Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8662 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
When they pushed open the double doors of the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey stood, dressed in her nightgown with her hands on her hips.

“Thank you for deciding to make an appearance, gentlemen,” she said sardonically. “Curfew was half an hour ago. I trust you are clean? It’s time for lights out and I expect you to be fully rested before I release you in the morning.”

Harry returned to his bed under her stern gaze while Malfoy stalked to his own.

The lights went out save a solitary candle which hovered beside the darkened window in Madam Pomfrey’s office door after she closed it.

Harry put his glasses on the bedside table between their beds and closed his eyes, trying to find sleep, but his erection throbbed against the drawstring in his pyjama bottoms and he longed to relieve it.

After about fifteen minutes of shifting under his blanket, trying to find a comfortable position, Harry held his breath, listening. He hoped to hear the rhythmic sound of breathing which would mean Malfoy had fallen asleep, but instead the sound of muffled panting met his ears.

His cock ached more at the thought that Malfoy was wanking.

He drew the drawstring from its knot and slipped his hand underneath, unsticking his leaking cock head from the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. His other hand moved upwards, carefully unbuttoning the pyjama top with fumbling fingers. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from making too much noise as the cool of the room settled over him and caused his nipples to stand up like small pebbles.

Harry’s hand travelled over his chest, still warm from his bath, and then dipped down to join the other. One hand palmed his cock, while the other moved further, squeezing his balls gently, fingertips finding the puckered entrance to his body just behind them.

He sucked in a loud breath when he heard a whimper come from the next bed, freezing his movements briefly.

And then Harry didn’t care any more. So what if Malfoy knew he was listening to him wank? Harry had needs just as much as Malfoy did. He let a long sigh escape while he stroked himself, dipping the finger of his other hand just inside his rim, fucking himself on it with short jabs.

His eyes flew open at the sensation of eyes on him, and met Malfoy’s smouldering gaze staring down at him from above.

Malfoy had shed his top and his pyjama bottoms were noticeably tented in front, making Harry squeeze his erection to keep from coming right then.

“Don’t talk,” Malfoy hissed, then pulled Harry’s sheet off and climbed in beside him.

Harry couldn’t form words even if he had wanted to. He had to roll onto his side so there would be room enough for the pair of them, which necessitated moving his hands. The only problem was that Harry wasn’t sure where to put them next. He settled with folding an arm under his head and leaving the other draped uncomfortably across his hip.

Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms whatsoever as to where to put his hands. In an instant, one arm had snaked under Harry’s shoulder, while the other hand explored Harry’s chest. Malfoy leaned forwards to take Harry’s lips in a kiss.

Harry was almost too shocked to respond, but his arm found its way around Malfoy’s bare waist, brushing the groove of his back, and he kissed back enthusiastically, aware that Malfoy could withdraw his willingness at any moment.

Their mouths moved together, drawing Harry to a higher level than he’d ever known. He’d never gone so far as to be half-naked with another person before, and he melted against Malfoy’s body as pliant as warm butter.

Harry wasn’t sure where he was in time and space. Everything that existed right then was Malfoy’s mouth against his and their bodies bumping together, while hands explored chests, arms, and quivering stomachs.

Harry’s hand slipped down to Malfoy’s navel, following the soft path of downy hair leading beneath his pyjama bottoms. He wanted to slip his hand inside to touch the cock brushing against his own, but hesitated, unsure of how much was being offered.

Malfoy seemed to read his thoughts. He chased Harry’s tongue with his own, sucking at it and Harry’s lips, while he pulled the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms, giving Harry access.

Harry groaned into Malfoy’s mouth at the feel of the velveteen smoothness of Malfoy’s cock as it filled his hand, thrusting upwards into his palm.

“Touch me,” Harry whimpered, and then Malfoy’s hands were all over him. The one he had tucked beneath Harry’s shoulder moved further underneath him, circling his back beneath his top, pulling Harry’s face even closer while the other slipped down to take Harry’s cock in a loose fist.

Harry shuddered, eyes squeezing tightly at the sensation, unable to keep from gasping into Malfoy’s open mouth, trying as hard as he could not to come before he was ready.

They rubbed and kissed, all hands and chests, warmth and comfort, closeness and a sense of joining spurring them onwards.

They didn’t talk. No words were needed. Harry felt like he could say everything he’d been thinking over the past month to Malfoy through his body, through his kisses. He poured his feelings of understanding of the loss and betrayal Malfoy had suffered, topping it with the sweetness of forgiveness, acceptance, and his longing for friendship. His hand gripped Malfoy’s cock, fingers pressed lightly against the ridge as it slid back and forth in his fist. His thumb brushed the head, making his own cock throb as Malfoy’s foreskin moved between his fingers, and droplets of semen squeezed out of Malfoy’s slit, scenting the air with a heady arousal.

Harry wanted more, needed to be closer. He moved his hand, feeling Malfoy’s kisses slow in hesitation until he made his intentions clear by gripping the back of Malfoy’s pyjama bottoms and pulling them down over the swell of Malfoy’s arse.

Malfoy caught on quickly, catching Harry’s lower lip between his teeth briefly, and Harry could feel Malfoy’s jaw tremble with either fear or the intoxicating need he was feeling himself, perhaps a mixture of the two.

Harry lost his sense of up and down then as Malfoy flipped him onto his back, pulling his own pyjama bottoms off the rest of the way and straddling Harry’s thighs. He pulled Harry’s pyjama bottoms down to just above his knees, trapping him beneath his arse, but once their cocks met skin-to-skin, aligning perpendicular to Harry’s stomach, Harry couldn’t be arsed to care that he couldn’t move his legs.

Malfoy’s fist closed around their cocks, making Harry grunt as he pressed upwards, seeking the friction that would bring him release. He shuddered at the sensation of the band of Malfoy’s ring rubbing the ridge of his foreskin and his tender cock head. His eyes concentrated on Malfoy’s face as his jaw fell slackened, mouth panting. Malfoy’s pale blond hair was swept messily to the side and Harry watched him move, his body rising and falling with Harry’s thrusting hips.

Curiously, Harry watched Malfoy’s other hand rise to his mouth, and Harry’s stomach lurched as Malfoy wet his his fingers, swirling his tongue around two of them until they glistened in the low light from the candle.

His breath hitched as Malfoy’s eyes found his and he withdrew his fingers. A smirk played on his thin lips, and Harry let his head fall back against the pillow, neck arching, knowing where those fingers were headed.

They moved deftly past Harry’s heavy balls and dipped into the cleft of his arse, probing at the furled opening hidden between his cheeks.

Harry couldn’t stand not being able to move any longer and wriggled his hips under Malfoy’s arse until he could catch the crotch of his pyjama bottoms with a foot and pull them most of the way off. He vaguely felt them hanging from his left ankle, but the small dips of Malfoy’s index finger just inside his rim drove all other thoughts from his mind.

He let his knees fall open at the sides, giving Malfoy better access to his most private place. Malfoy’s hand around their cocks slowed its pace while the finger in Harry’s arse probed deeper, sending a fire rushing through Harry’s veins and heating him to a boiling point.

He wanted to taste Malfoy’s lips again, to let him know how hot he felt, communicating through their kisses. He brought his hands to rest on either side of Malfoy’s waist, gripping him and pulling him forwards, making his desire as clear as he could without using words.

Malfoy’s hand left their cocks and he worked his way down until they were chest to chest, his finger still deep in Harry’s arse, and their lips met in a desperate caress.

They ground their hips together, Harry falling apart under the magic of Malfoy’s wriggling finger. He was close. Their cocks slotted together perfectly, moving with sticky friction, and then Harry gasped into Malfoy’s mouth at the introduction of a second finger. His climax was building low in his balls, almost to the point of no return, and then the fingers crooked sharply and hit his prostate just right, making him come with a strangled cry, muffled by Malfoy’s sucking lips, spilling over his stomach so their cocks slid easily together.

Harry worked his hand between their bodies, taking Malfoy’s cock in his palm, feeling its wet slide as he formed a fist. Malfoy’s mouth smashed against his harder than ever, as Malfoy’s hand closed over Harry’s, thrusting his hips erratically until he went rigid, groaning into Harry’s mouth, his teeth bruising Harry’s lips.

Malfoy pulled away from the kiss, gasping heavily, and pressed his forehead, cool with perspiration, against Harry’s shoulder, his breath hot on Harry’s nipple and his pointed nose prodding Harry’s clavicle with a sharp jab.

Harry’s arms moved to circle Malfoy’s heaving body, gripping his still-clenching arse in his hands as Malfoy rode out the last of his orgasm rutting against Harry’s come-soaked stomach.

The fingers inside him were still as their heart rates began to slow, but Malfoy brushed his prostate once more before withdrawing them, wrenching another groan of pleasure out of Harry’s gasping throat.

Harry was spent, but felt the smile on his face stretching wider as the endorphin rush continued to explode throughout his body. The heat of Malfoy’s body against his, and the weight of it, made Harry feel more secure and treasured than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

Harry’s hands still gripped Malfoy’s arse, giving the cheeks a quick squeeze. He didn’t want to move, didn’t feel like he even could had he wanted to, but all too soon, Malfoy drew back and stood up.

Harry frowned when he noticed Malfoy’s expression. Back was the mask of indifference, worn upon his pale face, giving him the look of of a china doll, vacant and unyielding and unearthly beautiful as he seemed to glow in the dim light of the flickering candle.

Harry watched as Malfoy picked up his wand from the bedside table and cast a Cleaning Charm upon himself and then, as an afterthought, over Harry.

Malfoy turned around and slipped his pyjama bottoms back over his slender hips, hiding his perfect arse from Harry’s view, hidden beneath the thin pale blue-striped fabric.

Harry felt a sensation of loss and a cold feeling of emptiness begin to steal over him, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. It was as if… if he uttered a word, the spell they were under would shatter entirely, and Harry didn’t want to let the last vestiges of the moment slip away.

Malfoy crawled into his bed and turned on his side, facing away, while Harry lay, still naked but for the pyjama bottoms hanging from his ankle.

Harry stared up at the high ceiling, wondering what could have possibly happened to Malfoy to make him think that shutting Harry out after such an intimate encounter was acceptable.

Half an hour later, Harry’s body felt like it was shrouded in ice, and he finally heard slow and steady breathing coming from the next bed over. He forced himself to move, to pull his pyjamas back on despite his body’s protesting stiffness and to burrow under the thin hospital sheet and blanket, his lips numb but still plump and bruised.

He was well aware that he had his own issues to bear, but thinking of the sorts of issues Malfoy must be carrying made him wonder if the attraction they had for one another really wasn’t enough to overcome the obstacles to a potential relationship.

Lost in his thoughts, sleep finally overtook him as the sky outside showed through the windows turning indigo with the approaching dawn.

All too soon, he was awakened by the sounds of voices.

Blearily, he opened his eyes, focusing first on Ron and Hermione talking with Madam Pomfrey at the far end of the room, and then moving to where Malfoy was fully dressed and packing his book bag.

Malfoy must have noticed Harry was awake because he looked away, his cheeks flushed with the faintest of pink.

Harry pushed back his blanket and climbed out of bed, his arse twinging slightly with the ghost of Malfoy’s fingers.

“Harry,” Hermione said, rushing towards him. She stopped at the foot of his bed, apparently startled by something in his expression. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, weighed down heavily at the cold shoulder Malfoy was giving him. “Why?”

“You just looked…” She stopped and shook her head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Hurry and get dressed. We’ll wait for you in the hall.”

He watched her retreating figure meet up with Ron and leave the infirmary.

He found his school robes waiting for him, freshly laundered and folded in a small pile on the bedside table, and began to dress. Malfoy looked around, realising he was alone with Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy shut him down by heaving his bag over his shoulder and walking away without a backwards glance.

The fragile strand of hope that Harry had clung to all night snapped in two as he watched Malfoy leave. He pulled himself together, concentrating on doing his buttons correctly, and attempted to ignore the ache of rejection deep inside his gut.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and met Madam Pomfrey in her office.

“Potter,” she said, looking up from her desk. “You are aware that I kept you as long as I did, not for your own health, but for Mr. Malfoy’s benefit? Keep an eye out for him, would you? I am afraid the attack he suffered may have done more psychological damage than my magic could mend.”

Harry nodded automatically, though his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d been used and discarded. Perhaps Malfoy really was as he claimed, the Death Eater he was raised to be.

“I’ll do my best,” Harry told her. “But I can only help as much as he’ll let me.”

He found Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the hall.

They fell into step together on their way down to the Great Hall, Harry feeling the weight of their unspoken words hanging over them all like an ill omen.

“You like it rough, ponce?” A muffled voice pierced Harry’s introspection, and he rushed towards the tapestry at the end of the hall covering the entrance to the stairs, his wand in his hand. “How about if I just cursed your filthy gay cock off to protect the innocent? You make me…”

Whatever it was that Malfoy made him froze on Michael Corner’s lips as Harry cast a Full Body-Bind on him.

Harry surveyed the scene before him, bile rising in the back of his mouth. Malfoy was sprawled on his back on the landing below the first flight of stairs, his robes ripped open and his chest exposed by his torn shirt. Blood trickled darkly from his busted lip, down his pointed chin and smeared across his chest. His books and scrolls were scattered down the second flight of stairs.

Harry felt a wild beast inside him awaken as if from hibernation and his eyes flashed angrily at Malfoy’s prone body, making him quake under the power of Harry’s fury.

“It was him?” Harry demanded, his rage bursting free through his voice, turned on Malfoy now that the attacker was held at bay.

Malfoy nodded fearfully, hands gripping at the flagstones to try to gain purchase to pull himself up.

“Who else?” Harry demanded, his wand pointed at Malfoy threateningly, though Harry could hardly see through the redness of his vision.

“Smith,” Malfoy stammered, hissing in Parseltongue. “And Boot.” He finally managed to climb to his feet, his back against the wall and eyes trained on Harry’s wand tip, his face full of fear.

He spotted the handle of Malfoy’s wand sticking out of his robes pocket. He pointed his own wand at it.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” he demanded, hating the look of utter hopelessness and terror that was reflecting at him in Malfoy’s eyes. “I didn’t return it to you so you could not use it to defend yourself!”

Hermione rushed forwards and put her hand on Harry’s arm, aiming his wand at the floor. She waved her own wand over the scattered books and scrolls and restored them to Malfoy’s book bag, summoning it to herself, never letting go of Harry’s wand arm.

She passed it to Malfoy, who took it with a trembling hand.

“Ron,” Harry growled. “Fetch McGonagall and tell her it was Zacharias Smith, Terry Boot and this idiot.”

Ron didn’t wait for further instruction. He sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Harry,” Hermione said coaxingly. “Why don’t you put your wand away?”

“Why?” Harry roared, turning on her now, throwing her hand off him, so she stumbled backwards a few steps. “Why should I ever put my wand away again? If filth like this…” he said, jerking his head towards Michael, whose eyes were wide and moving frantically in his frozen face. “If filth like this scum is lurking around every corner, I think I should have my defences up at all times. Screw the inter-house cooperation! Voldemort has won, Hermione, don’t you see? Malfoy can’t be free to talk or even exist in Hogwarts of all places without fear of retribution, which means there’s no hope he’ll survive in the real world. I can’t stop fighting … ever …”

“Potter,” McGonagall’s shrill voice called to him as she rushed towards them up the stairs, her staff cracking against the stones with every step. “Put your wand away this instant!”

His wand arm fell at last, his anger deflating under McGonagall’s stern glare. He turned to look at Malfoy, who was wiping the blood from his chin nervously with his hand, eyes still trained warily on Harry.

He wondered, defeated, what had become of himself. How much had he been changed by the war, that even McGonagall wore fear in her eyes looking at him?

He watched her send a Patronus back down the stairs and hung his head, feeling ashamed of losing control, and slightly afraid of himself.

Time seemed to speed up faster than Harry could process. In the few moments he had spent staring down at the wand still tightly gripped in his hand, McGonagall, Malfoy, and Corner had left the stairway.

“Harry?” Hermione said tentatively.

He looked up at her, feeling as though his eyes had glazed over with a screen he could see through, like the eyes of a snake. His body shuddered at the thought.

“What?” he asked darkly, feeling himself move as if in slow motion frames, his face turning to look at her.

He saw her swallow and gather herself. “We need to go to McGonagall’s office,” she said, her voice as quiet as a whisper, as if she were afraid of setting him off again.

“Oi —” Ron’s voice called, as he ran up the stairs to meet them. “Flitwick and Sprout are fetching Smith and Boot. We need to go up to McGonagall’s office right away. Mum’s sent a message to Kingsley to bring Aurors.” He stopped, seeming to gather the chill in the air around Harry. “Well, come on,” he said, and grabbed Harry by the elbow and Hermione by the hand, tugging them up the top stairs.

Harry shrugged out of Ron’s grip, but followed, his mouth set in a resolute frown, wand still out and ready. He felt contagious.
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Let Me Be Your Voice