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The Prefects\' Bathroom	By : Lizard Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2574 -:- 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-The Prefects' Bathroom
- 2-The rest of "The Prefects' Bathroom"
- 1
- 2
The Prefects' Bathroom

By Lizard

Rating: R for swearing and
sexual references.

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Warnings: Slash, tasteless
humour, bubblebath, a little angsty at the end... Set during OotP, though there
aren't really any spoilers...

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and Warner
Bros. own everything, I am merely a humble disciple indulging her muse...

Feedback: Please, please, please

Notes: I took a few, ahem,
liberties with the canon description of the Prefects' bathroom. You'll see what
I mean...

~~***~~

Ron couldn't help but
beam goofily at the pristine, white-tiled splendour before him. Weasley, my
man, you have made it big. He stepped into the huge room and shut the door
behind him, when the saccharine tones of a mechanical female voice resounded
from all corners of the room.

"Good evening, Mr
Weasley, and welcome to the Prefects' Bathroom." Ron yelped in surprise
and swept his gaze around the room, looking for the source of the sound. Only
when he was sure that there was in fact no woman there to spy on him did his
heart stop pounding in his chest, his face turning bright red in embarrassment
even though there was no one there to see him. The voice continued,

"If you wish to
use the lavatory, please use your wand to press one."

A pink, flowery scented
cloud suddenly materialised before Ron's eyes in the shape of a number one. Ron
stared at it in fascination.

"If you wish to
view our wide selection of aromatic oils and bubble baths, please press
two." Pale green smoke wreathed in a circle around the pink number one
before coalescing into a two next to it.

"If you wish to
take our guided tour, please press three." Ron hurriedly dug into his robe
pocket and touched the powder blue number three with his wand.

"You have selected
number three. Please place any unneeded personal items into the trolley
provided." An over-polished wooden box glided on its little brass wheels
towards him, and he cautiously dumped his school bag into it. The little wooden
trolley zoomed off, leaving the scent of perfumed beeswax in its wake.

Suddenly, Ron felt
himself being lifted an inch off the floor. He let out a strangled shriek and
waved his arms about to try and steady himself.

"What the -
?!" Fuck, he was moving, gliding over the floor. The stupid woman's
voice echoed around the room again.

"Please do not be
alarmed, Mr Weasley. We at the Prefects' Bathroom are here to ensure your every
comfort and convenience."

"Convenience, my
arse! Let me - "

The voice interrupted
him, "On your left, you can see the Shaving room." Was it him, or did
the voice sound mildly pissed off? "Here, you may choose from our varied
selection of razors, foam, aftershave and deodorants to suit your personal
preferences."

Ron self-consciously
stroked his completely hairless chin, a sudden thought coming into his head.
There were boys at Hogwarts who shaved?! He felt stupid that the thought
had never occurred to him. He'd seen Charlie and Bill shave countless numbers
of times at the Burrow when they had been of school age, so they must have had
to shave at Hogwarts, right? Percy being the prissy prat that he was had never
been unshaven in anyone's presence. It had occurred to Ron on many an occasion
whether Percy even had body hair. Ron idly wondered if the standard
boys' toilets had a Shaving Room. If there was, he was either unbelievably
unobservant, or it was magically invisible to the younger boys. But what if you
were prematurely adolescent and needed to shave at a younger age than others?
Would the room appear - ?

"On your right,
you can see the Shower Room. Ideal for when you are short of time but still
need to cleanse." Ron was glided over to a smoky glass door which opened
to allow him a peek inside. "We have a choice of three different speeds of
shower regimes, the 5 minute shower, t min minute shower, and the 10 second
shower." Ron's eyes bugged out at the thought of being whizzed through a
shower at such startling speed. He must try that one some time...

"Next on the left,
you can see our state of the art Bathing Room, featuring therapeutic jets of
hot water to soothe muscles, a jacuzzi to accommodate upto four people at a
time - " Ron snorted at this, " - and a voice-activated temperature
adjuster. We also have over a hundred different types of aromatic oils, soaps,
and bubblebaths to suit your every need."

"On your next
right is the Drying Room. Warning, Mr Weasley." The mechanical voice
somehow managed to sound ominous. "This is only to be used when one must be
completely dry in approximately 20 seconds." A stainless steel door with
"Drying Room" etched onto the front opened and a blast of hot dry air
pummelled Ron in the face, almost gliding him across the room at breakneck
speed. He squinted and caught a glimpse of what looked like a giant tumble
dryer lined with pillows. The door slammed closed. Ron sighed in relief.

Right, I'm never
going in there, he told himself.

"On your final
left is the Lavatory. We at the Prefects' Bathroom pride ourselves on this
particular room." Ron couldn't help but be curious. "Magically
charmed to allow one to complete one's business in whatever surroundings one
wishes. Just state your request out loud clearly, and the room will change to a
summer meadow, a busy high street, or even a classroom." Ron burst out
laughing at this last one, a sudden image of himself 'cotingting his business'
in Snape's Potions lesson unable to be shaken out of his mind.

"Lastly, on your
right is the Final Touches Boutique." Ron wrinkled his nose. Boutiques
were for girls, he wasn't going near that room if his life depended on it.
"Equipped with sentient mirrors on all sides to advise you on the best way
to look as perfect as one can be. Also features a Hair and Make-Up expert to
add those final touches." The mechanical voice turned unnaturally jubilant
at those last two words. Suddenly, Ron was gliding backwards at high speed back
at the entrance to the bathroom, where he was finally (and thankfully) lowered
to the floor. Feeling a little unsteady on his legs, Ron grabbed onto the side
of the little wooden trolley that had suddenly materialised before him out of
thin air. He reached in for his school bag and placed it on the floor.

"Thank you for
taking our guided tour, Mr Weasley. If you require any further assistance, do
not hesitate to call. Enjoy your stay!" With that, the echoing and
infinitely annoying female voice disappeared.

That has got to be the
most surreal experience of my life, thought Ron. After a minute of
contemplation, he broke out of his daze and picked up his school bag, heading
for the Bathing Room.

~~***~~

Draco walked along the
corridor to the Prefects' Bathroom with a decided swagger to his hips. He had
just spent the last half an hour supervising a first year Hufflepuff as they
carried out their detention - sweeping and cleaning his dorm. Without magic. He
particularly savoured the moment when he 'accidentally' charmed the hapless
boy's broom to swat him viciously on the arse every time he bent over to pick
something from the floor.

Draco grinned. Ah,
happy days. But right now he didn't have time to think about imbecilic first
years. He had a date with Pansy in an hour and he needed to look sharp.

As little as the
prospect of Pansy and himself partaking of a romantic moonlight picnic by the
lake thrilled, th, that wasn't going to dissuade him from taking a bath.
Cleanliness was next to Perfection, and Perfection was his middle name.

Stepping into the
roomroom, he nonchalantly dumped his school bag into the trolley that had
whizzed up to his side. Right on cue, the insipid dulcet tones of a woman
began,

"Welcome to -
"

"Oh, shut up,
Beatrice" Draco drawled. "I've been coming here for over three years,
I don't need a sodding introduction every time."

'Beatrice' harrumphed
and muttered, "Enjoy your stay" in a disgruntled mechanical fashion
and faded away, a dist ech echo of "Wanker" bouncing off the walls of
the room. Draco narrowed his eyes, but nonetheless said nothing. After a
moment's thought, he strolled over to the Shaving Room, idly thumbing his
cheek. Yup, definitely needed a shave. Pansy always hated it when he shaved,
saying she liked him to be all stubbly and 'manly'. Manly be damned. He didn't
give a shit about being manly; stubble made him itch like hell.

Standing in front of
the giant mirror in the shaving room, Draco snapped his fingers and murmured,
"Clothes". At once, his school robes, uniform and underwear were
whisked off him to be replaced with a pale green towel wrapped securely around
his waist. He snapped his fingers again and made his selection of razor and
foam from the thirty-odd various types laid out for him on the edge of the
smooth marble sink. The other products vanished and the sink filled with
lukewarm water. Smirking at himself in the mirror, Draco began his daily ritual
of shaving.

He would never admit it
to anyone, but he had always found self-grooming a highly satisfying pastime.
There was something almost sensual about the way a shining silver razor blade
slides over one's skin, leaving it smooth and clean and fragrant. And baths!
Oh, he could write sonnets about bathing, if one gave him the opportunity and a
guarantee that he wouldn't embarrass himself.

Ha'>Having finished
shaving, spenspent a time admiring his smooth-chinned reflection in the mirror,
Draco snapped his fingers once again and muttered, "Time."

'Beatrice' returned,
seemingly more cheerful as she said in a bubbly tone, "The time now is
7:41 pm."

Draco thought for a
second. A jacuzzi, that's what he needed. A nice relaxing laze in bubbling hot
water. Now, what bubblebath should he use? Perhaps the strawberry, or how about
the apple and cinnamon? He walked out of the Shaving Room to the door on his
right.

"Beatrice, I think
I'll try the lime and - WEASLEY!!"

"MALFOY!"

Draco stared in horror
at the image of a redheaded Gryffindor, a wet and naked redheaded
Gryffindor sitting in clear waist-high gurgling water. Ron swept his darkened
damp hair out of his eyes.

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

Draco closed his eyes
in irritation. "What does it sodding well look like I'm doing here? I'm
naked save for a towel, for god's sake, and I'm here to take a bath." He
spied Ron's eyes widen at this. What? Dhe phe pillock think that he never
bathed? What kind of imbecilic brain cells did these Weasleys breed? All of
their genes must have been used to maintain that crazy red hair of theirs with
none to spare for actual intelligence.

"But - but - I'm
using the bath!"

"Well done for
noticing, Weasel. Now, if you don't mind removing your impoverished freckled
arse out of here, I'd like to use the jacuzzi."

"I'm not
moving!"

Draco mentally debated
between the two options he had facing him. Getting into a bath with a
stark-naked Weasley, or going on a date with Pansy Parkinson stinking like a
polecat. "Fine, whatever. But I'm not getting out of here until I have my
bath, so budge over."

Ron stared in absolute
shock as Draco abandoned his towel and slipped, serpent-like, into the clear
water, schooling his features into an expression of indifference and habitual
smugness and managing not to blush.

After all, it wasn't
every day you stripped in front of your worst enemy's sidekick.

As he settled himself
in the water and draped an arm along the side of the tub, Draco couldn't help
but think what his father would say at the sight of his son fraternising with a
Gryffindor. A poor, muggle-loving Gryffindor at that. He smirked
inwardly in triumph. As much as he loved Daddy Dearest, the thought of shocking
him so completely certainly had its good points. Being a Malfoy was decidedly
boring, what with all that self-control and cool arrogance that one must be
saturated in. He was a horny teenager, for crying out loud - he needed to get
his thrills from somewhere.

~~***~~

Was it him, or had the
jacuzzi that could "accommodate upto four people" suddenly shrink in
size? I guess having a Malfoy threaten to share your bath does make you get a
little claustrophobic, thought Ron in apprehension. He watched as Malfoy moved
smoothly into the water, naked as the day he was born and as cool as you
please. And no matter how hard he tried, he just had to shut his eyes, though
he did catch a glimpse a triangle of blond curly hair and his... well, you
know, that thing. Well, it wasn't so much a glimpse as a rather short
glance, or perhaps a slightly prolonged glance seeing as he now had a very
clear image of the exact shade of those blond curls...

Ron blinked and
furiously told himself to snap out of his filthy-minded daze. What the fuck was
he doing thinking about Malfoy's pubic hair? He saw enough of pubic hair at
home - being the youngest of six brothers certainly introduced one to the birds
and the bees a lot sooner than you would think. Or want, come to that.
But then why was he all hot and bothered now? He'd seen all of his brothers
naked at some point in his life. He'd seen Ginny naked. Heck, he'd even seen
Harry naked, though that had been entirely by accident - he knew now
never to go looking for his best friend in the showers immediatefterfter a
long, tiresome, and sweaty Quidditch match. No sir-ee. And anyway, that didn't
explain why a naked Malfoy was infinitely more disturbing than a naked Harry...

Damn it! There he was,
thinking about naked people again. People did not reminisce about their
best friend in such a way. Unless they were attracted to them (which he most
definitely wasn't), or jealous of them (which he...). Well, he guessed he was
sometimes a tad jealous of Harry. It was kind of difficult, what with
the snazzy scar and the heroics and the favouritism and the hordes of girls
that obviously fancied him but didn't have the guts to say. Harry, the
brainless git, didn't notice them at all - you'd think he were blind or
something! Or... maybe Ron noticed all the people who fancied Harry because
nobody fancied him...

Suddenly Ron was angry
with himself. What was he doing spoiling his first time in a jacuzzi with thoughts
of Harry? He was Prefect now, wasn't he? He didn't see Harry with a shiny gold
and red badge pinned to his robes. Ron had got this privilege entirely on his
own merit, not some quotient of fame handed to him on a plate as the little
redheaded friend of the Boy Who Had The Luck Of The Devil. This bathroom was his
domain, and he was going to enjoy it even if it killed him. Even if he had to
spend the next hour with a rather hostile, and very naked - bollocks, not
again! - blond Slytherin.

Before he could stop
himself, Ron stole a look at the boy opposite him. God, look at his skin. It's
so white... so smooth. Like marble or ice. Or cream. Yum. But probably like
cream he was delicious on the outside, but full of rotten calories on the
inside and would make you feel ill if you ate too much. I bet Malfoy was made
Prefect only because his oh-so-rich-and-smarmy Daddy pulled a few strings,
thought Ron smugly. Or threatened to pull Snape's arm off if his little baby wasn't
made Prefect, more like.

Shit, now he was
feeling sorry for Snape of all le. le. Next time he camto tto this
bathroom, he was bloody well locking the door. Too much naked cream - sorry,
naked Malfoy - was very bad for your indigestion.

Another glance, a
wobbly image of the thing through the clear water -

Right, I have got
to sort this out once and for all. Time for the bubblebath.

~~***~~

&n'>

Draco opened his eyes,
annoyed with the sounds of Ron swishing and turning through the water. He'd
just been having a rather interesting daydream involving - well, his
concentration was broken now. Stupid Weasel. Stupid bloody poor muggle-loving -

What the fuck is he
doing? Why is he getting up? Do not blush. Do not blush. He's just a
Gryffindor. So what if he's stretching out from the water, his muscles elegant
and stream-lined, rivulets of water sliding down his glowing freckled skin,
droplets of water clinging to his back...

Don't look at his arse!
Gryffindor arse equals bad. As nice as it is, do not look at it. Do not - Jesus
Christ, he's got goose bumps all over him. And that fine line of reddish blond
hairs going down his back, like a great sodding arrow pointing south. He may as
well have a sign on his head saying, "Look at my rear. 't i't it
gorgeous?"

Oh, fuck. Never mind
the rear, it's the front Draco was more worried about. Go on, just a
little bit more, stretch a bit more, can't quite see his...

Damn. Damn, damn, damn,
shit, bugger, crap and bollocks. Draco had a hard on. A bloody hard on - here,
of all places. In the jacuzzi. With Weasley in front of him; because of
Weasley in front of him.

This evening was just
getting better and better.

Draco quickly draped
his arm vaguely over his crotch area, praying and hoping beyond hope that
Weasley would remain his usual unobservant self for just this once. The
rippling water began to settle as Ron sat back in the water, his tatty,
scratched wand held delicately in his long fingers. Draco stared as Ron just
sat there, his brow furrowed in concentration - Fat chance of any useful
thoughts coming out of that brain, Draco thought maliciously - and a
slightly nervous look on his blushing face.

"Erm... *cough*...
Malfoy, could you - well, um, could - how do I get bubblebath?"

Draco lifted both his
eyebrows, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible babble that Weasley had
just addressed him with.

"What in Merlin's
wrinkled arse are you going on about?" he asked in bewildered
exasperation, his normally admirable cool fraying at the edges as his... problem
seemed to grow. Literally.

The carrot-headed fool
blinked.

"Err... you know,
bubblebath. How do I get the freaky woman's voice to turn up so that I can get
some bubblebath for our - I mean, for this jacuzzi?"

Draco smirked
automatically, an image of a bubble-coated Weasel coming to his mind.

"Wouldn't you like
to know..."

He was about to open
his mouth to deliver the customary insult, when it occurred to him that having
bubblebath might not be such a bad thing, seeing as his little problem was
likely getting more visible by the minute. He cleared his throat hurriedly,
cursing himself for sounding at a disadvantage in front of the Gryffindor.

"Why... ah... oh.
Just click your fingers and call Beatrice."

Weasley's eyes first
widened in confusion, then a deeper shade of red washed over his face. Draco
thought for a second, then grinned in unabashed malevolent amusement.

"You don't know
how to click your fingers, do you?"

Weasley somehow managed
to turn an even darker shade of red, his white teeth startling in contrast as
they emerged to bite his lower lip. His long brown lashes swept down to hide
his eyes.

Crap, thought Draco. A
shy, blushing Weasley isn't doing my problem any good, no matter how amusing
the sight is - just sodding well call the woman for him.

"Oi, Beatrice, you
slut. I know you've been watching us, so you may as well say something. Boy
Weasel here wants bubblebath."

Beatrice's cheerful
voice echoed from an unknown source, sounding perfectly innocent. A little too
innocent.

"I hope you are
enjoying your bath together, Messrs Weasley and Malfoy. Mr. Weasley, would you
like to try our Tester Taster Pot to choose your preferred product?"

Draco frowned at the
'bathing together' allusion, knowing it for the spiteful dig that it was.
Bitch.

He watched as Weasley
examined the small Tester Taster Pot that appeared in the palm of his hand,
reading the instructions on the label with that delightfully diligent look on
his face.

Draco metaphorically
slapped himself round the head. Delightful?! Weasel had never been delightful
at anything in his life. God damn it, what had gotten into him today? He
wasn't usually this bad at hiding his attraction to the redhead. In fact, Draco
prided himself on his excellent handling of the 'Weasel Dilemma', as he liked
to term it. Ever since third year when adolescence and hormones had kicked in,
Draco had been unaccountably struck by the sheeruty uty of the boy in front of
him.

The pale skin dotted
with light orange. The cute nose that just begged to be kissed. Those big,
innocent-as-a-lamb eyes, big and bluish green. Gorgeous colour; he had a shirt
at home that would exactly match those eyes, actually. And that figure...hmm...

Oh, but the hair! Draco
metaphorically wrinkled his nose - bright colours really weren't his thing. But
somehow it suited Ron down to a tee. Especially when he was angry; which was
very often, courtesy of yours truly. Those eyes of his would kind of flare up
when Draco pissed him off, like someone had lit a fire in his head. His red
hair veritably stood on end and his face would flush, making those freckles
disappear in the heat. His pretty white teeth would appear as his lips parted
roughly in a snarl.

He was just...elecelectric
when he was like that. Pure energy radiating from him, shoulders trembling
slightly with emotion, just so alive and... beautiful.

He remembered the exact
moment he'd seen Ron like that. Not just seen, but truly seen him. Their
first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with that buffoon games keeper, wasn't
it? There he was, next to Pothead and the bushy-haired Mudblood, and Potter had
been looking at him and trying to insult him. Idiotic bothersome little shit -
as if he could compete with his superior wit and intellect. Hah. But what
really annoyed him was that Weasley was standing there, fairly crackling with
pent-up rage, and all on behalf of Potter.

What was he doing
getting angry like that when Draco wasn't even insulting him? Weasley was ten
times more interesting than Pothead, what right did he have to be crackling
with rage on the side lines?

And thus began the
obsession. A very well-hidden one, but an obsession none-the-less. From then
on, every time Draco was in the vicinity of Potter and Co., he always made sure
to address a hand-picked insult to Weasley. Granted, there wasn't much you
could say about him, bar his poverty and stupidity, but that was enough. Just
enough to make him almost catch fire.

Gorgeous.

And Pothead thinking
Draco was only concerned with him, the arrogant arsehole. As if he was even half
as interesting as Weasley. Besides, he didn't want to wank in the bath to the
image of a pissed-off Potter...

What? he said to his
alter-ego inner voice. He could wank to whatever he sodding well liked. He
really didn't give a toss that Weasley was a guy. He bet every boy in the world
wanked to the image of another bloke at least once in his life. Didn't
they? Who was to know, anyway? Aside from his father, who could read minds as
well as he could think up novel tortures. But like he said, every bloke had a
quotient of homosexuality in his blood. And besides, his Dad was one of the
campest men he knew, and he'd be damned if he hadn't at least indulged in a
spot of sodomy when he was young. Almost all the Death Eaters were men, right?
Well, they had to do something when they got bored of hurting people...

Draco quickly left that
train of thought to wilt in his inactive imagination. There were some things
you really didn't want to think about; and Death Eater orgies were definitely
one of them.

He suddenly focussed on
his surroundings, slightly shocked to find that Weasley was delicately licking
the end of his forefinger with an expression of... well. He supposed that
edible bubblebath would be a treat to someone as poor as Weasel. But
Draco completely forgot to voice the jibe his mind had concocted, completely
stricken by the image of Weasley's eyes closed in pure pleasure at the taste
and sucking his finger and... God.

Now there was an
image he would be wanking to in the future.

That must have been
what made him flip. He couldn't really account it to anything else. A wave of
anger just rushed through him. Why the fuck was Weasley being so nice to him?
Why wasn't he trembling in fear, or anger, or anything? He was Draco
Malfoy, people weren't meant to be polite to him. No one was ever polite to
him. Wary, yes. Cowering, of course. Pissed off, all too often. But never nice.

He couldn't deal with
that. It was too much effort. He didn't want to see Weasley with a calm
innocent look on his face. He wanted to see the electricity, the energy, the
red-faced anger. That he could deal with. That he could come face
to face with and give as good as he got. But this...

"Look, I don't
care what fucking bubblebath you use. I don't care. I'm only here to have a
bath so I can bugger off on a date later on."

Weasley flinched. Just
a tiny bit. Not enough.

"Why don't you
just eat all the soap products in this entire room. I'm sure it tastes better
than the pig shit you eat at home."
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The Prefects\' Bathroom