Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Lust washed through his groin as Melchior attacked his throat. His vision blurred and swayed. Draco was overcome by the sensation of Melchior’s sharp teeth brushing the tender skin covering his main artery on the left side of his neck. He pressed his body hungrily against the eudaimon, gasping as Melchior dug his fingernails into either side of Draco’s ribs. He almost punctured the flesh while he kissed his way down Draco’s chest and torso. Draco couldn’t move his feet. He could still see Hermione outside the window, hiding by the corner. Melchior moved his fingers, raking his nails downwards before seizing each perfectly rounded cheek on the former Slytherin’s backside, digging his fingernails deep into the soft flesh. Here – he punctured the flesh, earning himself a hiss from his servant as Draco winced in pain. In the morning, Draco’s backside would be covered with small red half moons. Melchior’ mouth lingered next to Draco’s half lit erection, ghosting the skin, nibbling and licking at the base of his manhood. Draco arched his head backwards. He had begun to shiver all over. Very conscious of Hermione’s presence outside, the blond had no idea what to do with himself. Melchior’s lovemaking skills were overpowering him. He couldn’t fathom why Hermione lingered by the window. She should be appalled. She ought to be disgusted by what she was looking at. And perhaps Draco ought to have fought this seduction. But it was only a thought – a remnant of a state of mind which was withering away every since Melchior had laid his eyes on Draco in September last year. Laying himself bare to Melchior’s mercy was so much easier now. It was the natural thing to do.

The eudaimon paused to gaze into the grey, wide eyes of his servant. Letting go off Draco’s right cheek, he wrapped his fingers around Draco’s increasing erection and whispered: “Remember: One word from her and I’ll be forced to end the pleasure you’re receiving. We wouldn’t want her to think that you’re in pain now, do we?”

A cold shiver went down Draco’s back. The eudaimon knew!

A playful, half evil looking smirk grew across the eudaimon's lips. And it told Draco everything he needed to know: The eudaimon wanted to play. And he was up to no good.

Melchior bent down and started licking the half-erection. Draco shuddered and gasped. He threw his head back and moaned, half in surprise half in lust. He had to forget her. He had to focus. No, wait! Maybe Melchior was right? Maybe he ought to show her that it was all right. That he liked it, that she had nothing to fear?! Draco felt his manhood being swallowed into a warm, wet mouth with a curious tongue inside. The blond shoved all thoughts aside as he felt the slender fangs brush the sides of his erection. He swallowed. There really wasn't anything else to do but to go with the flow – to let himself drown in the lust Melchior was making him feel. In these situations one couldn't think straight. There was no 'time to be worrying. The half demon was right. If Hermione intervened, she intervened. If not – then he would have to deal with her later.

The eudaimon didn't stop caressing Draco's erection until the blond was delirious with lust, begging the half demon to finish it. Draco was close – so close to coming – but Melchior denied him the pleasure. He ordered the blond into the couch, and Draco closed his eyes not wanting to know if Hermione was still there, and got on hands and knees on the couch. Outside, it was early dawn.

“Close your eyes” the eudaimon commanded him with a sleek grin on his face. Draco did as he was told, eagerly awaiting Melchior's cock into his backside at any minute. He longed for its size to plough its way into his bowels, to feel it widen his entrance and fill him up. He longed for release, certain he would orgasm the moment Melchior inched his way inside him. Lost in such thoughts of pleasure to come, Draco was therefore totally unprepared for what happened next: He started as he felt Melchior's knee across his neck, carefully pressing down, effectively locking Draco in a position where his bum was in the air and fully exposed, and with his head locked to one side by Melchior's weight. It wasn't painful as long as Draco didn't struggle. He felt Melchior's digits part the cheeks of his backside, exposing his puckered entrance. Next it all happened so fast that Draco yelped in shock. He gasped and jerked as hot wax from a candle stick dripped down onto his slick entrance, and there were no way of escaping. The sensation was at first painful as the wax came in contact with the skin, but then it created a burning hub which seemed to concentrate all lust to that one spot which were the nerves gathered at Draco's puckered entrance. The warmth then spread out, through his groin and then to his thighs, blooming upwards to his belly and throughout his torso until sweat poured in streams from his head and down. The wax continued to drip, forming a strip of landscape as it continued to claim territory down to Draco's testicles. Draco was straining under the confines created by the knee on his neck. He was literally locked down, only able to shift his limbs a little. He was shaking with lust. Melchior's body was in the way so he couldn't reach his own erection. And the burning sensation was nigh bearable, inducing more and more lust. Draco wanted so badly to be thoroughly pounded he had no words for the intense emotion. He was oh so close and way past the point of begging. Sweat continued to pour from his temples, soaking his short cropped blond hair and tears of sweat blurred his vision. Then, one hot drop of wax touched the underside of his scrotum. It spurred a multitude of electric impulses. Melchior chuckled evilly and with his left thumb and index finger he reached between Draco's legs and pinched at the base of the rock hard cock. Draco was on the verge of orgasm, and he gasped as he felt it bubble in his groin but was denied its exit. The cock grew harder, its veins purple and the cock itself assumed an angry red tone. Melchior continued to laugh quietly whilst he commenced to carefully peel away the wax from Draco's entrance. The puckered hole had acquired an angry red also, its skin sensitized to the point of torture.

“Be a good boy now, little dragon. We wouldn't want to be coming too soon now, would we?” the eudaimon laughed sarcastically. He produced a small band of thin red silk, planted it between his teeth before he picked up the candle again. Draco strained, the knee pushing his neck and head into the cushion of the sofa was begining to get heavy on his neck. With wide eyes, he watched as the candle in Melchior's hand disappeared from view and to his backside where he couldn't see. Draco braced himself. Parting the cheeks with his fingers, the eudaimon chuckled in such ways only demons can, before he aimed the unlit end of the candle – which by now had burnt down to a very small end – and inched it into Draco's tender hole. The sensation made Draco wriggle, and he yelped as something burned.

“You'd best keep still, young dragon. The candle's sort of – short.” Amused by his own wittiness, the eudaimon chuckled heartily again. Draco wailed as he realised what the eudaimon had done to him. He kept still, his legs shaking. He was slick all over because he sweated so hard, and he was beginning to feel weary from the tension. Melchior reached between his legs again and tied the silk band several times around the base of Draco's cock. The ministrations – the brushing of skin against skin and the fingernails caressing sensitive skin was near unbearable. Draco moaned out his despair as he realised that Melchior was intent of denying him the orgasm. He half wailed half moaned, spreading his legs further apart, begging over and over for Melchior's great cock. He could see the mighty fleshy sword standing diligently at attention between Melchior's legs, and it was extremely unfair of the eudaimon not to put it to good use. Melchior leaned in and smelled Draco's skin. He drew in one long breath and said: “Ah, the combination of lust and despair! How desperate you are!” the eudaimon chuckled.

The eudaimon fetched himself another drink. He drank greedily whilst watching his blond-haired servant stand on hands and knees, shaking and sweating with a candle protruding from his rear. Hot wax dripped down on Draco's legs, and the former Slytherin hissed from the pain. Wincing, the flame touched the skin on his buttocks. It was only about two and a half inch left of candle, and the heat was quickly growing. Draco was getting seriously nervous. Melchior put the glass away and decided it was time to change the pace. He removed the candle, much to Draco's relief.

“Now” Melchior said and grasped a handful of blond strands on Draco's head, “it's time for you to be thoroughly pounded.” The eudaimon's voice chimed like heavy, dark bells in the former Slytherin's ears. He guided Draco up and to the right, making Draco kneel in the couch and rest his elbows on the top of the couch.

He had forgotten about Hermione. Now, the knowledge hit him right in the gut as he could see her still lurking outside the window. But it was easier now that his senses had been drowned in lust. Whatever plan the eudaimon had with him now, Draco would be acquiescent.

The eudaimon's hard cock slid right in. It was a strange sensation to be had, and Draco registered it through a haze of lust. It was as if the cock broke through a crust and then plunged into a soft and warm matter, kind of thick warm honey, only it was Draco's insides. The sensation was immediately ensued by a series of hard thrusts which took Draco's breath away. Once he'd gotten over the worst shock, he experienced a new kind of ache: Because of the orgasm which sort of floated around in his groin and which kept every muscle in his abdomen tense, Draco felt every thrust down to the marrow of his bones. It was intense – it was on the point of pain. It felt as if Draco had become the hole itself. The bufferzone which soaked up the impact of the hard thrusts, were gone. His erection which had been prohibited from releasing, was brushing against the fabric of the sofa. It was torture to be so close and then not to be allowed release.

Melchior kept slamming into his hole with much force. Having the never ending stamina of a demon had its advantages, and the eudaimon kept exploiting them to the fullest. He kept the same relentless tempo for twenty minutes while he soaked up Draco's aura. Mentally, he entered the fringe of Draco's consciousness. The boy was relaxed and caught in the moment. The only thing on his mind was Melchior's cock gliding in and out, rubbing against the walls and massaging the swollen entrance. Entering a little more, he pushed through the top layers of Draco's mind till he found what he was looking for: The fear of Harry Potter. Melchior then pulled out from his mind, and was very pleased with himself.

Draco couldn't understand why he began to think of Harry. It sort of ruined it for him, for lust combined with Harry Potter was not a combination Draco was used to. The image of Harry Potter in his school uniform lingered on his inner eye as he heard Melchior moan loudly behind him. The eudaimon buried himself deep inside his servant several times as he came. Grinning wickedly, he helped Draco out of the couch. The boy could barely stand erect, and his cock still held an angry red tone, throbbing and wanting its release. The eudaimon handed him his clothes, took his arm and dragged him to the door.

“Good night and thank you, my servant. I'll see you at breakfast. Sleep tight” Melchior chuckled before shutting the door almost in Draco's face.

Draco Malfoy lingered on the doorstep of Port Royal. He was sore, stiff and still aching for release. He was naked and outside in the early dawn and on his mind was Harry Potter! The situation was absurd!! He felt used and then thrown away like a heap of rags. He had been pounded so hard he could hardly walk, but he made his way over to the Dragon's Lair and found the door to be open. Making it upstairs, he heard a rustle of clothing. As he opened the bedroom door, he saw Hermione remove her underwear. She turned. Her cheeks were red and her hair was bushier than usual. She saw the miserable state he was in, looking as if he'd fallen from the moon and right down to where he was standing – with his knees and back bent forward like an old man. He was soaked, holding his clothes in front of him with his shoes on top, and beneath, partly shrouded in the shadow of his clothes, she saw the throbbing erection and the silk tie. He wore a deep frown, looking like a big baby who'd lost his mother. He was staring bewildered and pleadingly at her.

Hermione burst out in a violent giggle. He was the most pathetic thing she'd seen in a while, and he looked hilarious, as if he'd just woken with a hangover from a hefty party and now faced the paranoia. She took his bundle of clothes and his shoes and put them away. Kneeling in front of him, she giggled now and then while she undid the silk band. He winced at her ministrations.

“The thing with the candlestick was quite entertaining” she suddenly said quietly. Draco could see she was trying to keep a serious face, but to no avail. A wide grin spread across her face.

“Hermione. I – you weren't supposed to see any of that – !” He said,s till not believing that she was joking it all away. His rear was numb. He couldn't feel a thing, much less sit down.

“ – I had to. I had to know what it's like for you. But I understand what you meant now. It's just sex, right? The things he does to you …!” Her eyes widened and her brows raised to underline the meaning of her words. “You looked as if you were having fun, though. You even looked cute together.”

“Cute?!” he exclaimed. He allowed himself to be lead by the hand into the bathroom. Cute was the last word he'd use to describe any aspect about Melchior. 'Cute' just wasn't Melchior's thing. “Kittens are cute” Draco replied. “Melchior's a predator. Look at my bum! Look!” Draco said, and nodded in direction of his backside which was littered with tiny red half moon incisions. Ignoring his complaints, she kissed him before soaping in his chest. Their noses touched and her belly jutted modestly out, touching the throbbing erection. She touched it with nimble fingers and looked into his grey eyes.

“Dear miss Granger. Dear – dear girl, may I – come inside you?!” Draco swallowed and buried his face in his palms, rubbing out his frustration over that eudaimon. The things he made Draco do!

“Is this something which is going to happen often?” she giggled and took his aching erection in her right hand. He winced, putting up the most puppy-eyed face he could muster. She began to stroke him carefully, leaving kisses on his lips. He understood that she needed a bit of a warm-up.

“Afraid so” he sighed, and kissed her for a long time while the hot water ran down his back. The way her breasts squeezed against his chest gave a familiar tingle. Before he could stop himself, he came in her hand. Hermione exploded in laughter.

“Shall I wash it?” she coaxed. Draco yelped and put his hands protectively in front of his limp member. It hung like an airless balloon now that it had finally been allowed to orgasm.

“No thanks” Draco told her in a baby tone, “It's time for Little Draco to have some rest now.” He gazed down at his groin and faked a sob. He watched her double over in laughter. It felt so indescribably good to be able to laugh at the situation. About this sexuality. Here he'd spent nearly two hours in the company of the eudaimon with a candle up his arse and she thought they looked cute together! It was hilarious. It was extremely relieving to see her rolling on the bathroom floor laughing of him.

Draco dragged his battered backside out of bed two hours later. Hermione woke also. They had stayed in bed for a while while the sunlight bathed the room yellow. It was a beautiful summer morning. The sea gulls screamed and they listened to the sound of the children playing out in the courtyard. They dressed and got themselves ready. Hermione seemed nervous, she kept checking her face and her hair every other minute. She seemed distracted. Draco told her to leave her wand behind. It seemed against all common sense.

The children had been summoned inside for breakfast, and they couldn't keep still from the moment Draco and Hermione walked in through the door. They met Hermione head on, asked her about her name and among other things – why are you a girl? – to Draco's great amusement. It was a completely logical question. She was the first girl in three hundred and fifty years to come for breakfast. Once the children settled their curiosity and gave them some space, did she see a person she wasn't sure whether was man or woman. It had to be Peter. The Child Bearer. He had a gorgeous yet sad face, and he hardly looked at her. He more or less hid behind what could only be an eudaimon. Draco presented him as Malachi, and he explained to Hermione that he was Peter's husband. And then – emerging through the doorway from the living room, was Melchior. With his huge black wings he was more imposing than ever, and seeing him out of his characteristic black billowing garments and dressed in jeans and loose linen shirt made her unsure of how to behave in front of him. He seemed very casual and informal. He glanced at Draco and winked. To which Draco's immediate response was: “Oh come off it!” Ignoring his blond servant, Melchior stepped forward. He wore a kind yet secretive smile on his lips as he extended his hand and offered it to Hermione. She took one step forward and took it. They shook hands. Hermione made sure her grip stayed as firm as possible. Melchior presented her to Stephen – whom she immediately connected with – and of course Andrea, who smiled his best superstar smile which immediately went to her head. She made a quick retreat back to Draco's side and found his hand. But most fascinating of them all were Peter. She eyed him as they convened around the breakfast table. His belly looked twice as big as hers. He didn't speak to the adults, only quietly to the children. He never looked her in the eye once during breakfast, and he kept his gaze to his plate, hardly eating anything. She looked at Melchior. Then at Draco, who seemed relaxed in their presence. He talked and laughed with the children while he ate and he made sure that Peter was commended for the breakfast. She looked at Melchior again and then at Peter.

Some time ago, Draco had explained to her that he could have ended up like Peter, had it not been for Melchior's wisdom. Had the eudaimon not stopped his evil ways with Draco, he would have become just like that: A pathetic, brainwashed little thing with his belly full of demon spawn. The latter which was something Draco was far from prepared for. And she had looked at him in disbelief, not comprehending how Draco could be grateful. In her eyes, slavery was slavery. Now that she was seeing Peter with her own eyes, did she understand what Draco meant. Draco had insisted there was a difference between being the servant of an eudaimon and a slave to one. And Peter was clearly the slave. She could almost see the invisible shackles. Malachi seemed like a nice man and it was hard for her to tell if there were any tension between him and Peter. Draco had implored Hermione to show discretion, at least in front of the children. Upon discussing this in Draco's room at Hogwarts, she'd been ablaze with fury over Malachi and his slave, insisting upon similarities between Malachi and the conduct of Vikings. Draco had rolled his eyes at her and asked her to think twice before she spoke up, reminding her that it was best to know the depth of the relationship before she began to meddle. Something she probably would anyway, considering she was Hermione Granger.

She saw his point now.

She hardly managed to eat. She felt as if she needed to wake up from a weird dream. She needed a reality check. There he was, sitting across on the other side of the table, the eudaimon himself who had caused Draco so much pain all those months. Melchior was in conversation with his brothers and uncles. He would listen as Stephen asked Hermione questions about who she was and where she came from, but Melchior seemed rather disinterested. He had eyes only for Draco.

“I have prepared two journey books for you and your friend, Mister Potter” Melchior told Hermione. “Now, after breakfast, Draco will pay Mister Potter a visit while you and I sit down for a cup of tea.”

Draco looked up from his fork which was stuffed with scrambled eggs. “N – now? Today?!”

“As soon as you finish breakfast, yes.”

Draco sighed somewhat involuntarily. It was however logical that Hermione could establish communication with Harry as soon as possible. It didn't make it any less intimidating. Draco made sure to eat his breakfast really, really slowly.

*
No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

Draco cleared his throat and pushed the door bell. The last of the nausea from having Apparated between the Lighthouse Farm and Privet Drive, was fading. He heard a deep man's voice roar from behind the door.

“Get the door, you imbecile!”

Draco waited. He was wearing a crimson shirt with a black tie and black trousers. He was thinking about Melchior and his impossible ways, about candle sticks and the way they so easily seared flesh and Pansy Parkinson. All of this in less than a heartbeat.

The door opened, and Harry gazed into Draco's grey orbs. The Gryffindor was clearly caught by surprise, and the reaction made Draco wince. He felt as if he was intruding. Harry remained glued to the doorway for embarrassing long seconds. Draco lowered his gaze. He couldn't help but to feel like a lowlife, trespassing what had to be Harry's premises, knocking at Harry's door. Disbelief was written all over Harry's face. Potter was probably hating him already.

“Here” Draco said and handed Harry the book. Harry accepted it without a sound

“Harry, who's at the door?” a female voice shouted. Moments later, Petunia Dursley showed up in the hallway, wearing an apron and drying a plate with a towel. Harry was looking bothered, his green eyes darting from Petunia to Draco.

“Forgive me for the intrusion on your property, Mister Potter” Draco mumbled and made to leave. He turned and started down the lawn but Harry was after him in a heartbeat, clutching his right arm.

“I was just showing this school mate of mine around, aunt Petunia, you don't mind, do you? If he takes a look at my room? Hm?” Harry dragged Draco past the shocked woman. She was looking about as speechless as Draco was, his surprise a perfect reflection in her face. Harry pulled at Drao's arm, guiding him up the stairs and into his room before Draco could have said 'impropriety' out loud. Harry's hold on his arm was burning through the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. Never before had he been handled this intimately by Potter. Once inside, Harry closed the door and rested his back against it, effectively blocking the way out.

It was a moment in time in which every great sorcerer felt it: In a tiny room in real time Earth, in Surrey, England, there was a sudden surge of magic. Two of the most potent wizards in the world had been confined in this tiny room – and how they felt about each other was fuelling their magical auras. It was a maelstrom of energies which flared up as a beacon for everyone to see – simply because their auras were so great. At Hogwarts it was no problem. Hogwarts held room enough for them both, but to have two such entities in the same room was like stuffing a turbine with too much electricity. They'd experienced it when they had classes together: Performing magic had become increasingly difficult to master simply because the aura of one affected the other. The phrase: 'This place isn't big enough for the both of us' had gotten a new meaning, and Snape had refused them to duel with one another in fear of total destruction of his class room. There weren't any apparent hostility between them. But Harry's aura of Light – which was brimming with frustration and repressed anger towards Voldemort and anything which smelled of Death Eater – , was clashing against Draco's aura of Darkness, which was becoming increasingly tainted with demon magic. And somewhere in the middle of this stewed an inexplicable attraction for this secretive, evasive and increasingly mysterious Slytherin Draco Malfoy. Harry had no other label to put on the blond. In his eyes, no matter how 'house-less' he was, everything about Draco smelled of Slytherin. And that was just it! A part of the magic, the mystery surrounding the blond, slim male was about Draco being a rogue wizard now, wild and tameable only by an eudaimon! He had freedom – he was untouchable by Voldemort – he had access to powers Harry could only dream about. And every month, Draco grew wilder, bolder, more courageous and more sexy. It was intolerable to be so close to someone when one had such an ambivalent relationship to that person!

Harry put the journey book on the bed. He had no idea what to say to the blond git, who was standing there, curiously eyeing his room. It was a real emotional trial to have Draco so close – alone to himself. Not only was Harry unaccustomed to having school mates visit him, he had dreamed of having Draco to himself for months, and now – here he was. Looking all dashing and kissable. Harry tried to conjure up the image of Ginny Weasley but to no avail. Something was growing beneath his fly. The atmosphere was thick with magic. One could have cut through it with a wand.

Draco waited. He steeled himself mentally, preparing for Harry to open his mouth. He expected to be yelled at, to have acidic words etch themselves into his mind. Harry never had nice things to say to him. But Draco still remembered. He remembered how Harry had talked to him when everybody else had avoided him, how nice it had been of the Gryffindor to pay Draco some attention when he'd felt as if there were no hope left, that no one cared. It was because of that gesture that Draco did what he could to help the Gryffindor. The Chosen One. But he didn't dare to tell Potter that. The Gryffindor would only laugh in his face an remind him of just who it was who had returned to Hogwarts with a conviction to kill Dumbledore. Oh yes. Draco Malfoy.

For a long time, the Gryffindor and the former Slytherin just stood. Watching each other, trying to find the right words. Outside, the beautiful summer day had abruptly ended in a menacing thunder cloud which had its gathering point above the roof tops of no. four, Privet Drive.

Draco's anxiety was growing. He was getting nervous, thinking about Hermione who was alone with Melchior. Colour was gathering in his cheeks, and he felt them go warm along with his crotch. The hardening erection in his pants was begging for release from the confines of his trousers. Draco swallowed hard. Why was this happening? It was absurd. Harry was standing just metres away looking daggers at him and here he was in Harry's bedchamber getting hard! He combed his fingers through his blond hair. He had probably more than outstayed his welcome and now Potter waited for him to leave – probably so enraged it rendered him incapable of speaking.

Draco sighed. His hands were getting clammy from pure nervousness. “please forgive me” he began nervously, noticing his voice was shaking, “I was confused. I didn't know I was trespassing.” Draco met Harry's gaze once. The green eyes were glowing with something Draco recognized but which he hardly dared name. Revenge. As he attempted to pass, the Gryffindor seized his left shoulder. Draco had taken a habit when it came to Harry Potter. If silence was inappropriate and there was a need for words, then Draco always began with the words 'please forgive me'. The words brimmed with untold guilt. Guilt for the choices Draco had taken in life. Guilt for the decadent way he'd treated Harry. Guilt because Harry's parents had fallen by the hand of the same unholy creature which Draco had joined for such a short time before Melchior had flown into his life. Guilt because of Dumbledore. Guilt because he had taken Hermione away from Harry. Guilt because he had quite unintentionally disrupted the golden trio and somehow made an emotional wreck out of Ron. Draco couldn't stand looking into those green orbs. He couldn't stand the silent accusations. The former Slytherin had arrived at the following conclusion: When Harry's aunt had appeared in the door way asking who it was, Harry must have gotten so embarrassed he had dragged Draco up to his room in order to rectify the situation. It had been an irrational decision, when Harry really just should have sent Draco packing. And now that he had gathered his wits, he would retaliate.

Draco hadn't lifted a wand towards Harry in months. He had adopted a non- aggressive attitude towards Potter purely out of guilt. He had taught himself to keep a respectful distance and to keep his gaze to the ground and be submissive around the Gryffindor. It was the least Draco could do to show his repentance. Now, Harry was holding his left arm in a tight grip. Draco winced. Not because of the pain but because he expected a blow to the head or to his torso – or to anywhere. This was the kind of situation where a confrontation was unavoidable. And least of all did Draco expect Harry's other hand to wrap itself around his neck, drawing him near.

He froze when Harry's lips crushed upon his own. And in that moment – just that moment, Draco felt his body getting ready. Ready for a good tumble. It was awkward when the body said 'yes' and the mind said 'no'. They broke the kiss just as the lights went out and a loud thunder clap broke the thickness of the air. Outside, the sky turned black and the daylight disappeared. It was all momentarily, disappearing as soon as Harry let go off Draco's arm and neck. Draco staggered backwards, aiming for the door. He was in shock. He felt wounded and confused – terrified at the sudden darkness, thinking it was Harry's doing. Perhaps an embodiment of Harry's ill-temper towards the blond. Maybe it was Melchior who didn't approve of the kiss.

“Draco –!” Harry began, but before he could say another word, the blond had eloped through the door. He heard Petunia scream. Harry bolted throught he door and down into the living room. There were no trace of Draco Malfoy. The electricity had returned, the air had discharged. Dudley was standing in the middle of the living room together with his mother. Harry gazed about. The TV had exploded. Every lamp had gone to bits. The window glasses were in shards and Dudley was holding the remains of a jar with strawberry jam. His face was covered in jam, making it look as if he was seriously injured. His tongue propelled around his mouth, cleaning a trail. His mother kept on screaming, obviously in some kind of fit all though Dudley seemed uninjured. The screeching of wheels could be heard outside and a familiar car pulled up in the driveway. It was Vernon. He got out of his car with much effort, came wobbling into the house huffing and puffing, his face ruddier than a boiled lobster. Surveying the damages, then Dudley then Petunia, his beady little eyes finally settled on Potter. Harry sighed and winced, knowing that he was again in trouble.