Sectumsempra Animi

Hermione began to notice that something was different about Harry the very next morning. Well, specifically, it was not Harry that she noticed was acting differently, but Malfoy. For the first time in many weeks, Malfoy graced the breakfast table with his snarky presence and, to Hermione’s utter shock and confusion, sat down immediately beside his dark-haired arch-foe. She waited for the sparks to fly, the curses to be cast, but there was a distinct lack of all that...a distinct lack of anything at all, really, that would be expected were Draco Malfoy to take a seat next to Harry Potter on any other morning; however, there was something there that had never, ever, ever been present before, Hermione noted.

Harry was smiling, ever-so-slightly, at Draco. She dropped the glass of orange juice in her hand, which promptly hit the table with a sickening crack the split second before it shattered on the hard wood and flooded the table in chilled, muted orange. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry,” she whispered, flustered, and when she began to lift her wand to clean it up, she attempted to meet Harry’s emerald gaze in question. To her utter dismay, however, she saw that Harry was rather absorbed in watching Draco’s fork moving about on his plate, playing with his food more than eating it, and she cleared her throat.

Draco could ignore the spilled orange juice and the whispering from the Mudblood, but the moment she cleared her throat with the most grating, irritating sound, he lifted his eyes and narrowed them at her in disgust, a little sneer curling the left side of his upper lip. “Really, we’re at the table, Granger. Could you hack up a lung somewhere else?” he drawled lazily before he promptly speared a sausage with his ancient silver fork and inspected it for a moment. He brought it close to his mouth, his delicate little tongue daring to slip out to tentatively give it a taste, and when he found it acceptable for consumption, he took the end in his mouth and sucked it right off the fork with a little pop.

Harry thought he was going to cream himself as he watched Draco’s naughty little affair with the breakfast sausage, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat when Draco licked it. He could have sworn that Draco caught his eye for only a tiny moment while he was putting that dirty little tongue on display, and then Draco sucked the sausage in, and Harry groaned very softly into the palm of his hand before he tried to focus on his food. After all, they certainly were not the only people at the table, and he was sure he could see Hermione and Ginny eyeing him from across the table. He needed to say something terrible to Malfoy, something that would convince them everything was all right even though it was not. He pulled his hand away and opened his mouth, looking for something, anything, to say, and he came up with, “You uh...l-look like you have experience with that, D-Malfoy.” Lame. He felt his cheeks flush, and he wanted to look down, but then he would not only be confronted with his semi-hard cock pressing against his zip, but he would lose face in front of the girls.

Draco smirked when Potter spoke up in his simpering, shaking voice, and he looked over to him, seeing Granger and the baby Weasel staring intently at the two of him. He suspected that they were trying to figure what, exactly, Harry’s brain malfunction was all about, and so he decided to give them a little something more to think about. He leaned in close to Potter, very close, so the tips of their noses were nearly touching. His eyes turned vicious, and in the nastiest, most vicious tone he could muster, he spat, “Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. You wish I had experience, don’t you, Potter? For now, I suppose you’ll just have to be watching, you filthy Mudblood spawn.” He was pleased to note that when he spoke his last word, it was enunciated with spittle, which found a new home on Harry’s slightly parted lips. He looked the Gryffindor up and down, appearing utterly disgusted, and he was silently amused by the fact that, instead of wiping the spit away, Harry’s tongue swiped it up greedily. Oh, this was just too rich.

“M-Mudblood?” Harry whispered absently, and Draco stared at him. This love potion had really done quite the number on Harry, and if he weren’t so dependent on the potion being a secret, he would have gloated to the Weasel and Granger. “Don’t call me that.” It was without conviction that Harry spoke these words, and the look of poorly-disguised infatuation in Harry’s emerald green eyes was missed by no one. Harry looked to the right, seeing Hermione and Ron staring, transfixed, on the scene before them, and he knew that he had to get out of there. He had to flee before they began asking questions, before Draco actually touched him and set his skin on fire. Harry stood up so quickly that his thighs banged painfully against the table, but he ignored the throbbing pain just under his hips before giving Draco a painfully longing look before his feet carried him so quickly from the room that he nearly stubbed his toe on the doorframe.

Hermione, Ron, and Draco sat together around the table in a few moments of intense silence before Hermione cleared her throat in a way not unlike the annoying, “Hem, hem!” of Dolores Umbridge in their fifth year. Draco glared at her over his glass of orange juice, and he shook his head before setting it down on the table with a soft thud. “Yes, Granger?” Draco asked nastily, poison dripping from his voice, and his eyes glared daggers into her chest. She was lucky, he thought, that a look could not kill, or she would be bleeding on the filthy floor.

Hermione shot a dark look to Ron before she twisted her hands in her lap, not entirely sure how to begin this conversation. Draco Malfoy was so out of place in the headquarters, and she knew he must already feel awkward, but she did not want to show any compassion for the purist, certainly. She did not feel sorry for him or anything of the sort, but they did have to coexist, regardless of how they felt for one another. “Look, Malfoy,” she said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes. This move, she felt, would register as bold with Draco, and hopefully it would force his attention to remain on her. “You can’t just go insulting Harry like that...Just because he isn’t Pureblooded doesn’t mean...” She trailed off and shook her head. This was not the time for their age-old fight, and she could see the self-righteous fury combust behind grey irises. “Well, Malfoy, it’s his house. He’s allowing you to stay here, really, and it’s right good of hi–”

“Allowing me to stay here?” Draco asked in a low, disbelieving tone, then he seemed to explode in peals of mad, raucous laughter. Hermione appeared taken aback, and it seemed as though the sudden burst of laughter from the blonde had force enough to flatten her against the back of her straight-backed, wooden chair. “Don’t fool yourself, Granger! Potter wouldn’t kick me out of here if I jinxed him to be permanently attached to that wall!” He gestured to the greasy wallpaper near the old stove and slumped in his chair, appearing to be completely worn out by his laughing fit. “Oh, Granger, you really are too funny...I say, why don’t you just go ask Potter whether he wants me here or not?”

Ron had had quite enough by this point, and he stood abruptly to his feet. His shin knocked painfully into the table leg, and his ears flared pink as he fought back a string of curses, and he endured the sharp bark of laughter from Malfoy before sneering nastily at him. “Of course Harry doesn’t want you here! The only reason you’re even here is because Dumbledore took pity on your scrawny ferret-face and told my father to bring you and your whore of a mother–”


“Don’t you fucking talk–”

“Yes, I called her a WHORE!” Ron interjected fiercely, and he jerked his wand out of his pocket. “Just because he said to bring you here if something happened to him–”

“SHE’S NOT A FUCKING–”

“YES SHE IS AND YOU’RE NOT MUCH DIFFERENT!” Ron bellowed, and he pushed around the table to Draco, who was now standing with his wand at the ready, and Ron drew his own wand before the two boys immediately were only an inch apart. However, it was quite unlike the inch that Harry and Draco had shared, for this inch was pregnant with malice, intent to kill, and Hermione was on her feet as well. “She’s a whore and she can’t control her husband or her little shit of a son. If you didn’t exist...Fuck, if you didn’t exist, Dumbledore would still be–”

“I DID NOT KILL DUMBLEDORE!” Draco screamed so hard that his lungs ached in his ribcage. His wand was now shoved tip-first into Ron’s stomach, pressing a painful inch into the muscle with more pressure being applied at the other end. He found his throat suffering a similar fate at the hand of Ron’s wand, and he jerked his leg up to shove Ron back abruptly. Ron nearly fell off-balance, but Hermione caught him with the reflexes of a young cat. This moment of weakness allowed Draco to take the advantage, and he stepped forward aggressively. “I did not kill him, and Snape killed him UNDER ORDERS FROM DUMBLEDORE HIMSELF to protect ALL of you! I could have killed him! I could have but I took the way favouring my existence, thank you very fucking much!”

Ron stared with the deepest loathing into Malfoy’s eyes for a few moments before he hisssed, “None of us fucking care, Malfoy! You’d be better off dead!” And with this, he leapt out of Hermione’s grasp and seized a shocked Malfoy around the knees. Both boys splattered onto the floor behind Draco, wands cast aside and forgotten as Ron pinned the pale boy to his back with his knees and punched him every inch he could reach. Hermione screamed and tried to snatch one of Ron’s arms in an attempt to control him, but he shoved her away and yelled in a fashion most prehistoric as he did his very best to reduce Malfoy to a bloody mass.

Harry heard Ron scream, and immediately, he left his newfound place in the drawing room to throw himself down the hallway towards the kitchen. He heard Molly rushing in the same direction, and when he entered the kitchen to see Hermione trying her hardest to prise Ron away from Malfoy, who was shrieking in rage and doing his best to fight back despite being pinned down. “GET OFF OF HIM!” Harry shouted, and he hardly saw Ron smile at him, knowing that Ron assumed that he was yelling at Draco, but Harry fisted a handful of Ron’s red hair and dragged him off of Draco, who sat up shakily, tears streaming down his face from adrenaline, and he pushed Ron in to Hermione, glaring. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Molly bustled in a second later and launched herself immediately at Ron, yelling in a way too reminiscent of the Howler she sent in their second year, but Harry turned his back on them before looking down at Draco. His gaze immediately softened as he saw Draco trembling and bleeding there on the wooden floor, and he reached down a hand to him. “He’s broken your nose,” he whispered as he pulled Draco to his feet and a little closer than was necessary, but no one seemed to notice. “Episkey!” He watched as Draco’s nose rearranged itself on his face, and he smiled at the grimace this spell effected from Draco. “There...I’d go wash if I were you.” Harry felt particularly warm, having just healed Draco, done him any sort of good, and he rather felt like staying this closely pressed to Draco despite the fact that his friends were right there. “Er...Can I come along?”

Draco wiped the blood from his face on the back of his hand and have a thick swallow before he sneered, undignified, at Harry. “No thanks, Potter.” And with that, he did his best to make a regal exit, despite the blood dripping from his chin. Harry’s shoulders slumped, unseen by anyone but Hermione. She stepped around Molly, who was still yelling herself hoarse at Ron, and walked up behind Harry. Her hand raised slowly, and she hesitated for a few seconds before she lay her hand on the curve of Harry’s right shoulder.

“Harry?” she inquired in whisper, so close to him that her breasts pressed lightly against his back. She did not notice. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He drew sharply away from her, feeling indecent that she should feel so free with him that she could touch him in such a way. “It’s nothing.” It certainly was not, and he knew that he was hardly fooling her, but he did not care. He thought for a moment about turning up the stairs to attempt to find Draco and reason with him, but the image of Draco’s cold sneer and hating eyes materialised on the back of his eyelids, and he felt sick.

Harry was not entirely sure how he ended up in the courtyard of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, but the next thing he knew, he was bent over the ill-kept flowerbed, wrenching weeds out of the ground. Small showers of dirt peppered the too-high grass, and he threw the weeds into a small pile behind him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, not because the sun was beating down upon him, but because all he could think about was Draco sprawled out on the kitchen floor, looking helpless and thoroughly in need of him, Harry. He pushed his sweaty hair away from his forehead with a filthy hand, spreading mud over his skin, but he did not even notice. No, it would be Draco’s hand moving across his skin, Draco’s hand moving down to caress his cheek, his neck, his chest, his stomach.

“Harry?” Ginny appeared in the doorway for a moment, seeing Harry perspiring copiously as he pulled crabgrass from the once-beautiful flowerbed. When he did not answer, nay, did not even seem to hear her, she frowned and stepped out into the courtyard. She outstretched a hand as Hermione had moments before, and she walked up behind him to run her small fingers through his wet hair. “Practising Herbology?” she asked with a little smile.

Harry froze when he felt fingers in his hair outside of his daydream, and he whipped around in shock, half-expecting to see Draco standing there, wanting him, but it was just Ginny, and his face obviously fell. “Hi, Ginny,” he whispered, and he turned back to the flowerbed. A pink earthworm was poking its head out of the soil and wriggling, and Harry stared at it as he felt Ginny’s arms slide around his shoulders. When she pressed herself against his back, the sense of disgust he had felt with Hermione was not present, but he did not find himself enjoying the soft swell of her breasts as he had just a few months before. “What are you doing?”

Ginny smiled and rested her chin on Harry’s shoulder from behind, inhaling the earthy scent of his hands and face. “I’m just bored. There’s nothing to do here...You’re obviously enjoying yourself, though,” she whispered against his ear, and she hesitated for a moment before she pressed her lips to his salty neck. She felt Harry stiffen in her arms, but she took it as a sign that he was shy, and she trailed the tip of her button nose up his neck and to the pressure point just below his ear, where she pressed another kiss. “Harry, I miss you.” She allowed her lips to brush his ear when she said this, and she let her arms slip down around his waist.

Harry closed his eyes and remained still in her arms, not saying anything as she kissed him, but then she was pulling him back onto his arse, turning him around and cupping his cheek in her palm. “Ginny?” he asked uncertainly, his voice trembling lightly, but then she pressed her lips to his while entwining her finger in his hair, and he was sure he felt his heart stop. While her tongue slipped between his lips and he instinctively kissed back, he saw over her shoulder a pair of chilling grey eyes glaring at him from a second-story window. His hands immediately shoved Ginny back, toppling her over into the pile of weeds, and he stared into Draco’s eyes across the courtyard.

Ginny sat up, eyes wide, and she plucked a few leaves and twigs from her hair before she followed Harry’s gaze to see nothing but an empty window. A troubled feeling washed over her, and she tried to lean in to kiss Harry again, but he suddenly raised his palm to her, and she found herself pressing her face into the earth stuck to his skin. “Gross! Harry!” she spluttered, and she slapped his arm away before glaring at him. “Harry, listen...We’re not going back to school, and I’m not going to be going on any Order missions...Why can’t we be together, Harry?” She had no desire to beat around the bush any longer, and she crossed her legs in the grass.

When Draco disappeared from the window just as he stopped kissing Ginny, Harry switched his attention to her, and the question she inquired of him made him flush not with embarrassment but anger. “Ginny, it’s not a question of you being on missions!” he exclaimed, looking at her with one eye more narrowed than the other. It was a calculating look, a furious look that made Ginny shrink back instinctively from him. “What if they found out about this place? What if they came in and found you and took you to get to me? You think they wouldn’t? They would know!” He had rehearsed this so much in his head this summer, but when it came out of his mouth, the pain he expected to accompany it was nonexistent. “They...They would use you as a weapon, Ginny, and I couldn’t do that to myself or Ron or your Mum. Besides...I’m over it.” It was as much of a revelation to him as it was to her, and he saw the tears rise up in her eyes without any pain in his chest.

“Over it?” Ginny asked weakly, and she scooted back over the grass with a nasty flutter in her stomach. “How can you be...Harry, that doesn’t make any sense!” As was typical with her brothers, when she was upset, she became angry, and Harry thought she rather looked like Ron with the baffled expression on her freckled face. “How can you be over it?! It’s hardly over!”

Ron, having just escaped from Molly, heard Ginny becoming frantic in the courtyard, and he strode over to the window to look out at his little sister and his best friend. He could see even from his distance the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, and he swallowed hard. He and Hermione had been expecting this conversation between Harry and Ginny all summer, and he was not entirely sure that he wanted to watch the train wreck, but he found himself unable to look away.

“It’s been over for months, Ginny! Look, I don’t even...I don’t even want to think about being with you! I’m not compromising everything I’ve been working for, everything the Order’s been working for just so you can be happy!” It was cruel for him to say, merciless even, but it was so easy to say when he felt neither one way nor the other about her feelings on the matter. Ginny was a friend, but not his best, and he meant every word he said to her. “It’s one person’s happiness versus the wizarding world’s happiness, and I’m afraid...”

“Shut up!” Ginny sobbed, and she scrambled to her feet. “Just shut up! I...Fuck you, Harry Potter!” And Harry watched as Ginny fled the courtyard, tears streaming and knees dirty. He frowned deeply a moment before he looked up to the window where Draco was previously standing, and there was a jolt in his stomach as he realised that Draco was gazing at him again.

Draco felt himself sneering when Potter looked up to him, and he opened the window and leaned out of it. “Breaking hearts, Potter?” he snarled, and he wrinkled his nose at the sight of mud smeared across Potter’s face. “Making the Weasel girl cry? I saw her kiss you...How do you think I feel about that?” The wind caught his hair, whipping it around his face, and he tucked a rogue lock behind his ear.

Harry felt his heart pounding as Draco opened the window, and he felt his cheeks flush. “I...I didn’t kiss her back,” he called up to the blonde, and he had the sudden urge to strip naked and bask in the sun. Perhaps it would seduce Draco...but then again, he might find it too slutty, which would have the opposite desired effect, and he certainly did not want that. Harry settled for lying down on his side in the grass, his shirt hitching up just enough to reveal a thin strip of flesh just above the hip. “I swear I didn’t, Draco...I didn’t mean to do–” Draco waved an arm and shook his head, and Harry immediately fell silent, his eyes following the path of Draco’s hand. He had beautiful hands...

“How do you think I feel about looking out here to see you snogging the Weasel girl? You didn’t even try to hide it from me...What’s wrong with you?!” He leaned even further out the window, his eyes filled with indescribable rage. To Harry, he knew it would be a torturous look, the look of a man who felt himself betrayed, but to Draco, the rage boiling in his veins was owed to the fact that Potter just existed. “I’m hurt, Potter...I don’t think we can see each other anymore...”

If Draco had expected a small reaction, he was incorrect in doing so. Harry looked immediately stricken, devastated, and Draco was taken aback by the look of utter despair on Harry’s face. “Y-you don’t...Draco, we can’t just stop!” Harry protested, and Draco thought he saw the shimmer of tears in those green eyes. “How can you say that? I...I got rid of her for you! I don’t care anymore about protecting my friends, just–”

“Just what, Potter? You just want to protect me?” Draco sneered nastily, wrinkling his nose. Potter was pathetic, possibly the most pathetic creature he had ever seen. “You want to kill the Dark Lord so I won’t have to hide anymore?”

“No!” Harry growled, his heart pounding as the sunlight caught Draco’s hair. “I just want to be with you!” This confession seemed painful for Harry, and Draco arched an elegant eyebrow before he cleared his throat in his fist and smiled very softly. The smile was, to Harry, the equivalent of a blessing from God, and he felt his heart threatening to burst from his chest when Draco reached out of the window and held a hand down to Harry from the second-story window. “I can’t reach you from there...”

Draco snorted. “Not much of a wizard, are you?” he chortled haughtily, and he followed Harry with his eyes as the Gryffindor half-crawled across the courtyard to the trodden-down flowerbed beneath it. Harry’s hand stretched up, and Draco saw the other boy’s cheeks flush red as their fingertips scarcely brushed. “Come on, then...” And he flicked his wand, hissing, ‘Levicorpus!’ in his mind and giving a scathing laugh as Potter flew up into the air by his ankle, which Draco promptly caught. The spell seemed to render Potter weightless, which was advantageous in that Draco never would have been able to drag him in through the window in any other way. ‘Liberacorpus!’ Draco thought with another wand flick, and Harry fell to the wooden floor of the bedroom in a sweaty, muddy heap. “Now, go clean yourself up, Potter, then come back here and we will talk.”


Harry returned to the outside of Draco’s bedroom around an hour later, freshly showered and dressed. He had spent more time in the shower than normal, leaning his head against the cool tile wall and closing his eyes. Every time Draco touched him, it was like an ache in his soul disappeared, and he just didn’t understand why. Last week, he knew that he did not feel anything towards Malfoy save for aggression and anger, but now it was as though he needed Draco to be around, to be in the room, to be close and smiling. He could not figure out why, exactly, every word that Draco spoke seemed to be the force causing his heart to continue beating, why every time Draco left the room, he died a little, or why Draco’s usually nasty words cut him right to the soul.

He paused outside of the door, his hand poised to knock on the gleaming oak that Mrs. Weasley had done such a wonderful job of refinishing, and he considered turning his back now and not going to see Draco that evening. Perhaps it would coax Draco to him, make Draco want to be with him more, and then, just maybe, Draco could understand what it was like every time Harry was left alone. Yet, despite these rebellious thoughts, Harry’s knuckles rapped on the door firmly, and he heard a soft, “Come in...” from inside. He took a deep, steadying breath, and he opened the door to step over the threshold.

It was impossibly dark in the room, especially because it was the middle of the day. The curtains were drawn, but there was obviously a spell cast on them to prevent any light from penetrating between the fibres of the cloth. Harry closed the door and squinted through the darkness, trying to locate Draco, and he heard the sound of soft blankets rustling to his left. Instinctively, he turned to the noise, but just as he began to take a step forward, he heard, “Incarcerous!” He had no time to cast the Shield Charm before thick roped burst from the source of the voice, and he hit the wall so hard he saw stars in the blackness. The ropes bound him seamlessly to the wall, and he thought of struggling for the moment before he felt warm, moist breath on his face, and all thoughts of fighting fled.

Draco grinned as he heard Harry fall still in his bindings, and he stood very close, just inches away from touching the other boy. “It took you long enough, Potter,” he drawled lazily, and he lit the tip of his wand just brightly enough so he and Harry could see one another in the pressing darkness. Draco’s index finger of his left hand rose, and the blonde heard Potter’s breath hitch as he traced the pad of his fingertip across his throat. “You like to be touched, Potter?”

“Y-yes...” Harry’s voice was hoarse, as though he had just been running a marathon, and he moaned softly as Draco’s finger traced the path from his clavicle to his ear. The bindings around his body twisted, forming different knots, and Harry felt his entire body begin to tremble when Draco reached above him. There was a long pause during which they stared one another in the eyes, and just when Harry thought Draco might kiss him, Draco’s hand came down, one of the ropes enclosed inside, and he pulled Harry’s mouth open before inserting the rope between his teeth. The spell’s reaction was instantaneous–Harry’s head was jerked back against the wall again, and he choked slightly around the silken gag Draco had provided him. Uncertainty screamed protests in his mind, but he suppressed the thoughts and watched, wide-eyed, as Draco lifted his wand again.

“Scared, Potter? I would be if I were you...but no harm will come to you as long as you do not resist.” Draco’s voice was as soft and silky as the rope in Harry’s mouth, and Harry shuddered violently with the force of these words. He was not at all afraid of Draco; moreover, he was absolutely positive that Draco would take care of him properly. Therefore, when Draco’s wand pressed to his chest where his finger had been a moment before, Harry was shocked, and he murmured unintelligibly against his gag with an inquiring tone. “Shh...” This was whispered against his ear, and he shuddered just as Draco began to run the tip of the wand along Harry’s body.

He must have cast Diffindo nonverbally, for as Harry was just wondering if Draco would press just an inch closer to close the gap between their bodies, he felt his clothes falling away in strips. Green eyes widened unseen in the dark, and his breath heavily quickened as he was rendered naked by the person he most wanted to see him in such a state. He was suddenly aware of the draft in the room, and gooseflesh rose on his arms and chest as Draco took a step back and lit his wand again, this time more brightly, and the room was gently lit as though by many candles. “Now, Potter...” Draco’s eyes washed over Harry’s nude body, which was favourably lit by the wand, and he smiled before he moved back to half-lie on the bed. There was a brief flash of darkness, then Draco conjured several floating candles that seemed to cast light on only he and Potter. “You’ve got quite a nice body, Potter...What do you think of mine?”

Harry felt his heart stop as Draco made a show of unbuttoning his shirt slowly, another inch of pale, delicious flesh being revealed as each button popped open. The ghost of a nipple was revealed in the dim light, and Harry felt all the blood throbbing in his wrists and feet rushing immediately to his cock, which gave a little twitch and began to swell with heated arousal. Draco’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and he smiled ferociously as the shirt fell completely open, and he shrugged it off of his shoulders so that it fell upon the thick green blanket that was obviously knitted by Molly. Harry moaned softly against his gag, wanting–no, needing–to touch the expanse of pale skin stretched over Draco’s stomach, the soft trail of hair drawing the eye down from the bellybutton to the button-fly of Draco’s trousers. Unbutton them, unbutton them, Harry found himself begging in his mind, and he drooled a little on his chin as Draco’s hands found the buttons and, even more slowly than he had with the shirt buttons, undid them. He stood up briefly to allow the trousers to fall to his ankles, and he stood there, naked save for his black boxer-briefs, for a moment to allow the candlelight to play its full effect on his skin.


He walked over to Harry then, standing two feet before him, and he looked obviously down to Harry’s full, bobbing cock between them. “My, my...You seem to approve,” Draco purred, and he tucked his thumbs into the tight elastic waistband of his underwear. Harry grunted against the wet silk in his mouth, and he clenched his hands into fists as Draco’s hands slid the last remaining article of clothing on his body down over his hips, and as they fluttered to the wooden floor, he reached out and brushed his fingertips along Harry’s stomach. “I thought you might...”

He drew his hand away and moved back to the bed, reclining on the mattress and propping himself into a half-sitting position with his left elbow. “Can you keep quiet?” he asked in a hiss, and when Potter nodded frantically, he summoned a small bottle from the night stand with his wand and flipped the top open. The bottle was upended into his right hand, and Harry’s eyes followed the sticky drops of clear lubrication as they dripped onto Draco’s palm. He felt his silk bindings move just a little, but ignored this completely as Draco’s hand slid down to cup his own limp cock, coaxing it gently with his warm, slick hand. It leapt to life in his grip, and Draco caught Harry’s eye with his own and moaned loudly, more for effect than due to any real pleasure from his own, familiar touch. Harry yelped as, simultaneously, two ropes seemed to spring out of the wall, these made not of silk but of leather, and they lashed across his thighs.

Harry struggled forward, eyes lustful and desperate, but the gag jerked his head back again, and the whips lashed at his legs again, and he felt the skin split open this time. To his shock, he felt a drop of pre-ejaculate form on the end of his penis, and it quivered and hit the floor a moment before he was whipped again. The sight seemed to be spurning Draco forward, for Draco was watching intently, his hand fisting and pumping his cock almost lazily but with definite determination. Draco lifted his wand and flicked it before he continued, and Harry nearly choked when another rope, this one made of silk, snaked out from somewhere behind him and caressed his testicles, his perineum. He lost himself in a moment of weakness, his thighs quivering with want, and his green eyes locked on the gathering drops of pre-come on Draco’s pale erection.

The green silk writhed so it cupped Harry’s balls and massaged them with its movements, unmercifully leaving his cock untouched, and the whips broke open the skin on Harry’s arms. Harry screamed into the gag, another dribble from his cock hitting the floor along with several drops of blood, but all he could think about was the sight of Draco before him, Draco masturbating, Draco–oh, God, Draco was covering the end of his wand with lubrication. “You like watching, don’t you, Potter?” Draco hissed in an almost nasty tone, and Harry arched forward away from the wall as far as he could. Draco propped his hips up onto a few pillows and spread his legs wide, seeing the hunger in Harry’s eyes as he took the time to rub the lube on his arse. He slipped one finger inside, then another, as though he had been doing this all his life. His fingers spread apart, and he seemed to consider himself sufficiently prepared, for he took his wand then and, with a wink, pressed the thicker end of the wand against his arsehole.

Harry suddenly hit the floor, the bindings temporarily giving way, though he was still gagged as he landed on his hands and knees. He reached for his own cock immediately, but one of the ropes snapped his arm back, then, punishing him, one of the leather whips snapped viciously over the exposed expanse of his buttocks. “God, Potter, take it,” Draco hissed nastily as he pressed the end of his wand inside of himself and began to slowly pump it in and out. “You can’t touch your cock...Fuck, I’ll bet you’d love me to fuck you in the arse, wouldn’t you, you nasty little slut?”

Harry groaned in response, and the silk wound ‘round his hips and caressed the heated flesh of his erection just long enough to make Harry want to scream again, but the Draco was on the floor in front of him, wand thrown aside, and Draco reached up with his left hand to slap Harry’s tear-streaked face. Harry seemed shocked, but he leaned forward, craving any touch, even another slap, from Draco. The blonde grabbed the gag and jerked it away from Potter’s mouth, allowing him a full breath, and he gasped Draco’s name dryly as the cloth around his cock twisted and jerked him off in time with Draco’s hand movements on his own cock. One of the leather ropes pressed dryly against Harry’s arse, and those green eyes widened as it pressed, painful and rough, into him. The sight of Harry’s rearing up onto only his knees and the sound of his yelping made tingling sensations spark to life in Draco’s thighs and testicles. He immediately reached out and knocked Harry onto his back with a strong shove, and Harry screamed a string of obscenities as the leather rope–rod was a more appropriate description–was shoved deep into his arse. Draco leapt over him on his hands and knees and pumped his cock furiously for just a moment before he threw his head back, slapping Potter in the face with his cock so hard as he came in heated spurts over his cheeks and glasses. “Fuck, FUCK!” he yelled with the intensity of the orgasm, his grey eyes watching as his semen coated Harry’s face.

Harry choked with arousal and, noting that Draco’s magic seemed to have subsided slightly in the moment, he reached down and grabbed his own erection, which was aching and throbbing so hard that it only took three strokes before he was overcome by his own orgasm. His arse tightened hard around the leather and he cried out, a drop of Draco’s semen trailing into his mouth, and he seized up as he came so hard that Draco’s arse was splattered with it. He yelled hoarsely as he came, his hips bucking fiercely upward, and Draco’s name found its way into his screams. When the paroxysms subsided, Harry collapsed into a weak heap on the floor, Draco still kneeling over him, and he turned his head to the side before he promptly passed out.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly, and he shakily picked up his filthy wand before waving it at the ropes and leather, which vanished immediately. Harry groaned in his unconscious state at the sudden lack of anything invading his body, and Draco siphoned the drying semen from Harry’s face and glasses before seizing him around the waist. With a loud ‘pop,’ they Apparated from Draco’s room to Harry’s, where Draco was kind enough to lie his dead-weight body on top of the blankets in the bed before he Apparated back to clean himself up.

That had been the craziest thing he had ever done.