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A Catalogue of Ways to torture...	By : Salima Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3603 -:- 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.

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Title: A Catalogue of Ways to Torture FlobberWorms, Elves, and Harry Potter
Author: Salima
Email: Pawnmaster242@aol.com
Category: Humor/Romance
Site: http://ftp.fanficfanatic.org/myweb/index.htm~A Quirky H/D archive.
Summary: Got a question? Ask Draco Malfoy! He has endless knowledge of all things bizarre and more than slightly sadistic. Example: "How does one make flobber worm jerky?" or "How does one get Harry Potter's rocks off?" And the baffling current mystery: Why the hell do people think it's cool to tuck their pants into their socks??
(A/N): TULSA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm getting laid in TULSA!!!!!!!!!!! *gyrates in glee*
oh.... right, there are people watching me. um... review?

I think of you while I am sleeping
Look back, I've had a waking dream
And now deprived of my delusions,
Look back, today I'm going to scream.

Draco knows a lot of really disturbing things.

He knows that if you combine the roots of a pine tree with the acidic intestinal fluids of a niffler underneath a full moon you can create a basic corrosive compound. Appartently, the magical reversal of pH causes the liquid to burn flesh at absurdly low temperatures. The flesh ices over, then startes bubbling and flaking off like a lye burn. Once it breaks the skin, the compound enters the veins and freeze-burns the unfortunate recipient from the inside out, veins slowly fragmenting and boiling over, congealed blood seeping out of the eyes and nipples and almost every other orifice you can think of.

I didn't ask him how he knew the effects of the potion, because he'd mumbled something last month about house elves being used as test subjects.

Draco also knows that if you torture a flobber worm with electric currents it will eventually glow a dull blue and conduct enough energy to power a light bulb, if properly inserted in its anus. I'm not precisely sure where he found electricity, as Malfoy Manor is notoriously old-world, but evidently he's siphoned off a fairly reliable source, as I often find him snacking on fried flobberworms like beef jerky.

He says they're spicy, despite their bland appearance. I don't want to find out.

Last week, Draco figured out how to enchant the paintings in the castle to insult people he didn't like and ingratiate people he did. I've had some explaining to do lately for this as well: the paintings all make dirty jokes and catcalls in my direction, and I actually think Omar the Omissable pinched my arse as I was returning from quidditch practice. I didn't know that paintings could interact physically with anything, let alone my arse, but apparently Draco did and now I have to watch my back.

Last summer, Draco spent forever figuring out how to construct a simple napalm out of Dragon's blood and crushed up kitten bones. The idea had come to him after having been annoyed by the "commoners" from the village. A cat belong to one of the nearby villagers had given birth to a litter of mewling kittens somewhere on the Malfoy grounds. Draco saw this as an invitation to personally squeeze the life out of them all, as they were a) on his property, and b) interrupting his afternoon nap. After doing this, he removed their skeletons, crushed them, and began combining them with the blood of different magical creatures to create unstable explosive devices. He tried heating them, charming them, baking them, making cigarettes out of them and entrapping the smoke in a filter.
He stopped his little experiment when he found out the missing ingredient was methane gas, which would have required him to subject himself to cow dung. Viewed scientifically, this was a great disappointment; I was immensely relieved.
I was talking with Hermione about him. She was particularly heated and for once had sought me out; Draco had actually BEATEN her marks in arithmancy and she wanted immensely to disembowel him. I didn't think that was a good idea, as this would most likely render him impotent, or in enough pain to not want sex for a very long time, which of course suited my interests not at all.

Hermione calmed down a bit, but not enough to avoid calling him a death eater and nearly spitting into her tea with rage.

I suppose she had just cause to suspect him of meddling in the Dark Arts. Draco's extensive knowledge of illegal and highly detrimental spells is frighteningly fluent. He claims he's never used anything too terrible on humans, but I don't take much comfort in that. Draco's favorite spells induce severe mental trauma. He has a soft spot for schizophrenic hamsters; they run chattering about to themselves all over his room, interrupting our boisterous fucking to chirp maniacally at the bed post.

I asked Hermione of knowledge of such things was evil; she said that knowledge of evil things did not make sce scholar evil himself.

I'm inclined to disagree. Draco's knowledge stems from a strictly hands-on learning environment. For example, sure, we know a lot about the skeletal structure of midgets, but mostly because some sick Nazi doctor cut a few live ones open to observe the connection between their muscles and bones while they were still working.

I don't think Draco's tortured house elves or insane mammalian rodentia are a far cry from the poor Jewish midgets.

Then again, Draco knows a lot of really evil things about me that he figured out without torturing me or force-feeding me bubotuber pus. Like he knows that I like to be tied down with velvet ropes and I scream when I come in his mouth and only when I come in *his* mouth. He knows that I like to have sex outside in the summer, preferably underwater with willow trees draping the shallows, shrouding our exploits in darkness and curtaining our lust. He knows that him in a burgundy button down with faded jeans *really* turns me on. He wears red a lot now, beacuse he knows one look across the hall or a field with shuttered grey eyes is all it takes to tip me right over the edge into oblivion. He knows that I lose control when he's fucking me, that I feel like my stomach has disappeared and I have to cling to the pillows to keep it from getting to far away.

Draco knows that I like rim jobs more than anything else, which accounts for the inordinate amount of oral sex we've been having lately. He knows that looking at his blonde head trapped between my thighs, his tongue working languidly, hotly around my clenching skin drives me up a wall. It takes me almost no time to come when he does this, even if I've already come twice in an evening.

He knows implicitly that everything we have must be kept secret, because of everything we know about everybody else and everything they know about us. Even I know everything about why it's a secret, about why, when we graduate this June, we will go our separate ways; he will join the dark ranks, and I will join the light, just as everyone knows we will.

But sometimes I catch Draco looking at me while he thinks I'm asleep, unfallen tears crystallizing bitterly in his stone-cold eyes, and for a moment they look almost green, almost hazel, like mine. I think he's starting to unravel what I've known all along: that what everyone else knows doesn't matter, and what we know doesn't either. Draco knows that what we discover every time we go inside each other is the only kind of knowledge that counts; only the incoherent words we whisper when we're trying so hard not to give into the rapture of coming immediately are the basic language we both speak. This concerted form of speech has no bearing on us, nor our lust and our moonlight passion that sears through my veins like a basic compound.

And all this somehow makes the aggressive facade better, almost enjoyable. The sniping at each other in the halls, the "Potter Sucks....Dick" t-shirts which sell like hotcakes amongst the Slytherins, the insults and the glares and the wrestling matches on the staircase: all these do unspeakable things to my nether regions. We have some pretty excellent sex during potions, slipping into cupboards and try to wank each other off as quietly as possible. The furitve kisses and the gray eyes during lunch always make a snogging session essential, which in turn makes a surreptitious trip to my favorite theme park, "orgasm land", essential.

I want so badly to brand him, to make him stop hurting things, to steal away his violent temperament and irrepressible passion and show everyone that it's all for me. I want him to be brave, to be able to sleep on me during breakfast instead of in his oatmeal (he's not a morning person), to smile at me, at least. He's so intense, so vital, so raw; something about him is indomitable and male and beastly. He smiles like a lynx when I pleasure him, eyes hooded in black lashes peering from silk blonde hair, smirk firmly creeping up the corners of his soft lips, fraught with the tension of a cat preparing to strike. They wouldn't understand, he always tells me. We're us.

I'm going to see him tonight and I won't leave until he agrees to let me stay.
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Draco knows some pretty kinky things to do with whipped cream, like say, slathering it all over a very, very hard penis and licking it slowly off, the tongue dragging up the length of the pulsing skin, trailing tantalisingly over soft balls. I didn't know he could be so gentle, but he already knew I could be wanton, so again, point to Draco.

He fucked me so softly and I was so speechless afterwards I almost forgot I had something to ask him.

"Draco," I murmured into his shoulder. He groaned lightly and rolled me further atop him, one arm clutched possessively underneath my arms, the other stroking the small of my back. I began to languidly move my lips across his skin, relishing the taste of goosebumps and vanilla.

"Draco." This time more firmly.

"What?" His answer was obligatory. His hands had moved to stroke my hair, encouraging my soft caresses, trying to me tme to tease his nipples. Frankly, right now I wanted to fuck him stupid, kiss him dizzy, but I really wanted to get this over with. The flock of butterflies in my stomach weren't all due to sexual anticipation, and no amount of sodomy would ever make them leave.

"We're graduating in a few months, you know," he tensed, and I hesitated.

"Yes, and I'll go back to the Manor, and you'll get that job with the Ministry you're after, and that'll be that."

I must have looked crestfallen, because he hugged me a little tighter and nuzzled my hair. "I think we should live together."

All nuzzling stopped immediately.

"Harry, you didn't drink the yellow potion, did you? Because I made that specifically for..."

"No, I didn't drink the yellow potion." He looked blank. "I'm actually sane, and I actually think we should live together."

"You know what I know, Harry, and you can't deny knowledge. I can't just 'unlearn' something, unlearn a way of life." As if to prove this point, one of Draco's nymphomaniac bunnies attepmted to have sex with my little toe.

"Gaah! Look, I don't care what a sicko your dad is. I don't care what a sicko you are, or how many wacked out 'experiments' you perform on small unsuspecting woodland creatures. It doesn't matter now, and it won't matter ever. I don't want you to be a death eater, and you don't want me to get killed or used in a war that isn't mine or exploited by the fucking media."

Draco looked contemplative. At least, I hoped he was being contemplative as opposed to angry, because his brow was all scrunched and his gaze was averted.

"So why don't we leave, go to some tiny village in the alps or move to Tuscany or possibly the Sudetanland. Hell, I'm up for Saskatchewan or Manitoba."

For the first time in this conversation, Draco looked me square in the eye.

"I don't want to run away from my responsibilities. I'm not leaving England, and I'm not leaving my family for you." He pushed me off the bed and threw my robes at me. "I can't do it Harry. I'm not brave like you." The flat rejection was somewhat tempered by a waver in his voice, like an echo on a gusty wind. "It's ending Harry. One of us will end up dying anyway."

I couldn't take anymore of watching Draco's back move up and down as he spoke into the pillow. I left.
************************************************************************************************
It's been about a week since Draco's had sex, and if I know anything, his balls are just about ready to burst open.

We're getting closer and closer to graduation, and everywhere I go all I see is him. Oddly enough, I didn't see my nearly failing grades on the NEWTS, didn't see Ginny crying and looking at me with puppy eyes oddly reminiscient of my own. All I see is Draco, Draco, Draco. I see his vacant eyes and his cold apathy, I hear his lack of speech and I feel the chill coming off him in icy waves. He doesn't talk at all anymore, not even at dinner, where he hosts a silent court at the Slytherin table.

I'm not surprised when he pulls me behind a curtain, not because I think he's missed my company, but because he's had a permanent erection and he refuses to masturbate.

I am startled, when he doesn't immediately try to grope me or suck off my lips. He just hugs me very, very gently and feathers his lips across my forehead.

"I've missed you."

I almost stutter. "I...didn't know that."

"Neither did I."

We enjoy a moment of awkward silence, before he speaks again.

"I've been thinking about forgetting some things."

This is quite nearly a cause for joy, but Draco's cryptic and I don't trust my own judgement. "What, like how to make tortoises vomit boiling blood? Don't tell me you're giving up your hobbies."

A smile. "No, not that."

"Then what?"

He inhales deeply and stares at his feet, as if he is about to screw himself over in a momentous way and doesn't really give a flying fuck. "Like Ron will lynch me when he finds out that we're moving in together. Or that the media will have a field day once they find out we shag like the world's ending. And I'll have to forget your fashion sense. Really, Harry, a brown belt with black shoes? Get a grip."

"I don't think I have a canned response to that." I grope for purchase on the wall. Draco wants to move in with me? Draco wants to tell people we're fucking like the world's blowing up? Draco wants to forget about...

"What about the Dark Arts and being a Death Eater? What about your father?"

He looks right at me, his quicksilver eyes glinting in the tarnished red light of sunset.

"I know."

He pauses and smiles gently.

"But I don't want to any more."

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Liked it? REVIEW!!!!!! There'll be a sequel, but all must review or else death will come to those who do not. DEATH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *does native american death dance*
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A Catalogue of Ways to torture...