How it happened was a mystery. One moment they were
having their usual snarling fight, spewing personal slurs (pureblood wanker! stupid
scarhead!) in a deserted stairwell after hours, and the next they were kissing
(kissing!) and taking turns pushing each other against the rough stone wall, nearly falling
down the stairs in their frenzy, touching and groping (fucking brilliant groping) and
more kissing until they finally pulled away, shock and lust mirrored in each other's
eyes.
And now Harry could hardly think of anything else. His
mind seemed enmeshed in blond hair, soft skin, hot fingers and hotter lips, drowning in the
remembered grey of Draco's eyes. It was Draco now, not Malfoy, because Draco was easier to
say when gurgled against Draco's pale throat every time those long, lovely fingers slipped into his
trousers to wrap around his cock.
"I think it's a brilliant idea, don't you, Harry?"
Hermione asked, shattering his daydream, the one in which he cornered Draco against the cold glass
wall in the greenhouse, snogging him until the glass fogged along with Harry's glasses, only it
wasn't a daydream, it was a memory and although Harry had several similar memories now, he
wanted more. He wanted a memory for every single cell in his brain.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"Merlin, what is with you lately, Harry? You walk
around in a bloody daze half the time." Hermione's voice was disapproving. Her next words would
have something to do with homework, he wagered. "Your Transfigurations marks will suffer if you
don't concentrate. Just because this is technically our eighth year of school doesn't mean we can
shirk."
"Lay off, Hermione," Ron said in a bored tone. "Can't
you tell he's in love?"
Harry and Hermione stared at him.
Ron grinned at them. "Caught you doodling hearts in
History of Magic. Pretty obvious, mate. Haven't caught you mooning at any girls, but,
yeah."
Hermione's stare would have made a professional
interrogator envious. Harry squirmed. "I'd better go study for that Transfigurations exam," he
said, shoving his books into his knapsack.
"Harry James Potter," she began.
Ron laughed. "Oh, let him be. He'll tell us when he's
ready. You really think this stupid Muggle dance is a good idea?"
Harry paused with one book halfway in his bag. "What
Muggle dance?"
Hermione sighed. "Well, being in love would certainly
explain your inattention. The dance next month to promote Muggle relations. Everyone will dress up
as a character from Muggle culture. There are reference books in the library."
A dance. Harry's mind tripped over itself, imagining
himself taking Draco Malfoy. Merlin, they would be a laughingstock. People would faint. Hell,
Ron would probably faint. Harry felt a bit faint, himself.
"And for pity's sake, don't forget to ask her this
time," Hermione snapped. "Instead of waiting until someone else does."
"Hermione, will you come to the dance with me?" Ron
blurted.
Surprisingly, the question made her blush and her eyes
went suddenly soft and… well, Draco-like, for comparison, although Harry doubted any of them would
appreciate the association. He smiled.
"Yes, Ronald, I will." She and Ron gazed into each
other's eyes for a long moment before she shook it off and turned back to Harry. "See how easy that
was? Now, go to it. And figure out what you plan to wear."
Harry finished packing up and rolled his eyes. Asking
Draco Malfoy to a dance? Not bloody likely. And the Slytherin would probably rather die than dress
up as a Muggle character.
**********
Harry's resolve was put to the test at dinner that
evening. Draco was eating his pudding, although eating was a relative term, considering the way the
bastard fellated his spoon with every bite. His eyes were fixed on Harry as his tongue slid over
the metal and his lips turned red from the berries.
Harry was intimately acquainted with that tongue and
that tongue was intimately acquainted with Harry. Parts of Harry quivered at the mere memory of
that tongue sliding over bits that were currently so hard that the slightest shift was
torment.
"Harry, why are you staring at Malfoy? Did he do
something? You look like you want to kill him." Luna's voice was mild, as it always was, and Harry
forced himself to look away from the blond. Luna had taken to sitting with various friends during
meals, instead of sticking with the Ravenclaws, a habit that had been mirrored by many others.
Harry sometimes thought about sitting with the Slytherins...
"No, I don't want to kill him," Harry said. Kiss,
yes. Kill, no. Not any longer. His eyes were invariably drawn back to Draco, who smirked and
lifted the spoon again. It was possible, however, that Draco wanted to kill him with unrequited
lust, the sexy bastard.
Harry pressed the heel of his palm to his erection,
trying to ease the pressure, and thought about the stupidity of asking Draco Malfoy to a
dance.
**********
"We're dressing up as Muggle superheroes," Hermione
informed him.
"Look, mate! Aren't they funny?" Ron held up several
small plastic figurines. Harry recognized several of them from his childhood, although Dudley's
toys usually had limbs missing, or heads melted. Dudley liked to maim his action
figures.
"Spiderman!" Harry said as he picked up a red and blue
one.
Ron recoiled. "I am never wearing anything associated
with spiders," he said adamantly.
"Of course not, Ronald," Hermione said. "You are going
as Green Arrow."
Ron perked up and looked at the photograph she handed
him. "Oh, I like that! Do I get to use real arrows?"
She didn't bother to answer him as she gave Harry a
second photo. "Harry, I think you should go as Batman. The mask will fit well with your need for
anonymity."
Harry took the photo listlessly, unwilling to let her
know that he didn't plan to attend. He supposed he should at least talk to Draco and find out if he
was going at all. Harry brightened. Maybe he could talk Draco into skipping the event and going
somewhere else. Like the Prefect's Bathroom…
**********
"Draco," he said breathlessly, thinking he should
probably speak while he still could, because soon he would be an incoherent mess.
"Harry. I want you naked this time. I want to see all
of you."
Harry nearly forgot what he planned to talk about as
Draco's hands tugged at his clothing. They hadn't gone all the way yet, even though every encounter
drew them closer to it.
"I want to be inside you," Draco said against his lips
as Harry's pants fell to the floor. A broom closet on the fifth floor wasn't the ideal location for
the loss of his virginity, but Harry was long past seeking candles and romance. All he wanted was
more of whatever Draco would give him.
"Willyoucometothedancewithme?" Harry
blurted.
Malfoy's fingers, which had been easing into the crack
of Harry's arse, froze. He drew back, eyes wide. "What did you say?"
"Um. You know. We'll be in costume. No one will know
it's us."
"You want me to go to that ridiculous dance. With
you?"
Harry realized he should have brought it up after they
had finished their activities, because Draco seemed to have been derailed from his original
purpose. Harry pushed his hand further into Draco's pants, hoping to remind him. "Mmhmm," he
hummed. Draco's neck tasted lovely, as if he bought flavoured soap just for
Harry.
"You're mental, Potter." Despite his words, he didn't
pull away when Harry took hold and began to caress his hard shaft. God, he loved Draco's cock. He
loved the length and breadth and feel of it. And the taste, which was even better than Draco's
neck.
"I'll be wearing a skin-tight black outfit. With a
cape. And a mask."
"Skin tight?" Draco repeated, thrusting into Harry's
hand.
Harry nodded, unable to speak as Draco's fingers
(finally) remembered their task and pushed in to caress Harry's waiting
entrance.
"Turn around," Draco said and Harry obliged, pressing
himself against the rough wood of the wall and opening himself wide for Draco, beyond caring how it
would look to anyone beyond the triple-locked door. He only cared how it looked to Draco, and that
was obvious by the kisses on the back of his neck, and the soft touches, and the unfamiliar but
welcome burn as the last holdout to Harry's childhood was willingly given to his former
enemy.
"I'll think about it," Draco whispered against his ear
just before Harry came.
**********
So it was that Harry stood inside the Great Hall,
sweating and nervous beneath the black mask and anxiously twisting the end of the
cape.
"He'll be here, Harry," Hermione said, although her
voice sounded less than certain. Harry had, of course, revealed the entire story to her and Ron in
a fit of near-hysteria the day before. Ron had not, surprisingly, fainted, although he had turned a
shocking shade of pale that had made his freckles stand out like dots of blood.
Two hours later, he still hadn't been able to form a
coherent sentence, but shortly before they had gone to sleep Ron had managed to choke out five
words of reassurance. "Whatever makes you happy, mate." It had been enough for
Harry.
But now he was dressed as a Muggle superhero, which
didn't feel nearly as bad as it would have if everyone else in the room hadn't been similarly
dressed. Hermione looked amazing in her Wonder Woman getup and Ron was happily threatening everyone
who looked her way with an assortment of arrows that he had most likely acquired from George. They
created flashy pyrotechnics when released from his bow, but dissipated harmlessly before striking
their targets. Ron seemed particularly pleased with his tuft of beard and rubbed it
frequently.
Seamus Finnigan was dressed as Napolean. Blaise Zabini
wore Egyptian pharaoh garb and Pansy Parkinson portrayed Nefertiti, or possibly Cleopatra. Their
snake-themed jewellery was fitting. Neville had come as William Shakespeare and seemed to be having
a grand time spouting quotes, such as, "Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears!" Harry
suspected he had imbibed heavily of the Firewhiskey that had been making surreptitious appearances
in the glasses of punch crowding the table near the front door.
The room was bedecked in every sort of odd Muggle
artefact they could find, from old car parts to broken microwaves to an unlit neon sign that would
have said "Sally's" if it had been plugged in. Empty bottles of all sorts hovered in midair just
above their heads, advertising libations such as Coca Cola, Fentiman's Ginger Beer, Ribena, and
Guinness, clinking together when stirred by a magical breeze. Harry thought the Great Hall
resembled an exploded Muggle garbage dump.
"He's not coming," Harry said.
Just then, Draco entered the room, unmistakable even
from where Harry lurked. Hermione smirked. "Told you," she said smugly.
"I thought he was planning to come as the Ghost of
Christmas Past. From that Muggle book," Harry said.
"He changed his mind," Hermione said. "We've been
working on his outfit all day. You should go say hello." Harry was still a bit amazed that not only
had Hermione accepted his infatuation with Draco, but had actually sought out the Slytherin
to extend an olive branch of friendship.
A single nudge against his ribs sent Harry moving
forward, pushing through the crowd, passing Tarzan and Abraham Lincoln, Marie Antoinette, and
Gandhi. Finally, he stood before Draco, whose lips twisted into an embarrassed
smile.
"I feel like an idiot," Draco said.
"Join the club," Harry muttered. "You, um… look
great."
Draco looked down at his outfit and preened. "Well,
yes, the god of thunder. Granger insisted I go as the Muggle version, rather than the one from
wizard lore. Although the hammer is the same, oddly enough." Draco lifted a heavy-looking
mallet.
"I like your boots," Harry said with just a hint of
leer.
Draco smirked. "I like your thighs." He flushed and
corrected himself. "Tights, I mean. Your tights."
Harry took a step closer and leaned in to whisper in
Draco's ear. "I like your thighs, too. Especially when they are in between mine."
Harry drew back and thought the god of thunder looked
especially fetching when he was blushing. The winged helmet on his head made him look rather
heroic.
"I'm not dancing with you," Draco
blurted.
Harry burst out laughing. "We would make an odd sight,
wouldn't we? Come on, I don't expect you to. Let's just get some punch."
Even though they didn't dance, or hold hands, or touch
each other in any way, it still seemed like a date to Harry, because Draco stayed near him all
evening. They had never spent any time talking, always being too busy consuming one another, it
seemed, so Harry was surprised to find him a decent conversationalist, full of wry humour and
logical insight as they discussed everything from Quidditch to the heinous fur adorning Dean
Thomas's Attila the Hun outfit.
Near the end of the dance, Blaise Zabini and Pansy
Parkinson stopped by. Zabini sneered. "I see your new boyfriend has been monopolizing you all
night, Draco. Care to introduce us?"
"I'm Batman," Harry said, deadpan.
Zabini rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Parkinson frowned. "He's not serious, is he, Draco?
You're not really… into boys?"
Harry steeled himself, waiting for the inevitable
denial, trying to convince himself it was for the best.
"No, Pansy," Draco replied. Harry winced, in spite of
himself. It still hurt, even knowing it was coming. But Draco's next words were a surprise. "I'm
into men."
With that, Draco leaned forward and pressed a
smouldering kiss against Harry's lips. Pansy Parkinson's shocked gasp restarted Harry's heart and
he suddenly felt like singing. When Draco pulled away, Harry couldn't help but grin like a fool. To
his delight, he saw Draco mirroring his expression.
"All right, who is it?" Parkinson snarled. She took two
steps forward and curled her fist around one of the bat-ears on Harry's hood before jerking it
upward with a sharp yank, taking a bit of Harry's hair with it.
"Ouch," he said with a pout. Her eyes went
wide.
"Potter?" Zabini asked in a shocked
tone.
Harry looked at Draco. "I think now would be a good
time to make our exit."
"I agree."
The two of them got to their feet, linked hands, and
strode through the crowd. Whispers surrounded them, but Harry didn't care. For the first time in
his life, he felt like a hero.
End
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