully naked when the dreams began, of course. Every fantasy has to have a kink.
Still, his Quidditch-muscled body was smooth, honey-pale and mostly revealed by the deep V of the leather shirt, and the clinging material of the leather trousers. He was lounging rather well, and his lower lip was looking full and a bit trembly.
He’d do. Draco wasn’t quibbling.
“Okay,” Draco said. “Sex. Now.”
Harry blinked. “I… um… What?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh please. I’m all chained up here. I know exactly how this is supposed to go. You’re going to be all forceful and incredibly hot, and pin me to the bed and have your wicked way with me. Go on. Move.”
Harry blinked again. Draco noticed that his adam’s apple had just bobbed, and there was deep red cresting on his cheeks.
Really, this was a very vivid dream. He had to give porridge juice high marks.
“Malfoy—”
“Draco,” Draco corrected absently.
“Draco.” Harry was doing the blushing thing again. “I have to tell you something.”
Draco was suddenly struck by another horrible idea.
“You’re… not going to suddenly transform into McGonagall and crack a whip at me, are you?” he asked, going a little faint with horror.
“What?”
“I’ve had some very odd dreams,” Draco said, adding hastily, “Nightmares! Nightmares!”
“Draco, you’re not—” Harry paused, then said incredulously, “McGonagall? You dreamed about Professor McGonagall?”
“Potter, I have lived my entire adolescence in this school. I’ve had kinky dreams about everyone in the castle.”
“Oh. H-have you?”
“So has real Potter, of course,” Draco added matter-of-factly. “Come on. You’re not telling me you haven’t.”
Harry licked his lips. Oh yes, this was a fetching dream image. “M-maybe I’ve had one or two dreams,” he said, his voice suddenly a few octaves lower. “But certainly not about the whole school!”
“Really?” Draco said conversationally. “I even had one about house elves. Jesus, that was when I was fifteen. I never want to be fifteen again. Once you’re about seventeen, the dreams get much better. We canvassed the Slytherin dormitories and we’re quite sure. It was on my seventeenth birthday that I had the brilliant Blaise, Pansy and Terry Boot dream.”
Funny Choking Sound, #3.
“Terry Boot? I—wouldn’t have thought he was your type.”
“He’s quite dishy if you take off his tie,” Draco assured him. “There was one dream about him and Dumbledore’s desk…”
Harry pouted. Okay, this one didn’t have the immediate sex appeal, but he was beginning to appeal to Draco more and more.
“I just don’t think he’s right for you.”
“Come over here and show me who is,” Draco purred.
Harry blushed again. The flush was spreading down to his collarbone.
“It’s—it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think you should—”
“You’re being terribly bashful,” Draco said critically. “Usually we’re on our way to our second orgasm by now.”
This blushing thing was so cute! He was having porridge juice every night.
“I’m… er…”
“Look,” Draco said sharply, “I will not be having with this kind of nonsense. I don’t care what kind of weird stuff that porridge was. I will only say this once more. Sex, sex, sex!”
“That was three times,” Harry put in helpfully.
Draco directed a ferocious look at him. He quailed.
“Um—okay. Tell me, um, if I do something wrong.” He stopped lounging, and took several steps towards the bed. Good, good, good, nice walk, great trousers…
He was sitting down and had his head in his hands!
Bad dream Harry, bad!
“This isn’t going right at all,” he wailed.
Suddenly Draco realised. Of course! It was all so clear!
The drug porridge had mixed up two entirely different dreams! Here Draco was, obviously in the situation of Dark!Exciting!Harry, but there in that Harry’s leather was Blushing!Virgin!Harry, who usually appeared in the corridors.
“Hush, Harry,” Draco said, making his voice low and rich and soothing. “You don’t have to worry. I understand. Now come here and sit by me.”
Harry got up and sat beside Draco, rather shyly.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry, this was—”
“Just—don’t worry about it, Harry,” Draco said comfortingly. “Come on. We both want this, don’t we? Would you like to kiss me?”
He infused just the right amount of promise into his voice, and saw Harry’s eyes go dark.
“I… Yes,” he answered throatily.
Thank God!
“Then do it.”
Harry won the prize for shortest struggle with his conscience ever, and leaned over. It was a tentative kiss, sucking just a little, open just enough to be hungry, and Draco could at last do something physical, so he opened his mouth some more and bit lightly on Harry’s lower lip.
Harry’s soft groan was against Draco’s teeth, which he licked, and then he slid in a sweet weight of leather and skin and heat on top of Draco, licking his tongue and the insides of his mouth, up along the roof and down along the tongue again. Draco shivered helplessly. Harry made another soft sound, and pressed against Draco, squirming and shifting against his body heat, almost burrowing closer, and there was something peculiar about this blind intensity, this particular shy but determined questing and… Draco couldn’t help crying out, just a little bit, arching up to meet Harry oh so slightly, and then he let out a squeak of horror.
This reminded him of that incident in Filch’s dungeon!
Which had been…
“Jesus Christ!” Draco yelped. “You’re real!”
Harry’s eyes were still dark with lust, and those wet red lips looked incapable of forming coherent words.
“Hmmm,” he said, kissing the side of Draco’s mouth.
“Eeek!” Draco argued emphatically. “No! Stop it!”
“I…”
Draco bucked upwards at this point, a move which he could only blame on the porridge juice. Harry gave a kind of startled groan, and focused on Draco’s mouth with a very alarming obsessive look.
“Help!” Draco shouted. “Murder! Kidnap! Rape!”
Harry levered himself up.
“I’ve done none of those things,” he said indignantly.
Draco considered. “Sexual abuse!” he yelled.
“Oh, it so does not count if someone asked for sex beforehand!”
“I did not!”
“Yes you did. Specifically,” Harry said conscientiously. “You said ‘Sex sex sex.‘ I heard you.”
“I didn’t think you were real! Get off me this instant, anyone could walk in, are you completely crazy!”
“I must be,” Harry said grimly.
“I’m not arguing here,” Draco returned. “I mean! My God! Turning up in your arch nemesis’ bedroom in leather and chaining him up! Have you been at the porridge juice?”
“You’re not my arch nemesis,” Harry objected. “Voldemort is my arch…”
He paused. Both he and Draco had a nasty simultaneous vision of Harry taking advantage of a Voldemort chained to his bed.
“Urgh,” Draco said devoutly. “Your most personable nemesis, then,” he corrected. “Someone you hate, is my point. Not to mention the leather! Dear God, how did you manage to negotiate the corridors!”
And not get sexually assaulted. He hadn’t said it and so nobody could call him on it. He was innocent, innocent!
“Draco,” Harry said softly.
“Malfoy!” Draco shrieked.
“Draco,” Harry persisted, and finally rolled off him. And lay right up against him, one hand in his hair and gazing deeply into his eyes, which was no better! “I don’t hate you.”
“Yes you do, Potter,” Draco asserted earnestly. “You really, really do. You don’t know what you’re doing. It’s the porridge juice talking.”
Harry frowned. “What are you wittering about, Draco?”
He was smiling indulgently! He was still gently petting Draco’s hair!
This was wrong, wrong, sick and wrong.
“Draco. Don’t look so panicked.”
Then stop calling me that!
“I only came here to talk to you. I didn’t, um, plan on you still being so autocratic when you were chained up.”
“People do not chain up people for tea and chats, Potter! And anyway—we’ve talked. So get out! Get out this instant! How dare you violate my chambers and while we’re on the subject, my person!”
“Draco—”
“Silence!” Draco snapped, using his House Elf voice. “Leave me this minute, or I’ll have your fingers ironed for this!”
Something inside Potter, very subtly, snapped too.
Harry placed his hands, very firmly, on Draco’s chest, and eased himself over him again. His eyes were still dark and his mouth was still swollen and his expression was set and determined.
Oh, dear. Draco knew that look. It was Dark!Exciting!Harry time.
He’d always thought he was one of the least realistic fantasies, and now here he was in Draco’s bed.
Draco was still outraged, of course. But there was one tiny part of him jumping up and down going, “Mmm. Cut me a slice of that and serve with cream.”
“Think this over, Draco,” Harry said, in a low voice. “If I feel like it, I can just leave you chained up in here. In fact, I think it would be poetic justice, don’t you? Do you remember doing the same to me—except in a dungeon—not so long ago?”
“Oh yeah,” Draco said, snickering. “But that was different. That was funny. Because it wasn’t me.”
Harry shook his head. “You’re impossible, Draco,” he observed, still in that dark and vaguely disturbing voice. “And this is funny. Want to know why?”
“No,” Draco decided.
Harry’s eyes were really very dark now.
“Because it isn’t me,” he replied, and his mouth descended on Draco’s.
It was warm and urgent and hot and fast, a sloppy kiss that was too direct and brutal to be skilled, and when Draco made a tiny sound Harry moaned again and ground his body down on Draco’s.
Draco’s body spasmed upwards, and the clink of straining chains seemed very far away, seemed not to matter at all, no more than the chill pain of metal biting into his skin. He looked up at Harry, vision dim with lust, saw the sweat gathering, trailing down his throat and into the leather. He angled his head and bit down on Harry’s jaw.
Harry shuddered violently, and then leaned back.
“No… wait,” he said. “I came here because I had something to say.”
All right, this wasn’t funny, and Harry Potter was a bastard!
Harry smiled slightly at the outraged expression Draco was doubtless wearing—because he was evil incarnate!—and began to stroke Draco’s hair lightly again.
Draco didn’t want affection! Draco wanted sex!
Draco was starting to get a picture of himself as an oversized and exceedingly attractive baby, shaking his rattle against the bars of his cot and crying “Waaaah waaaah waaaah sex.” It was an affront to the Malfoy dignity.
“Well… after the dungeon thing I was really, um—”
“Turned on,” Draco said smugly.
“Pissed off,” Harry said sternly.
“Same thing.”
“You’re impossible, do you know that? I was annoyed, but it got me thinking—about you, and I started noticing—um—stuff.”
“Yes yes yes, like the shiny hair and the sparkly eyes and the aristocratic features and how I look in my leather trousers and spider-web shirt.” Draco rolled his eyes. “I get that in my Valentines all the time.”
Really, Draco was insulted. Did Potter imagine that Draco hadn’t noticed all the staring in class and the corridors and the library and the Quidditch pitch and Hogsmeade and that embarrassing time in the Prefects’ bathroom? Draco had certainly noticed.
Not that he’d been looking, you understand.
“No! Well—yes. But that’s not all,” Harry said. “I noticed that you and I are the only ones who’ve taken out Flying Through the Ages more than fifteen times, and I noticed that you’re kind to the little Slytherin kids, and I noticed that you eat weird things together like porridge and pumpkin juce—which isn’t good for you, you know.”
“Stalking will be on the list of offences with sexual harassment. I hope you realise that. I’m going to sue you, Potter, sue you for every spider in your cupboard.”
“Shut up, Draco. And I noticed you looking back—”
“Oh, I did not!”
Damn it, he’d been spotted.
“And I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I really, really want to go for that cup of coffee. And, um. You kept avoiding talking to me, and I really wanted to talk you into this, so…”
“Let me get this straight,” Draco said, speaking carefully. “You crept here in the dead of night, chained me to my bed and vigorously molested me, all in order to blackmail me into having a cup of coffee with you?”
“Er… yeah.”
“I don’t get forcibly ravished?”
“No.”
Draco’s voice was almost plaintive. “Not even a little bit?”
Harry smiled. It was definitely a Dark!Exciting!Harry smile. “Not unless you agree.”
Draco looked at him with dawning admiration. “You’re evil.”
“I thought we should have something else in common.”
“Hang on a second here,” Draco said. “We’re talking about a relationship here, aren’t we? How painfully Gryffindor. I utterly refuse. I was not made for that kind of lifestyle, I am a—oooohhhhh.”
Harry had just, quite deliberately, draped himself all over Draco.
“Let me,” he said in a breathlessly daring sort of voice, “convince you.”
Draco was just about to spurn him with extremest scorn, when Harry licked a hot sticky trail up Draco’s neck to his ear. His lips lingered there, whispered something Draco didn’t catch and wasn’t terribly bothered about because Harry’s teeth had just lightly scraped his ear and now they were doing it again, slowly, subtly, dragging along the sensitive areas of Draco’s skin so he squirmed humiliatingly and made a little noise upsettingly like a kitten’s.
He couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted more, this minute and fiercely, so he pressed his warm open mouth against Harry’s exposed throat and Harry made a sound like a scream with his teeth gritted. Then he slid his hand into Draco’s pyjama top, and suddenly it was open without all of that pesky button-opening business, and Harry’s mouth was moving down Draco’s neck, lingering on his collarbone and then moving—oh, yes!
There was a knock on the door.
“Draco, we’re coming in!”
Draco almost howled “Go away! I’m extremely busy shagging Harry Potter!” before reason mercifully prevailed.
“Er… er… okay, sure, just a minute,” he said. Then he hissed, “Quick! Hide! Into the closet!”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Harry said reproachfully. “I’m going through a crisis here.”
“Get into the closet this minute!” Draco said in a thin scream. Harry obeyed.
Even as he did so and the door swung open, Draco realise he should have asked Harry to rearrange his pyjamas.
Pansy and Millicent were standing in the doorway in their nightclothes. Draco found it hard to cope with Millicent Bulstrode in a negligee at the best of times.
They were both staring. Millicent appeared to be drooling down her ample front.
“Why, Draco,” Pansy said archly, strolling over to the bed. “You seem a little—chained up. What have you been up to?”
“Um,” Draco responded, descending to a Potteresque level of communication.
Then, being a Malfoy, he came up with a fiendish and filthy explanation.
“I made the house elves do it,” he explained slowly, “because I get off on it.”
Well, it was short notice! He thought he was doing remarkably well under the circumstances.
“You what?!” said Millicent, her huge jaw dropping.
“Oh yes. It, er, excites me,” Draco told her ingenuously. “Being here—all alone, mind you, no partners, none at all, chained up with my clothes all dishevelled… I get the house elves to do that too… It really gets me hot and bothered.”
There was Yet Another Funny Choking Sound from the closet.
“Because I’m a dirty, dirty boy!” Draco howled hastily.
Millicent Bulstrode looked like she might faint. Draco hoped she didn’t. It might dent the floor.
Pansy looked like she was going to choke. “That’s—fascinating, Draco. I had no idea.”
“I need to go,” Millicent said, and fled, slamming the door behind her.
Pansy stretched out luxuriously on the bed. “Okay, Harry,” she called out lightly. “You can come out now.”
Bashfully, Harry did so. Draco stared with his mouth open.
“You—you knew?”
“Oh, of course,” Pansy nodded. “Who do you think gave Harry the Slytherin password? Who do you think gave Harry the chains?”
“I was actually kind of hoping he’d had to seduce them out of Filch.”
Harry gave him a dirty look.
“I noticed Harry staring at you all moony-eyed weeks ago,” Pansy, the Spawn of Evil, continued happily. “I always thought you two would be so cute together. I’m so pleased you finally agree. He’s just what you need, Draco. Plus—it’s really hot.”
Pansy bounced delightedly on the bed.
“So you were trying to make me happy,” Draco said. “You big freak.”
Pansy and Harry both nodded. Bloody, brainless sexual predators that they were.
“And you thought it would be an appropriate and helpful action to engineer me being bound to my bed and sexually assaulted.”
Pansy shrugged unrepentantly. “What can I tell you? I sail the SS Guns and Handcuffs.”
“And I suppose the outfit was Pansy’s idea, too?” Draco asked in a resigned manner.
“Actually, he asked me for clothing advice,” Pansy informed him defensively. She gave Harry a fond smile. “He’s a terribly apt pupil. I think he has such potential for evil, saucy darkness.”
Harry looked disturbed and moved slightly away from her.
“You let him alone,” Draco ordered sternly.
Pansy gave them both a besotted maternal look. “You’re protecting him,” she cooed. “It’s true love.”
“It is not!” Draco snapped.
He was very upset indeed when Potter didn’t immediately contradict her as well.
“Did it never occur to you, Potter,” he asked in his nastiest tone, “that placing your fate in the hands of an unprincipled Slytherin wasn’t something you should have done?”
Potter didn’t even glance at Pansy, but stared at Draco in an intense way that made him feel terribly uncomfortable.
“No,” he replied.
Pansy made some sort of random squeeing sound, but for some reason she seemed terribly far away. There was just Potter’s concentrated gaze, so focused that Draco could taste it, and…
Draco blinked and shook his head violently.
“Someone give me the keys,” he commanded.
“So how was it going?” Pansy inquired anxiously of Harry. “I thought I’d just pop by to see how you were doing.”
“It was going really well,” Harry said earnestly. “Thanks for all your help.”
“No problem. It was worth it all just to see Draco’s horrified face. He’s cute when he’s humiliated to the dust, isn’t he?”
They both gave Draco a glance.
Oh, holy hell.
“And he was co-operating too?” Pansy asked. “Was he moaning?”
Harry blushed.
“I blame it on the porridge juice,” Draco said mordantly.
“Just go out with him, Draco!” Pansy exclaimed. “I know you want to, he knows you want to, everyone knows you want to! Stop being so stubborn and make it with the hot everlasting boy love!”
Harry sighed.
“Don’t bother, Pansy.”
For a second Draco thought Harry was about to leave, and felt an inexplicable bolt of panic.
“I very much doubt that many other people will want to go out with Draco once they hear about the chains and the house elves thing,” Harry said mildly. “Plus, I plan to blackmail him with sexual favours.”
Pansy giggled ecstatically. “Go get him, Harry, you w00bie, you.”
“You what?”
“That one’s been hitting the porridge juice too hard,” Draco muttered darkly.
“You’re both crazy,” Harry commented, and then he walked back over to the bed and laid a hand on Draco’s chest. “Now. Where were we?”
“Ooooh,” Pansy breathed.
Draco glared. “You,” he said. “Out.”
“Oh, come on!” Draco’s glare was implacable. Pansy pouted. “Fine,” she said. “But only because Harry’s a virgin. Anyway,” she mused aloud, “I bet you’ll be much more exhibitionistic once you’ve been together for a while.”
She hummed happily to herself as she went out. Draco caught a snatch that sounded like, “Rest assured you’re adored…”
Harry was still blushing at Pansy’s tactful little revelation.
“Oh, don’t go over all shy on me now,” Draco snapped. “I knew, of course.”
“Oh. That’s okay then,” Harry said. “So you understand this is important to me.”
He licked the hollow at Draco’s throat.
“And you’re my boyfriend now.”
“I am not!”
“Okay then,” Harry said. “I suppose I’ll just be going.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Harry’s smile was wicked. “Then I’m getting my way?”
“Oh—have your own way. As long as you have your way with me.”
Harry licked at the hollow again, and moved in a slow warm trail down to one of Draco’s nipples. Just before his mouth touched, he looked up.
His eyes were such a dark green they looked black.
“I really do like you, you know,” he said in a scratchy voice the dreams had never quite been able to replicate. “Do you…?”
“I think you’ve got quite enough concessions from me tonight, Potter,” Draco said firmly. “… you can ask me again tomorrow, though.”
He shuddered as Harry’s teeth scraped his skin again. Harry’s mouth formed a wicked smile against Draco’s nipple.
“I might just do that.”
Pansy sighed blissfully as the door muffled the bickering voices.
“They’re so cute!” she informed the uncaring corridor. “They’re so in love…”
Blaise Zabini, clad as usual in skin-tight leather, passed by and stopped to give her an appreciative once-over.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Blaise said. “Fancy a night of meaningless red-hot sex?”
Pansy tossed her lustrous dark hair behind her shoulder, musing.
“Not just now, Blaise darling,” she decided.
Pansy kept her head tilted towards the closed door, and unobtrusively punched the air when she heard the first moan. She favoured Blaise with her brightest smile.
“I think I’m going to go make some banners.”
before March 2003