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Every You, Every Me	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6705 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or claim any part of it. It is solely the property of J K Rowling. I make no money in the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Things get moving a little more in this chapter....=)

PROMPTS:

Lake

Charm

2 a.m.

Needle

Turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

Wire

Every you, every me

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EVERY YOU, EVERY ME

An HP fanfi

by lordoberon

Chapter 6

HARRY

He made sure Zabini had turned away, and then Harry stripped as quickly as he could. He stared at the back of Zabini’s head as he did, with baited breath. Please don’t look at me, please, please. Merlin, why am I doing this, again? At least I don’t feel ill anymore…seeing Zabini cured that…but lord…

Harry looked down as he took off his trousers and underclothes. His cock was fully erect, not even having been touched or played with, and if he let himself imagine things anymore, it would react even more strongly. He bit back a groan as he peeled his clothing from his sensitive member, and then slid feet-first, his head still turned towards Zabini, into the tub.

He knew that he wasn’t going to swim around or do any treading water, because it wouldn’t feel good with his cock erect. So he just stood there stupidly, before moving behind the shelter of a froth of bubbles and easing himself into a tub-side seat.

The water felt so good around him. Harry wished he’d learned some fantastic spell to help him come without being noticed, because then he could get rid of his problem so easily even with Zabini right here. But he knew he was loud and messy, and that was why he was grateful for Muffliato and other handy spells to keep his wanking private.

And he would never really wank off in Myrtle’s bathroom. He remembered her perving from Fourth Year well.

Zabini seemed determined to actually get clean, for he was now dunking his head in the water over and over, and splashing waves of it over his back and shoulders. Harry watched him, unable to look away. He watched as Zabini grabbed for the shampoo on the side, and lathered up his hair thoroughly, and then rinsed it. He watched as a bar of soap disappeared underwater in Zabini’s hands, and assumedly got to touch every little bit of Zabini’s bare, wet skin…

Harry coughed to hide some other sound he might have made, and slipped his hand that had rested on the pool’s side into the water. Slowly, agonizingly, he glided his fingers over his cock. Mmm! He pressed harder, eliciting a gasp, and stroked a little quickly up and down. Mmm, it felt so good.

He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at Zabini anymore, and got stolen away by sensation as he rubbed his cock up and down, squeezed it, drew his grip up and down it. His breath was coming in short pants now, but maybe over the splashing Zabini couldn’t hear him…He ground his teeth together as he played with the head, played with the slit, and a hiss poured out of him.

Harry opened his eyes just a little. Zabini was looking at him.

“Was that Parseltongue, or what, Potter? You’re a strange one.”

“You just think it’s hot, and you’re angry because I’m the only one you can hear it from,” Harry retorted, and then bit his tongue. Shit! He had heard that when he was eavesdropping on Malfoy and Zabini’s conversation in the library. Why had he gone and blurted it? He slipped his hand off his cock, partly to punish himself, and partly because staring at Zabini while touching himself was not a good idea.

Zabini narrowed his eyes at Harry, and then snapped, “Been having a lot of fun with that Cloak of yours, have you? And so what if I do find Parseltongue hot? It’s easily ignored.”

Harry didn’t like the way Zabini was implying that Harry was easy to ignore, too. He shut his eyes and imagined very determinedly a large snake coiling around one corner of the pool they were in. In Parseltongue, he said to the imaginary snake, “Sometimes I think it’s easier to just not talk to Slytherins, but occasionally there’s an interesting one, like him. Then what am I supposed to do? Besides, he’s made it so I won’t be able to forget him, now…if only it were so easy to be captured by a fellow Gryffindor. I wish he would leave, but I want him around, too.”

When he opened his eyes, Zabini was looking at him with loathing. “You think you’re quite something, don’t you, Potter? Well, I’m not impressed. I’m done dealing with you.”

His anger came so swift, and so unexpectedly, that Harry could only open his mouth in surprise, and he didn’t realize until it was too late that Zabini was leaving the pool in his fit of anger.

Time seemed to stand still, in a stupid, hilarious way, except it wasn’t, as Harry watched Zabini’s bare body emerge from the water. He saw the dark hair, extra curly now, against Zabini’s broad shoulders. He saw a flash of white teeth in a smile, but the eyes were angry…Zabini had muscular arms, a narrow waist, and hips that were so perfectly carved they seemed meant to have hands gripping them. His legs were long and muscular, and the hair at his groin was thick and curled, and his cock was big and beautiful, and Harry wanted it…he wanted it in his hands, he wanted it in his mouth, and he hadn’t quite imagined things so lurid before, but the sight of Zabini’s beautiful body made the ideas flow into his head one after another.

Then Zabini was out of the pool, and he dried himself off with a towel. Harry sank into the water with his face as red as a beet. Zabini had no doubt seen him staring. That was what the smirk had been about. Lord…

When the door was shut firmly behind the Slytherin, Harry pushed himself, gasping, out of the water. Then he sat back and had the best and quickest wank of his life so far.

========

DRACO

“Please have a seat, Draco.”

Obediently, if a little stiffly, Draco sat down. He had always felt uncomfortable in Dumbledore’s presence. The man was purportedly very old and very wise, and Draco knew that, as well as Potter, Dumbledore was able to make the Dark Lord afraid. Draco supposed this was why Potter liked Dumbledore.

But it was also why Draco didn’t like Dumbledore. Currently, he was serving the Dark Lord for the good of his family, and he didn’t want Dumbledore nosing in. Previously, he’d just been unnerved by the man. From his stupid jokes every year, to the way he looked over those crescent glasses just now with those damnable forceful eyes, and the way he was content to just be a headmaster, well…Draco didn’t understand it.

Didn’t the man have any ambition? But, he supposed, Dumbledore had been Gryffindor. He had defeated Grindelwald, after all. But Draco still didn’t like him. It was like being around Blaise’s mother, he imagined – one moment happy, one moment serious. In his experience, Dumbledore was very flighty like that. Draco hated that inconsistency. At least Potter was consistent.

“What is it, sir?” Draco forced that ‘sir’ on. He didn’t despise Dumbledore like his father did, but it was still hard to say sir to a man he barely ever saw and who, when he did see him, spouted nonsense and noble speeches.

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. He looked down intently at his desk as if some mystery was held there, and then he gave that same intent look to Draco. Draco gulped.

“I will not trouble to beat around the bush, Draco,” the Headmaster sighed. “This is a very serious matter. I am afraid that your mother, and perhaps your father as well, are in danger. Danger, specifically, that comes from Voldemort.”

Draco flinched at the name, and then he registered what Dumbledore had said. “My parents? What’s going on? How do you know? …Sir.”

He knew he was fidgeting in his chair now, but he couldn’t stop. When Dumbledore looked at him again though, that gaze froze him. Draco held onto the arms of his chair so tightly that he could only seem to feel his fingers, and that terrible gaze on him, for a moment.

“Harry Potter came up to my office last night, accompanied by your fellow Slytherin Blaise Zabini. He had just had a vision, due to his connection with Voldemort’s mind. The vision showed your mother, who, I am sorry to say, had the Cruciatus Curse cast on her by Bellatrix Lestrange. I am afraid Harry did not see what became of your mother. I want you to decide what we do next, Draco.”

Draco was stunned. He couldn’t breathe. His hands gripped the chair still, and he tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. It hurt. He imagined his mother in pain, her beautiful, composed face contorting in agony…breathe, breathe! He pictured his aunt as she had looked when she cast the Cruciatus on him…she must have had so much anger and hate in her for her sister, to be able to inflict pain on him. Why else would he matter to ‘aunt Bella’? Her Cursing him had estranged the two sisters even further. Bellatrix knew his mother only kissed the Dark Lord’s hem because of Lucius…he remembered the pain…and how much more Bellatrix hated his mother! She would have hurt her even more than she had hurt him.

He let out some sound, and then Dumbledore was rummaging at a shelf behind his desk, and then a glass of something was placed before Draco.

“Here. This will help calm you.”

Draco downed it without a second thought, and then he realized how stupid that was. What if Dumbledore knew he was working for the Dark Lord, and had wanted to poison him? He tried to worry for himself, to wait for any ill effects, but all he could think of was his mother, screaming in pain, and Bellatrix laughing, and Voldemort…

Surely Voldemort had ordered it. But why?

“Why?” Draco’s voice sounded alien to him. Was that hollow, quiet voice his? It was devoid of emotion, and yet all emotions in the world seemed to be in him in this moment. They were a whirlwind inside him. He felt like he might be sick.

“According to Harry, Voldemort said he was angry with ‘Malfoy’ for not being quick enough. We do not know which Malfoy Voldemort meant…” Draco forced himself not to look away, but his eye twitched furiously, “but I imagine he meant you.”

Draco scratched at his left arm, and then dropped his hand fast. He had no Mark, why had he done that? “What makes you think that, sir?” He forced his voice to be calm.

“I imagine that after your father’s arrest, things have become desperate for your family. Voldemort is becoming more powerful. He is becoming impatient. He has been weakening, even – something which he has hidden, but which Harry and I know about, because we have been working very vigorously against Voldemort as of late. We began in the summer, with little trips, and things have since escalated.

“Anyway, Draco, I imagine that if Voldemort wanted something done, he would pick someone who would do it no matter what, someone whom he could manipulate easily. He chose you, because he knew that with a threat to your parents hanging over your head, and understandable fear of such a powerful wizard, you would do it. Am I right, Draco? ...May I ask what your task for Voldemort is?”

Panic rose up in Draco’s throat. He breathed in deeply and stared at the floor. This was the answer that Snape had been trying so hard to get out of him, and he had not relented. But now, he almost felt like giving it. Voldemort wanted him to be quicker, but he couldn’t, could he? How he could get Potter fast, right out from Dumbledore’s nose?

He sat there, torn as he had been the whole time. Should he pick the love of his family, or his l…well, whatever it was, for Potter? Instinct screamed at him, family! It screamed at him, what are you thinking? Family is who you were born with, and who you were born to live for. They raised you, they taught you, and they helped form your beliefs. They made you who you are! Why throw that all away for Potter?

Potter represented everything that was the opposite of Draco. He was Gryffindor. He was brave. He was sure of himself. Everyone loved him. And he had better reasons to be arrogant, better friends, and no family.

Somehow these reasons to hate Potter had become reasons to love him.

Draco wasn’t exactly sure when he had changed his mind. It wasn’t all hormones. It wasn’t all envy and admiration. He was attached to the stupid, small things that weren’t admirable – Potter’s love for treacle tart, his awkwardness with girls, his inability to do Potions a whit, his strength in DADA, his loyalty, and his honesty. He was also attached to the way Potter always, always stuck up for his principles, and always seemed to love them, and never hate them, as Draco did his own. Potter could be dense, and he could hit a nerve, but…he was also adorable, and funny, and stubborn, and effortlessly, stupidly charming…he was everything Draco wasn’t, and Draco wanted all of that in his life, in his company, in his bed…He wanted Potter, more than anything else he’d ever wanted.

And Draco had wanted a lot of things.

He had thought that no want would ever top his want to uphold family honor and to keep his family safe. Countless time they’d been threatened over the years, but mostly by words. This was the most concrete threat they had ever encountered, Draco thought, besides Lucius being in Azkaban. And it came from Voldemort. Voldemort, whom Draco had promised to serve in exchange for his family’s protection and for Voldemort’s forgiveness.

Clearly, the Dark Lord couldn’t be trusted to keep his promise. Clearly, Draco should spill everything to Dumbledore, and beg for help…but a little voice in his head said, Don’t do it. What can he do? Complete your task for Voldemort, and all will be forgiven. Your mother is still alive.

But he wasn’t sure on any of it. He wasn’t sure, and Merlin that was a familiar feeling. Draco wished he could feel sure about something, for once, in that way Potter always seemed to be. Was it so much to ask that his family be safe? Draco didn’t have a lot of close friends; couldn’t he at least have his family intact? Was that so much to ask for?

He swallowed down his self pity and said, “Tell me what you want from me.”

Dumbledore lifted his head a little, and then sat back in his chair. His gaze was still on Draco. Finally, he said, slowly and carefully, “Draco…what I want from you is a decision. It seems you may have already decided. Are you going to try and please Voldemort, or are you going to let me help you? That is what this comes down to. It is up to you, of course, to decide what is in the best interest of you and your family.”

Draco sat back in his chair, too, and let a deep sigh escape. He ran his hands through his hair, and noticed they were shaking terribly. He slapped them back down on the arms of the chair and grinded out, “What if they’re opposite? What if what’s best for my family and what’s best for me are different? I, I want…of course I want them safe! I just, I can’t…I can’t see myself getting both things I want.”

“And what is it you want, Draco?”

Draco grinded his teeth together. Then he spat out, “I don’t want to kill him.”

He hung his head then. It felt as if his skull was being squeezed in and was going to split at any second. And his hands were still trembling. He placed them on his knees. Why had he spoken? Now Dumbledore knew. But the fire had been sucked out of him. He’d had it for so long, but now it was extinguished. Even with the threat of his mother in danger, he could not walk out the door and work for Voldemort, who had promised he would keep them safe!

The Headmaster leaned forward again. “Who do you not want to kill?” He said quietly.

“Potter. Potter. Once he’s dead, Voldemort will take over…and then everyone will be…like me.”

The Headmaster’s gaze seemed to soften, somehow, and then abruptly he drew himself up to stand and said, “Yes, Draco, you are right. They will be. But why the sudden thought for ‘everyone’ instead of just the Malfoy name?”

Draco stood up and glared openly at the old man. “I’m not a child any longer, sir. I have some humanity to me, contrary to everyone’s opinions. I could say they deserve to be proven right, and slaughtered, or worse, but I’ve changed, at least a little.”

Dumbledore’s eyes were glinting. “I can see that you have. May I ask what changed you?”

That, Draco was not going to give away. He wasn’t going to give some sob story confession of his hangup on Potter. How he didn’t want Potter dead, not because he loved everyone, but because he loved Potter, and he wanted Potter for himself. “You can ask, headmaster, but I will not answer. Tell me what you plan to do to help me.”

They sat down again, and after a long discussion, Draco left the Headmaster’s office. From there, feeling buoyed by a new energy and calm, he went to Snape’s requisite “helping Potter learn Occlumency” lesson, which Dumbledore had insisted he continue. Even though it would be irrelevant soon…

His stomach churned the moment he saw Potter. He pictured his mother in pain, and almost turned right around. But he didn’t see any hatred there, or any glances towards his left arm. He didn’t see any pity, either, which was a relief, or else he may have had to hex Potter. Instead, Potter was just looking at him a little apprehensively.

Snape cut down to the chase as usual. “Close the door, Draco. I am glad to have you present for this week’s second lesson. You were not here last time. Potter’s scraped knees can attest to this.”

He sneered at Potter, who only rolled his eyes. Draco stepped inside and shut the door. He kicked the chair towards Potter, who was standing up, and said, “Why don’t you sit down this time, Potter.”

The brunette simply glared. “I can stand.”

Draco snorted. “You can, but it will hurt more. Would you rather hold onto something? If that will make you feel better.”

Potter shook his head, and remained standing. Stubborn fool. Snape raised his wand, and suddenly he pointed it at Draco instead of Potter. “Legilimens.”

There was no time to summon a vision of four white walls or the Lake. Draco snapped his mind to attention though, quick, and before Snape had seen no more than some childhood memories with Narcissa, Draco had kicked him out.

He emerged, breathless, from Snape’s attack. The Potions Master gave what could be called a smile. “Very good, Draco. You successfully blocked my sudden assault, though it took you a little time. Can you tell Potter how you did it?”

Draco turned his head towards Potter, who stared at him. God that gaze was distracting. “You have to want it really badly,” he said. “You can’t be thinking of other things you want. You can’t be distracted. By sheer force of will, and desire, you stop the attack from entering. You focus on it very hard. I wasn’t prepared for Professor Snape, but when I did block him, I wanted to block him very much. It wasn’t with anger or fear, simply that I wanted it, that it had to be, and so I made it happen.”

Potter shook his head. “Easier said than done!”

Draco tilted his head while looking at Potter. Unconsciously, because he really couldn’t help it, his gaze went down Potter’s body before flicking back up to Potter’s face. “You resisted Imperius, for Merlin’s sake, Potter. This is powerful like that. What did it feel like to resist Imperius?”

He had to admit to himself, he was curious. Legilimency was very hard to resist, but the Imperius Curse was harder. How could Potter resist that, but not Legilimency?

And he was fascinated. Yes, as Blaise had said, that was a part of his…hunger…for Potter. He wanted to know how the boy ticked. He wanted to know more – like that thing the Quibbler had published last year, about Potter’s encountering Voldemort reborn, had been horrifying, but good, to read that interview with Potter and get into his brain just a little…

“Well…I dunno…I wasn’t successful at first, you know…but um…it felt, well…I could still think about the thoughts that were being fed to me through Imperius, and resist it with my own thoughts, but with this…I don’t have time to think.”

“Hmph.” Snape glared at Potter. “You won’t have time, either, when the Dark Lord is in your mind within a second in your sleep.”

“That’s just it!” Potter bellowed. “How am I supposed to think about all this if I’m asleep?”

“It will come automatically to those who practice,” Snape retorted. He sounded like a cat purring to have caught a mouse – he loved to humiliate Potter.

“You should be practicing this every day, really,” Draco said, then turned to Snape for support. “Right?

Snape glowered at Draco, and bit out, “Wrong. Two times a week with Potter, plus teaching him regularly, is bad enough. If you want to take him aside for concentration exercises or the like, you are welcome to. Now then – Legilimens!”

It was painful watching Potter. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and the spell lasted a few moments. Then Potter shouted, “NO!” and fell to the floor. Draco heard the crackle of his knees and the snap as Potter’s chin hit the floor. The Gryffindor got up slowly, wiping the blood away and staining his robes.

Snape was grinning in a very evil fashion. “Oh, that is quite amusing,” he said. Draco wondered what he had seen in Potter’s mind. If only he himself could do Legilemency, then he could see…

Still grinning, Snape said, “Lesson done. Return after dinner to discuss tomorrow’s plans. Out of my sight now.”

Potter stumbled past Draco, streaming more blood, and Draco rushed to follow him. He had stalked Potter up to the next floor and nearly to a stairway when Potter finally stopped, snarling, “What?”

Draco waited for Potter to turn around, but Potter wouldn’t. So he circled around until he faced Potter. Potter had healed the cut on his chin but evidently he’d forgotten his knees, because he’d been walking oddly.

Draco didn’t want to bring this up, but somehow he felt like he had to. “Tell me what you saw,” he whispered, “My mother. And…my aunt. The Dark Lord. Describe it to me.”

Potter got that stupid look on his face again. “Why would you want to hear that?”

Draco frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose I just want to make sure it’s all real. It feels very…odd to me, still. All of this. The plan for tomorrow, during the Quidditch game, Dumbledore’s plan, and you. You and me, working on something together. And, how did Blaise come to be there last night?”

Potter frowned back. “It feels weird to me, too. Especially you being…civil to me. I almost wish you would stop it. But Dumbledore says we must, in order for this all to work…I don’t get you. Why would you want to defy Voldemort? It makes no sense to me. And um, Zabini…I was looking for you, because Snape was angry that you’d skipped. I bumped into him.”

What would it be like for Draco to tell Potter his real feelings? He’d probably be rejected. Again. He crushed the self pity that came swarming up on him then. He couldn’t think of what to say, of how to explain his new allegiances to the Gryffindor, without giving too much away.

So Zabini had just happened to be there. He hadn’t been bothering Potter, as he had before in the library. Good.

It was then, while thoughtful and not really focusing on the visual, that Draco noticed it. It wasn’t very obvious, unless you had secretly stared at Potter so many times that you’d notice if one detail were different. And one small detail was different.

Draco’s mouth got dry and his blood rushed south. Potter was hard. He could see the tent beneath the Gryffindor’s robes. Why on earth was he hard? Surely it wasn’t Draco. He’d been walking funny, and avoided Draco all the way up the stairs. He hadn’t wanted Draco to see…and now, as Draco stared, Potter’s face was turning bright red.

Draco wondered what Snape had seen in Potter’s mind. Something juicy that had turned Potter on, evidently. No wonder he’d been so amused…but Draco wasn’t. He licked his lips, and pushed hair from his suddenly sweaty neck. He was feeling that tingle of arousal now. He wanted to touch Potter, to strip those raggedy robes and trousers from Potter’s body and wrap his lips around Potter’s hungry cock, and suck, and lick, until Potter cried out his name and shot his seed down Draco’s throat.

It was like Draco was drunk again. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was grabbing Potter’s arms and wrenching him forward into a kiss. For a moment he just licked Potter’s lips, and then he slipped his tongue in Potter’s mouth.

The Gryffindor was good, even if he didn’t know what to do with his tongue. Draco kissed him fiercely, pushing his tongue against Potter’s, playing with it, and then changing to tender and drawing it back. He had shoved Potter against a wall at some point, and when he started to grind against Potter, the Gryffindor groaned into the kiss.

God, Potter sounded good. He was shaking, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides. Draco, pleased with the sound Potter had made, slid his hands through that thick mop of dark hair. He tangled it more, enjoying the silky slide of it against his fingers.

He had wanted this for so long.

Potter hadn’t pulled away, because clearly he was enjoying Draco’s ministrations too much. He made more beautiful sounds as Draco rubbed his hard cock over the tent in Potter’s robes, and with his tongue he twisted another moan out of Potter. Potter held onto him suddenly as if he might fall over without support. Draco’s kiss was as powerful as a jelly legs hex, apparently. He would have grinned if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied.

But Potter pulled away, gasping, and in between breaths he managed, “Malfoy…how did you…how do you…do that?”

Draco smiled. “Practice, Potter. Just like with the Occlumency. But this is much better, isn’t it? I think we’ll both agree it is. No Snape to bother us, and nothing hurting…unless you like it like that.”

In response, Potter kissed him (was that a yes, or was he venting anger at Draco’s comment?), which was shocking. Potter was actually kissing him! Merlin. He was sloppy, but good. He clearly wanted it. Wanted Draco.

Draco felt the burn of desire in his body, and he didn’t think he’d been so pleased with himself in a while. Then Potter grabbed Draco’s hips and pulled Draco closer, effectively allowing Draco to grind him harder. Even better.

And oh, Potter wanted it! His hands were hard and rough against Draco’s body, scraping up his sides, and his response to Draco’s kiss was equally ferocious. He thrust his tongue against Draco’s, and explored every inch of Draco’s mouth. It seemed like he wanted to taste every bit of Draco. Draco could think of other parts of him he wanted Potter to taste, mmm.

Potter’s tongue was so good and hot. At the same time his hard, hard cock was pleading for attention against Draco, and Draco desperately wanted it.

He pulled away from the second kiss, panting. Potter was beautiful and flushed, staring at Draco. He licked his lips, and seemed to want to pull away. Draco didn’t let him. Instead, he slid his hand between them over Potter’s arousal, rubbing it. Potter’s eyes fluttered shut, and he ground out, “Fuck!”

Exactly. But Draco didn’t say it. Potter might shy away if he spilled everything that he wanted.

Draco rubbed harder, and Potter responded with an involuntary jerk of his hips. When Draco stopped that and his fingertips started to instead sidle slowly up and down, Potter’s ragged breathing turned into a swear. He mumbled something about “stupid” and “slow” and “Merlin.” His hands grabbed Draco’s shoulders and shoved him, hard, so that Draco almost stumbled. Then with a whirl of his robes he turned and walked away.

“You need to learn some patience, Potter!” Draco called out. “I was going to finish you off!”

Potter was steaming mad. He kept walking, stomping as he went, and bellowed back, “SHUT UP!”

Disappointed and alone, Draco sagged back against the wall. He was hard as hell, and angry that Potter had run away like a pansy. But he was also enjoying the memory of Potter’s moans and his rock hard cock pressed up against Draco…

Gasping, Draco almost flew down to a hidden corridor he knew about, and there, in the dark, blocked by the statue, he wanked off to Potter. When he was done, he went to dinner. He tried to catch Potter’s eye during it, but the Gryffindor refused, and instead huddled with his friends. They didn’t seem to know how close their friend was to death, or some version of death, coming tomorrow. Potter hadn’t told them, had he?

Draco groaned at Potter’s stupidity, and went back to eating.

==========

BLAISE

The day started off normal, except that Draco was up to his usual antics of disappearing places alone. He left Blaise out of it, and when Blaise tried to get him to talk right before lunch, he said simply, “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be over soon.”

Blaise looked at Potter to try and figure out what was going on with Draco. The Gryffindor seemed highly nervous today, spilling his food down his robes during breakfast, and huddling extra close with his friends during lunch. He didn’t give a single glance to the Slytherin table, even though he was playing them in Quidditch after lunch.

Only when Blaise was alone, walking slowly behind his fellow Slytherins to see the match, did Potter seem to decide something, and change things. His dark head of tangled hair was pushing through the crowd, grumbling, and when he saw Blaise he looked up. A flush burned his cheeks, and Blaise smirked.

The corridor emptied out, and they were left alone.

It was funny, really, that Potter was into him. He liked having that level of control over someone, and Potter was so damn innocent. He’d almost been a little appealing though, the way he had stared at Blaise’s naked body when Blaise stepped out of the Prefect’s bathroom pool. But here, silent and red, he looked like the same bumbling Gryffindor he’d always seemed to Blaise.

Except that Draco had been right.

There was more to this bumbling fool than met the eye. He lived with Muggles, horrifyingly. Blaise wondered how Dumbledore had let that happen. And the things Potter had been through shook him and changed him, as evidenced by the scars on his body, and the trauma in his mind. He had been so upset by seeing Narcissa Malfoy tortured…and there was the way his scar had burned Blaise’s fingers…

“What do you want, Potter?”

His question came out a little more nicely than he’d meant it to. Thinking of Potter vulnerable…he swallowed. He hated that Potter had this effect on him suddenly, to make him care. He’d been so determined to be curious or angry about Potter, if not neutral. Now he was not only more curious, and not angry, but a little softened. He had that itch that Draco had, except it didn’t include lust. Or love. He hoped Draco didn’t love Potter…

“Um.” Potter shifted on his feet. He was in his Quidditch gear already, and had clearly split away from his friends for something he felt was important.

“Um. I. Er. I wanted to s-say…thanks…for…helping me the other day.”

Blaise smirked, and leaned against the corridor wall. “Thanks for helping you wank off? You’re welcome. I’m sure it was the best fantasy you’ve had of me yet, with all that material I gave you, right? And I bet seeing me was better than your wildest fantasies.”

He had only hedged a guess, but it was proven correct as he watched the sweat bead down Potter’s forehead, the flush become angry, and the hard swallow, Potter’s adam’s apple bobbing down.

“That’s not what I meant, you idiot!” Potter groused. “Here I am trying to say thanks, and you’re just being a prat about it. Well, forget it.”

He whirled around, but then he seemed to pause, unsure. Blaise took advantage of this to grab Potter’s shirt collar and whirl him back around. “Tell me what’s going on,” Blaise demanded. “Something’s up with you. And Draco. He’s been avoiding me all day and barely saying a word. I know Quidditch is important to you both, but Merlin, this is something more. Tell me.”

He didn’t take out his wand for emphasis, because Potter was stuck like he’d been Imperiused, staring at Blaise with wide, wide eyes.

“I can’t,” he finally blurted, “Dumbledore said not to tell. I’m sorry. I didn’t even tell my friends, if that’s any comfort. They would hate it…”

Blaise coaxed his wand from his pocket now, and held it up in the air pointed at Potter. “Last chance,” he said.

Suddenly a warm, rough hand yanked his wrist forward, towards Potter, as if Potter wanted to be spelled away. Then a strong arm wrapped around Blaise and pushed him forward, but only a step, because he resisted. Potter took the steps forward to clear the gap between them, and suddenly his mouth was on Blaise’s.

He didn’t make it soft and gentle, like Blaise expected from someone inexperienced. No, he communicated his want quite clearly. His mouth pushed against Blaise’s hard, rough, the way that Blaise liked it, and his tongue shoved into Blaise’s mouth and proceeded to devour him, ravage him, mercilessly stroke and thrust, so hard, so hungry, that Blaise was swept away on it. He found that his hands were clutching the shorter boy’s shoulders. His heart was thudding in his ears enthusiastically.

He wanted to kiss back, but his mind was screaming, what? What? But even the thought of Draco couldn’t send away the shivers that Potter’s kiss was sending through him, or the flush of arousal that crept into his body and flooded his cheeks to make them hot. He pushed his tongue back against Potter’s, sucking and tasting, giving Potter all he had because Potter’s kiss was thrilling and so good.

Potter’s kiss was different than Draco’s. It wasn’t as clean or expert, but it burned like fire. It screamed so much desire and lust, that it seemed to consume Blaise with it. He was kissing back furiously, his tongue playing with Potter’s, and his hand had fisted into the hair at the back of Potter’s head at some point.

A moan, low and wanton, rumbled up from Potter’s throat. Then he pulled away, gasping, and stared at Blaise. Blaise stared back.

A voice interrupted them, shouting, “HARRY!” from around the corner.

Potter turned away, and gave one glance back to Blaise. A little smile, sweet and cheeky, turned his mouth. Then he scurried away.

Blaise was left flabbergasted, staring after Potter. He lifted his lips to his mouth, and a croak came out of him.

“Merlin,” he groaned, “That was…good.”

As he walked slowly to the Quidditch match, he felt his stomach seem to drop out of him and anxiety covered any sense of wonder he’d momentarily held. Because his mind and body were on fire, and he realized with dismay that Potter had caught him.

With one kiss, Potter had changed everything for Blaise.

Now, Blaise wanted Harry Potter, too.

_________________________________________________________________________

More soon! Things get much plottier next chapter. And I am almost done with this fic! If you like Harry/Blaise, please check out my fic "Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire." It's much more mature (in several senses of the word).
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Every You, Every Me