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Harry Potter and the Prince of Ice	By : Neverwood Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Anal, Angst, Fingering, H/C, HJ, M/M, Oral, Rim, Solo, Spank. I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. I do not recieve money for this in any way. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Author's Note: This is a long chapter, but it is filled with goodies. I'm really glad that people seem to be liking the story, this foray into public writing has gone so much better than I thought it would. Thank you everyone for your support, it means a great deal.
Disclaimers from earlier chapters still apply. This chapter isn't explicit or graphic (at least, not by my definition) but it is a little racy. There are mentions of an activity not everyone finds appealing. It is a gay pairing, so gay things are going to cum up. Innocents, avert your eyes!

Chapter 11: Would You, Won't You, Will You

Harry knew he was in a big, stinking heap of trouble. Since he had woken up that morning, he could think of nothing except for his infuriating, overbearing, confident, sexy...no! Annoying, arrogant, evil, devious, devilish, decadent...no, no, no! His stupid roommate that he was absolutely not obsessing over. Or thinking about. Or fantasizing about.

...But if he were thinking about a certain Slytherin in repetitive circles of confusion and feelings that Harry refused to define or name, then he definitely needed help. He knew he couldn't trust Ron with something like this. He would either laugh his arse off or vomit, neither of which would be particularly helpful. Hermione wouldn't be entirely objective either, she would spend the rest of the day explaining in painful detail why this...thing...with Draco was bad for his future, and his health. She could probably even talk him into thinking that too. Although he admitted that there may be a grain of truth in that assessment, it wasn't the kind of advice he needed right now. He needed someone who would listen, someone who had no personal stake. Someone who was fond enough of both of them to want to genuinely help, with absolutely no ulterior motives. Which, unfortunately, also ruled out Pansy. As much as he wanted to turn to her for advice about Draco, she would more than likely take Draco's side. As would Blaise and Theo, though Harry hadn't truly considered writing them.

He drew a blank.

He had a sheet of paper in front of him, ready to be written upon. His sharpened quill was in his hand, the tip of which he was tapping against his lips in thought. Who did he know that would be completely objective, that would want to do what was best for all involved, that wouldn't take sides?

The answer hit Harry like a bolt of lightning, the irony of which was not lost on him. He quickly penned out a request for a meeting. He sent the hired owl on its way, smiling to himself in relief. Finally, someone who could give him a solution. A thump on the ceiling above him, originating from the floor above, made him look up with a sigh.

What was he to do in the meantime, though?

…

Harry had sent Draco on a wild goose chase, which he felt a little bad about. Of course, he didn't necessarily know that Slug and Jiggers Apothecary didn't have nightshade. But since it was almost exclusively used in Dark potions, it was a fair guess. And since Draco wasn't allowed to go to Knockturn Alley...yeah, he definitely felt bad. But Pansy had wanted to talk to him, and him alone. He wasn't sure why she had told him not to tell Draco, but he had kept his silence anyway. Now there she was, browsing the considerable Black family library, yet again making Harry feel like a guest in his own home. He knew he should really resent that, or at least stop it, but he found it really didn't bother him that much.

“I really need to visit more often.” Pansy said, so softly that Harry was sure she was talking to herself rather than him. “There are some very rare tomes here.”

“Well, if it didn't mean kicking Draco out of his own home...”

Pansy turned to him and smiled. “Draco's own home, huh?”

Harry blushed, but didn't trust himself to answer. His silence did him no good, and in fact he thought it may have condemned him. Pansy, whom Harry had discovered earlier was an insatiable gossip, gamboled over to the table he was sitting at and sat across from him.

“Harry.” She said, her smile becoming more and more disturbing. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Harry's eyes widened in a fear that only Slytherins could instill in him. He slowly shook his head.

Pansy's smile widened. “Harry, dear. Tell me what's on your mind.”

Harry looked away, flushing again in embarrassment. He knew she would never let it go until he told her, and might even resort to blackmail. And besides, a part of him did want to confess. She'd given good advice before, albeit on Draco's behalf. Maybe...

“Well, there is something.” Harry said quietly.

“Mm-hmm?” Pansy urged, leaning almost completely over the table in her thirst for knowledge.

“It's...about Draco. He...he sort of...well, we...”

“Just spit it out, Harry.”

“I'm getting to it.” Harry said, a bit harshly. He gave a small smile of apology before looking away again. “We...kissed.”

Pansy's eyes widened. “When?”

Harry grumbled the answer, and Pansy frowned.

“Harry, I can't hear you. Speak up.”

“I said, last night.”

“Oh.” Pansy said, absorbing the information quickly. “Where did he kiss you?”

“In his bedroom.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to bother correcting you, poor innocent soul that you are. Why does this have you in such a fit, then?”

Harry scoffed. “It's Malfoy. You know, my arch rival. The boy whom I have hated these past seven years. The one who deliberately got me detentions, threw a snake at me, betted for my death in the Tournament, tried to help bring about my demise several years after said bet, crushed my nose with his foot, and just generally made my life hell. Gee, now that you mention it, I can't think of a single reason not to like the prat.”

Pansy pursed her lips, which Harry knew was not a good sign. “Harry, I am only going to say this once, so listen close. You can sit here and be bitter about everything you and Malfoy did to each other. You can spend the rest of your time with him grumbling in that unattractive way you do about all the qualities you dislike in him. You can even start fighting with him again. Or you can put on your big boy panties, suck it up, and forgive the git once and for all. But you cannot keep going back and forth on whether or not you've gotten past your guys' history. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to Draco, and it's not fair to the people, especially the benevolent and all-knowing Pansy, who have to listen to either of you completely obsess over each other.”

Harry's back straightened. “Draco obsesses over me?”

Pansy snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Focus, Potter.”

Harry frowned. “Don't call me that.”

Pansy nodded slightly. “Fine. Harry, do you forgive him and swear to never dwell on your past again, or will you spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you had?”

Harry didn't really need to think about it. He'd just needed someone to talk him through it, to tell him that it was okay to let it go. He held no grudges, he just didn't want his feelings to lead him blindly to heartache. But if Pansy's reaction was anything to go by, there was at least something for him to build off of. He wasn't sure what exactly it would be, but he wasn't opposed to finding out.

He realized Pansy had been waiting for an answer during his inner monologue, and was growing more and more agitated with every passing second. He grinned at her, and gave the best answer he could think of.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

He didn't have to elaborate. Pansy's wide smile let him know she understood. Suddenly, her smile fell and she socked him on the arm.

“Ow!” Harry yelped. “What was that for?”

“I have to give the ten Galleons back!”

…

Draco wandered from shop to shop in Diagon Alley, not really paying attention to anything in particular. His focus was inward. Rather, his focus was on a peculiar man with black hair, green eyes, and more problems than a Potions NEWT exam. And, if his inebriated self had estimated correctly, a generously sized...wand.

He watched with disinterest as two mothers walking with their children both steered said children to stay away from him. It came to him to snap at them about Death Eater Disease not being contagious, but he didn't have the heart for snark today. Which just went to show how far gone he was already. Since when had Draco Malfoy not wanted to insult his lesser-thans?

He did wonder, if Harry had a child, would he keep it away from Draco? What would a child of Harry's look like? A looker, no doubt. The Potter family tree was full of ruggedly handsome men and homespun, pretty women. So unlike the patrician but classically beautiful Malfoys. Would Harry's son have his father's righteous indignation? Would Harry's daughter feel the need to befriend everyone, regardless of status or rank? Would the child be a Gryffindor, brave and reckless? Would it be a Hufflepuff, kind and true? Never a Slytherin, although Draco would definitely argue that Slytherin had its good points, and that Harry had them. And, Draco surmised with a laugh, any trait that landed the kid in Ravenclaw would not be received from Harry. For all Harry's virtues, he was hardly the sharpest quill in the bunch.

Draco stopped in front of a sweets shop. He'd watched Harry at Hogwarts for years, but had never been close enough to observe more than the overall behavior of a messy eater. Now that he sat next to him during their meals together, he could observe as much as he wanted. Two things had caught him off guard: how truly messy Harry was, and how large his sweet tooth was. During breakfast one morning, Draco had joked about how Harry would eat nothing but pure sugar if he'd been able. Although it was a joke, Harry's penchant for anything sweet was not. Draco wondered how Harry had been able to stay so skinny all these years. He'd have to ask Harry about that one of these days, but for now Draco turned his thoughts to a particularly important upcoming event. In a month and a half, it would be Harry's birthday. If Draco were to accomplish what he'd been setting out to do since his own birthday, he'd need that much time to prepare.

Still, Draco thought as he entered the shop, planning Harry's birthday could wait a few more minutes. Draco's plan for seducing Harry required more immediate attention. Chocolate frogs seemed to be Harry's favorite, so Draco purchased several. He would hide them and give one to Harry every day, in exchange for small favors. A kiss on the cheek, a small secret, a frivolous activity. Draco smiled as the possibilities multiplied in his mind.

This was going to be fun.

…

Meanwhile, Harry sat in the Black library, oblivious to Draco's machinations. Instead, he was groaning as he listened to Pansy go on...and on...and on about Draco's many, many virtues.

“...and he sings to himself in the shower when he thinks no one is awake. It's adorable, especially since he almost always picks Muggle music.”

Harry frowned. “How did he hear any Muggle music, anyway?”

Pansy shrugged. “No idea, but some if it is actually quite good. Although I will deny saying that if you ever reveal that fact, and will delight in skinning you alive.”

Harry gulped. “I'm good, thanks.”

Pansy's smile went from being scary, to friendly again. “Good. Now, where was I?”

“The Great Draco, and his penchant for music.”

“Ah, yes. Did you know he can play the piano? He's very good. And when he sings, oh.”

Harry smirked. “Sounds like you're a little in love with him, Pans.”

Pansy tsked. “I will leave that to you, darling.”

Harry scoffed, but said nothing. Pansy forged on, relentless. “I'm not sure what your problem is, since you agreed that you'd let the past go. I would shag Draco, and I don't even fancy him.”

“Who are we talking about?”

Harry turned around, seeing said object of lust leaning against the door frame. Harry had heard the phrase “like the cat that caught the canary,” but he had never seen a true example of the phrase. Until now. Draco looked like he was quite pleased with himself. He also looked like he wanted to devour Harry where he sat.

“Um,” Harry articulated, his traitorous cheeks blushing so hot he felt feverish. Or perhaps that was just the effect Draco had on him. It was hard to tell. “Nobody. Nothing. No one.”

“Hmm.” Draco said, his gaze resting heavily on Harry. “I don't believe you. Who were you talking about, Pans?”

“You.” Pansy said sweetly. Harry turned and glared at her for her betrayal. She shrugged it off and blew him a kiss before walking to the door of the library. She gave Draco a smile and a pat on the shoulder before she sauntered off.

And suddenly they were alone.

“So,” Draco said after a few moments of uncomfortable (for Harry, at least) silence, “you wouldn't shag me?”

Harry spluttered. “What? I...what I meant was...the thing is-”

“So you would shag me?” Draco asked smugly.

“No!” Harry said a little too quickly, his response a little too loud.

If anything, Draco's smirk widened. “Pity.” He said. Harry spluttered some more, and Draco moved across the room to stand next to him, leaning onto the table and invading Harry's personal space.

“You wouldn't shag me.” Draco said, his tone seemingly casual but with an undercurrent of something Harry didn't want to examine too closely. “Would you frot with me?” Draco asked. Harry licked his lips in a nervous gesture, his breath hitching as he saw Draco's eyes follow the movement.

“N-no.” Harry said, his breathing as unsteady as his conviction. Even as he refused, he felt as though an entirely different conversation were taking place.

“Too bad.” Draco said, tsking. “Would you blow me?”

“What? I...no.”

“Hmm. Would you let me blow you?”

“I...” Harry's voice trailed off, his concentration turning inward towards a suddenly erotic imagination.

“It's a simple question, Harry. Would. You. Blow. Me?”

Harry didn't know where he found the determination to break the eye contact he'd maintained up to this point, but he was able to look away. It didn't help. Draco was still there, smelling like pine and lemon and goodness. Harry groaned under his breath. Draco gently grasped his chin with two fingers, turning his head to re-establish the staring contest, quite unlike the ones they'd had at school.

“You're being very, very evil right now.” Harry said.

Draco grinned. “I'm just asking a few questions. You can stop answering anytime you like. Now, Harry, would you let me suck your cock?”

Harry gulped. “...No?”

Draco arched a brow. “I think you're overreacting, Harry. What's a blowjob between friends? Now, would you let me suck you off if I asked nicely?”

Harry almost moaned out loud from the mental imagery playing in his brain, the irresistible scene being painted by Draco's words.

“Y...yes?”

Draco gave him a small smile.

“Willing to take a blowjob but not give one? That's not very noble of you, is it?”

Harry could tell that the conversation was getting out of hand, but his raging hormones made him powerless to stop it. He was drowning in those grey lakes, and there was nothing he could do about it. And he wasn't sure he would even if he could. Almost as if he could hear his thoughts, Draco's smile grew.

“So, you would let me take your cock in my mouth. Would you let me put my tongue in yours?”

Harry was beginning to pant. He didn't bother trying to speak, he simply nodded.

“Excellent.” Draco said. “What about elsewhere? Would you let me put my tongue elsewhere?”

Harry hesitated, but nodded again.

“How about in your arsehole? Would you let me put my tongue there?”

Harry's breath caught. He'd never imagined such a thing, how no idea what it would be like. His arsehole, as if hearing its name, clenched a bit in both fear and anticipation. He didn't understand why Draco would want to do such a thing, but he wasn't completely disgusted by being on the receiving end.

Draco broke Harry's musings. “We'll work up to that, then.” He suddenly leaned much closer, and put his face just in front of Harry's. Harry could feel Draco's breath ghosting across his lips, could taste the faint hint that reminded him of the coffee Draco liked to drink. His eyes, of their own accord, were drawing to half-mast.

“Would you kiss me?” Draco said, and Harry felt his words more than he heard them. Draco leaned in that impossibly small fraction closer, making their lips brush across each other without actually letting them touch.

“Would you let me kiss you?” Draco's lips brushed against his with every word, the movement hypnotizing. “Would you let me devour you, let me ravish you in all the ways that I've been dreaming about?”

Harry's eyes closed completely, and he surrendered to the idea of being led into this wonderful, mystical world of pleasure and temptation whose magic put that of the wizarding world's to shame. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the spell Draco was weaving. If he had been capable of thought, he would have wondered how he could feel as though he were drowning and taking his first real breath all at once. He nodded, a distant echo of a thought that Draco's lips had eclipsed. Draco groaned in pained ecstasy, though Harry couldn't remember from what. When Draco slowly but surely began to add steady pressure, bringing their lips together, Harry opened his eyes. He felt a startling shard of clarity pierce him, and he let it. It was not unwelcome, or unpleasant, only slightly unsettling.

Although techincally it wasn't, this was their first kiss. The first one where alcohol could not be an excuse. The first one where they could both admit to wanting it, though Draco seemed much more sure of himself than Harry did. The first kiss where they were meeting as Draco and Harry, equals on the battlefield of lust. Here, they held power over each other. Not for pain, but for pleasure. Here, there were no losers. Here, the voices in both of their heads were silenced.

Harry watched Draco close his eyes as the pressure increased more and more, until finally transforming into a proper kiss. It was a little awkward without alcohol to smooth the way, but it was more intense without it dulling their senses. Harry knew he gave a small gasp, and he was pretty sure Draco did as well. He had intended to watch Draco, to memorize the faces he made while embracing him, but he couldn't fight the drugging pleasure. He closed his eyes against his will, and felt even more because of it.

He didn't know how long it went on. Minutes, days, years. Eventually, though, they had to part for air. When they did, Harry opened his eyes. Draco was staring at him, his mouth swollen and the color of raspberries. Harry leaned forward to take a love bite out of it when Draco spoke.

“Not gay, huh?”

It was like a bucket of cold water. Harry sat back, expecting a barrage of insults. Draco saw the reaction, but other than a concerned look he didn't react. Instead, he got up and went to leave the library. As he came across Harry, he suddenly stopped and dug in his pocket. He dropped something on Harry's lap before leaning over him.

“Good boy.” Draco whispered, kissing his lips one last time. Harry felt an electric shock run through him at the unexpected contact. By the time he managed to open his eyes again, Draco was gone. He looked down at his lap, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

Why had Draco given him a Chocolate Frog?
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Harry Potter and the Prince of Ice