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A Sordid Affair	By : RogueRouge Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2476 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Sordid Affair
- 1
TITLE

A Sordid Affair

RATING

R

WARNINGS

Slash, Sex, and Sordid Affairs.

This is a Harry/Draco story with little here’s and there’s of het and more side orders of slash and chips. I highly recommend this meal, it’s a very scrumptuous delicacy.

DISCLAIMER

The catch is, you’ll have to purchase Harry/Draco seperately from the slash and chips. Slash and Chips may be bought at my booth, but Harry and Draco, you’ll have to ask JK. Rowling, and from what I’ve heard (just between you and me), Jo’s having a hard time parting with the two. I don’t blame her... I mean, come on. They’re so damn hot, right?

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- Chapter One -

Harry Sodding Potter

It was a good thing Draco was so able-minded and skill laden when it came to potion brewing. Not even goody-two-shoes Granger could outdo him in that department, and he knew despite his incredible dislike for her, that she was indeed a very clever (and much too brainy) girl when it came to lessons.

Contrary to the belief that he merely received top marks in Potions because he was Severus Snape’s prized student, Draco actually knew what he was doing when he stood before his bubbling cauldron, cutting up dead bugs and weeds and rat spleen. Not once, had his potion frothed the wrong color, or the wrong thickness. And the effects were always satisfactory, hence his long list of O’s since the beginning of first year.

There was nothing, Draco thought smugly, that he couldn’t brew.

And the potion he was brewing now - one that could only be found in the most restricted of restricted books in the restricted section of Hogwart’s library - was one that not many a student, if any, would be competent in brewing if they were dense enough to try.

Only a few more precious minutes and it would be complete. He’d added the final ingredient of boomslang skin an hour ago, and from what the aged book said, the potion would become fully effective in exactly five minutes... Draco wiped his arm across his damp forehead and glanced at the floating clock sitting next to him on the cold stone floor.

Four minutes.

He stirred slowly and patiently, ignoring the faint aching that was beginning to stretch from his wrist to his shoulder. The liquid was thick and a sickly grey color - almost solid with odd lumps gurgling below the surface. He grimaced at the distastefulness of just looking at it and was only grateful that it didn’t actually smell like digested grub too...

Two minutes.

The potion’s frothing increased, and bubbles were popping and hissing. Still stirring, he reached behind him and grabbed the silver goblet sitting on the edge of the sink and placed it on the small table next to the cauldron. The clang of metal against wood echoed eerily through the small room.

One more minute...

He slipped his fingers into robe pocket and extracted a thin, delicate bottle. It was empty except for a long red hair. He felt like gagging but placed it too, next to the goblet.

Ten seconds -

The final steps. He stroked the ladle swiftly once clockwise, thrice counterclockwise, twice clockwise, and once counterclockwise... and it was complete. The fruit of his month-long labor was finally over. He let a sigh escape his lips.

But his exertions were far from over yet. The potion brewing had been the relatively easy part compared to what he was about to do next. He could hardly count how many times he’d thought of abandoning his plan... simply forget that he’d ever thought of doing it in the first place. What if something were to go amiss? What if his secret was revealed? What if the results turned out to be devastating?

His heart had been hammering nonstop through all of today. He’d been so distracted that focusing on his lessons had been impossible. And more than once, his gaze had drifted away from the professor over to a certain figure sitting idly at their desk, looking bored and staring off into space.

With a start, he realized that the ten seconds had passed.

He looked down at his finished potion and swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat.

He was actually going to do it. He was really going to attempt it.

With trembling fingers, he lifted the goblet off the desk and with his free hand, dipped the ladle deep into the potion and brought up a good amount. He tipped the goblet and let the contents of the ladle ooze slowly past the rim and settle at the bottom.

He felt sick. Not only was he about to drink something terribly foul, his nerves were rampaging ferociously too, and for a moment, he hesitated to uncap the fragile bottle containing the single red hair.

But when he did, and when it fluttered into his goblet, it sizzled and melted, disappearing from view.

It’s now or never. He told himself grimly and upturned the goblet completely into his mouth.

He thought he really might be sick as the hot mush was forced down his throat. Overcooked cabbages or not, it was the nastiest thing he’d ever tasted in his life. He collapsed against the cold sink behind him and clamped his hand over his mouth to keep it from shooting back up and ruining his plans.

The second he’d managed to swallow the potion, large, angry boils began to erupt all over his pale, flawless skin. He gave a cry of shock and averted his eyes hastily to the mirror before him. Slowly, very slowly, the vision reflected back at him began to change. He could feel his bones tingling painfully, his skin prickling like needles... his chest was aching oddly.

And then, when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, the pain stopped, and the prickling subsided, and he could hear the dead silence of the small room once more.

Preparing for the worst, and bracing himself, he opened his eyes and saw the effects of the potion right before his very eyes.

It was repulsive to say the least, but there was nothing he could do about it really. It was this, or nothing, and nothing wasn’t something Draco could bear to stand when it came to his unfortunate situation.

He touched her face, and ran his fingers through her hair, and then down her throat, finally coming to a stop at the deep crevice between her breasts.

Why anyone would think this body even remotely attractive was beyond him. He cringed and quickly began to unrobe her body, slipping into the spare robes he’d stolen earlier from Pansy.

He took out another clean vial and ladled another large dollop of the potion into it, and then plucking a flaming hair from her head, stuck it inside and capped it carefully. He placed the vial into his pocket.

He was ready now. This was it.

He took a deep breath and exited the room and into the icy corridors outside.

His pace was fast as he walked, his shoes making a loud clapping noise and his legs feeling very unprotected as the icy breeze toyed beneath the skirt.

Up and up he climbed, eight sets of staircases, ten vanishing steps, and past many unfamiliar portraits and statues who were looking at him and nodding cordially. He tried not to glare back and kept his gaze ahead as he neared the end of the corridor on the seventh floor.

And then he was there. Somehow, he’d gotten his legs to bring him here without failing beneath him. It was a miracle.

The overlarge fat lady was snoring inside her frame, slumped in her chair and completely unaware of him, or rather her standing there looking pale and determined.

Clenching his hands into tight, sweaty fists, he cleared his throat loudly.

“Excuse me,” he called haughtily, his eyes growing wide at the sound of his voice. It was high-pitched, annoying, and very girly. He coughed and crossed his arms self-consciously across his newly blossomed bosom. The overweight witch started and blinked rapidly as she awoke from her sleep.

“Excuse me,” he repeated again, adjusting his tone to match his appearance. “I’d like to get in.”

“Oh- oh yes - but it’s terribly late. What are you doing out in the corridors, dear? It’s after curfew!” she cast a stern look over him and Draco pursed his lips.

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he spat, glaring. “Now would you kindly open up?”

“I’ll have to inform a prefect, I’m afraid,” she told him in a highly insulted voice. “Now hurry up and go to bed.”

Draco couldn’t care less about her telling a damn prefect. He’d be long gone before that anyway. His heart hammered against his ribcage as the portrait swung forward to let him in.

The room inside was warm and dimly lit by the fading fire from the hearth at the far wall. It was light enough for him to see the armchairs and tables obtruding his path as he walked forward stealthily, through the stillness.

He paused when he discovered that there were two staircases on either side of the room, winding upward and to separate towers, he knew, that led to the girls and boys dormitories.

It was the same in the Slytherin dungeons, except the stairs there led not upward, but further, deeper into the ground. In the Slytherin dungeons, he always took the staircase to the left and he would have been very much surprised if it weren’t the same here. So taking heed of his instincts, he began his ascent on the staircase to his left, willing his breath to calm, his nerves to stop shivering, and his muscles to relax. He was ready.

When he stepped onto the dark landing in the boy’s tower, he licked his lips and reached his hands to tuck the bothersome fringe behind his ear. He frowned at the alien taste and then realized that he hadn’t just licked his own mouth, but a girl’s. How gross. But then again, he was IN a girl’s body.

I am so insane. He laughed at himself bitterly. So fucking desperate.

It was the third door he came to that had a small plaque nailed next to it on the wall, that read in gold carving, Sixth Year Boy’s Dormitory, and he knew that he was only a few steps away from his goal... his object of desire... his....

There wasn’t much time. He wished he could let out a scream to get rid of the painful tension in his chest, but - thinking that it wouldn’t be wise to wake up everyone in the castle lest his plan should be destroyed, he made do with a deep breath and let it out between his teeth.

He encircled his hand around the brass knob before him and turned it, ever so slowly, ever so quietly, and the door was pushed open inch by inch.

When the crack was wide enough to slip his petite figure through, he held his breath and entered into the room, closing the door shut behind him and letting out an inward sigh of relief.

No backing out now. He crept on tiptoes away from the door and to the center of the circular room. The large window to his left was uncurtained and let the milky moonlight of the full moon flow gently over all the shadows and sharp edges of the furniture and objects ornamenting the rather simple room. He could tell everything was in some hue of red, and felt sorry for the inhabitants of this house, that Godric Gryffindor had been a wizard of such awful taste. But that was besides the point now.

There were five four poster beds lining the walls, and all had their maroon hangings pulled shut, preventing Draco to see who was in which bed. From the far right, he could hear a muffled snoring, and so eliminated that one. From the bed next to that, Draco caught a glimpse of a limp arm dangling from the gap in the hangings, and saw that it was dark-skinned - he turned away. Left, were three beds and not a clue to any of them.

He snuck even closer, another step, another step...

“No... no.... no spiders....” he heard a voice mumble from the bed in the center. He smirked, well that was easy. He shifted his gaze between the two remaining beds, pondering what to do.

That was when he saw them. A pair of wire-framed glasses sitting on a nightstand of the bed second from the left. There was no mistaking it. Those were his. And Draco, his heart leaping into his mouth, felt his body tremble with anticipation.

He stalked toward that bed like a tiger toward his prey and let his fingers curl tightly onto the silky material of the hangings. The only obstacle left between him and victim. He pulled them apart.

There he lay, so beautiful and so real, that it made Draco’s breath hitch in his throat. No, he’d stopped breathing all together, and the only sound he could hear was the deafening thud-thud-thudding of his heart in his ears.

So vulnerable, so peaceful, so achingly, impossibly, and devastatingly sexual. Dark, dark ebony hair spilling over his forehead and onto the white pillow beneath his head. Rosy lips parted and a faint breath passing in and out of them, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest synchronized and deliberate, Draco leaned over the sleeping body and felt his knees weakening like jelly.

He let his hand come an inch away from the golden skin exposed just above the collarbone and grimaced at the sight of the hand. It should’ve been his own graceful, delicate hand, but it wasn’t. It was small and freckled and completely unlike his own.

So instead of looking at his hand, he looked at the sleeping boy’s face with growing hunger, he could feel the arousal mounting in the pit of his stomach. He bent over lower, and let his eyes flutter close. His lips were only a short space away from the boy’s ear.

He whispered,

“Harry.”

It was a second before he got any response, but when he did, he was so lightheaded that he thought he might collapse. He placed both hands on each side of Harry’s head to steady himself.

Harry mumbled something incoherent and rolled onto his back, eyes still closed.

“Harry,” he whispered again, this time daring to lower his lips further so that they were grazing Harry’s earlobe gently. “Wake up.”

He pulled back just enough so that he could see Harry’s face as a pair of emerald green eyes opened ever so slightly, half asleep and squinting through the darkness.

Nothing happened for the next few intervals, as Harry stared back confusedly at Draco. His brow furrowed, his lips parting and then...

“Ginny?”

Draco felt his heart being twisted into a gruesome knot, but he managed a soft smile onto his face, and nodded.

“Ginny - what are you doing here?” Harry whispered, clearly alarmed. He scrambled to sit up, but Draco placed his hands onto Harry’s shoulders and soothed them tenderly. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

Draco placed a finger on Harry’s lips to shush him and shook his head.

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry. Be quiet or you’ll wake everyone.” He traced his finger down that smooth, angular jaw, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Harry shut his mouth and stared hard at Draco, and Draco could tell that he was trying desperately to figure out what was going on.

It was then Draco knew that he couldn’t hold back any longer. He gently pushed Harry back down onto the mattress and climbed into the four poster, drawing the hangings shut and pulling out his wand.

He cast a silencing charm and then tossing his wand aside, crashed his lips against Harry’s, straddling his hips and pinning Harry’s firm arms to the bed.

Harry made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes shooting wide open and mouth opening in a startled protest.

Draco plunged his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and moaned as a shiver ran up and down his spine like a thrill he’d never experience before.

“Gi - Ginny!” Harry spluttered, trying to wrench his hands out from Draco’s firm hold. But his struggles froze completely and a choked gasp escaped his lips as Draco bucked his hips against Harry’s. Draco let go of Harry’s arms and slid his body lower so that it was aligned perfectly with Harry’s. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of Harry’s shirt and began caressing the warm skin on his abdomen.

“Harry -” he said breathlessly, placing another kiss on Harry’s lips, running his tongue hungrily over the soft flesh and savoring every sensation that sparked inside his veins.

He noticed that Harry’s breathing was coming in shorter, shallower pants too, and he smiled.

“Ginny -” Harry stammered, his cheeks adorable flushed and his eyes wide and dazed. “I - I don’t think -”

“Then don’t think,” Draco replied, lifting the shirt higher to massage Harry’s chest and then lowering his head to swirl his tongue around the right nipple. He sucked and drew curves all around the tender skin until he began licking and sucking up to the golden skin to the collarbone, and to the sensitive pulsepoint in the neck.

Harry let out a moan and tilted his head upward to allow more room for Draco to continue his administrations.

“This isn’t... right...” Harry moaned, his hands reaching upward shakily to grasp Draco’s upper arm. “I don’t want - I’m not -”

Draco raised his head to claim Harry’s mouth in another heated kiss and Harry’s sentence died away. He wasn’t kissing back, but he wasn’t struggling either, and as Harry’s grip weakened on Draco’s arm, he took that chance to trail his fingers lightly downward across that smooth, flat chest, down the slight definement of abs and to his narrow hips, sheltered by the waistband of his pajama pants.

“Ginny -” Harry tried feebly again, and Draco could feel the quiver that had shot through Harry’s body beneath him.

“Shh, Harry,” Draco breathed, letting his fingers slip past the waistband effortlessly. “It’s alright.”

But before his hand could find what they were looking for, he was jolted to the side and found himself blinking on his back next to where Harry had been lying. Harry sat up abruptly and scooted backward, his breath coming deeply and his lips flushed and swollen.

“No, Ginny-” he said and Draco could see that he looked a little frightened, and apologetic. Draco wanted to kiss that adorably flustered face again. “I -I can’t do this.”

Draco brushed a long strand of red hair away from his face and pouted.

“Why, Harry?” he demanded, raking his hands down Harry’s chest over his shirt. “Am I not good enough?” Secretly, he hoped Harry would say ‘yes’, but he put on a convincing look of hurt.

Harry moved even further away in what little space they had.

“N-no, it’s not that. Not that at all.” He looked away, blushing an even brighter hue of red. “You’re very pretty, and nice, Ginny... but...”

Oh fantastic. Draco thought furiously. So Weasley’s little sister isn’t Harry’s object of lust. What a bloody waste of effort!

“Then who is it?” he blurted out harshly, feeling very frustrated. He bit his tongue realizing that he was forgetting to keep in character.

Then it’s got to be that Chang bitch, a voice inside his head told him. If it’s not Weaslette, then it’s got to be her. DAMMIT FUCKING DAMMIT!!!

“Wha- It’s nobody!” Harry said, matching the color of the hangings around his bed. “That’s not why!”

Draco felt like kicking himself. Of course it was Chang, Harry had been head-over-heels for her since who knew when.

Hardly listening to Harry’s desperate responses, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Harry now, no, not after making such a fool of himself, and it didn’t matter that he was in the form of Ginny Weasley. He still felt disgusted with himself.

“I’ve told you before...” Harry said quietly, his gaze downcast. “I’m sorry.”

“What,” Draco snapped through gritted teeth. “Are you sorry for?”

Harry looked up, his eyes so regretful that it pained Draco to the point where it hurt. Draco softened without meaning to.

“Please let’s not talk about this,” Harry pleaded weakly. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“That you’re in love with someone else or that you don’t love me?” Draco said in a voice barely audible. He knew that those words hadn’t been Ginny Weasley’s. They’d been his own. But it wasn’t like Harry would ever know anyway.

“Not just you...” Harry let out a heavy breath. “And you know that, Ginny.”

Draco frowned. Now what was that supposed to mean? Who else was there supposed to be if it wasn’t ‘just her’? Was Harry trying to hint that he had many female lovers? He was about to make another comment when Harry began looking at him oddly. His brows knitted together in bewilderment and his mouth opened slightly, as if Draco, or Ginny, wasn’t quite human.

“G-Ginny?”

“What,” Draco raised his brows.

“Uh - what the-” and then Harry’s brows shot up into his hair and he let out a terrified yelp.

It only took a split second for Draco to realize what Harry was yelping about. Inhaling so sharply that he nearly choked, Draco grabbed a handful of his hair that was now considerably shorter and growing shorter by the second. He could tell it wasn’t as red anymore and his HANDS. Merlin, his hands were elongating and becoming attractive again.

SHIT.

The ineloquent expression was due to the fact that his hour had passed... and he’d forgotten to take the rest of the potion before it was too late.... but now it was and here he was changing back into the one person he didn’t want to change into. Nonononononono.

“Ma- Mal -MALFOY?????” Harry cried out, and threw himself backward so suddenly that he thunked his head hard on the bedpost and promptly passed out.

Draco didn’t waste anymore time wondering if Harry was okay. He had his own ass to save right now and he was sure Harry would regain his consciousness at any moment. Snatching his wand from the mound of sheets that were scrunched up at the foot of the bed, he jumped out of Harry’s bed and flew out of the dormitory faster then he’d ever run in his entire life. All the way down the spiraling staircase and past the portrait of the Fat Lady, he was hissing a fine chain of curses and trying not to look over his shoulder lest he should see a rabid Harry Potter chasing after him like a bloodhound.

He didn’t stop running until he practically slammed into the slab of wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and gasping out the password, he threw himself inside. He collapsed against the stone floor on his hands and knees, breathing hard and gulping down much needed oxygen.

When he was finally able to stop the shaking of his limbs, he pulled himself up and leaned his back against the entrance wall.

“Fuck fuck fucking bleeding fuck,” he said loudly, scrunching his eyes tightly as if doing so would shut everything else out as well. “Fuck.”

What was he supposed to do now? How could he have been so thick as to forget to drink the damn potion?? He hadn’t even had the brain to obliviate Harry right then and there, which he should have done instead of fleeing like some idiot. He should have used his head... kept a level mind...

But thinking that wasn’t going to fix this situation any more then if were to jump into the freezing cold lake to get eaten by the giant squid.

Well, he frowned. Getting eaten by the giant squid would probably save me from further humiliation.

Tomorrow was Monday. And Monday was usually Draco’s favorite day of the week, but at this point in time, it was his LEAST favorite day of the week for the same reason that it’d been his favorite. Mondays meant potions, and potions meant double potions, and double potions meant spending three whole hours in the same classroom as Harry.

That’s it, I’m just not going to class tomorrow.

He’d get his first ever fail in that class because of Harry Sodding Potter, and Snape would be disappointed in him, as well as his father, but who cared about marks anyway at a time like this? His life depended on it. His REPUTATION depended on it. He’d send Blaise or Pansy tomorrow morning at breakfast to slip some obliviating potion into Harry’s pumpkin juice. And if that didn’t work, THEN he’d go jump into the lake and feed himself to the giant squid.

A whole lot of other thoughts and options were jumbling inside his head, each more preposturously barbaric then the next, as he dragged himself down the boy’s staircase to the dormitory he shared with the other sixth year Slytherins. Everyone was asleep and luckily, his swearing hadn’t woken anyone up.

He flopped face down onto his bed and squeezed the life out his pillow, hoping that sleep would overcome him very quickly so that he could forget about tonight.

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A/N

Hello, my dear, dear, dear, DEAR readers. Did I happen to tell you how much I love every single blashing one of you? You are a wishing star in the velvet night sky. A box of creamy truffles on a mushy Valentine’s Day. A tube of chapstick on the beaches of Hawaii.

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So, to make long stories short and sweet, I die if you don’t review.

Simple as that:) So no pressure, really.

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A Sordid Affair