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House Colors	By : elixireleven Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2083 -:- 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
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The House Colors Series

Chapter I - Noir: In the Absence of Light

“Go on then, get in there! And don’t worry about the time limit Draco, the seven minutes surely won’t apply in your case - ” Zabini’s voice jeered as a sliver of light quickly illuminated the gloom before the heavy oak door swung back into place behind the blond’s back. Stumbling forwards into the darkness, Draco Malfoy opened his eyes wide, forcing his pupils to dilate to their maximum and adjust to the ink black space around him, a task made slightly more challenging after a few Bulstrode Blasters, Millicent’s specialty cocktail.

Bloody Blaise. This is the last time he’ll talk me into anything that remotely resembles a Slytherin mixer, he thought.

Draco shook himself, noticing the mild spin of the world after downing the dregs of the frothy blue concoction from his glass, the remainder of which had invariably sloshed down his front upon being chucked into the dark space by Zabini. The revelry had been approaching one o’clock in the morning for the seventh year students of Hogwart’s four houses, and Slytherin house was notorious for their potent concoctions for every taste; ranging from mild mannered honey meads to near-lethal snifters spiked with the most delicate forms of atropine and datura that would just barely dip the consciousness into delusion. Of course, Draco didn’t actually partake in any of the stronger stuff… After one bruising experience in fourth year involving a cannabossum salve and a stolen pair of Daphne Greengrass’ knickers he’d sportingly paraded around with on his head for the better part of an hour. Convinced he could carry on a conversation with them, Draco decided that his first and last experience with hallucinogens was a landmark embarrassment he wouldn’t soon forget, especially since the knickers in question had been enchanted by Zabini to mutter vulgar commentary to anyone who commented on their color - a violent shade of fuchsia which argued horribly with his fair skin tone.

In truth, Draco Malfoy didn’t mind the social events shared with the other houses, even with those goody goody Griffindorks fouling up the common room, because it was widely known that even though Slytherin house was extremely purist in their values – they always threw the loudest, raunchiest parties in the depths of the school’s dungeons. Moreover, when it was Slytherin’s turn to play host, one could guarantee a wild night, quick shag, and the best-made use of Snape’s home brew hangover potion the next morning. Thankfully, on the occasion of these festivities, their head of house usually turned a blind eye.

Blinking wildly in the gloom, Draco shook his head again in attempt to collect himself. Stepping forward brazenly into the darkness, he connected forehead-first with stone masonry, a sick thud pummeling the insides of his skull.

“Shit!” he swore with a slight slur on the ‘sh’. Bracing himself agaithe the cold, slick wall he reached a hand to his head to feel a steadily swelling lump beneath his blond fringe that dangled into his eyes.

That’s bloody well going to leave a mark, he thought, god-forbid I should end up empathizing with Potter. He cringed. Running his hand over the sandstone and mortar of the walls to gauge the depths of the room, he’d barely moved two feet when the thick oak door swung on its hinges again and someone was st ist into the small space on top of him. For the head-spinning second it took for Draco to whip around and catch the blare of music and laughter, the light spilling out of the common room silhouetted the body being thrust upon him. In a flurry of limbs and with the crack of torsos Draco was thrown against the wall, his head snapping back creating a second dull ringing to join the first caused by his initial walk into the wall. Dizzied, he managed a “don’t close the-” before the door was slammed for the second time to the guffawing laughter of his second-best friend outside. Throwing the person off him bodily, he stepped forward quickly with his hands out in the direction of the noise caused by the ongoing party outside the dark space. In this direction, Draco managed to see the outline of the door frame splintered by a weak crack of light at the floor, before the outline shimmered, and disappeared entirely to blend in with thel. Pl. Pressing himself against the stone where just moments before a door had stood; he heard the first disturbing revelation of the night –

“Goyle! What the hell did you just do?!”

Blaise again. Vindictive bastard. Goyle was still laughing in his low troll-rumble. “I put Potter in the closet… Wait, wait… Where’s Midgen? Eloise! Come ‘ere would you!”

“Goyle you idiot! A fucking ‘closet’, honestly man… where have you been the last seven years? The oubliette seal’s itself magically until both parties are finished!”

Draco didn’t like the emphasis Zabini had put on the last word.

“What do you mean? Potter will have a heart attack when he realizes what he’s got to do in there -”

“Oi!” Draco banged a fist on the wall, producing a wet smacking sound that sounded muted even in the high-walled space. “Let me out, Zabini. I swear I’ll hex you into next week if you don’t! It’s bloody dark in here and I can’t see shit!” He pounded the stones pointlessly; this particular part of the dungeons was legend among the Slytherins, though Draco had never had the opportunity himself to be locked in with another person. On several occasions, he could recall his father recounting the escapades of his youth spent in the very same predicament that Draco now found himself, except, his father on most occasions, had more than willingly volunteered for this particular rite of passage. The Slytherin oubliette, a small nook charmed to be accessible from the outside only, had been a favored torture device for errant students by the house’s founder centuries ago. As far as Draco knew, the original entrance was set some hundred and fifty feet above his head, and there could be no possible way of escape other than by following along with the rules of the game that Zabini had effectively thrown him into.

Outside, Goyle’s face had turned chalky.

Zabini, stepping closer to the sealed entrance and shouting against the oak which had taken on a grey sheen as if it were trying to merge itself back into the castle wall, “Draco I can’t, it’s a binding magical contract that whoever steps in can’t get out until the deed is done,” he snickered and turned to Goyle who was standing by dumbstruck “Greg do you realize you just forced Potter in there on top of Malfoy?” he said conversationally.

The husky boy standing next to him blanched further.

“Blaise! I swear if this is a set up I’ll have you stripped, maimed and mounted above the fireplace!” The pair standing outside on the edges a throng of well-inebriated seventh years could hear the muffled attempts of an alohamora charm being cast fruitlessly against walls that could repel any unlocking or disarming spell. Blaise knew for a fact that the pair wouldn’t be leaving for some time. Instead of humoring the furious blond’s voice from inside the chamber, he merely quirked an eyebrow at his companion and let the bemused expression on his face linger.

“Sorry, Drake, mate. Really… Just, ah, go on then, the sooner you get it over with the quicker you’ll get out” he snickered again. “The spell may wear off eventually, mind, in a century or two!” he cackled. “I’d… ah… better explain to Pansy that you’ll be indisposed for a while,” glancing over his shoulder, “not that I think she minds really, you should see her out here with Weasley, it’s quite disgusting actually…” turning to Goyle at his left, “C’mon Greg, I need another lager…” and pulled the hesitating boy along in his wake back to the punch bowl.

Draco slumped against the masonry, listening to the voices of his fellow dorm mates trail away into the muffled backdrop of a party that wasn’t going to let up until the early hours of the morning.

“Malfoy”

Draco blinked again, watching as obscure shadows shifted and weaved around him as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Would Not Sng Dng Die, Griffindor’s Golden Boy, Bane of Draco Malfoy’s Existence, standing very close to his own headspace muttered “lumos” and the darkness was punctuated by the glow of his wand. “Just what the hell is going on?”

Slowly, grudgingly, Draco turned around to face his tousled-looking adversary. In the dim light cast by Potter’s lumos charm, he could see just how close the walls pressed in around them. Enchanted stone that layered in centuries worth of magic lined the small space, looking up past the bespectacled boy who stood a mere three feet in front of him, he noted just how high those walls were. Past the beam of magical light, they seemed to stretch on forever into blackness far above the boys’ heads. Returning his gaze to the seventeen year old in front of him, he hitched a familiar expression onto his face and fingered the wand in his pocket. First, he would hex the Griffindor tosser into oblivion, then he would find a way out of this literal hole in the wall, and then he would hunt down Zabini and Goyle for their serious lapse of judgment. The giant squid hadn’t had a proper meal in months, he was certain...

“Potter,” he sneered, cocking his head slightly, “Couldn’t find yourself some sozzled Hufflepuff to snog in a closet, could you? God knows they’re pliant enough to screw around with a scar-headed sod like you”. It was as if a switch was flipped on in the back of Draco’s head, the reality of their situation came crashing down around him as he slumped backwards against the curvature of the wall and slid to the floor; robes splayed everywhere, wand forgotten. Above him, Potter goggled.

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what you and your gorillas were planning exactly but I assure you this is the last place I want to be right now” he shifted uncomfortably. “Malfoy…?” Draco was sitting, elbows on his knees, clutching at his blond locks forcefully, a dazed expression painting his pale features. The walls of the chamber seemed to shift and sigh around him. He had definitely had entirely too much to drink, he was feeling just a smidge squiffy. “Malfoy, would you just budge over enough so I can get out…”

“Potter, you imbecile. Didn’t you see me trying to blast our way out just now? Or does the specky git need a new eyeglass prescription?” the drawl was executed less than perfectly, if not slightly slurred. Draco looked up from the stone floor to see the other boy’s charcoal-clad knees a foot and a half away from where he sat, a further glace upwards and Draco was staring at the modest lump of Potter’s crotch directly. “Oh shit,” Draco reeled pushing himself harder against the wall, heels sliding over the cold dungeon floor. Of all the possible situations in which Draco could have found himself this evening, the last thing he’d expected was to face off with his rival in this particular jail cell. Moreover, Draco’s stomach was presently doing somersaults when he considered the fact that he’d be doing a lot more than just dueling in the closed space. Not that Draco had a problem with boys, he generally liked to keep his options open, but Potter? The ragamuffin was restricted to Draco’s deepest darkest recesses of consciousness; never had he entertained the idea of actually doing something with (or to) the Griffindor Seeker outside of a bored moment spent daydreaming in the potions laboratory, and usually that particular situation involved a few more whips, chains and a ball-gag than he was currently provided.

That wasn’t serious contemplation, however; he had a reputation to main ain after all. Let alone the fact that his father would have a conniption fit and then hand him straight over to the Dark Lord if he put one toe out of line and jeopardized the precarious Malfoy position in the echelons of the wizarding hierarchy. Screw the fact that Lucius was still bolted away in Azkaban, the man had practically etched the Malfoy code of honor into Draco’s skin when he was a tot. This would not do at all.

Potter blinked, looking down at the tousled-blond head “Malfoy, don’t you dare puke on my shoes! Move or I’ll curse you into next Tuesday”

Draco chanced a second glace at the modest bulge of Potter’s pants and flinched, it was however, a reasonably-sized package, he thought, and then shook himself abruptly. “Potter!” he spat. “This is the Slytherin oubliette. It serves only one purpose…” he trailed off, a movement just outside his peripheral vision catching his attention. The blasted walls were breathing! Draco rubbed at his forehead, and found when he drew his hand away, it was covered in sweat.

“Apart from the apparent torture of having to listen to you rabbitting over hurling on me what would that be? Actually, I don’t care – just move your arse so I can get out!”

“You can’t. That’s the point. There are locking charms that can only be broken on the condition of the nature of this room. Really Scarhead, haven’t you got a clue?” chancing a glance upwards, his vision doubled, and for a second there were two Harry Potter’s standing above him. Two sets of striking green eyes. Four hands, four legs and four firm arse cheeks. He gulped.

The light glinted off the dark haired boy’s glasses, so for the moment, his expression was veiled. Draco shuddered at the thought of what getting out of the oubliette would actually entail. He should have been in the room with Pansy as Blaise had supposedly planned. That, he reasoned, would be nowhere near as emotionally scarring as this would surely turn out to be. However, at this point Draco was beginning to wonder what exactly his brilliant housemates had in mind for him this evening, Blaise by all means, was particularly clever – if anything, and Draco wouldn’t put it past him to have orchestrated an “impromptu” meeting such as this. But even Blaise wasn’t that malicious.

Draco by and far had never been a prude. In his seven years at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry his escapades had been frequent, varied, and for the most part reasonably fulfilling with partners from all houses and both of the male and female variety. This, however, was another matter entirely. He had managed to spend seven years working over his self-restraint and had thus far managed to not tear off Potter’s robes and bugger him into the ground. The temptation on several occasions had been great, yet he’d managed his decorum and restricted himself to his cold showers and the maintenance of his dynastic honor. At this point, Draco considered, he’d be much better off blasting off his own bits before having to face his family after the ordeal.

Stupid Goyle, I swear if I didn’t know there wasn’t mountain troll blood in his family I’d be questioning the purity of his lineage.

Potter was his adversary, his enemy, the antithesis of everything a Malfoy stood for. Potter was the cause for most of Draco Malfoy’s problems over the course of his school life. He’d constantly beat him at Quidditch, outstripped him in nearly every class save for potions, he’d taken the house cup far too many times than he cared to remember, and had chucked his father into Azkaban after the incident at the ministry in their fifth year. But above all else, Potter had rejected him. The wizarding world’s hero thought himself too good to befriend a Malfoy, and that always threw Draco into a rage. It was insulting; it was down-right disgraceful for a half-blood wanker like Potter to have been so crass at age eleven to reject a Malfoy after an exchange of only a few words, by Merlin! Worst of all man many times as Draco shoved the thought down forcefully instead of letting it rise to the surface, it had hurt. A Malfoy does not bow and cower before their emotional adolescent pangs. Potter, in the meantime, had lowered himself to his haunches and was gazing at Draco with shifting suspicion.

“What are you talking about?” his voice was low, barely a whisper. The heady smell of honey and pomegranate mead floated on the air as he spoke. Draco noted the faint swelling of the boy’s lips caused by the sweet wine, and wondered vaguely if he’d taste of the luscious fruit as well…

Draco nearly retched, his eyes making a frantic sweep of the high walls. He’s much too close. He took a tentative breath. “Been taking a few nips at the cauldron, have you? Then hopefully I won’t have to modify your memory like I’d planned…”

“What are you on about, Malfoy?” Turning back to the boy in front of him, Draco took a moment to focus his rapidly dilating pupils and survey his adversary in the low light. Over the last seven years, Potter had definitely grown from the scrawny, underfed waif that he’s been at age eleven. Years spent practicing on the Quidditch pitch had helped form long, sinewy muscles, and a regular diet from the Hogwart’s kitchens were enough to balance out any malnourishment. His face had lost its cherubim innocence sometime after the fourth year, his jaw line becoming more pronounced, cheeks grown gaunter. Even after his last two encounters with the Dark Lord, Potter’s eyes still managed to blaze emerald when Draco had pushed at his tolerance particularly well. It wasn’t that Potter was unattractive, really, quite the opposite. He was just… Potter. Any possibility of carrying fantasy into reality would be a grotesquely insulting assault on his lineage and rearing. Not to mention his pride, good lord, Draco would never be able to live this down. I’m going to lynch Zabini, he thought again, that is, of course, providing I can get to him before Lucius can get to me. But, he reasoned, Potter did have a nice arse.

Draco sighed, exasperated at his own mental diatribe but paying no mind to his increasing heart rate. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record. Look, Potter, this particular oubliette has been used since before the time of my father for one purpose and one purpose only,”

“Couldn’t’ be torture could it?” Draco could have sworn that was a slight sneer making an appearance at the corner of the other boy’s mouth. God, that’s hot, he thought and mentally slapped himself.

“Well in this case I’d say it comes quite close,” he scowled noting the double-entendre. “No, Potter, we’ve been using this particular oubliette for a game usually reserved for couples or people looking to shack up”.

“What do you mean? Like Seven Minutes in Heaven? Malfoy that’s a muggle party game usually reserved for preteens and other desperate children.” The bloody git was smirking at him. Insolent, sarcastic, snarky sod… You’d think he was enjoying this.

Draco sighed. “Unfortunately, since wizard’s have their own way of doing things, the walls are enchanted. The door has both colloportus and vanishing charms on it, and the only way to get out is by doing what you’re locked in here for in the first place. It’s a magical contract that is sealed once the door closes behind the two people who are inside. Look,” he waved broadly and in no particular direction above his head at the spot where the door had been. A faint red scrawl had appeared in the place of the lintel.

The black haired boy stood, bracing himself against the wall for support and tilted his head upwards to better look at the writing that had appeared. His neck stretched, the musculature of his back pulling his shirt taut against his shoulders, Draco shivered.

“I can’t read it Malfoy, it’s in another language” he said wryly.

If I were locked in here with Granger she’s probably be getting the message quicker. Sighing, Draco stood, albeit with a slight wobble, matching the other boy’s height and turned to the glowing script, deliberately avoiding the other boy’s gaze.

“locus in quo uti possidetis sic amor de novo. In this place, as you possess, thus love begins anew.” he said with his usual, familiar drawl.

Harry turned abruptly to face the blond. “What, exactly, does that mean?” As he looked back to the lintel the red glow faded and the letters reformed themselves;

“venire facias”

Well that bloody well does it. Draco slumped against the wall again, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes causing a variety of colors to dance in front of his closed eyelids. When he let his hands drop Harry had turned to face him, a flush had crept up his collar and was grazing the arcs of his cheekbones. Despite the circumstances, and despite the fact that Potter was blushing furiously, Draco couldn’t help imagine that he’s seen the hint of a lopsided smile cross the other boy’s face. Draco folded his arms over his chest and glared back at the other boy’s overly confused expression. For a second, his innocence didn’t look at all sincere, but Draco quickly banished the thought.

“Does that mean - ?” That was a bloody grin. What’s he playing at?

“Yes”

“So to get out we have to-” Sodding moron. I’m going to rip his untidy hair out by the roots. See if that turns the wanker on.

“Aren’t you the clever one Potter”, he spat.

“But that says – “ he pointed at the wall for emphasis - the wall which appeared to be slowly heaving for breath, mortar and brick beginning to swirl together in long strips of blue and violet. It was suddenly stifling in the small space and Draco began to tug at his collar loosening the first few buttons. His skin had amazingly rippled with gooseflesh even though he was sweating.

“That’s the contract” Draco replied, transfixed by the shifting patterns around them and absently rubbing his neck, the touch of his own hand felt almost alien, as if they were another person’s fingers sending shivers down his spine.

“But I-”, he pointed at himself, “You don’t,” he gestured at Malfoy, “Have you ever – I mean…” he rubbed at his forehead. “I didn’t think you -” he gestured at Malfoy again “oh shite!” his eyes went wide in recognition that Draco failed to notice.

Really! If he fidgets anymore I may have to snap off his fingers. Though I could put them to better use, I’m sure…Draco nearly smacked himself for the thought.

“Spit it out, Potter we haven’t got all night!” Horrible innuendo, Draco cringed.

“You’re a bloke” the corner of his mouth quirked upwards slightly.

“Yes”

“And I’m a bloke”, he was definitely grinning.

“Yes”

“And it doesn’t bother you that we’ve got to-”

“What?!” Draco was quickly losing his patience, along with the practical side of his peripheral vision. The light of Potter’s lumos charm was dazzlingly bright all of a sudden and he pressed his eyes shut against it for a moment.

“No! I mean, other blokes, I thought you were with -” Potter looked like he was suppressing a giggle.

“Parkinson? No - Blaise has been trying to get us together for years. Hence the reason I wound up in this position tonight” It would be a proper arrangement, according to Draco’s father. He’d be proud if I’d sealed the deal with that little pug. He shuddered and pressed his palms against the wall. His hands were now sticky with heat and his own sweat.

“But -”

“How is my private life any of your business, Potter?” he spat. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same? What about that mudblood Granger? Don’t you fancy her?” The look of shock that sped across the boy’s face was priceless, even in the midst of Draco’s swoon.

“What?! No I- ”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, calculating the magnitude of the damage he could inflict, blond hair partially concealing the slate gray of their pallet as he watched Potter’s expression slowly begin to morph between surprise and contempt. “Mind you, I don’t know where your better judgment would be what with that bushy hair and all those reference books she constantly uses to stuff into her robes. Tell me, dear celebrity, what does it feel like to suckle on those little nibs she calls tits?”

“Malfoy -” his voice was hardening perceptibly as he stepped forward, wand raised. The light cast from his lumos charm was refracting off of Draco’s pale skin, he couldn’t help but notice the odd patterns splayed across the tiny chamber. It was almost as if the lights were dancing, merging together and slipping in an out of each other like long, wisp-like fingers. Furthermore, the walls were definitely breathing.

“Or has the Weasel been giving it to her all this time?” he prodded, snng hng his attention to the boy immediately in front of him. This was their game, as it had been since their first official meeting as Hogwart’s students on the train, and Potter had tactlessly chosen the Weasel over him. It was much more familiar, much more comfortable for Draco to spar with him like this. So comfortable in fact, that Draco failed to notice his body beginning to betray him.

“Don’t you dare talk about them like that!” The embarrassed flush of Harry’s tawny skin looked like it was starting to bubble into a rage. In a weird way, Draco had always found it oddly arousing when his opponent flushed with anger. It was compelling; to say the least, to watch as the air around Potter shift and turn hazy as his temper grew. The energy swirling around him practically crackled with the infused emotion. There had been many occasions where Draco dreamed of his adversary like this; the rumpled, angry boy-hero crackling with electricity, cheeks flushed and snarling as Draco took him and made him his own, put him in his place and demonstrated why exactly a Malfoy deserves submissive respect.

Draco sneered, taking a step forwards and leveling himself with Potter’s gaze, invading his personal space. They now stood nose to nose, the rise and fall of each other’s chests forcing fabric to shift against fabric, and Potter’s breath was puffing out onto his upper lip through the other boy’s nose. “Or does our noble hero prefer the Weasel’s little sister; I figured if you weren’t getting any from anywhere else, the little red-headed mongrel would be sure to spread her legs for you. She’s already had half of Griffindor and most of Hufflepuff, anyway…”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” his voice came out in a snarl and to Draco the air seemed to hiss. He didn’t notice the tent created by his pants as it brushed the other boy’s thigh.

“Make me, Potter!”

“Fine!” he spat, and the lithe blond was shoved backwards the remaining two feet into the wall. In the instant it took for Draco’s head to bounce back off the stone for the third time this evening, Potter had descended upon him, pressing his shoulders into the masonry with two Quidditch-callused hands. With a clatter, his wand fell to the floor of the small space, ending the lumos spell and casting them into total and completeelopeloping darkness.

Draco, head spinning with a fresh burst of stars to clout his vision, barely recognized what was happening as his mouth was covered with a warm, wet, crushing heat. In the attempt to gasp, or screar ter tell Potter to get the fuck off him, he quickly found his tongue knotted, tangled with his assailant’s.

Potter. Potter was kissing him. The boy had Draco pinioned to the wall by his shoulders, leaving Draco’s arms to flail and scrabble for purchase against his adversary’s sides, and hips. Potter was kissing him so bloody hard that his head was literally locked in between the joints of two stones. Draco could feel the air around them swimming and full of static, he couldn’t mark its scent – but it was a heady aroma, dripping with some unknown sentiment that only Potter could infuse it with.

Draco didn’t respond to the tongue that was sliding in and around his mouth, nor to the lips pressed fiercely against his own to keep him turning his head from side to side. As soon as it had started, however, Potter had pulled back from Draco’s lips. In the blackness, he couldn’t see the expression on the other boys face; they were both, however, gasping for breath, faces only bare inches apart.

“Potter,” he said after a moment through quickly swelling lips.

“Not what you were bloody well expecting was it Malfoy?” he snarled into Draco’s face. Licking his lips tentatively, Draco noted that yes; in fact, Potter did taste like pomegranate and honey.

He hesitated, his breath catching as if realizing what he had just done, Potter had shifted his hands to slide down Draco’s arms to pin him to the wall by his biceps. The slight motion caused the boys’ hips to slide together slightly, and with a gasp, Draco realized two things at once; Potter was rock hard nestled against his own erection, and secondly, the oddest warm flush was uncoiling at the base of his spine and rising between his shoulder blades. Draco had to bite back a moan as an uncontrolled wave of undulating heat slid up his back.

“Give in to it Malfoy” Potter breathed. “Just drop your self-control for one night”.

The air was humming still with the indescribable swell of whatever it was that Pottas ras radiating – it had to be coming from the other boy after all, there was no other possible explanation. Blinking stupidly against the darkness; Draco rasped for breath, his chest pressed into his rival’s. It was like attempting to fend off an approaching climax while knowing he was nowhere close to having this sensation end so abruptly, it didn’t make sense! Trying to understand what Potter’s energy was casting off in the small space to cause him to react like this was useless as another wave broke over him, sending the warmth pooling down to his groin. This time he did moan, and Potter took it as a sign of assent as he moved closer and took Draco’s lower lip between his teeth.

In the darkness, the smooth faces of the two boys slid against each other, Harry capturing his lips again, softer this time, more pliant. Relinquishing Draco’s arms, the blond was free to embrace his adversary around the waist and grip aristocratic fingers into the boy’s flesh.

Above their heads, the red-amber glow of the old Latin danced expectantly against the gloom.

“You’re an arsehole, Potter,” Draco spoke these words quietly, and although he could not see, he could feel his breath rebounding back onto him, bouncing off of Potter’s skin. “Dear god Harry this isn’t right” he was whimpering. Potter had found his way into the top two buttons of Draco’s shirt and was tracing a line with his tongue against Draco’s collarbone. “My father…” the heat was rolling through his veins, making him burn from the inside out. Head thrown back to allow the black-haired boy more access, he noted distractedly that the buttons were torn away, his robes discarded against the stone floor, with his shirt fluttering after it. He was presently pulling at Harry’s waistband, trying to undo the belt buckle desperately, when Harry paused and pulled back.

“I know,” he said softly. “But your father isn’t here right now. And you bloody well know that you’ve wanted this even longer than I have” he hissed into Draco’s mouth.

Sliding his arms up Potter’s back to tug at the few straggles of messy black hair hanging over his collar, he felt the energy between the two of them swell and hum. The vibration was lap lik like waves around them, swelling with each touch, each nip and tug of lips as the warmth of Potter’s mouth descended against his own. Callused fingers slid into the blond’s hair as he sucked gently on Draco’s lower lip. Pulling Harry’s mouth down to deepen the kiss, Draco ran his hands along the muscles in Harry’s back, circling around to his stomach and running a course over the boy’s pectoral muscles, letting the tips of his fingers graze the raised nipples briefly below the cotton of Harry’s shirt. He felt lips fall to his neck, suckling gently at the tender part below his jaw – the briefest flickers of a warm soft tongue tracing lines against the pallor or his skin, giving him goosebumps along his spine. He shuddered, tendrils of heat lapping against his hardened cock as Harry’s body pressed into his own.

Instead of thinking, instead of trying to make some sens any any of what was happening, the rational part of Draco’s brain shut down as he slid his cheek against Harry’s. Reaching the lobe of his ear, and with a puff of breath he slipped the small bit of flesh into his mouth and bit down fiercely, causing Harry to moan low in the back of his throat.

That was it really, Draco’s breaking point had presented itself and it was then that the Slytherin lost total sense of himself. His body was burning, with the last vestiges of control he possessed, the conscious part of his brain that wasn’t biting or sucking Harry Potter urged him to take what had been his since the very beginning; that which had been taken from him before he even had the slightest chance to realize it was his to possess.

He tugged at the first few buttons of Harry’s shirt, upon hearing them pop and break free; he pulled the fabric over the boy’s head and pressed him back against the opposite wall forcefully. In a matter of moments and scrabbling hands, belt buckles came unfastened and trousers dropped into the heap of soft clothing on the floor. Kicking at the pile, mouths hunting, fingers clawing at shoulders, Draco had descended to his knees and roughly pulled off the boxer shorts constraining Harry’s erection. Sliding his hands up Harry’s calves to his thighs, then round to grip the taut flesh of the boy’s arse, Draco slid his tongue ar the the tip of his cock, lapping at the fresh, warm precome that had the audacity to slip away from his lips. He moaned low in his throat, sliding his tongue along the sensitive underside of Harry’s cock as he sucked it further into his mouth. Harry’s hands had by this point found purchase in Draco’s tresses, and had looped themselves around several strands to pull Draco’s mouth down harder on his throbbing member. Sliding a hand up to cup Harry’s balls, he kneaded the soft flesh between his palm and thumb while continuing with the slow laps of his tongue while rocking back and forth steadily. Harry, however, was beginning to shudder slightly. Knowing that the boy wasn’t too far off, Draco removed himself temporarily from Harry’s cock to reach up and slip two fingers into Harry’s mouth.

“If you want this as bad as you say you do, Potter, you will do what I say. Now suck!” he commanded, lifting himself off his knees and pressing flush into Harry’s warm body.

Obediently, the boy pulled Draco’s fingers into his mouth, running his tongue along and in between the fingers. Draco felt his own cock twitch in anticipation.

Calmly, Draco bent at the knees again and returned to lapping up the juices that were now flowing freely from Harry’s member. He tasted slightly salty, his precome sweet and languid as a drop slid onto his tongue. Lifting his hand back to Harry’s scrotum, Draco slid forward searching out the tender pucker of flesh that would give under his ministrations. Slowly, languidly, he began rubbing a circle with his moist fingers, coaxing the muscles to relax and to give. Gently, he pressed inwards, Harry tensing around him and he pulled out slowly, and pushed inwards again. A muffled moan from above signified that his long time rival was presently biting down on something, perhaps an arm or a knuckle, in the darkness he couldn’t tell, and honestly, could no longer give a damn. In a few moments, he’d have the boy screaming his name. Such, after all, was the Malfoy charm. Furthermore, the only thing Draco wanted at this moment was to have Harry, his Harry, around him, close to him, but most of all, to acknowledge that he was his. Quietly and trying to do so without notice as Harry continued to moan, Draco felt his way through the pile of clothing he was presently leaning on. Upon grasping the wooden handle that molded itself to his hand, he quickly cast a lubricating charm and spread the moisture over his own flesh, now positively throbbing for attention.

Pressed against Harry again, now whimpering audibly as Draco grasped his cock and tugged. He leaned in to the boy’s ear.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?” he asked softly, pulling gently as the boy moaned, struggling with himself. Draco smirked into his hair.

“I didn’t quite hear you. I said, do you want me to fuck you Harry?” This undoubtedly, was Malfoy at his best. Harry, after all this time, deserved the absolute.

“Oh god…”

Draco gave a vicious tug at Harry’s cock and more urgently, but so softly if could be barely heard over Harry’s labored breathing as the boy clawed at his shoulders. “I want you to saysquosquo;fuck me, Draco’”

“Oh bugger.”

“Say it Potter,” he snarled.

“Fuck me Draco.” Harry moaned.

Draco slid in-between Harry’s legs, he was whimpering and cursing audibly; Draco’s hand remained fisted around his cock and was pulling on it arduously. With a swift motion, the Slytherin lifted the boy up, pining him to the wall and gripped his arse cheeks spreading them apart. Sy, Hy, Harry’s weight pulled him downwards, effectively burying Draco deep inside him with a gasp.

In the darkness, they could no longer see each other; there was no marked scar on a forehead, the souvenir of a curse received in childhood, no sneering aristocratic pureblood spitting insults emulating his father. Draco pinned Harry against the wall, sliding out of him, and joined him again thrusting firmly to the hilt. Harry’s arms wrapped around the boy’s shoulders to give him added support and he slid in and out again. Draco no longer cared. He forgot the past seven years, thrusting into Harry. Obligations, upbringing, and family values were ideals carried out to the velvety blackness surrounding the two boys and sucked readily from gasping, moaning mouths. Harry’s shoulders scraped against cold stone, fingers clawing into Draco’s back as the blond pounded into him mercilessly, angling his hips to press against Harry’s prostate. In the absence of light, two boys’ moans carried on the air a hundred and fifty feet above their heads in the small chamber and circled their bodies. A fleeting thought caressed the backs of Draco’s eyes a moment before he spilled his release into his lover’s body and gasperry&rry’s name into his shoulder – he really to to thank Blaise for throwing this party…

…

Across the Slytherin common room, just on the outskirts of the throng of his ludicrously rowdy school mates, Blaise Zabini sat astride a large banister between the hearth and stairwell. From this vantage point a few feet above the hoard he could survey the damage being done around him. Sipping on his seventh or eighth lager of the night cou couldn’t entirely recall anymore, the Italian Slytherin watched as the Patil sisters were attempting to seduce a very drunk Seamus Finnegan into a threesome, while Dean Thomas, supposedly Finnegan’s best friend, shot them surreptitious glances every now and again, as he had been for the last four hours from an armchair facing the trio. In the corner of his eye, he noted a very sloshed and staggering Pansy Parkinson dragging a lanky red-head, who was undoubtedly of thasleasley brood, across the makeshift dance floor and behind a tapestry, leading down to the dungeon torture chambers. Leave it to Pansy to be into kink, he mused. Blaise pursed his lips and shook a lock of ebony hair out of his eyes. To his immediate right and down a few feet, he noted that Hermione Granger stood alone and red-faced, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the progression of Ron and Pansy across the room. Finishing his beer, he began to slide off the banister and stake out another conquest, but before he could do so, he noted a shift in the far wall as the oak door reappeared from the stone. Straightening up, he noticed one blond headed Slytherin and one black-haired Griffindor stumble out of the oubliette looking particularly bedraggled. The blond moved deftly cutting through the crowd with the Griffindor trailing closely behind him. Before he could follow his partner down the stairs to the dormitories, however, Potter turned around quickly, scanning the crowd and catching Zabini’s eye, with a smile and a wave of thanks he turned and slipped off unnoticed into the dormitories behind Draco.

Smiling to himself, Blaise fondled the empty phial of salvia divinorum extract that he had used earlier in the evening while spiking Draco’s drink, and slipped it into the pocket of the slacks he wore beneath his robes to discard into the fire at the earliest opportunity. Salvia, after all, was a reted ted herb used most effectively when a witch or wizard wanted to loosen someone up. In its pure form, it was notoriously good for causing rapturous and ecstatic states, and knocking down personal barriers, effectively causing the person who ingested the herb to do things they normally wouldn’t do.

Nimbly, the Slytherin leapt off the banister, pleased with how the events of the evening had unfolded. He was humming as he stole through the crowd towards the place where Granger looked like she was on the verge of a conniption fit. Perhaps, if all went well in the next few minutes, he would be smiling as brightly as Harry and Draco would be the next morning.

Oubliette: Common to castles of the 11 th and 12 th centuries onwards, the oubliette served as a particularly ghastly prison cell. Generally, they were deep cylindrical pits with only one trap-door opening at the top. (See http://www.castles-of-britain.com/castlesg.htm)

Double-entendre: (French) for a double-meaning
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