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Behind the Green Door	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6279 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 1-Part I
- 2-Part II
- 3-Part III
- 4-Part IV
- 5-Part V
- 6-Part VI
- 7-Part VII
- 1
- 2
- 3
Part II

�Why are you doing this?�

I look over at Potter, his features barely visible in the dark room. He is lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, exactly in the same position he has remained in for the past three hours. He doesn�t move an inch, and for a minute I�m uncertain if he actually spoke or if it�s just all in my head.

Luckily my hesitation provokes him.

�Did you hear me?� he asks, raising himself onto his elbows and staring at me, his green eyes glistening in the darkness.

I nod stiffly. �I did,� I murmur, raising an eyebrow. �I do not, however, know what you are talking about.�

Potter grunts, irritated. �Don�t be an idiot, Malfoy. I should think feigning ignorance would be beneath you.� He grins playfully, and for a second his face is completely without hostility. Then he seems to remember whom he is talking to, and the expression disappears.

I sigh wearily. �What exactly is it that you want to know, Potter?�

�Why are you here?� The question erupts from his lips immediately. "Don't you have a choice?"

I raise an eyebrow at Potter, fighting the urge to snort. No, I do not have a choice, but that is much beside the point. "Oh, please!" I drawl, gazing around the room in ennui. �I wouldn�t have thought you to be one of those to make this about me being only a child whose mind has been poisoned by his notoriously evil father. Really, Potter. Pathetic.�

I don�t have to look at Potter to know that he has an embarrassed blush on his face. �I wasn�t!� he mutters, but the disappointment is obvious behind his flustered irritation. I do not even bother to stifle a sardonic huff.

Potter looks at me with a peeved expression, but for once he seems able to let it go. He sighs heavily, standing up from the bed and stretching his arms above his head. His thin sweater climbs his stomach, and in spite of myself I feel my eyes drawn to the dark patch of hair disappearing from his navel down to...

For no reason at all, my mouth suddenly feels very dry.

Mere seconds later Potter lowers his hands, the shirt coming down to cover his abdomen once more. Self-consciously I shake my head slightly, trying to distance my thoughts from the unexpected distraction.

What are you doing, Draco? Get a grip!

As I look over at Potter again, he is staring back with a peculiar expression. I can't help but feel disconcerted, as if I�ve been caught doing something I really shouldn�t. My aggravation increases at the thought of that git Potter being able to make me, a Malfoy, feel abashed.

I open my mouth to tell him off royally once and for all, but I am caught off as the house elf Tilby suddenly Apparates into the room with a loud pop. She bows at me, a silver tray with cover in hand.

�Harry Potter�s food, s-sir,� she stammers, face turned towards the floor.

�Just leave it there,� I mutter, offhandedly gesturing for her to leave. Tilby lowers the tray onto the floor and Disapparates swiftly.

�Lunch?� Potter enquires, and I sneer at the Gryffindor.

Slowly getting up from the chair, I stalk over to the tray on the floor. Lifting the heavy tray, I peek under the cover.

�Idiots,� I mutter, taking the cover off completely.

�What?� Potter asks, as if his greatest worry right now is the fear of not being fed. He begins to approach the bars swiftly, but he only has time to take a few steps before I produce my wand from my pocket, and he freezes mid-movement.

I snort at his ridiculousness for thinking I would curse him. Well, on the other hand, I might, if I were allowed. I aim my wand at the tray, not at him. He watches with knitted brows as I Transfigure the small glass on the tray into a tin cup. �Those morons brought a fucking glass in here,� I mumble, turning towards the cell. �Must I do everything by myself?� Producing a small trapdoor at the foot of the bars, I push the tray in through it and quickly Transfigure the bars back to normal. �Enjoy your meal,� I drawl.

Potter is still watching me cautiously, and doesn�t approach the tray on the floor before I have taken a seat in my chair again. Lifting up the tray, he looks around himself. �Would a table and a chair be too much to ask?� he enquires. I respond to his failed attempt at humour with silence, hoping to be able to wrap my mind around a Potions text while Potter eats.

Hoping to be able to forget the slip of my self-restraint just now.

Unfortunately, Potter is not easy to block out.

�What is this shit? I thought what I�d gotten so far was bad, but this�� the Gryffindor mutters, the metallic sound of his spoon poking the bottom of the plate echoing in the closed space. I feel my patience wearing thin, but I fight to keep myself concentrated on my book.

�The therapeutic properties of bindweed are wide known, but the plant�s voluble stem also has purgative and cholagogic properties, as well as-- �

�Is it porridge? Soup? Some kind of strange gruel?�

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the page. Concentrate, Draco. Now where were we? Oh yes� �The funnel-shaped flowers can be used to replace dove�s hearts in diverse potions such as Sleeping Draught-- �

�Bugger me, I do think that�s a piece of gherkin! Who puts gherkin in gruel?�

Fuck it.

�Potter!� I explode, doing everything I can to prevent myself from throwing the book at the preposterous idiot in the cell. �Do you mind?�

Potter looks at me, first in surprise at my outburst, then in irritation. �God, Malfoy. I�m fucking being held prisoner! Allow me some amusement, will you? Even if it may be talking to myself, as you clearly aren�t here to provide me with entertainment.� He turns back to his plate, exasperatedly scooping down the supposed gruel.

I sigh out in relief, focusing on the text on bindweed. Surprisingly enough, Potter�s silence draws out. Every other minute I expect to hear some inane comment, but all I hear is the sound of his spoon poking at the plate. After a couple minutes I can no longer concentrate on the text, I only wait for Potter to speak again.

When he doesn�t, but simply returns to the bed and lies down quietly, I feel the need to scream.

No. What I need is professional help. Merlin, these dungeons are getting to me.

******

The next morning I wake up late with the most intense hard-on I�ve experienced since the war began. And definitely the most disturbing one.

Crawling out of bed, I hurry into the bathroom and step in under a very cold shower. Making very sure not to touch myself, in case my mind would wander off into undesired directions.

Father meets me in the hallway, looking disdainfully at my poor posture and sour face. �Do try to make yourself look a little more presentable, Draco. That is not befitting.�

I nod. �Yes, Father.� I straighten out my back, a tiny voice in the back of my head asking why I must look presentable when I am only to spend a twelve-hour shift watching Potter roll his thumbs in the dungeons.

�Oh, and, son,� Father calls after me as I have already passed him.

I turn back. �Yes?�

�Remember that we are having dinner with the Greengrass family tonight at eight. I asked our Lord to make Theodore take the last hours of your shift.� He gives me a pointed look that says �Do not be late!� and continues down the hall. I only dare to sigh when he has closed the door to his office behind him.

Fuck. As if this day wasn�t bad enough to begin with.

�Wow. Someone is in a pleasant mood today,� Potter scoffs sarcastically as I slam the dungeon door shut behind me.

�Shut up, Potter,� I sneer, falling into the chair and rubbing my fingers against my temples. I feel a terrible migraine coming on.

It is in days such as this one that I feel less privileged with my status as a pureblood.

�We are having dinner with the Greengrass family,�

Translation: �You are to entertain the Greengrasses, and be at your best behaviour, especially to their daughter.�

I understand the necessity of the marriage. With the Wizarding world going down the drain, pureblood marriages have to be continued. And I accept that, just like any proper Malfoy.

But why must it be sodding Astoria Greengrass? Merlin, that girl is such a brainless twit. Granted, she has more wit than her sister Queenie, but nonetheless. I'll be damned if that girl even passes her NEWTs.

On the other hand, getting married to me, she won�t need an education. Her lack of one may even further enrich her, when I commit suicide at the lack of intellectual company.

�So, what�s up?� Potter inquires, breaking my concentration bubble again. He paces the cell back and forth, like a tiger caught in a cage. Somehow the image befits him very well.

�Bad day?�

In spite of myself, I sigh. �You have no idea.�

A cynical bark escapes Potter, and it�s a sound I don�t like at all. �Yes, Malfoy, because your life is sooo awful compared to mine right now!�

�Stop complaining, Potter,� I sneer, watching Potter raise a vexed eyebrow at me. �You get fed properly, and you haven�t been tortured once. That should be more than enough reason for you to be grateful and keep your mouth shut.�

Potter casts me a deadly glare, and I hear a low mutter escape his lips.

��Define �properly�.�

End of part II
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Behind the Green Door