Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8661 -:- 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
- 15
- 16
- 17
Lunch that day was unpleasant. Harry was surrounded by his friends at the Gryffindor table, yet felt more apart from them than he had in ages, wanting nothing more than to retire to his dormitory and to pull his blanket over his head and stay there until he felt better.

The conversations in the hall were abuzz with speculations, as the student body had witnessed Smith and Boot as they were escorted out by Sprout and Flitwick at breakfast and hadn’t returned. Based on the fact that people kept looking at him and then turning to whisper with their classmates, Harry surmised that they had sussed out that the reason for Boot and Smith’s departure had to do with him.

He was surprised when an owl swooped in and dropped a letter in his soup. Normally the post was delivered at breakfast.

The envelope was large and sealed with an official-looking stamp that he first thought was the symbol of the Ministry of Magic, but upon closer inspection was actually three Ws emblazoned in a sort of upside-down version of the Ministry’s seal.

He broke the seal and opened the letter.

Harry,

I can’t help but wonder if I overstepped my bounds in sending you the last parcel, as I’ve not heard from you. Just send this letter back with a quick note, mate. Either tell me to stuff it or put my mind at rest, will you?

~George

Harry stuffed the letter back in its envelope and stowed it in his bag. He got to his feet. He’d totally forgotten to write back to George and wanted to do it before he was sidetracked again.

“What is that, Harry?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. “Was it from the Ministry?”

“It’s just a quick note. I’ll tell you about it later. I need the loo.”

He excused himself and went to the nearest toilets, taking his bag with him.

Once he was safely barricaded in the only cubicle with a door, he sat on the toilet and pulled out the letter and a quill, balancing them on a book on his knees. He turned the letter over to write his response.

George,

I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but you know how it is with me and my track record. I can’t seem to go an hour without being involved in some sort of threat-of-death scheme. Don’t ask ...

The Snitch … is brilliant! Fred knew what he was doing when he designed it. It’s taken me some time to come to terms with everything, and I’m still sort of working it out, but thank you for reaching out to me and supporting me, even though you weren’t sure. I really appreciate it.

No I don’t think you’ve overstepped your bounds. I think a line of sex toys is pure genius and I will be more than happy to have a look at your other prototypes. Thank you for being discreet. You’re a real mate.

~Harry

He paused a moment, the quill hovering just over his signature. He wondered if he should tell George about Malfoy. He didn’t have anybody else to talk to about it, but then realised it was probably not that great an idea considering how Fred had died and the fact Malfoy was a marked Death Eater.

He scrawled a last-minute postscript.

I could use one of your Patented Daydream Charms. Got anything that plays to my fancy? I’ve had a bit of a let-down and could use a bit of cheer. Thanks.

He sealed the envelope and tucked it and his book back into his bag.

When he pushed open the cubicle door, Malfoy stood at one of the sinks, his back to the mirror, staring at Harry’s shoes.

It took all of Harry’s ability to not burst out of control again. “What do you want, Malfoy?” he spat, hearing the hisses echo loudly off the walls of the room, realising he was speaking in Parseltongue. He shivered, and narrowed his eyes in frustration.

“You and I work!” he said finally, when it was clear Malfoy wasn’t going to answer. “You can go right ahead and deny it to your dying day, but I know it, you know it, and fuck, I think even Snape knows it! If you don’t have the bollocks to admit it, then I don’t want to talk to you!”

He couldn’t help it, but saying it out loud, venting his frustrations, made him feel loads better, as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Malfoy’s eyes closed, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy!” Harry hissed. “Fight back! Defend yourself! Talk to me! It’s only me! It’s not like I’m as frightening as Voldemort!”

Malfoy opened his eyes again and fixed Harry with his grey stare. Harry saw a shadow of fear pass over them though he held his gaze steady.

“I’m not, am I?” he asked, suddenly unsure. He felt trapped. Like he was the little boy he had been in the past, being berated for climbing the schoolhouse when he’d accidentally found himself on the roof trying to escape from bullies.

“Potter,” Malfoy said quietly. “You’re worse.”

He watched Malfoy worry the ring on his right hand with his left, as if he were thinking about taking it off, then he turned and stalked out of the bathroom.

Harry felt like a freak.

~x~

After lunch was Potions. Harry normally let Malfoy do most of the work, since whenever he’d tried in the past to assist, he’d inevitably get his hand slapped out of the way. Without the Prince’s copy of Advanced Potion Making, Harry was barely adequate at brewing.

Harry watched Malfoy preparing roots, chopping them into precise measures and ignoring Harry steadfastly. His heart raced as the sensation of the serpent inside him threatened to rise again.

He asked Slughorn if he could use the loo halfway through the lesson. Slughorn waved his permission with an absent gesture, though Harry could tell it was faked. Slughorn couldn’t hide the curiously worried expression he wore, and it made Harry feel even more freakish than before.

He found the dungeon bathroom and bolted the door behind him, breathing heavily. He needed to escape for a while, to just lose himself in something other than reality. He needed a focus …

His hand found the mokeskin pouch and withdrew the silver Snitch, holding it to his lips so the short wings tickled him. He closed his eyes, considering what he was about to do.

“Fuck it!” he said aloud and dropped his trousers. He bent forwards, whispered the incantation “Lubricus Volitum”, and pressed the small ball inside himself, gasping at its coldness.

He sucked in his breath at the first sensation of the wings against his prostate, eyes falling shut, concentrating on the feeling of contentment and pleasure that coursed through his body from the toy.

Opening his eyes, he made his decision and pulled his pants and trousers back up, leaving the button undone and fastening his belt loosely, hiding his front with his robes and allowing his erection to grow unhampered.

This was what he needed. A challenge. How much pleasure could he take? How much could he possibly endure without anybody finding out what was happening?

His eyes seemed to see clearer, now that he had a focus, and he wondered if Malfoy would be able to tell there was something different about him when their eyes met next.

Harry grunted and moved forwards to wash his hands at a sink, looking up at his reflection in the mirror. His pupils were larger than usual, though he wasn’t sure if it was due to arousal or the dim lighting in the room. He finished washing and focused on remaining calm as he headed back to class.

The remainder of the lesson passed more quickly and was easier to endure. Harry used the thrumming pleasure within him as an anchor to hold himself in the present as he recorded notes for their upcoming essay. He noticed Malfoy glance at him with curiosity several times, but didn’t allow his frustrations to take control again.

The final lesson of the day was Charms, and Harry was ready for the day to be over.

Professor Flitwick called on Harry to demonstrate his Patronus. He closed his eyes as another wave of pleasure ran through his body, though he kept his face straight and cast the charm.

His stag burst forth from his wand with a huge explosion of light, so intense and enormous that the entire class had to shield their eyes lest they be blinded. He pointed his wand at the window and the Stag galloped through, leaving a trail of glittering light in its wake.

Professor Flitwick climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, having fallen off the stack of books on his chair. He adjusted his pointed hat with an astonished expression on his face. “Mr. Potter,” he squeaked. “That must have been a powerful memory. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Patronus that large. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry fell back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut as the Snitch inside him nudged his prostate again.

He opened them when he heard Flitwick move on to the next Charm up for review. Malfoy scribbled a quick note on a piece of parchment and slid it across the table he and Harry shared in the corner of the room.

What’s got into you?

Harry smirked and shook his head, refusing to answer. What he wanted more than anything was to throw Malfoy over the nearest surface and shag him senseless until Harry’s cock was the only thing he could think about.

Malfoy’s eyes widened a fraction as he cast a curious look at Harry, and Harry wondered if his lust was beginning to break through to infect Malfoy as well.

He couldn’t take another minute of the constant pleasure. It was becoming a slow torture. He waited until Malfoy turned his attention back to Flitwick and whispered: “Finite.”

Malfoy’s face whipped back towards him like a snapping elastic at the sound of the spell, his eyebrow raised in question.

Harry shook his head, refusing again to speak. His heart continued to race, though he schooled his features into a calm presentation, focusing on Flitwick, and allowing Malfoy to think he was being ignored.

“Harry, will you be coming back to the common room after your meeting?” Hermione asked timidly after the class was dismissed. Her eyes darted to Malfoy in a hurried glance while he packed up his books.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry told her and Ron, who had come to stand beside her. “I think they just want an official statement or something.”

Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking from Harry to Malfoy and back, as if he’d just noticed something, but wasn’t sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Harry lifted an eyebrow in question.

“See you after, mate,” Ron said. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her towards the door.

She rolled her eyes and looked back over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she said, then looked at Malfoy. “You too, Malfoy.”

Harry pulled his school bag onto his shoulder and turned to Malfoy, confused by the conflict he saw in the grey eyes. The thin strand of hope that had broken earlier sprang up again inside him at the sight. But he chalked it up to an aftereffect of the positive endorphins with which he was still reeling.

They walked back to McGonagall’s office after depositing their bags in the dormitory.

Professor McGonagall waited for them behind her desk, flanked by Molly Weasley and Professor Slughorn. They all looked slightly uncomfortable as Harry and Malfoy entered the room.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter,” she said briskly. “I’ll have you and Molly take a walk down the hall. Professor Flitwick has given his permission to use his office for your meeting. Horace,” she said, nodding at Slughorn. “You and Mr. Malfoy may use my office.”

“What is this all about?” Harry demanded. “Why are we being separated? You know Malfoy can’t speak English right now.”

He saw McGonagall’s cheeks go pink and wondered what the hell sort of meeting he was in for.

“I understand, Mr. Potter,” she said dismissively. “Professor Slughorn has been instructed to limit his interview to yes and no questions on Mr. Malfoy’s behalf. As for the details of your meetings, I’ll leave your heads of houses to explain.”

She swept from the office with as brisk a march as she could manage with her staff.

Harry glanced up at the portrait of Dumbledore slumbering in his painted chair, and then to the portrait of Snape, hoping to find a clue as to what was happening. Snape pretended to sleep, though Harry could see he was stealing glances as his painted eyelids opened a crack.

Malfoy looked as dumbfounded and nervous as Harry felt. His face was still pale and his eyes were lined with dark circles. Harry wondered how he had held up so well all day after the morning he’d had.

“Come along, Harry, dear,” Molly said warmly. She rounded the desk and reached out her hand for his. “This won’t take long at all.”

He followed her to Flitwick’s office, confused, but figured that whatever all the secrecy was about couldn’t be worse that finding out that Dumbledore wanted him to destroy Horcruxes.

She closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the chairs before Flitwick’s desk, and motioning for Harry to take the other.

He couldn’t help but notice the worried frown in her forehead despite her motherly smile.

“Tell me how your lessons are going so far this year, Harry,” she said, when he had sat down. “Are you feeling challenged? Think you will be up for taking your NEWTs and joining the Aurors this spring?”

He raised his eyebrow suspiciously. “Career counselling?” he asked. “That’s what all this secrecy is about?”

He could tell he’d broken through her ruse when her cheeks coloured.

She cleared her throat, still smiling, though it looked forced. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “Professor McGonagall also wanted me to ask how your speech for the dedication ceremony is coming along.”

Harry cocked his head, still not buying it. “And that’s why you’re blushing?”

“Well,” she said, the red in her cheeks growing more pronounced. “And Dumbledore wanted me to talk to you about your relationship with Draco Malfoy.”

“Ahh,” Harry said, feeling his own cheeks flush. Now they were getting down to brass tacks. “Well, that isn’t any of Dumbledore’s business,” he said bluntly. “Or yours. I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I appreciate that you care about me, but there are some things I need to do on my own.”

“Harry,” she said hurriedly, as if she sensed she was losing the upper hand. “It’s just … Well …” She paused, and then her words came tumbling out. “Professor Snape’s portrait has told Dumbledore about some of the um … things Draco had to endure under You-Know-Who’s power, and … Well, please, Harry. I just urge you to take things slow and with caution. It’s not so much that I’m worried about how you can’t make decisions for yourself, but Mr. Malfoy is in a fragile state and you’ve been through a lot yourself. Please, just promise me you’ll move slowly and be sure of your intentions before you develop … a physical relationship.”

Her chin trembled as she finished, clearly afraid she’d overstepped, but hoping Harry would hear her out.

Harry was mortified. He couldn’t quite fathom he was getting a sex talk from his best friend’s mother.

“Please drop it,” he said, standing up, feeling his face flush more red as the Snitch inside him reminded him it was still there. “You can tell McGonagall I’ll start writing my speech soon and I promise to have it done in time. Can I go now?”

Her eyebrows were furrowed with worry as she looked up at him. Harry hated to see the disappointment in her expression at his refusal to share all his secrets with her, but there were some subjects he just didn’t want to discuss with a parent figure.

She nodded finally, smiling meekly. “Of course, Harry,” she said softly. “Just keep what I’ve said in the back of your mind.”

He fled as fast as he could.
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Let Me Be Your Voice