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Turnabout	By : Hijja Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2698 -:- 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
- 1-Turnabout
- 1
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.

Warning: blackmail, ambiguous consent, BDSM themes

Note: Abject thanks to the goddess Amanuensis for her wonderful beta on this humble fic, to Thea for discussing it with me until midnight, and to Icarus for the great input on the beginning and on Ron's character. I've been fiddling with and procrastinating over this for over a year, so I'd be ecstatic about any kind of feedback...

Turnabout

by Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)

"Bye, Harry. Great flying! See you at the party."
Harry waved to Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloan and peeled off his sweaty Quidditch robes before stepping into the shower. He preferred to have the shower room to himself, especially lately. Outside the Quidditch changing rooms, the shouting match between Ron and Ginny was still in full swing. Ron had fouled Malfoy savagely during the match, and the penalty had almost cost Gryffindor the lead in a very close game.
"A fine team captain you are," he heard Ginny yell at her brother. "... almost lost... all because of your ridiculous feud with Malfoy... solve that off the pitch, you git!"
Harry grinned, hit the lever and let the spray drown out the arguing voices. He winced as the hot water cascaded over his back. Only that bloody Slytherin Death Eater brat would come up with a healing charm that took away the bruises, but not the pain. And he'd gone pretty sparingly on the healing itself this time, in order to gain some extra leverage in the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. But he'd caught the Snitch nonetheless, Harry thought smugly. Oh, he knew he would pay for it, and quite likely for Ron's stunt as well, but it had been more than worth it to watch the ferret's rage-filled face as he dropped onto his arse on the pitch, empty-handed and ten feet away from his broom.
He reduced the heat, leaned his forehead against the tiles and lost himself in the luxury of the warm spray. It enveloped him, relaxing his muscles and emptying his mind. It also drowned any outside noise, which was why he jumped when a finger tapped against his shoulder. Harry whirled round, water splattering in all directions, only just in time restraining himself from diving for his wand. This was Hogwarts, after all, but his reflexes were all too often quicker than his thoughts.
"Ron!" he exclaimed, turning off the water and angling for his towel.
"What's that on your shoulder?" Ron asked.
"Er... that..." Harry stalled, painfully aware of how bad a liar he was. Damn that Slytherin bastard! "I went flying yesterday and skirted a bit too closely to the Whomping Willow." He shrugged, throwing on his robes quickly. He did so not want to talk about this with Ron.
"The Whomping Willow?" Ron asked, eyes narrowed.
"Yeah. It probably remembered me all right." Harry's laugh sounded artificial even in his own ears.
"Why didn't you go see Madam Pomfrey?"
"It's just a scratch, really. I didn't want to get another lecture about being an injury magnet."
"I see." Ron watched him dress dispassionately, and then slapped him on the back when he was busy towelling his dripping hair. It wasn't even a hard slap, but the sudden stinging pain made Harry yelp and almost sent him to his knees on the floor. Tears stung in his eyes.
"Just a scratch from the Whomping Willow, hm?" Ron's voice was dangerously low. "Care to try the truth, mate? Someone hurt you, or cursed you. Who?"
Don't go there, Ron!
"I said it was an accident," Harry snapped. "Look, can we just not talk about it?"
A year or so ago, his tone might have been enough to send his best friend off in an angry huff, but becoming first a prefect, then Quidditch captain had given Ron a degree of self-possession he had lacked before. He would never make a great Keeper, but his game strategies were inspired. In general, Harry was happy about this development, since it diminished the potential for clashes when Ron was confronted with his best friend's fame as the 'Boy Who Lived'. Now, however, was a particularly bad time for Ron to display his newfound maturity.
The redhead just shook his head resolutely.
"No, we can't," he stated matter-of-factly, then turned and glowered at Euan Abercrombie and Marius Crockford, Gryffindor's new junior chasers, who had stormed in raucously, brooms still in hand.
"Get your sticks into the broom shed, for Merlin's sake," Ron barked. "Do you have any idea what humidity does to a fine-tuned racing broom?"
They darted back out of the door as if they'd been hit with a Reductor Curse. Ron's Quidditch coach command voice tended to provoke snickers at best from Harry or Ginny, Jack and Andrew, but it still impressed the heck out of the newbies. Ron shrugged.
"Looks like this isn't the best place to sort this out." He pulled his gloves off and threw his robe after them. "I'll see you in half an hour in our dormitory." He gave Harry a hard look. "And don't try to hide from me, mate. If I have to get Hermione to help hunting you down, I'll throw you into detention with Filch for so long you'll wish someone trying to turn your sorry hide into hash was your only problem."
Had he felt a little less miserable, Harry would have grinned at that, but so he just nodded dejectedly and left, feeling more anxious than he ever had this year, which was saying something.
***
Half an hour later, Harry was lingering indecisively in front of Gryffindor Tower's portrait hole, pondering what to do. He didn't really think Ron would give him detention if he backed out of this 'appointment', and even if, he'd take almost anything over that particular talk. But it wasn't as if he could avoid Ron forever - they slept in the same room, for God's sake! It would only piss him off more.
A hand closing around his arm solved his dilemma.
"Don't even think about running!"
Heart plummeting, Harry stared into Ron's determined eyes, but put up no resistance as his friend marched him into the seventh-year boys dorm before him. Dean and Seamus were on their way out, loaded down with sweets and butterbeer for the victory party. Only Neville was left, sitting cross-legged on his four-poster and munching on a chocolate frog while watering his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown to breath-taking proportions since their fifth year. It was now occupying Neville's whole bedside table and was making forays onto Harry's next to it.
Ron waited until Dean and Seamus had left with their load, then turned to Neville.
"Neville, Harry and I need to have a talk in private - would you mind? We'll be down for the party in a bit."
Neville gave them a wide-eyed look and swung his legs off the bed.
"You're going to yell, aren't you?"
"Of course not," said Harry.
"Quite likely," said Ron serenely.
Neville grinned and nodded, levitating his watering can away before pulling the door shut behind him.
Harry slumped down on his bed. He still had no idea about how to steer Ron off his perilous course. There was a steely glint in his best friend's eyes, and if he looked this angry now, he would fly off the handle in spectacular fashion if Harry let him in on the truth.
Ron flopped down on the end of the mattress, one lanky foot tucked under.
"Now spill. Who did it?"
"Ron, I hate keeping things from you, but this is extremely personal. Believe me, you don't want to know."
"You mean You-Know-Who has found a way to take over your mind again and is using it to slowly torture you to death?"
Harry gaped in shock.
"No!"
"Good," Ron replied. "Because that's the worst thing I could think of." A tight knot was forming in Harry's throat. "Now don't take this personally, all right," Ron continued doggedly, "but... are you letting someone beat the stuffing out of you because you get off on it?"
"No!" Harry yelled again.
"So what the heck's going on?"
Harry fiddled with a corner of his pillow to cover up the furious whirring of his brain. Well, Ron kept preaching at him that attack was better than defence at wizard chess... Attack it is, then.
"How come you're jumping to conclusions like that?" he asked, one eyebrow pulled up provocatively. "Have had any first-hand experience with getting your jollies that way recently?"
Harry winced at the way Ron's lips thinned, but there was something deeply suspicious about the way his friend's face went first white, then bright red.
"We're not talking about me!" Ron sputtered after a few seconds' struggle to swallow around his tongue.
"No?" Harry settled for his most innocent expression and let a bit of steel come out in his voice. "Perhaps we should?" Yes, there was something to be said for taking the offensive.
"You're trying to weasel out of this," Ron complained.
"Yep," Harry nodded, suppressing the impulse to go for the pun. "But you're hiding something just the same. Don't try to deny it - you're a lousy liar."
Ron bit his lips. He looked supremely awkward. "All right. You'll tell me, I'll tell you."
"Fair enough," Harry agreed. "You first."
Swallowing yet another protest, Ron tucked under his other foot as well to sit cross-legged, and took a deep breath. Then another.
"Look, Harry," he began very hesitantly. "It just kind of... looked like we might have a similar problem." He turned slightly and pulled his robe down from his shoulder. The pale, freckled skin was marred by an angry red line that made Harry's own scratch sting in commiseration. Icy rage flooded through Harry, but when he opened his mouth - to curse most vilely - Ron's raised hand stopped him.
"No, let me finish, otherwise I'll never work up the courage to start again." Harry nodded and relaxed fragmentarily.
"Remember when we came back to school this year? You'd been cooped up with the bloody Dursleys all summer, and you were still so miserable about Sirius?"
Harry nodded again. Yes, Wormtail Polyjuicing himself into Sirius come back from the Veil had been the distinct lowlight of his sixth year, and dashing that illusion had thrown Harry back into the grip of a depression as severe as the one after his godfather's first 'death'. Recent... developments had eclipsed some of his self-pity and replaced it with furious adrenaline, but it had been the most miserable start of a school year ever.
"Well, you... I... you were more downcast than usual one evening, staring out at the lake all alone, and..." Ron floundered, the tinge of his face slowly approaching the colour of his hair. Harry frowned. He remembered sitting out by the lake a lot, but...
"Well, I kind of went over to keep you company, and patted you on the arm, and then you kind of-" Ron's voice sunk down to a pained whisper, "-you kind of kissed me, and I thought what the heck, if it gets you out of your misery-"
"What?" Harry yelped, overcome by surprise and a deep, horrible sense of dread. This could not be! "I've never..."
"I know you didn't!" Ron yelled back and ran an agitated hand through his hair, systematically reducing it to a mess to rival Harry's. "Just listen, all right! Well, we... hell, you get the picture, don't you?" Harry nodded, white with terror. Ron's mouth set in a thin line, and his hand twisted in the bedclothes as if he were strangling an invisible enemy.
"Let's just say that when we were... done... the Polyjuice wore off and you turned into something else altogether." A strange flicker ran over his face, like the residual pain from an old injury, and Harry squashed the urge to pull him into a consoling hug. Considering the topic they were on, this would be the worst possible response. Fierce anger coiled in his stomach, but he didn't want Ron to think it was directed at him.
"Draco Malfoy," he said.
Ron's gaze dropped to the floor.
"He threatened to tell you. He said he could record it in a Pensieve and project the images all over Hogwarts."
"Ron..."
"I didn't even know you could do that with a Pensieve. I went to the bloody library to check-"
"Ron."
"He swore he wouldn't tell you if I agreed to..." A convulsive swallow.
"Ron!"
"And then he just told you anyway, that bastard, and blackmailed you too, for my own bloody stupidity!"
"Ron, dammit!" Harry grabbed his upper arms and forced him to look up. "He did not tell me."
"That bloody fucking bastard - what?" Ron paled until his freckles looked like a drizzle of blood on his face. "But you... I saw... I thought..." He hid behind his hands and flopped face-down onto the mattress like a warrior who had been dealt a death blow. "Just kill me now."
"No," Harry snarled through his teeth. "I'm quite ready to kill somebody, but it isn't you." He bit his lip, almost glad that Ron couldn't see him. "Let me tell you a little story myself."
Ron nodded faintly into the bedding, or maybe his shoulders were just shaking.
"Remember our first game this year, when Ravenclaw flattened us with their new line-up of Chasers even though I got the Snitch?" Ron groaned painfully. "Yes, I've never seen you this miserable." For a while, Harry had expected Ron to try and drown himself in the lake, broomstick, Quidditch gear and all. "Well, Ginny and Dean were trying to throw that consolation party, and you were hiding in our dorm..."
"Huh?" Ron's head came up, and Harry swatted it down again firmly.
"Well, I stuck my head through your curtains to ask if you wanted to come down, and then you just pulled me in and kissed me and put a silencing charm on the bed curtains and..."
"I was hiding in the Quidditch supplies shed with a half a bottle of Firewhisky blend," Ron said flatly.
"I know."
Ron surged up with all the vehemence of a Grindylow coming at its prey from the depths of its pond.
"Fucking Merlin on a broomstick! He did both of us with the same trick, and then blackmailed each with the threat of telling the other?"
"Oh yes," Harry nodded bitterly.
Ron paused, mouth hanging slightly open for almost a minute before expelling the breath he'd been holding.
"You know, aside from the fact that I'd love to slowly disembowel him with a blunt quill, that is almost brilliant."
"You're not kidding! If that stunt ever becomes public, it'll catapult him right among the top entries of the Slytherin Encyclopaedia of Evil."
They pondered it quietly, until Harry forced his tongue around the question that burned inside him, but did not really want to come out.
"What... what did he do to you?"
Ron's face went blank. He didn't blush, or flinch, or turn away, which made it worse somehow. His voice, too, was schooled in concentrated calm.
"Put me down a bit. Lashed me a lot. Fucked me, of course." The calm turned to brittleness at the end, and Harry felt an overwhelming surge of rage at Malfoy, who couldn't have kept this between the two of them, who had to do it to his best friend as well. He, Harry, could deal with whatever Malfoy threw at him and then some, but to use Ron like this, whose self-confidence had always been so fragile... A sharp punch to the arm knocked him out of his fretting.
"If you start going all guilt-ridden hero on me I'll hex you," Ron warned. "I'm dealing. It's you I'm worried about. You've got enough on your plate, You-Know-Who and the bloody prophecy and all, without playing sex toy for the fucking ferret!"
Harry couldn't suppress a snort at that. There was something ultimately hilarious about the whole thing, well, if the universe had a very sick sense of humour. Which, judging from his past experiences, probably was the case.
"Well," he said, allowing the corner of his mouth to curl upwards as it wanted to, "he told me at the end of our fifth year that he'd have me. I just didn't expect that he meant it that way."
Ron returned his wry grin. "We're pretty ridiculous, aren't we?"
"Pretty!"
"Harry?"
"Hm?"
"You know I love you, right? I mean you're my best friend, but... it's not that I'd mind shagging you, but if you don't... you know? It's not as if there's anything wrong with shagging guys, of course, but you... Well, you're almost my brother. That's just weird."
Harry broke into the first relieved grin of the day and took a deep, liberating breath.
"Yes, definitely weird. I'm really glad that you don't... I mean... with me... you know."
Ron returned the grin and nodded empathically. "I know." Then his brows start to furrow again. "Mate... if he did that with us - do you think he might have tried it on Hermione as well?"
His hands balled into fists at the thought, and his neck turned an alarming shade of red. Harry pondered it, though with far less apprehension. He shook his head.
"I doubt it. He'd never seduce a Muggleborn, given that endless pureblood crap he's spouting all the time. And she'd never fall for it. She wouldn't jump into bed with one of us just on impulse, and she would have ripped Malfoy's balls off if he tried anything."
Ron's breath calmed slightly.
"You're right. She's brighter than us. Although ripping the bastard's balls off sounds pretty good to me."
"It does, doesn't it?" Harry agreed fervently. "Which brings us to the point... what are we going to do with Malfoy?"
"I say we kill him, pull a Crouch and Transfigure his body into a bone, and feed it to Fang," Ron proposed with feeling. "On second thought, let's Transfigure it into a fish head and feed it to Mrs Norris - if she chokes on him, we'll have hit two Doxies with one spray."
"Have you..." Harry hesitated. "Have you ever thought about... how it would be if the roles were reversed?" He felt heat creeping into his face, and observed the scarlet quilt on his bed to avoid looking at Ron. A quiet chuckle made him look up.
"Quite a bit," Ron answered with an ominous smile curving about his lips.
***
Harry pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement a quarter of an hour after his scheduled 'appointment' with Draco Malfoy. If he opened the door a little wider than usual, or held it open a second longer than necessary, it wasn't pronounced enough for his pale-haired nemesis to notice. Malfoy's eyes were focused on his person in gleeful anticipation. He smiled, which lent his face the impression of a small woodland predator - feral and ferociously attached to whatever part of its prey it had managed to dig teeth into. He liked it when Harry was late.
At the beginning of their... meetings... Harry had felt the desperate need to make Malfoy wait just to prove he had a mind of his own. Never to stand him up altogether - he couldn't risk that for fear that the Slytherin would call off their deal and expose Harry's secret. But in the end, it just hadn't been worth the additional pain. So usually, he showed up before his enemy, knowing well enough that Malfoy also liked to make him wait on his knees on the hard stone floor, pondering his fate.
"You're late, Potter," Malfoy stated darkly. "Is it the time of the month when you're trying to prove that there's still a fight in you?" Harry didn't quite manage to prevent a smile ghosting over his lips at that.
"Oh, you have no idea, Malfoy," he murmured to himself.
"Perhaps not," Malfoy replied. "But I will give you a very good idea about what I think of it. Take off your robe."
Harry kicked off his shoes without extra prompting, undid the silver fastenings and folded the dark fabric carefully before depositing it on the floor. Underneath, he only wore a pair of frayed black Muggle jeans that Dudley had cast off when he was twelve. They had played this game long enough for Harry to know that Malfoy liked that, too.
"Kneel, Potter," the Slytherin commanded lazily and flicked an appreciative look over Harry when he complied.
Malfoy murmured his request to the Room in a tone too low for Harry to hear, and despite his knowledge that things would turn out differently this time, he felt nervous heat pooling in his stomach.
"Remember what I told you would happen if you caught the Snitch in a Slytherin game again?" A finger trailed down the nape of Harry's neck and coaxed his hairs to stand up in its wake.
"Remember how I told you to go to hell?"
The sudden, cruel blow that fell on his shoulder made his eyes water even though he'd been waiting for it. Then a finger trailed over the welt, inflaming the sting even more.
"I remember. And I think we'll deal with that attitude of yours once and for all tonight."
Harry could hear Malfoy raising the whip for a second, harsher blow, and heard him yelp in surprise when an angry voice said, "Oh no, you don't!"
He craned his head back and saw Malfoy's hand immobilised by an invisible grip in mid-air, and then watched Ron throw back the hood of the Invisibility Cloak to reveal an apologetic face between red-tipped ears. Ron pulled the whip out of Malfoy's grip while Harry dove at the Slytherin to divest him of his wand.
"Sorry I didn't react in time," Ron apologised with a sheepish look. Harry lifted an eyebrow at him and suppressed a grin. He'd had enough time to develop subtle ways of getting to Malfoy, and it was amusing - and slightly flattering - to see that his purposefully-seductive pose had had its effect on his friend as well. Ron reached into his robe, produced Harry's wand and threw it to him.
It had taken Malfoy a satisfying number of seconds to get over the shock of suddenly being disarmed and looking right at two wands pointed at him. When the mask of sneering self-confidence fell over his features again, it showed the strain at the seams like an old canvas restored with inferior paint.
"Hello, Malfoy, fancy meeting you here," Ron called out cheerfully, only a hint of canines showing in his smile. "It looks like Harry and I figured out some things after yesterday's match."
"Oh, did you?" Malfoy replied with an almost normal Dracoesque sneer. "And you've decided to gang up on me together to intimidate me into keeping your shame secret?"
"Not really," Ron replied, still with an amused undertone. "You see, at first we just planned to kill you..." Ron did a disconcerting wiggle with his wand and Harry gleefully watched Malfoy flinch. "But then we realised that there might be trouble if someone stumbled over your mutilated corpse..."
"... trouble you're just not worth," Harry inserted, happy to let Ron do most of the talking. He was just a lot better at intimidation than Harry could ever dream of being. It probably came with Quidditch captaincy; Wood had had the same gift. Ron flicked a quick grin at him and continued.
"So we just decided to go to the Headmaster and let justice take its course. But well, being honourable Gryffindors and all, we thought we'd give you a chance..." He paused and frowned at the glimpse of hope that ignited on Malfoy's face. "You place yourself into our hands for one night - we get to turn the tables on you. And we'll find out how well you'll handle being at an enemy's mercy for once."
In amazement, Harry watched Malfoy's face close off from one second to the next, as if he had pulled shut the door to his mind, leaving nothing but a blank wall in its wake.
"No." The response came immediately, with an underlying hint of anger. "You can trot right off to whine about your plight on Dumbledore's shoulder."
"Why?" Ron's voice had acquired a distinctly mocking tone. "You're afraid? Can't take what you like to dish out?"
"I'm a Malfoy. We don't put ourselves at the mercy of lesser wizards, least of all halfbloods and poor-as-dirt Muggle lovers."
"Because you're better than us." Ron's voice was deceptively calm.
"Exactly," Malfoy confirmed flatly.
With a grim smile, Ron took a step forward, purposefully invading Malfoy's personal space.
"Nice try, Malfoy. But it won't work. We're not going to hex you so you can make it look like we wronged you. You're not getting out of this the easy way."
Harry threw Ron a wicked smile of approval over Malfoy's averted shoulder, and stepped closer as well.
"And if you're concerned about family reputation, imagine what further damage this would do to the Malfoy name," Harry insinuated. "Blackmail, torture, sexual assault... even if it's not enough for a life sentence, it'll get you a couple of years in Azkaban for sure. But well, perhaps you could share a cell with your father..."
"Don't you dare mention my father, Potter!" Malfoy spat.
"Though I dare say he won't be too impressed with your achievements," Harry continued, unperturbed. "And neither will Voldemort. What are you going to tell daddy dearest? 'I tried to take revenge on Potter by blackmailing him into having sex with me'? Won't look too impressive on your Death Eater CV, I'm afraid."
Malfoy's eyes were icy, his mouth one thin, knife-edged line.
"I really should have cut your throat when I had you on your knees with your hands tied behind your back instead of making you suck me off." Harry felt blood stinging his cheeks, a tremor in his hands, and the almost unbearable urge to strike out. He restrained himself - barely.
"And there's no way I'll believe you'll go to Dumbledore with that story." Malfoy added with a spiteful sneer when no attack was forthcoming. "You'd be humiliated to the dust if that gets out to the press."
"But it won't," Ron pointed out confidently. "Remember when Edgecombe tried to snitch on us in fifth year? Dumbledore shut her right up and made sure she wouldn't say anything to implicate us. He'll do the same with you for sure. He'd never allow Harry to be publicly humiliated - he's the bloody Boy Who Lived, after all."
"Hey!" Harry complained with a touch of hurt.
"Oh, you know what I mean." Ron waved his protest away carelessly and turned his attention back to Malfoy with the air of a duellist who had inflicted a series of lethal wounds and was now moving in for the coup de grace.
"And remember, you don't have your father to hide behind any more - being the son of an incarcerated Death Eater won't win you any favours with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So - still think you'd stand a better chance with wizarding justice than with us?"
Even through the mask of arrogance a palpable air of panic showed on Malfoy's pointed face at having his escape routes cut off one by one. He hesitated for a long, painful moment in which Harry sincerely doubted he would agree to it. Of course, he and Ron hadn't seriously considered telling Dumbledore. They would put as much pressure as possible on Malfoy instead, and they could always hex him into an oozing stupor if he refused. Of course, Malfoy didn't know that.
"One night?" he repeated, in a decidedly strangled voice.
"Tonight," Ron clarified. "And after that, we'll never even think of it again."
For a moment, Harry saw defeat and a glimpse of honest fear flicker over Malfoy's half-averted face behind those loose strands of hair. Malfoy at night was less rigidly styled than Malfoy during the day, as if he was a different kind of animal altogether. Less restrained, not a bit less vicious. That flash of panic was almost enough to make Harry relent, but then he remembered the scalding terror that had gripped him when he'd first understood what ensuring Malfoy's silence would entail, and imagined how Ron must have felt. No, he told himself sternly. We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
"I'm supposed to trust you?" There was nothing left but a last-ditch attempt at stalling the ultimate defeat now.
"We trusted you," Ron pointed out. "And you're a slimy Slytherin bastard."
And, Harry thought fervently, it was good that they were Gryffindors. Because Malfoy was outnumbered and wandless, and if they were any less honourable, they could force him to submit to their every devious and destructive fantasy with the Imperius Curse... As soon as Harry realised in which direction his thoughts were meandering off, he fitfully ejected the images from his mind. What had he been thinking? Was that even himself, or the mental barbs Malfoy had left to fester in his brain?
It was, Harry told himself forcefully, not the same as what his father and Sirius had done to young Snape. James and Sirius had attacked Snape for no reason at all, much as it pained him to admit, while Malfoy had done things to them that he - and in particular Ron - might never entirely recover from.
Ron flicked his wand and Accio!-ed the whip he had carelessly dropped to the floor during the struggle before, and held it out to Harry with an almost pleading expression. It seemed as if Harry wasn't the only one to walk into their little game of retribution with some trepidation. Harry took it gingerly and glanced down at the nasty piece of darkened leather. The mere sight made the welt on his shoulder throb nastily. It wasn't the heaviest that Malfoy had ever used on him, and thankfully the strap was short enough so he wouldn't make a bloody fool of himself trying to use it. Still, it looked more dangerous than what he would have felt comfortable using. And that was a truly disturbing thought. The carved handle lay smooth in his hand, as if Malfoy's body warmth was still seeping from it right into Harry's bloodstream, poisoning him enough to make the word 'comfortable' run smoothly with this madness.
Then he thought of humiliation, and pain, and Ron, and stepped forward, running the handle gently along Malfoy's cheek and pointed chin, and finally nudged his head up a fraction to study his eyes. The grey gaze met his very coldly, though a small furrow drew together Malfoy's brows as if he was still expecting them to call off the hoax before it got too far. Harry felt a flash of temptation to reach up and smooth out that wrinkle with his fingertips. He slapped down the irrational impulse and instead quoted Malfoy's earlier words back at him.
"Take off your robe."
The Slytherin obeyed without retort, but with sharp, jerky movements that could betray either fear or fury. Perhaps both, but his feelings were again stuffed behind a mask of arrogance.
"The shirt too," Harry added coolly when he saw that Malfoy wore a matching ensemble of black shirt and slacks, embroidered at the hems and waist with symbols that looked like runaways out of Hermione's Advanced Runes textbook.
Malfoy undid the string fastenings with stiff fingers and threw the shirt on top of his robes. A fine sheen of sweat dotted the pale skin on his collarbone, and his neck muscles stood out more pronounced. He must be rigid with tension. Harry knew the feeling - intimately, from experience - but wondered how those muscles would feel under his hand. Then he realised that nothing would stop him from finding out and he lightly ran his fingers over Malfoy's neck. The Slytherin shivered and snapped his head around with a ferocious snarl.
"Keep your bloody hands off me, you Muggle-blooded shit!"
Harry was almost thankful for the insult. It certainly made easier what he had in mind.
"Oh, I'll do far worse with my hands, Malfoy," he drawled, imitating Malfoy so accurately that Ron had to bite back a laugh. If anything, it only aggravated the fury on Malfoy's face. Harry flicked the whip and eyed his enemy with a calculating expression.
"Twelve lashes each for that attitude of yours would be appropriate, I think."
"Why don't you just shut up and do your worst, you-"
Harry tapped the handle against Malfoy's lips, gentle but insistent, and cut off the intended profanities.
"Because you wouldn't want to see my worst," Harry murmured, a flash of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus Curse dancing before his inner eye. "Believe me, you don't.".
He waved his wand and conjured a familiar contraption - a simple cast-iron ring attached to the ceiling, and, linked to it, two lines of chains ending in heavy leather cuffs.
For the first one or two times Malfoy had conjured metal cuffs, until he realised that the resulting abrasions went beyond their combined skills with charms and potions to repair. The pain had been about the worst Harry had ever experienced this side of Cruciatus, and he'd feared he'd never be able to get rid of the marks they had left. Wherever Malfoy had got that Heal-All Potion from - breaking into Snape's storage or a trip down Knockturn Alley - he'd been almost as panicked as Harry. Yes, doing permanent damage would have exploded his little game immediately.
This time, however, it was Malfoy who raised his arms for the magical bindings to curl themselves around his wrists tightly. The chains were short enough to leave him wobbling on tiptoes, and Harry lengthened them with a wand's flick so he would be able to stand comfortably, throwing an apologetic look at Ron.
Inspiration hit him and he stepped over to Ron, who was eyeing the scene with knitted brows. He leaned forward to whisper a suggestion into the redhead's ear. Ron's eyes widened, and then a half-incredulous, half-admiring grin crept onto his lips.
Ron raised a hand to Malfoy's cheek and slid it down carefully until it came to rest on the Slytherin's chest. Wary grey eyes followed it from below a severe frown. Ron's other hand was placed lightly on Malfoy's hip. Ron nodded at him.
Even as Harry raised his arm for the first blow, he felt tentativeness sinking into his muscles like pewter. The short lash drew a line on the Slytherin's too-pale skin, which first showed whitely, and after a second turned to faint pink. Malfoy made a small "Hmp", eloquently dismissing Harry's attempt.
Oh no, you won't! Harry thought angrily. You will not mock me tonight.
He threw his anger - and pretty much all of his Quidditch-boosted strength - into the second blow. It crossed the fading line on Malfoy's back ungently, furious red against pale pink. Malfoy jumped and gave a choked scream, hanging in the restraints for a moment as his feet gave out under him. Harry cursed himself quietly. He wasn't supposed to be so... unbalanced.
"Lesson of the day, Malfoy," he snapped, acutely aware that the anger ringing in his voice was directed more at himself than at the other. "Don't piss me off."
He could hear the insults that the Slytherin was too prudent to voice ringing in his ears, and again almost faltered.
Come on, Harry, you can do it, he admonished himself. Just remember what he did to you!
"Pain becomes you, Potter."
Malfoy's hateful, husky whisper behind his ear while his hands trail over Harry's naked back, fanning the fire in his wounds.
Harry remembers crying, quietly and entirely against his will, but unable to hide his sobs completely. Remembers Malfoy settling on his hips and running his hands over Harry's mutilated back, casting spells that take away neither the blood nor the pain, just the sheer edge of it, and make it almost bearable when Malfoy stretches out atop the length of his body and slowly, slickly moves into him...
Harry's mind replayed his memories while the whip played over Malfoy's back. He couldn't make out where Ron's hands were going, but he heard Malfoy growl a warning and glare at the redhead. Which just wouldn't do. Harry grabbed hold of the Slytherin's neck-length hair and pulled back his head. Malfoy shot him an acid-dipped glare out of the corner of his eye.
"Attitude again, Malfoy?"
The phrase Harry got in return would have sent Narcissa Malfoy into a dead faint from shock, Death Eater wife or not. Harry brought the whip down with considerably greater force, and observed the angry red stripe and the few little drops of blood it left in its wake.
Careful, he admonished himself, and was almost relieved to hear Malfoy curse again, but low enough under his breath to allow him to ignore it. He aimed his next blow far away, but Ron's pointed cough distracted him.
"Um, Harry, I think that was the twelfth just now..."
Harry coloured slightly. "Sorry, mate. Guess I got carried away..."
"Unless you want to get in a few more, of course," Ron added with a shrug, one hand still splayed on Malfoy's lower stomach. "It's not as if we're bound by any rules here."
"Oh, no, it's your turn all right," Harry insisted, trying for a nonchalant tone. The last thing he wanted was to give Malfoy the impression of two boys playing at revenge but having no art and no stomach for it. They'd never live it down.
He thrust the whip at his friend and sidled around to peer at his victim. A broad, happy grin spread over his features as he took in Malfoy's flushed face - both of embarrassment and arousal, he suspected - and the faint wet glint in his eyes. The expression was still murderous, however, although the death glare was weakened by the puffy look of his bottom lip where Malfoy had bitten down to stifle his cries.
"Oh, pretty," Harry mocked, running his index finger along the abused lip, only to receive a sharp - and thoroughly unsuggestive - bite to the forward digit.
Ouch! Suppressing any outcry, Harry pulled his hand away and stared at his bloody finger without surprise. He licked at it once to soothe the sting. "Going to make you pay for that, ferret."
He caught Malfoy's wary look and the almost imperceptible tension with which he braced himself for a blow. But Harry just held his eyes and let his grin transform into the most evil smirk he was capable of until Malfoy swallowed nervously. Oh yes, there were far more insidious forms of revenge than violence, and the Slytherin had taught him all about it.
Unhurriedly, Harry's fingers went to unlace the front of Malfoy's trousers, his movement eliciting a harsh intake of breath. Ron's hand played over the welts on Malfoy's back all the while, and when the Slytherin's head fell back and the frosty eyes shut tightly, Harry smirked. He didn't know whether the stings or the stimulation had brought about this sign of surrender, but it was fun to watch. His hand slipped into Malfoy's trousers and pulled out the blond's member, half-hard from Ron's earlier attentions. The fine, pale hairs around his groin made an interesting contrast with the charcoal of his trousers and the pink-tinged flesh that twitched once, twice, in Harry's palm. Almost the same colour as his face, Harry thought smugly as he observed the furious flush that heated the Slytherin's cheeks at this degree of exposure. His leg muscles tensed, and Harry ran his unoccupied fingers down Malfoy's left thigh and felt the muscles trembling in the wake of his hand.
Harry caught Ron's eye and nodded, giving him the go-ahead. The redhead brought the whip down on the small of Malfoy's back with so much force that the Slytherin's eyes flew open and his whole body jerked in shock. Harry closed his hand around Malfoy's cock and slid it down firmly, giving the tip a bit of a twist for good measure. He was rewarded with another shudder, and his ministrations seemed to leave the Slytherin harder than before, despite the pain. Ron placed a second blow and leaned forward to murmur in Malfoy's ear.
"Don't worry, I won't make you count. It's so... gauche."
Eyes watering, Malfoy snarled through clenched teeth, "I hope you're passing on some of the tricks I taught you to do with your mouth to Mudblood Granger in exchange for teaching you all the fancy words."
Harry shook his head as he watched Ron draw back and lay a flurry of cruel stripes across the Slytherin's shoulder blades, which made his eyes spill over and wrung a scream from his lips.
"Dumb move, Malfoy," he commented cheerfully.
Ron's face was flushed, his eyes sparkling when he realised that he'd managed to beat his enemy into silence. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was busy torturing his bottom lip even further. It was extremely satisfying to watch, Harry thought, and remembered spending ages in front of the Gryffindor bathroom mirror, pressing an icy washcloth to his mouth to relieve the swelling. Malfoy practically sagged in relief when Ron announced, "Done!"
"Fuck!" Malfoy groaned, stabbing his hips forward so sharply he almost lost his balance, trying to push his cock deeper into Harry's curled hand.
"Not yet, Malfoy."
Harry ran his tongue over the tips of his canines suggestively, and kept his hand resting almost possessively on Malfoy's cock. "That was quite... good," he whispered, giving it a companionable squeeze. "But what if I told you to ask Ron for another dozen of the same?" Harry returned Ron's raised eyebrow with a secretive smile over Malfoy's shoulder, and saw no apprehension about the prospect on his friend's face.
"Why would I do that, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice too hoarse for the trademark drawl to register. A shudder was travelling up his shoulders, causing the near-invisible hairs on his arms to stand up.
"Because you promised to obey, Malfoy," Harry murmured, lips very close to the Slytherin's own. "And because I want to watch you come against your will, and hating yourself for it."
"So you're really going to display all your weaknesses in front of Weasley here?" Malfoy sneered. "I mean I knew you're easy to crack, Potter, but if I'd known you get off that much on humiliation, I'd have tried to do better."
You've done quite enough! Harry snapped inwardly, jaw set at the flicker of triumph that lit up the pale eyes. His stomach plummeted at the memories, but Ron stepped forward quickly, coming to stand half in front of him.
"Yes, beg me, Malfoy," he said, his voice low enough to send a prickle of anticipation down Harry's spine. Ron lifted the handle of the whip, lash coiled around it tightly, and very gently ran it down Malfoy's bare shoulder. "Beg me, because now I really want to hurt you."
"Please, Weasley," Malfoy finally snapped. "Go ahead and hit me so Potter can get off on it!"
Ron's arm sneaked around the Slytherin's side and closed his fingertips around Malfoy's nipple to pinch it cruelly. Malfoy yelped out loud as the nub turned a sullen red under Ron's unrelenting fingers.
"Try again," Ron whispered into the short, curling hair behind Malfoy's ear.
The Slytherin met his gaze, eyes going wide as if hypnotised, then lowered his lashes.
"Please, Ron," he enunciated, low but clearly.
A satisfied grin tugged at Ron's mouth. It seemed as if, given time, Ron might manage to domesticate the ferret after all.
The broad grin and Ron's flushed face were infectious, and Harry returned it happily as his friend unfurled the whip again, making Malfoy flinch satisfactorily as the lash trailed over his hip. As if on second thought, Ron stepped back to shrug out of his robe, and then discarded his black-and-orange striped Chudley Cannons shirt as well. Yes, it had suddenly become a lot warmer. Ron caught the sneer with which Malfoy eyed his loud shirt and his grin broadened as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Malfoy's ear in a patronising gesture.
"Well, ferret, it looks like I'm back to wearing whatever I like around you, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Weasel, you can go back to house-elf charity fashion like the rest of your brood," the Slytherin replied sweetly. "Take pride in it."
Ron just shook his head pityingly and lifted his hand to stroke Malfoy's mouth with his thumb, shutting him up.
"You really want to hurt, don't you?"
Malfoy graced him with a glare to curdle potions, but lightly parted his lips to admit the finger nudging against them. Harry hid his nervousness, half-expecting Malfoy to clamp his jaw down and try to bite it off, but he just sucked in the thumb and gave it a slow caress with his tongue amidst a further glare that was hardly less venomous.
Ron suffered the ministrations for a moment longer, then pulled away his finger, trailing it in a wet caress over Malfoy's reddened nipple before giving Harry a nod to proceed.
"Your little Weasel is a pragmatist, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Oh, he hates putting his mouth to use even more than being fucked, but unlike you he has no qualms about receiving pleasure." The ugly sneer transformed into a no less ugly grin as Ron's ears took on a colour as spectacular as his hair. "Unlike you, Potter, he has just no appreciation for the subtleties of humiliation." He gave Ron a lewd wink before cocking his head at Harry. "I still haven't decided whether that makes him less or more fun to play with than you, Potter."
Though Harry's insides clenched in sympathy with Ron's embarrassment, he kept his expression under control.
"Yes well, he murmured, "we'll see which one of us has more fun playing with you."
Without another word Harry lowered himself onto his knees, sliding his hand down the curve of Malfoy's hip and pushing the waistband of his trousers a bit further down to give Ron - and himself - more to work with.
He felt a sting of unease at Ron's presence, but he'd wanted to do this to Malfoy too badly - wanted to watch his unwilling embarrassment transform into full-blown humiliation under his, Harry's, ministrations. He had a right to it! He remembered too clearly the few, dreadful instances when Malfoy had laid him out on his back, naked, manacled his wrists and ankles to the ground with magic, and proceeded to reduce him to a trembling wreck with mouth and hands.
Ron walked over to stand behind Malfoy. There he paused and reached for his wand instead of the whip.
The quick "Petrificus!" caught Malfoy as unawares as Harry, and he gave a surprised yell as his body froze into rigid petrifaction from the hips down. He swayed in his bonds for a moment until he had balanced out the sudden heaviness in his legs.
"What-?" he slurred in protest, and fell silent with a near-adorable look of outrage on his face as Ron petted his head.
"Don't fret, ferret. I just want to make sure you won't thrash and give Harry a bloody nose."
Malfoy swallowed something that sounded dangerously like "Fucker!" in Harry's ears into an incomprehensible mumble. Harry just grinned, knowing that Ron would make him regret it anyway, and laid his hand flat against Malfoy's waist, nodding up at his friend with a merry "Thanks!" Ron gave him a thumb up in return.
Harry ran the palm of his hand down Malfoy's naked thigh, then detoured to slide it along the length of Malfoy's cock. It curved upwards a little to nudge him. Harry smiled and repeated the gesture until Malfoy's upper body jerked under Ron's first blow. Harry could hear the hiss the Slytherin was suppressing. Satisfied that Malfoy's nether regions - apart from the important bits - seemed properly petrified into place, Harry leaned in to lick over the furious pink tip of Malfoy's erection. Malfoy groaned when Harry sucked on the very tip for a moment. He knew the texture and taste intimately - hard, spongy and with a raw tang that seemed to somehow cut the to very core of Malfoy when all pretence was gone. Not pleasant, certainly not, but not unpleasant enough the forego the opportunity. Harry ran his tongue over the slit in a light, maddening tickle he knew had to drive Malfoy crazy, and tasted a sharp drop of precome on his tongue.
Malfoy groaned at the stripes Ron was laying across his back and arse, and Harry felt the Slytherin's cramped thigh muscles under his palm as he tried to jerk his hips forward, to bury himself deeper in Harry's mouth. He petted the sweaty skin again, just to feel that impotent urgency trembling under his fingers. It felt so incredibly good to see this arrogant spirit reduced to utter helplessness and need.
Harry was viciously glad that Ron seemed to have no compulsions beating Malfoy - he wanted the sadistic bastard to suffer at least a fraction of what he'd dished out, and something inside him just seemed to shrivel up a bit further with every blow he dealt himself.
Finally, he took Malfoy in a bit deeper, just as far as he was comfortable with, and began sucking him in earnest, letting his hands wander to trail butterfly-wing touches over his balls and run a little feathery caress over the soft, sensitive skin behind.
The Slytherin squirmed fretfully as if he were trying to crawl out of his own paralysed lower body, either to escape the assault or to crawl deeper into it. His eyes were wet and swollen, the fine hair plastered to his forehead like a dab of white paint. He furtively struggled with his cuffs now, Harry noted with glee, and was groaning with every blow that Ron delivered. Shouldn't have made quite such an effort to make sure I learn what you like, Harry thought smugly before abandoning himself to his task once more.
"Damn you to hell!" Malfoy finally hissed, and although Harry was pretty sure it was directed both at Ron and him in general, the increase of fluid mixing with his own saliva in his mouth made only too clear what lay at the core of Malfoy's desperation. Harry gave the head of the cock in his mouth another hearty suckle before slipping his lips off.
"Did you want something, Malfoy?" he inquired with a smug little smirk.
"Make me come, you hag-ridden bastard!"
Malfoy yelped when Ron aimed a blow across his buttocks that resounded through the whole room.
"Go ahead, Potter," he babbled, and Harry saw Ron's eyebrows ride up a fraction over Malfoy's sweat-slick shoulder. "Please," Malfoy repeated as if giving his surrender voluntarily somehow made the defeat burn less.
"Well, if you ask so nicely," Harry grinned. Oh, it would be pure delight to make the ferret whine and plead his despair in earnest, but Harry's lips were beginning to chafe and there was an increasingly heavy hotness straining at the front of his own trousers. He could imagine even sweeter things for Malfoy to accomplish with his mouth than begging.
So he bent forward again, taking Malfoy in deep for a few sucks until he felt his thighs tremble with effort and Malfoy's whole lower body seemed to try and contract, desperate to accompany his release. Harry pulled his mouth off and averted his face just as Malfoy's cock began to pulse, and gleefully watched the oh-so-prim Slytherin spill himself across his own belly.
Malfoy made a strangled cough as Ron gave his arse one last brutal thwack before making the whip dissolve into the dormant reserve of magic that was the Room of Requirement. It wrung one last twitch and a few more drops of come out of the Slytherin's prick, and then he sagged in his restraints, too exhausted to react to Ron's chuckle.
When Harry fumbled for his wand, took off the petrifaction and Vanished the cuffs, Malfoy fell forward on legs too wobbly to hold him upright. Reflexively, Ron caught him around the hips and stopped him from collapsing onto the ground. He let him slip to his knees until Malfoy seemed to recover enough presence of mind to hold himself up. He took a few hasty gulps of air, one hand resting on the floor, the other hovering at his side as if he wasn't quite sure whether to clean himself off with it or hide his spent, sticky member.
Harry delivered a light pat to the sweat-drenched hair and admired the graceful lines of Malfoy's thigh muscles as he made to get up. His wince when the welts reminded him of their existence was just as beautiful. Then he gave the blond head a slight shove to send the Slytherin back down.
"Don't bother getting up, Malfoy," he drawled. "That position suits you just fine. You do want to reciprocate, don't you?"
"On you?" Malfoy shot him a death glare that was much muted by the high flush that stung his cheeks.
"Well, unless Ron would rather..." Harry threw a questioning look at his friend, who had been engrossed by the criss-cross of welts that marked Malfoy's too-pale back. Well, not so pale any longer, Harry noted with glee.
"Oh, no, knock yourself out." Ron's eyes met Harry's with a grin. "I can wait for my turn." He reached down and patted Malfoy's head as well. "Make it good, ferret-face."
It amused Harry to no end that Malfoy shot Ron yet another Basilisk glare, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Someone had learned his lesson tonight.
The press of his cock straining against the front of his jeans had become distinctly uncomfortable. He ran a hand over the zipper, biting back a groan at the painfully delicious friction, and growled at the Slytherin, "So get on with it!"
Malfoy scooted closer on his knees with an expression as if he'd bitten into a gnome biscuit, and raised his hand to mirror Harry's gesture, running it down rather roughly from Harry's stomach muscles right to the seam of his trousers. Harry made a sound that came humiliatingly close to being a squeak, and glared down at the Slytherin, whose mouth had set in sheer determination. Malfoy managed the button without problem, and then pulled at the zipper without any success. Harry nearly keened at the harsh treatment.
"Lift the metal bit and then pull it down," he ground out in exasperation. "Carefully!"
Wizards weren't into zippers, he knew - they had puzzled Ron and Neville since their first year, and Malfoy had always had Harry take care of his before. With a bit of clumsy yanking, Malfoy finally got it down. He pulled the jeans over Harry's hips along with his briefs and with quite a bit of force. As always, revealing his frayed underwear that had once belonged to a twelve-year old Dudley was humiliating, and he couldn't help remembering young Snape in the Pensieve.
Harry drew in an audible breath as the Slytherin's fingers closed about his length and pulled him free from the trousers. A distinctly uncareful grip, granted, but at the moment it was exactly what Harry had been waiting for. He closed his eyes and bit his lip reflexively as the clever fingers skittered up and down his prick. Oh yes, Malfoy had talent for this, not only with his mouth, but with his cock and most certainly at torture... Harry wondered idly whether sex was what Slytherins practiced on each other in the dungeons, or whether Malfoy had been introduced to those arts by that monstrous father of his. Yes, he certainly wouldn't put it beyond Lucius Malfoy to teach it to his son along with the Dark Arts. He recalled the shudders that had run down his back at the man's cruelly amused drawl in the Department of Mysteries. But this time it was going to be Harry who was in control of that skill, not the other way round.
"Mouth, Malfoy!" he insisted, cutting short the ministrations. "It's not like you haven't done it before."
The Slytherin gave him a disgusted sneer, and Harry blinked at Ron's surprised glance. He met his friend's eye with a raised eyebrow, and then flushed beet-red in realisation that he was standing there right in front of his eyes, with his prick poking out of his trousers.
A low chuckle went grating along his nerves. He looked down and saw Malfoy, lip twisted in to a sardonic grimace, staring up at Ron.
"No use trying to do that to an enemy who won't feel guilty about responding, right, Weasley?" He pointed at Harry, brushing the side of his cock in a feathery tickle that sent a shudder through Harry's frame. "And little Potter here agonises so beautifully."
Little? Harry growled mentally at the twofold insult. But Malfoy had his eyes fixed on Ron, oblivious to his outrage.
"You wouldn't have," he added.
A muscle twitched in Ron's cheek as he returned the stare, and Harry was surprised by the strange intensity of it. Some unvoiced part of their interaction went right over his head.
"No, I wouldn't," Ron finally confirmed, and then took a step forward to Harry's side. He put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder and smirked down at the Slytherin from his advantage in height. "Go ahead, then," he said. "Let me see how well you do at it."
Malfoy's superior expression deteriorated into a glower, and then he leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of Harry's prick - which had somehow risen up rather insistently - in such an obscene, amazing slither that Harry's whole body vibrated and his mouth formed a breathless 'o'. And then Malfoy's lips closed around the tip in a perfect pink pout that was pleasantly warm and held a touch of suction that seemed to race right down into his balls, and then up his spine; Harry's very toes curled at the sensation. He staggered and nearly lost his footing when Malfoy sucked in a bit more of him and used the tip of his tongue to milk the slit for precome.
Ron's arm came around Harry's waist to steady him, and he gladly relaxed into the hold, the skin of his back slick where it rested against Ron's chest. It felt... comforting, being held like this, like an unvoiced affirmation that he wasn't doing something unforgivably repulsive.
Then Malfoy slid his mouth further down Harry's length until his lips were wrapped around the very root of Harry's cock, giving a tight little swallow to make it slide down more easily. Harry bent forward slightly to thread his fingers into the Slytherin's damp, fine hair, only to find his bottom pressing up against a pronounced bulge in the process.
"Sorry!" Ron ground out in a voice thick with embarrassment. He re-angled himself so that his hipbone rested against Harry's lower back instead of... other things, and Harry put his unoccupied hand over Ron's where it was still splayed on his hip for a moment to reassure him.
And then his momentary concern was washed away as he moved leisurely into Malfoy's throat, not thrusting so much as... undulating his hips to rock himself deeper. He kept up his gentle hold on Malfoy's hair, only ever so often wrapping a strand around his index finger and tugging just a little because he couldn't help himself. He didn't need force behind his grip, because the careful hold alone would drive the point home. It was Malfoy who took pleasure in fisting in Harry's hair and craning his neck back almost to the breaking point while fucking his mouth, because he was a sadist and got off on it. Harry didn't; showing the Slytherin that he could if he wanted to was a satisfactory enough form of revenge, he decided.
Harry felt the telltale pressure in his balls, the way they drew themselves up tightly, and he dug nails into Ron's arm without even noticing. He stared down at the top of the blond head that seemed to be welded to his groin, and a bead of sweat tickled his cheek on its way down before it dripped on the Slytherin's hair where he crouched over Harry's prick. Strangely enough, it was the implication of that image that sent Harry over the edge at last. He gave Malfoy's hair a rude tug and growled, "Swallow!" in a voice which was humiliatingly hoarse - as if the bastard would dare not to!
Then he gave one last shove into that brilliant mouth, and all the tight pressure melted into one blissful surge which ran through his prick, enveloped his brain in an instant of sheer white, and buzzed through the pulse point at the centre of his spine in one dizzying rush.
There was a special sense of satisfaction to coming when in control, was Harry's first semi-conscious thought, and then, looking down wide-eyed and utterly breathless at the blond head grudgingly sucking him through the aftershocks, he had to squash the impulse to pull out in time to leave some final spatters of come on those arrogant cheekbones. The mere thought sent a tremble though his exhausted frame when he acknowledged it - a frisson of unease that remained even when Malfoy released his cock after licking it to the same pristine pinkness he had forced Harry to perform on him again and again. Harry wondered whether he'd done the same to Ron - likely enough - and what Ron might have looked like, doing it...
He killed that image as quickly as the previous one, and pulled away from the Slytherin almost fearfully. It had to be Malfoy's doing, planting those obscene thoughts and urges inside his brain.
"It looks like we have you just where we want you, Malfoy," he drawled to avoid giving it any further thought. He felt Ron's noiseless snicker against his bare shoulder.
The sight of the bastard on his knees in utter humiliation was so pleasurable it made Harry's groin twitch again despite his recent orgasm.
"Do you want a go as well, Ron?" he asked pointedly.
"Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
For the second time that night, Harry saw the desperately upheld mask slip, revealing naked terror underneath. For a moment, Harry was completely sure that Malfoy would make a run for it, bare-arsed and all, and idly wondered whether he'd let him if he tried. But then the mussed head lowered, mainly to cover up his momentary display of fear, Harry suspected. But it was looking so gorgeously like defeat that Harry's mouth went dry.
Ron came around to stand next to him; a side glance revealed his firmly set jaw. So Ron had decided to go through with it... Harry wanted to whisper to him to be careful, but he couldn't find the words or a way to convey the sentiment so their victim wouldn't hear. He settled for a light squeeze to Ron's forearm as he stepped back to give him room. Ron raised an eyebrow and favoured Harry with a wry twitch of his lips behind Malfoy's back.
Ron stared into space for a second, mouthing a request to the Room, and a fluffy circular carpet appeared in the centre. Harry probed it with one bare foot and sunk into the soft fabric almost to his ankle. The bright scarlet interwoven with a gold design of lions was a neat touch, he decided. His best friend's imagination was more opulent than he'd have given him credit for. Ron caught his stare, and his cheeks went slightly red.
"Get on it, Malfoy," Ron ordered, pointing at the rug. Malfoy shot him a look of pure hatred when he added, "You're Slytherin - you should be familiar with crawling."
But Malfoy did it, crept along onto the carpet, his pale skin contrasting with the vivid colours. There was a distinct beauty in the way in which the welts criss-crossed the pale back and arse, which had a lot to do with the fact that the pale skin so marked was Malfoy's. Harry admired the dark shadow between the bastard's buttocks as he crawled, and heard Ron sucking in a breath next to him.
Harry felt more naked than before when Ron moved away from him to follow his plaything. He wondered whether to slip his jeans back on, but it would make him seriously overdressed compared to the other two. He settled for sitting down on the corner of the carpet to watch, arms wrapped around his knees to hide himself at least a little.
Ron had caught up with Malfoy and stood behind him, one hand stroking Malfoy's shoulder blade. The Slytherin could appear elegant - Harry had seen it before, especially when he'd felt in control and like flaunting it. But not now; he was perched there with stiffness practically radiating from his muscles. As if he was half-petrified already. Harry knew the feeling well enough - being exposed, being helpless, being utterly at another's mercy. He hated it more than anything else in the world.
Harry sneaked a peek as Ron undid his trousers. Yes, he'd seen him naked often enough before, in the showers, or undressing in their dormitory or at Ron's room at the Burrow. Though not that one time in his bed when Malfoy had worn Ron's body. It had been dark and he'd been far too embarrassed to look too closely. Ron's cock had always seemed nothing to inspire jealousy and, boy that he was, it had given Harry a touch of superiority to see he was a bit bigger. Ron, too, seemed to be sensitive about it, considering how he'd attacked George - or had it been Fred? - when he'd ruffled his hair and called him 'runt' in a not quite innocent fashion during an after-match shower in fourth year.
Even now as it filled, Ron's erection wasn't particularly long, but he was rather wide and Harry's muscles clenched at the sight. He was glad he wouldn't be fucked by that. Handling it in the dark of Ron's bed, under Malfoy's infernal Polyjuice illusion, had not been quite as intimidating. But then Malfoy himself had never looked like something to write home about either, and he'd been able to use that unspectacular prick of his like a weapon when the mood struck him.
Harry sat back on his heels, observing Ron as he muttered something into the air of the Room, to be rewarded with a soft plop and a stoppered vial that fell into his hand out of thin air. Harry shivered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Ron went to kneel behind Malfoy and sent him down on hands and knees with a light shove.
Fine blond hair fell over Malfoy's face, obscuring is expression. Which was a pity, Harry thought and skirted a bit closer to the centre of the carpet. He certainly didn't want to distract or embarrass Ron with his presence, but the desire to see Malfoy's face when he was opened by that intimidating cock was overwhelming. He watched Ron's fingers play idly at some of the more prominent welts on the Slytherin's back, and saw Malfoy's muscles trembling at the touch. Ron's other hand was busy working behind Malfoy's back, and from the way his cheeks flushed and his breath sped up, Harry realised he had to be teasing himself. He flushed at the thought and lowered his gaze a little, but continued peering through half-lowered lids. His own cock gave a twitch of interest, and surely that wasn't proper either - he shouldn't get turned on by his best friend preparing himself, and surely not by the sight of his arch-enemy trembling naked on all fours either. Malfoy must have messed with his head a lot more than he'd given him credit for!
Ron treated himself to a few more lazy strokes, mouth half-open in concentration, then reached for the vial again. Harry watched the shiny drizzle of oil flowing over his fingers, and caught a whiff of almonds.
Ron moved closer yet to Malfoy, using his knee to nudge the Slytherin's legs further apart, and ran a hand over his arse. Ron could see the faint sheen of oil where his fingers had been. They travelled further down as Ron used both hands to part Malfoy's cheeks even further, and then moved one of them in between, lightly biting down on his lower lip as he did so.
Malfoy's hands were clenching into fists on the rug, and the lines in his arms stood out as his whole body tensed under the touch. His spine curved up a little, like a cat bristling. Harry put a hand on his wand, just in case. But Malfoy did not explode into action as Harry had halfway expected. He just kept tensing, as if he was trying to draw his skin more tightly around muscles and bones with every passing second.
It was Ron who broke the tension, leaning over the Slytherin's back until his chin came to rest on Malfoy's shoulder, and hissed in his ear, "Breathe, idiot!"
Some of the tension actually seemed to leave Malfoy's rigid form at that, amazingly enough. Ron ran one hand over his shoulder, steady and calming, while his other kept working between the Slytherin's spread legs. Harry couldn't see any details - didn't want to, thank you very much! - but he saw Malfoy's face and the sudden grimace of shock as Ron worked his fingers deeper. He squirmed away as Ron grabbed his hips and pulled him back.
"Would you rather prepare yourself, Malfoy?" Ron asked, calm and unmoved. Malfoy's body seemed to freeze and Harry aimed his wand in the Slytherin's direction as a warning.
Malfoy's shake of head was so slight it almost needed imagination to be identifiable as denial, and his posture slumped a little as Ron pulled his legs apart once more. He kept his head bowed, stifling every noise of discomfort as Ron opened him up gradually, dipping fingers into the vial ever so often. Finally, he prepared himself, mouth half-open and face twisted in a grimace that looked almost like pain, but couldn't possibly be. Harry caught a glimpse of his erection as he oiled himself, hard, glistening and rather angrily red. He would almost have felt pity for Malfoy, if this wasn't his just desert.
At last, Ron returned his hands to the Slytherin's arse, petting the tense flesh for a moment before nudging closer. Malfoy made a strangled, panicked noise when he felt the blunt head against his opening, fists opening and closing fitfully on the carpet.
Ron, Harry realised, was careful not to hurt his captive too much with a rough entry. On the one hand, this relieved him - he wasn't sure if he could have handled blood and screams, or seeing his friend losing it and tearing into the Slytherin in a fit of rage. But some small part of him groused and felt almost betrayed. They weren't giving as hard as they had got, well, Harry at least, and it was just not fair that Malfoy should get off easier. He always had, and it had always been Harry who'd suffered worst, never his enemies. Harry's parents were dead while Malfoy's father just went to prison, Harry's godfather had died in the Department of Mysteries while Malfoy's aunt who'd killed him was still gallivanting about, Harry got Crucioed and had his body taken over by Voldemort while Malfoy got a phoney scratch from a Hippogriff and a few seconds as a bouncing rodent. And Harry had suffered through months of terror and utter humiliation, while Malfoy would be clear after one night...
Despite Ron's care, Malfoy's face scrunched up in pain as Ron pushed into him. Teeth dug hard into already-swollen lips, and a high, hurt whine escaped his throat for a moment. Harry saw in the sharp set of his jaw how much Malfoy hated being unable to suppress the sound, but it lingered in the air anyway.
Ron held his hips in a tight grip as he moved to sheathe himself fully inside the Slytherin, fingers running in small circles over the hollows between thigh and groin whenever he paused to let Malfoy adjust a little. Malfoy's head fell forward, hair spilling over his face like a pale curtain. His fists had closed completely now, and Harry knew that those sharp nails digging into his palms hurt bad enough all on their own.
Ron let out a small groan of satisfaction when he was completely buried in rather unyielding flesh, and released his death grip on Malfoy's hips. He stroked the Slytherin's back, tracing the lower vertebrae, and then snaked his arms around Malfoy's torso to pull him up into a kneeling position. The Slytherin gave a pained yell as his back was pulled against Ron's chest, changing the angle of the prick embedded inside him. A flush of pleasure coloured Ron's face. He wrapped an arm around Malfoy's chest and held him close, using his free hand to brush the hair back and off Malfoy's face.
Harry hugged him for that inwardly, because he had wanted to see pain etched on those superior features. There were tear-tracks as well, which inexplicably surprised Harry for an instant even though he'd seen in third year how badly Malfoy dealt with pain. He devoured them greedily with his eyes, recalling the few humiliating instances when the Slytherin had reduced him to helpless tears.
Despite being forced to look into Harry's direction, Malfoy's eyes seemed glazed, staring through rather than at him. At least, Harry thought viciously, he didn't have to look at the one invading him! His, Harry's, first time had been laid out on his back, bent nearly in half as his legs were pushed up to his chest until the cramped position was sheer agony. And then Malfoy had borne down on him, forcing himself inside him until he'd thought either his insides or his bones would snap every second, all the while cataloguing every expression on Harry's contorted face with that horrible, satisfied smirk of his. Harry kept greedy eyes on Malfoy's face, insistent that now it would be his time to look his fill and savour Malfoy's humiliation. It was no less than his due!
Finally, Ron leaned forward to whisper something unintelligible into Malfoy's ear, which made his lips thin and seemed to shake the glazed absence out of his face to replace it with pink-tinged fury. Ron chuckled and pulled out a little, only to shove back in again. An audible whimper escaped Malfoy's lips. The sound made Harry's prick throb. A grin ghosted over Ron's expression, and he did it again, at the same time taking hold of Malfoy's hair with one hand, pulling Malfoy's jaw back towards him and closing his mouth over the Slytherin's to swallow his scream.
The sight was so unexpected that Harry's mouth fell open. Malfoy had not kissed him once in all the four months they'd played their vicious game - not that he was complaining, thank you very much - and he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Malfoy would rather rip Harry's throat out with his teeth than suffer Harry's mouth on his for a second. Despite Ron's hands-on roughness, there seemed to be a connection between his best friend and the bastard, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of courage Ron must have displayed that had wrung grudging respect from a sadist like Malfoy, when all he had ever seemed to have wanted from Harry was to beat him down as hard as he possibly could.
Malfoy did not pull away, or strike out, although it was a cruel kiss that stretched his neck and left his lips bloody with colour afterwards. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't meant it with Ron - perhaps he'd only tormented him to hurt Harry with it later?
It was Harry who hated being singled out, being marked as a victim, suffering all of the enemy's sickening attention. Like Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. Harry's perception of fear had changed after that. Oh, he still dreaded the thought of a Dementor. But Dementors could be fought, and in their seventh-years NEWT refresher course in Defence, Harry had, at last, looked at Lord Voldemort when he'd faced his Boggart. The memory of the Dark Lord, coiled like an ice serpent at the very core of his mind and soul, taking his body for his own and brushing his mind away like so much a fly, still brought him screaming out of nightmares. And sometimes, when Malfoy's cock had been stuffed inside him as if it was a spatula to scrape his soul out from the inside, or when he'd loomed over Harry's bound form to play his body with hands and tongue until nothing remained but need, Harry felt that very same tug, trying to separate him from himself.
But Ron... if he'd had too much attention, Ron had had too little, and Harry just knew that sometimes Ron was not happy with what lay at the core of him. If he'd let Malfoy reach into that unhappiness, that desire for attention, let it remake him...
In awe, he watched Ron wrap one arm tightly around Malfoy's hip, pulling his whole body into him with every thrust, while his other hand stroked the Slytherin's side, fluttering over wet skin as if trying to calm some wild thing. Malfoy's hands were clutching the arm slung around his middle, fingers sliding aimlessly over the curved scars that coiled around the pale skin, remnants of Ron's brush with the rouge brain in the Department of Mysteries. Harry scooted closer to the pair as if pulled in by a Summoning Charm.
Ron sped up his thrusts a little, rocking Malfoy's hips with every stroke, one hand slipping down to tug at the Slytherin's prick. Now that Malfoy was kneeling upright, Harry could see it was not completely soft - Ron must have aimed for and found the bastard's prostate at some point - but pain seemed to prevent him from taking a focused interest in the proceedings.
Ron's eyes slipped off Malfoy's body and towards Harry, who still crouched at the edge of the carpet. Harry had to fight the urge to hide himself away from Ron's hooded eyes. Ron slid his hand off Malfoy's prick and held it out to him, not pleading or demanding, but with self-deprecating humour glinting in his eyes. Harry's own eyes went wide; he swallowed, feeling himself hardening further at the thought of joining them there.
He lowered himself into a crouch, since walking would seem too preposterous given the situation, but feeling intensely silly as he crabwalked over to them. His prick... bounced... he realised with flaming cheeks. He took Ron's outstretched hand as soon as he was in reach, and allowed his friend to pull him closer towards Malfoy's body, still rigid and impaled on Ron's prick. The Slytherin stared at the ground, face averted a little to avoid Harry's eyes. Ron drew Harry's hand down, not onto Malfoy's cock directly, but laying it on his lower stomach. Harry felt tense muscles jump under his fingers.
He acquiesced to the unvoiced request and reached down to close his hand around Malfoy's reluctant cock, warming it between sweaty fingers before lightly rubbing over the sluggish skin. Malfoy ducked his head a fraction lower, but made no sound. That changed when Ron resumed his thrusts again; their force drove Malfoy's prick hard into the curved hollow of Harry's palm, and it twitched in appreciation of the rough treatment.
Harry heard the light "Ah!" sound the Slytherin made, the shudder of pain that ran up his arms and shoulders, and inched a bit closer, keeping a firm hold on Malfoy's member until he knelt directly in front of him.
He'd seen Malfoy caught up in the grip of passion between pain and lust a while before, and was determined to throw him back into that chasm, if only as a favour to Ron. He lowered his head to close his mouth around one of the tight pink nipples and played his tongue over it. Malfoy's skin tasted of salt, and Harry enjoyed the way the little nub hardened under his tongue. He toyed with it and kept up his insistent hand on the Slytherin's erection until he felt him harden and squirm. Then he smiled against Malfoy's chest and transferred his mouth over to the other nipple.
It rather excited him, handling Malfoy like this, and he had to give in to the temptation to move his fingers onto his own prick for a moment; it felt too good to let go, so he crept a bit closer and took hold of the Slytherin's cock as well, rubbing it gently against his own. The sensation was so amazing that Harry's breath caught and he audibly exhaled against Malfoy's chest, moaning quietly in pleasure.
Malfoy threw his head back, letting it fall against Ron's shoulder as if to remove himself as far as possible from Harry's touch despite the intimate brush of their cocks. Sweat-darkened blond strands spilled over Ron's shoulder; the Slytherin's eyes were shut tightly.
Harry formed his palm into a tight sheath around their two erections, crushing them gently together. Ron's thrusts pushed the Slytherin's prick farther into his hand, only to draw it back again whenever he pulled out a little. It was an erratic, rough rhythm, but every slide of Malfoy's prick against his own, aligning the two erections in his hand until the sensitive heads brushed each other, sent a stab of heat running through Harry's whole body and left him harder, and more frantic. He sped up his strokes, and helplessly bit down on the nipple he was toying with. Malfoy made a high noise against Ron's shoulder, and Harry felt him go limp, not so much in protest, but completely abandoning himself to Ron's thrusts that rocked his body into Harry's hand, and the increasingly slippery slide of his cock against Harry's.
Harry felt Ron's hands scrabbling over Malfoy's skin in a frantic, helpless flutter before they dug in sharply and he came with a near-pained shout and a thrust so forceful it crushed Malfoy's cock against Harry's and left sparks flying before Harry's eyes. He groaned sharply as his friend collapsed against the Slytherin's back, sending his body to sprawl against Harry's.
It felt so very good, that warm, aroused body against his own, too winded to struggle, and with Ron's prick still buried deeply inside him. Harry gripped their combined erections in hand more firmly and stroked harder as Malfoy's body eased Ron's through his aftershocks. Harry shuddered deeply as he came, scrunching up his face where it was still hidden against Malfoy's chest, breath knocked right out of his lungs and oblivious to his leg muscles which were cramping up somewhat insistently. He felt his seed spill over his hand and Malfoy's prick, who inhaled sharply and made an inarticulate noise when Harry rubbed the wet residue over the head of his straining erection. He squeezed it provocatively, slipping his hand further down for a moment to slither over Malfoy's balls. Malfoy craned his head back even further, eyes shut so tightly that his lashes stood out like pale half-moons against flushed cheeks. His mouth was forming 'no' over and over again in soundless protest. Harry felt his prick jerk once in his hand, spilling himself over Harry's fingers as well while Ron held on to his slumped shoulders.
Harry raised his sticky hand and brought it up to Malfoy's mouth, which was still half-open to facilitate his laboured breathing. There were tear stains, and misery was written all over the Slytherin's face as he lowered his mouth to lick Harry's fingers, too worn out to even glare properly. Malfoy's tongue felt rough and tickled, bringing back memories of that touch on intimate parts of Harry's anatomy. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of pleasure before quickly opening them again to savour the sight of his despoiled nemesis cleaning their combined fluids from his hand.
Malfoy's teeth slipped, one pointed canine grazing Harry's thumb as Ron pulled himself free off him with a wet, squelching sound. The Slytherin's eyes went round, then shuttered with sudden shock. Ron himself was rather red in the face when he met Harry's gaze. He smiled as he watched Malfoy clean the final bits of come from Harry's fingers, then reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder in a companionable gesture. Perhaps, Harry thought hopefully, perhaps they could get back to what they'd been before and put all of... this behind them after all.
Ron grabbed for the wand he'd discarded on the carpet, still sweaty and breathing heavily. It took him two tries before he'd got out the words of the cleaning charm, and he pointed it first at Harry, then at himself.
Malfoy turned his head away sharply. Harry reached up with his now-clean hand and caught the tear on Malfoy's smeared face, brought it to his lips and licked it off. Salty, and bitter like defeat - beautiful. Malfoy recoiled, wiping his face with a bare arm, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Ron stretched languorously behind him, before waving his wand again and Summoning blankets and pillows from the pile the room had so generously provided in one corner. He spread some of them out on the carpet, a silly grin on his face.
"Saturday tomorrow, mate..." He shrugged. "We might as well sleep here instead of risking to wake up Neville and the others in the middle of the night."
Yes, Harry thought fervently, he'd probably combust right on the spot with shame if anyone ever asked him questions about where they'd gone off to in the middle of the night. He heard the questioning tentativeness in Ron's voice, a familiar sound that came up whenever he preferred Harry to take the initiative or decision. Not so often nowadays, but still sometimes with Hermione, or his mother.
Harry threw a surreptitious side glance at Malfoy, who was still crouching on the ground, his head averted and uncharacteristically silent as if he was afraid of catching their attention once more, and having worse done to him.
It surprised Harry that the sarcastic mouth had fallen silent after all; he'd never been able to scare the Slytherin before, not even when he'd jumped him on the Quidditch Pitch in fifth year. Even naked, Malfoy had never before looked so vulnerable; he'd certainly never shown tears that weren't pretence. Harry wondered whether in time, when his elation wore off, he'd be scared of himself, too.
Harry stared at Malfoy's hunched form, deadly pale and trembling too much for it to be post-orgasmic haze. Malfoy had always dismissed him after their 'sessions' with a sneer of contempt and a cutting jibe. But Harry had had a goal he'd suffered for - and come to think of it, so had Ron. They'd cracked Malfoy's ego between the two of them, which was more than the Slytherin had managed to do to them. If Harry unleashed his verbal rage now, he did not know what Malfoy might do. Not so much to Harry, but perhaps to himself... No matter how gratifying it would be to shove his fury down the Slytherin's throat, he couldn't just throw him out on his arse, not in the state he was in. Not to mention that he'd raise some serious questions if he came back to the Slytherin dungeons as a mess like this; he probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to tell a convincing lie either.
Malfoy had committed himself to the entire night - they could curl around him for a bit, reminding him of his place. And something inside Harry wanted to prolong access to that pale, marked skin for a little longer. They didn't owe the bastard any kindness for sure, but he might be in a better state in the morning.
He threw Ron a questioning look, to be met with an amused smirk and a shrug. So Harry grabbed Malfoy's upper arm and shoved him over at Ron. Malfoy tried to pull away, baring his teeth at Harry in near-desperation, but Harry was having none of it.
"We bargained for one night, ferret," he snapped and tugged the Slytherin towards the makeshift bed. "It's not over yet."
Ron reached out from under his blankets and grabbed Malfoy's elbow to pull him down beside him. Malfoy went, his mouth still sharp as if hateful retorts cut the tender skin inside. Inexplicably, seeing that severely downturned mouth made Harry feel better. Perhaps they had not done anything wholly unforgivable or irreparable after all.
"I hate you, Potter!" Malfoy mumbled, slightly slurred as if his lips had gone numb.
"Good." Harry replied cheerfully, finding to his surprise that he meant it very much. Ron ran his eyes over the welts and marks on Malfoy's back, before eyeing his wand and yawning.
"Tomorrow," he mumbled and tucked one of the blankets over the Slytherin's reluctant form.
"Tomorrow," Harry agreed. He was far too groggy right now for something as complex as healing charms, and his legs felt as if lead had been poured into them. Not to mention that Malfoy deserved to suffer a bit more. "Perhaps he'll learn a bit more humility from it," he added casually over the thin face that scowled out of the nest of pillows as he made room for himself on Malfoy's other side.
"There's always hope," Ron snickered down at Malfoy. "Go to sleep, ferret."
It took some time before exhaustion finally seemed to take over and the nervous movement of Malfoy's eyeballs under his closed lids ceased to prove he'd fallen asleep. His breath slowed, although it was nearly an hour before the nervous rattle in his chest finally gave way to near-peaceful breathing.
Harry watched him under half-closed eyes, lying curved against his hip. Malfoy's skin felt cool, and after a while he seemed to gravitate towards Ron, who slept with his chest uncovered, but as always radiating enough body heat to make up for it. Malfoy's sleeping form curled itself against Ron's side almost in slow motion, head burying against his shoulder. Ron murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep and threw an arm over the Slytherin's body.
Harry carefully propped himself up on one arm and watched them sleep until he was sure not even a surprise visit by Peeves playing percussions would be able to rouse them. Then he laid a dry kiss against Malfoy's half-averted shoulder before pulling the blankets up to his chin.
With a sigh he lay back down, pillowed his head against Malfoy's back, and went to sleep.
~ finis ~
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