Wand Light

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

Disclaimer: Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

Warnings: This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

Author’s Note: Has anybody caught on to the fact that the chapter titles are also amalgamations of Twilight and HBP chapter titles? My, aren’t we clever? If you don’t review, I won’t write – how very Slytherin of me. Thanks to my betas Kyari, Sara, and John: even though I did not take all of your suggestions, they were appreciated anyway.

Chapter 3: Silver Set Phenomenally In Opals

On Wednesday afternoon, Professor Sprout asked Harry if he’d like to join another group or work alone on the fliterbloom project – apparently, his partner was indefinitely excused from class due to illness. How could Harry be so self-centered to think that he was the reason for Malfoy’s odd behavior and absence from class? It should have been obvious to Harry from the beginning that the boy was clearly sick – so sick it made him behave strangely. It all made sense now. Come to think of it, Parkinson hadn’t come to class either. Of course she’d be ill too if her boyfriend was sick. After class, Harry snuck a peek at the Marauder’s Map in the boy’s bathroom, expecting to find Malfoy’s dot in the hospital wing along with Parkinson’s, but neither was there.

On Friday after classes, Harry sat hidden behind the curtains of his bed, searching the Marauder’s Map for Malfoy. It was quickly becoming an obsession. It had been days since Malfoy disappeared off the map and Harry was surprised to find his dot on the stairs between the sixth and seventh floor, seemingly with Katie Bell. What were they doing alone together? Harry swiftly threw on the Invisibility Cloak and ran to the spot where Malfoy should be. Before entering the stair well, he slowed his steps and did his best to creep silently. He heard whispers and giggles in the shadows of the deserted stair well and strained his ears to detect where they were coming from. The stairs wound up the tower – when Harry turned the blind corner, he found them. Malfoy and Katie were entwined, attached at the mouth, and snogging heavily. Harry knew he shouldn’t be watching, but he was just too shocked by the unlikely pairing to turn away. Katie was up against the stone wall with her leg hitched up and around Malfoy’s back. He grasped her arse as he ground his pelvis against her, making the girl moan with desire.

Malfoy paused, if only to let the girl breathe, and drawled sensually, “I know you want me Katie.”

She panted, “Yes, Draco, very much so. But here?”

“I need to have you right now,” Malfoy growled.

He let go of her rear and let her leg drop, then swiftly swung Katie around by the arm so that she was facing the wall. He pressed her up against the stone with the force of his body on hers. He pulled her hair aside and kissed her roughly on the back of the neck, causing the girl to sigh her enthusiastic consent. When Malfoy lifted the back of Katie’s skirt and unzipped his trousers, Harry knew it was definitely time to sneak away. But he couldn’t. He was mesmerized by what he was watching, just a short distance away from him. Malfoy had an uncanny command of Katie’s body. Every kiss made her shudder with want, every touch seemed to bring her close to climax. And when the boy ‘whipped it out’, Harry let out a small, involuntary gasp. Malfoy was huge – much larger in both breadth and length than a sixteen-year-old boy had the right to be. It was almost insulting that such a miserable prat was blessed with a monster cock while good little Harry Potter was just that – little. Though the Invisibility Cloak should have muffled Harry’s gasp, it was apparent that it did not go undetected by Malfoy. He shoved his member back into his trousers and Harry marveled at how the boy could hide so much flesh behind his zipper.

“Let’s go. I think I heard somebody close by,” said Malfoy, pulling Katie roughly by the arm up the stairs.

Harry let them walk up a few steps as he stood debating whether or not to follow. Being the nosy boy-hero that he was, he just had to follow. . . for, erm, Katie’s safety, of course. After all, Katie hated Malfoy just as much as the next Gryffindor. A strong-willed girl such as Katie must have been under the Imperius curse to let the boy manhandle her like that. On the seventh floor, the pair had disappeared. But upon sight of a peculiar tapestry on the wall, Harry knew where they had gone. The concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement was on the wall opposite the tapestry. He put his ear to the wood paneling, though the screams he heard were probably audible from down the corridor. If he didn’t know better, Harry would have thought Malfoy was killing Katie right now, not shagging her senseless. Hell, he’d scream bloody murder too if he were being fucked by Malfoy’s monster cock. Harry shuddered at the thought, but it was a thrill that traveled up his spine, not revulsion. He tried uselessly to shake it off as he sprinted back to the dormitory but the image had already burned itself into his mind.

He didn’t bother to take off the invisibility cloak when he returned and headed straight for his room. Luckily, it was empty. He cast the cloak hastily into his trunk, drew the curtains shut, and fell upon the bed for a much needed wank. You will NOT think of HIM. You will NOT think of HIM. You will NOT think of HIM. He repeated this mantra in his head as he stroked himself vigorously. God, please, anybody but him – Cho, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, hell, even Professor McGonagall could pop into his head right now and he’d be in peace. But the harder he tried to think about somebody else, the more vividly the image became emblazoned upon his imagination - It was an image of Malfoy (the bratty git who kicked him in the face just days prior and left him for dead) pounding him from behind with his supernaturally large cock. And, fucking hell, did it look good! It didn’t take very long for Harry to come, hissing strangled curses as thick, white ribbons decorated his hand and his jumper. That didn’t just happen. I didn’t just wank off thinking about Draco Malfoy. Harry attempted to will away the reality of it all. The post-masturbatory shame instilled from a Christian upbringing paled in comparison to the utter disgrace Harry felt right now.

Saturday was quidditch try-outs. To economize on time, Madame Hooch scheduled the Gryffindor team try-outs right after the Slytherin team try-outs. As captain, Harry instructed last year’s players and this year’s hopefuls to be ready to kick off on their brooms as soon as the Slytherins left the air. They gathered in the stands and watched the latter half of the Slytherin try-outs, to the chagrin of the Slytherin captain. Harry watched Malfoy in particular to hedge what his opposition would be like this year and his jaw was on the floor the entire time. When the hell did Malfoy become a quidditch phenom? If he hadn’t watched the boy kick off from the ground, he wouldn’t have recognized the green blur in the air as Draco – he was that fast. He maneuvered as adeptly as a professional. No, he was better than a professional; he was super-human. Needless to say, he was a shoe-in for seeker. It was so unfair. The prat was trumping Harry in everything this term: in looks (though Harry wasn’t surprised there – he knew he was hopelessly awkward-looking and had no hope of growing out of it), in his prowess with the girls, in his stature below the belt, and now in quidditch. Harry’s rival was going to give him a run for his money and probably rub his nose in it as well.

When it came time for the Gryffindors to take to the air, the Slytherins hung back and sat in the stands instead of retreating to the changing rooms. Harry protested heartily, but Madam Hooch pointed out that the Gryffindors had been allowed to watch the Slytherin try-outs and that it was only fair. Hooch was right, though there was more chance of the Slytherins trying to sabotage the Gryffindor team than the other way around.

Last year’s team was pretty solid. They only needed to replace a few positions that had been vacated by seventh-years who had graduated. Harry was excited that Ron was trying out for one of those positions, though he knew the competition was stiff. He’d never seen so many people trying out for quidditch before – this afternoon’s trials were going to be difficult.

Harry looked around at the sea of faces in identical quidditch robes, seeking out the players from last year to try them first. “Where the hell is Katie? Where’s my best chaser, damn it?”

Ginny pushed through the crowd and beamed, “I’ll try out for chaser, Harry. I bet I’d be good at it.”

It was, indeed, a long and grueling trial. Most of the Slytherins had become bored early on and headed out. But Malfoy and the team captain stayed on to watch. They had gone two hours without any suspicious accidents (other than one Harry secretly caused himself involving Cormac Mclaggen) so it was safe to say that the Slytherins weren’t trying to sabotage the team. He couldn’t blame them for measuring up the competition. Harry saved the try-outs for alternate seeker until the very end, and for this trial, he took to the air space high above the players for a birds-eye view. He took a pair of omni-oculars to aid him. After a few minutes being so isolated from the team, he started to become paranoid that the Slytherins would take this opportunity to try something sneaky. He trained the omni-oculars to the stands. Malfoy was now sitting alone and looking directly at him as if Harry was standing just a few feet away, not a few hundred feet. The boy’s eyes, even through the mist and the goggles, were incredibly striking, like silver discs set in opal spheres. Harry’s heart skipped a beat despite himself and Malfoy smirked. But there was no way the boy could have known Harry was looking at him through the low-slung clouds.

“Ketchup, Potter,” the boy seemed to mouth. That didn’t make sense at all. Harry sat on his broom and blinked at him in wonder through the omni-occulars.

When a quaffle hit Harry squarely in the gut and knocked him off his broom, he understood what Malfoy was trying to tell him. He wasn’t calling Harry a tomato-based condiment, he was saying, heads-up, Potter.

Harry was falling like a brick. All the Gryffindors were too preoccupied to see him tumbling through the sky. He tugged uselessly at his wand, caught stubbornly in a loop of fabric inside his back pocket. Oh, god, he was going to die. He was going to disappoint the entire wizarding world by falling to his death on the quidditch pitch before even getting the chance to defeat Lord Voldemort. And, again, it would be due to his own stupidity. Even if one of the Gryffindors on a broom were quick enough to catch him mid-air, the impact would nock them both to the ground, killing or seriously injuring both of them.

Then Harry hit something hard and all the air was forced out of his lungs for the second time. It wasn’t the ground. He wasn’t dead. It was Malfoy. Somehow, in the span of two seconds, the boy had retrieved his broom from the storage shed and zoomed up to the stratosphere to save Harry. It was both physically and magically impossible. There was no way Malfoy could be holding him firmly on the front of his broom right now, when seconds ago he had been smirking at Harry from the lowest bench of the quidditch stands.

Harry caught his breath as they hovered in the air and said, “You jinxed that quaffle, didn’t you?”

Malfoy sneered, “No, you dolt. I saved your life. You can thank The Weasel for the quaffle.”

“How did you get up here so fast?” Harry asked with an accusatory tone.

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Malfoy scoffed, “I was just a few feet away from you.”

“No. I saw you. Through the omni-oculars.” Harry pieced the event together in his frazzled mind, still in disbelief, but quite sure of what he saw. “You were all the way down on the ground. In the quidditch stands.”

“Did the quaffle hit you in the head or something? I was on my broom, up in the air, practically next to you.”

“In the middle of the Gryffindor quidditch trials? Not bloody likely!”

“You don’t own this air space. I’m allowed to fly any time when the pitch isn’t booked for practice or for a match.”

Harry insisted with more conviction, “No, Malfoy. I know what I saw. You were two-hundred feet down there. I got knocked off my broom, and two seconds later, you were two-hundred feet up here. Even if you accio’ed your broom and flew up here, it would still have been impossible to catch me as fast as you did. Impossible.”

Malfoy said in a dismissive tone, “You’d better get back down to the ground. People are going to start wondering what happened to their precious boy-hero when your broom hits the pitch and your body doesn’t.”

Malfoy flew down, and sure enough, people were scanning the sky for Harry from the point on the pitch where his broom had landed in a broken heap. He quickly jumped off Malfoy’s broom even before their feet touched the ground and ran towards the wreckage shouting, “Shit! My broom!”

“No need to thank me, Potter,” Malfoy spat bitterly. “I only saved your life, for Merlin’s sake. But apparently your broom is worth much more than that.”

Ron was landing as well and had a pained look on his face. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry Harry. That was a sweet ride you had there.”

“No need for alarm,” Malfoy said facetiously. “The boy’s fine.” He rolled his eyes.

His words seemed to cue all the Gryffindors to stop gawking at the broken broom and start fawning over Harry with concern.

“You alright there, mate?” asked Dean Thomas, putting his arm over Harry’s shoulder and giving him a hearty shake. “We were a bit worried about you there for a second.” Dean eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I took a tumble off my broom but, erm.” Harry didn’t know what to say, or rather, didn’t want to say it, “Luckily, Malfoy was nearby and, erm, caught me.” He wasn’t quite sure why he half-lied.

“Malfoy?” asked Ron, not trying to hide his disbelief in the slightest. “Malfoy saved you?”

The boy in question turned to Ron and said haughtily, “Yes, Weasel. Your errant quaffle could have killed him. But Potter was lucky enough to fall on me.”

Now Harry was looking at Malfoy with disbelief. “Oh now I fell on you?”

“I saved your life, Potter,” the boy hissed quietly through gritted teeth, “I didn’t have to.”

“Right,” said Harry soberly. “Erm . . . thanks.”

Malfoy smirked. Damn it, Harry wished he would stop doing that. It was so hard to hate the boy when he looked so bloody adorable. “You should pay more attention to the game, Potter, and less attention to me.” He turned to walk away and then shouted over his shoulder, “To quote you, take a photo – it will last longer.” Harry’s face reddened all the way to his ears.

Even without Malfoy watching in the stands, it was near impossible for Harry to keep his mind off the boy and on quidditch for the remainder of the trials . . . or anything else, for that matter.