Secondhand Robes

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That’s how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


Secondhand Robes (part 3)…by Samayel


Just keep sneering. Everything is good. You look fine. No one will notice anything wrong.

Draco entered the Hogwarts express with his dignity intact. To date, his cool expression of bored disdain had held up to scrutiny by several Slytherin classmates, who had asked after his summer, and sounded unconvinced by Draco’s glib answers.

Word had gotten out about Draco’s misfortunes, via the Prophet and the usual rumor mill, but it could be dealt with. He glossed over the details, making it all sound quite glamorous and dark, privately hoping that Potter had kept his big mouth shut.

He’d shown up in new robes and with complete supplies, so if any Slytherins had intended to bring him down a peg, they had quickly backed off when they realized that Draco would be able to counter any claim of poverty. The acid test would be tonight in the commons, but for now, Draco had earned a ride to school in relative peace.

Draco strolled through the Express confidently, every step and every glare carefully schooled to hid his exhaustion. His stomach rumbled noisily every so often, but at least it seemed to behave when others were around…so far. He was near the back of the train, and still hadn’t found a compartment that was empty. Right now, what he wanted most was privacy, and a compartment of curious Slytherins would not grant him that.

Potter! Potter occupied an otherwise empty compartment, only two from the back of the train. Draco froze at the small window in the door, looking in on Potter. The dark haired boy was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, looking utterly morose.

What could be better? If Potter didn’t feel like talking, he could flee…and that would leave Draco with an empty compartment and his privacy. Answers…or privacy…Draco won either way! It was simply too good to resist. Draco opened the door and slipped in, closing it behind him and locking it before he sat down.

Potter was gob-smacked. Delightful. Draco made himself comfortable, as if he sat down for a chat on the way to school with Potter every year, and enjoyed the other boy’s bulging eyes and nervous apprehension.

“Good summer?” Draco asked with a good-natured nonchalance that was artfully feigned.

Potter stared a minute longer, then nodded silent assent. Draco savored the tension. Slytherins lived for moments like this.

“Like the new look? Latest style at Malkin’s…not sure if I like the cut at the shoulders, though. What do you think?” Draco fought to hold back his smirk. A dumbstruck Potter was a perfect Potter. Draco might just get his privacy after all!

Harry’s eyes dropped to the floor and his cheeks pinked. “They look good. Sharp,” he half muttered.

Draco was on the edge of replying when Harry blurted out, “Malfoy…why are you here?”

“Oh, come on, Potter. Not this again. We went through this over ice cream last week. I’m here because I feel like it, and if I happen to have a few questions to ask, it’s hardly a big deal…is it?”

“And if I really don’t want to talk about it?” Potter was staring at the floor.

“Well, I’m sure there’s a ‘question free’ compartment somewhere else. You didn’t think your little outburst meant that we had nothing to discuss, did you? That was a riddle…not an answer…and I hate riddles.”

Potter looked like he was getting a grip on himself, and Draco poised for opportunity. If he stayed here, some kind of understanding might come of this…and if Potter cracked…well Draco could have a comfy nap after the prat left!

Potter pushed his glasses further back onto his nose, and sighed with resignation. “Fine. Ask what you want.”

Draco was a little surprised, Potter was quite intractable about being questioned the last time they’d spoken. At least this time it wouldn’t be a scene in public.

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. No one. There are people who already knew you were in Diagon Alley, but no one knows about what I did.” Potter looked relieved. Maybe he considered the first question an easy one? That was alright…they would get tougher. Draco wasn’t done yet.

“There’s no such thing as a Slytherin that does something for someone without wanting something in return. I’m not saying that I don’t like the end result, but is there something you want for this?”

Potter looked genuinely cross! “NO! You weren’t even supposed to know it was me! I don’t want anything…except maybe my compartment back!”

“Merlin! So testy! Relax, Potter. That’s music to my ears. Believe me, I really don’t want to owe anyone, especially not you! You’re Gryffindor enough that I’ll buy that, but that leads to the big question, doesn’t it? Why? If you don’t want anything, why all the trouble? If you just tell me, we can agree to forget this ever happened, and go our own ways. So spill.”

Potter was actually trembling! Harry Potter was trembling! Draco almost flinched, as another explosion seemed imminent, and one wrong move could turn this in a direction he wouldn’t like. What the hell was wrong with Potter?

Suddenly, Draco’s stomach growled so loudly that there was no doubt as to whether Potter heard it or not. Draco flushed with embarrassment. His own body was betraying him, and the tension in the room was making him very dizzy. The sooner he got to the Sorting Feast the better.

Potter looked at Draco in silence after the ‘noise’, and then a weird look crossed Potter’s face. It looked like he’d grabbed a lifeline after jumping from a sinking ship and finding himself surrounded by sharks.

“I know what it means to be hungry, alright?” Potter blurted.

Draco flushed further. This really was taking an uncomfortable turn. Potter obviously knew more than he was saying. Plus, Potter was also hiding something under that statement. There was more at play here than a general concern for the welfare of Draco Malfoy’s stomach.

“What do you know, Potter? Fuck…how do you know, Golden Boy?” The last was said with his traditional sneer and sarcasm. He hadn’t mean to slip so easily, but he was shaky and off guard. Potter was beginning to get his nerves.

“Just what I said! I’ve been hungry…really hungry before. I understand what that means.” Potter’s voice seemed almost plaintive. The prat was hoping Draco would take the bait and slide off topic. Nothing doing! Draco was pissed now and wanted answers.

“Yeah…well I don’t, but I mean to! Damn it, Potter! Just tell me why! Is it that fucking hard? How do you know how hungry I’ve been? Especially since it’s none of your damn business!” Draco no longer cared about the information…now he was just pissed and Potter was a place to vent.

Potter finally snapped. “Shut it, Malfoy! I can’t believe I even thought of doing you a favor! If I’d known that you’d fucking hound me like this I might have just let you starve!”

Draco felt a growl building in the back of his throat, but Potter jumped up and headed for the door. Draco let him leave in silence, but only because a shouted comment might be overheard while the door was open.

Draco fumed in silence, then relocked the door and waited for his stomach to stop aching. Honestly, he’d been holding up fine until Potter had raised the tension level. Worse…he was sure Potter was hiding something, and if Draco could tell, so could a few other clever students. This was not something he wanted spilled at some inopportune moment.

If the Ministry would ever just get on with it, Draco could pay Potter off and call it quits. If Potter would just get over his fucking neuroses, Draco could hatch a plan they could both follow to the letter, and their privacy would be guaranteed. Sadly, Potter ‘The Loose Cannon Who Lived’ wasn’t cooperating, and would probably fuck this up royally if left to his own devices.

The ride was interminably long, with just Draco, a heap of worries, and his rumbling stomach in a blessedly empty compartment. Eventually, he disembarked, and made sure to make a few vague comments in the right ears…by way of misdirection. The more cloudy the details of his summer were, the better.

The Sorting Hat did its job, although the process had never seemed to take so long! When the Sorting Feast finally began, it took every iota of Draco’s will not to wolf his food down or overload his plate in front of others. As it was, he ate at least three or four times more than he ever had in one sitting, and was suffering a bit of a belly ache by the time the dinner was over.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Draco gave Potter a determined and irritable glare, full of unspoken challenges. He’d made up his mind that, no matter much Potter tried to dodge the question, he would pin the prat down eventually and pry an answer out of him if necessary. Potter’s only response to Draco’s look of menace was a guilty blush and a quick return to staring at his plate. Good enough. Too much of a response would be a tip off to others. A certain modest hostility would at least keep the curious at bay for awhile.

Slytherin dorms had never looked so good. Save for the Malfoy estate, no place had ever felt more like home than Hogwarts. Draco lounged in the common room until almost midnight, carefully redirecting questions and side-stepping explanations. He was back in his element, his stomach was full, there was no need for money here, and only one horrible secret shared by Potter stood between Draco and a certain peace of mind. All in all, it was a good ending for the day, and a decent start to the school year.

Draco let his mind drift as he waited for sleep to come. His sixth year at Hogwarts had started, and it was already different from any other…and not in the way that was true for so many others! His hand drifted to his distended belly, slightly swollen from sudden satiation. His hand slipped a bit lower. For the first time in almost a month and a half, Draco had an familiar stiffness in his groin.

Most of the time, he found this merely annoying. A demand on his concentration when it was needed elsewhere. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed wanking…until near total starvation had stripped away his sex drive. Comfortable in his dorm bed, full, and lacking only one kind of relief, Draco ‘addressed the issue’.

In those fleeting seconds before his release, and the inevitability of slumber, the cruelest irony of all was born. Too tired to care, and too randy to give deeper thought to his idle fantasies, Draco never concerned himself with the flashing images that played across his mind’s eye. Sandwiched among the many flickering notions and impulses, was the warmth of slender limbs and tanned skin against his own, punctuated by the presence of brilliant green eyes.