Literature, Smut, and Adult Themes

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Draco had spent his day at Hogsmeade tailing Hermione and Ron, hoping that he would catch a glimpse of Harry Potter – but it was all to no avail, and when he realized as much he sent Crabbe and Goyle away to the Three Broomsticks while he wandered around the village aimlessly.

“Fucking Potter,” he had grumbled as he kicked through the fallen leaves, “grow a spine!”

It had been the oldest trick in the book, and one that his father had taken care to teach Draco: in order to make your enemy (or crush, as Draco interpreted it) do something, you must challenge their ability to do it. It seemed like taunting Harry’s fear of Dementors would make him come to Hogsmeade and show Draco wrong – and then Draco could pounce.

After too many wet dreams and a couple of annoyingly strong urges to jerk off in the middle of classes, Draco had begun to admit to himself that he actually wanted to do something with Harry...or at least find out if Potter felt the same way about him. Had Harry been at Hogsmeade, Draco would have separated Potter from his friends (thanks to his muscular backups) and forced him to...

And that was as far as he had got in his plan. And then there was nothing. Nothing more. Nothing that could bring them together.

This fact kept him occupied throughout the day; not even Sirius Black’s intrusion into the building distracted him from his thoughts...but once he was in the Great Hall, Fate threw him a bone. Well, technically, she threw him a boner.

In one of Dumbledore’s daffy decisions, the Slytherins had been put in a line against the wall, and right beside them were the Gryffindors, and then the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. In a strange twist of circumstances, Draco was one across and over from Harry Potter...and he was given a perfect view of the vision that was the sleeping Harry.

When the lights had gone off, the Slytherins had been the first to fall asleep – all save for Draco. He was too fixated on Harry, and once the Head Boy had passed by, he had stripped in his sleeping bag, so that he was nude underneath. One gaze of Harry’s peaceful face brought him to full force, and with the utmost carefulness he stroked himself. Any movement caused the sound of a rustle in his sleeping bag, and after a minute he gave up with his hands, and lay down on his stomach; resting his member between his stomach and the cushion beneath him, he began to thrust forwards, all the while staring at Harry. The way that his hair stuck up at the back, just begging to have a hand run through it while making out with him, beckoned Draco closer to orgasm. Harry’s soft features, the cheeks that were just on the verge of losing their child pudginess in favour of adult definitions, were calling to Draco to ghost a hand over them; and his lips were, in a very miniscule way, pursed together, and Draco wanted to leap
over and kiss him...maybe he could shove something else through them?

Draco inhaled sharply, quivered, and came in the sleeping bag; his noise, however, attracted the unwanted attention of Percy, who rose from his chair on the other side of the room. Thinking quickly, Draco coughed, rolled onto his back, and shut his eyes. He heard Percy’s footsteps as he walked by, stop near him, and then continue on.

“FUCK!” Draco thought in the comfort of his own mind – he had rubbed his come into his back and the sleeping bag, and if he were to utter a cleaning spell, he would surely be discovered. Angrily, he lay back, feeling the cooling liquid coat his skin, and eventually fell asleep. Next morning he was itchy and irritable, but he perked up when he found out that he could sleep in his own room the next night.