No One's Secret to Keep

Psychotrip

“Hey Draco.”

The silver-eyed blonde lifted his head from the Ancient Runes book he was reading from to smile at his best friend. “Hello Pansy. How are you?”

The brunette sat down across from her friend on the other side of the library table, her big brown eyes blinking rapidly as they tended to do when she was nervous. Draco observed her actions and closed his book cautiously. It was quite obvious that she had some bad news to tell him from the undignified way she was gnawing on her bottom lip and fidgeting with the small silver hoops in her ears. When she spoke, her words sounded as if she had chose them carefully. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. What’s the matter?” Draco asked, his usually smooth brow now furrowed with worry. “Did your parents find out about the ‘Nott Incident’?”

She shook her head, but continued to gnaw her lips, showing him that this new problem was worse than the time she lost her virginity to Theodore and thought she might be pregnant afterward. Oh God, what could possibly be worse than that? “Are you really pregnant this time?”

“No Draco! It’s nothing like that!” she gasped out as if she had been keeping her stress in all day. She ignored the shushes she got from a few students sitting at the other tables surrounding them and leaned forward as if to share a secret with Draco. The blonde unconsciously leaned in himself. “They’ve had the talk.”

Draco was so silent and still for a moment that Pansy thought he had been petrified. She even held her breath waiting for him to move, but eventually---to her relief---his silver eyes blinked once, then twice, and they both let out a long, slow breath.

“The talk?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod of her head. “Are you angry with me?”

He shook his head and corrected his posture, resuming the rigid position he had held only a moment before. “I’m not angry . . . with you . . . How did you find out about this?”

“I got an owl from my mother this morning. She wanted to tell me in advance. She thought I would be happy.”

“I’m so sorry, Pans. It must have been my father that orchestrated this---”

She cut him off by lifting up a slender, manicured hand. “No, I’m pretty sure it was all of them who organized this . . . this debacle.”

The two friends sat silently for a moment, neither one quite sure what to say, so they chose to say nothing. Instead they found nonexistent loose threads on their robes to pick at absently, tongues to chew on thoughtfully, and many pieces of dust to watch with interest. Draco suddenly made a move to open his book again, but instead slammed it on the table, causing Pansy to jump almost a foot into the air and another shush to channel through the room.

“What the bloody hell---”

“Draco! Draco, please calm down, luv!”

“---gives them the right---“

“Draco, why are you standing?”

“---to even think---”

“God, Draco! You’re scaring me!”

“---that they can control every aspect of my goddamn life---”

“Third years are staring, Draco!”

“---I’m seventeen! I should be able to choose for myself---”

“Yes, luv, we all know this, but please do shut up!”

“No, Pansy! I will not live the rest of my life under the thumb of Lucius Malfoy!” Draco snapped, his silver eyes hardening into steel and with that last line, he charged out of the library leaving a load of gaping students and a very exasperated Pansy behind.

*

“Hello Harry.”
Harry looked up from his lunch of a ham sandwich and crisps to his girlfriend. “Hey Ginny.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sitting across from him and looking at him expectantly. They stared at each other for a long moment, green eyes almost warring with blue until Harry put down the pickle he was munching on and cleared his throat.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

Awkward silence.

“Do you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to sit with my boyfriend at lunch, Harry?”

“Well, you’re not eating and kind of just sitting there and staring---”

“Where were you today?” she suddenly snapped out, flipping her hair so that it swirled behind her in a silky red halo before settling into a auburn curtain down her back. “I was waiting at the pitch!”

“The Quidditch pitch?” he asked stupidly.

“What other pitch is there, Harry!” she huffed out, but her eyes twinkled up at him, so he wasn’t worried. She’d be laughing in a moment. “Please tell me you didn’t forget.”

Awkward silence.

“You forgot.”

“Yeeeaaah. What was I suppose to do?”

“You were supposed to help me with those new maneuvers for the upcoming Hufflepuff match.”

Her lips were twitching and she had stolen a few of his crisps, so she wasn’t angry despite her tone. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and leaned over the table so that he could grasp her hands in his. “When was I supposed to do this?”

“Har-ry,” she groaned. “How can you not remember? It was just yesterday when you promised! You were to meet me after your Herbology class when we had a free period, remember?”

“Free period after Herbology, huh?” She nodded and he felt a pang of guilt . . . Actually not a pang, more like a sledgehammer of guilt that had been pounding on him ever since he and Ginny had begun this relationship. Ginny was really sweet. So sweet, in fact, that he felt he couldn’t be around her at all times. He was going to hurt her. He just knew it. He was going to say something or do something to ruin everything or one day he would touch her in a way that could change absolutely everything.

Would she be holding his hands like this if she knew where they had been only an hour ago? Would she smile at him? Would she even look at him?

“How about . . . tomorrow’s Saturday, right?”

“Tomorrow is Friday, Harry,” she said, managing to keep her face straight, but failing to get the giggles out of her voice. “But go on.”

“Okay, so Saturday . . . which is the day after tomorrow, I will take you onto the pitch, the Quidditch pitch!” he corrected quickly when Ginny erupted into a fit of giggles. “And show you any and every maneuver you want to see. First thing on Saturday.”

She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. Her lips softly explored his, tasting gently and making him feel like he was being carried on a sigh. No one could kiss him like Ginny.

“First thing on Saturday, Harry.”

“I’ll write it down on everything, Gin. Don’t worry, I will not forget.”

She smiled and kissed him again, then stood and walked from the hall. His eyes never left her until she disappeared behind the giant doors. Once she was gone, he turned his head and his eyes locked briefly with cool silver ones. He diverted his glance quickly and looked back to his meal.

Yeah, no one could kiss him like Ginny.

Well . . . almost no one.

*

Draco was still pissed about what his and Pansy’s parents had done by the time he reached lunch, but he was soon distracted from it when he saw Potter talking to his Weasel bitch. He rolled his eyes and tried to look away, but every time he found something interesting to watch, such as Goyle choking on his pumpkin juice, he would catch of glimmer of red-gold in the corner of his eye or the flash of Potter’s broad white smile and jealousy---hot and sharp---would course through his veins.
Potter never smiled at him like that.

The smiles he received were sadistic, spiteful, sarcastic, and . . . and empty.

He looked away as the Weasel girl flounced back from whence she came, but his eyes slid back to the unruly-haired Gryffindor. Their eyes locked and he looked away quickly, redness spreading from his neck to his ears. Potter saw him looking.

Potter saw him looking!

How could he possibly explain that? How could he explain that he was so concerned with Potter and his . . . girlfriend that he actually watched them from across the hall? He had no excuse. He was pathetic. He was a hopeless dreamer, always wanting things he couldn’t have. He shivered in shame and placed his head in his hands.

“Draco, is this about . . . er . . . that thing I told you?”

He looked up to see Pansy blocking his view of Potter and shook his head to the only person that knew almost everything there was to know about him. She frowned and turned slowly to see what he saw and scowled when she saw what he saw.

“This is about him?”

His hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the sleeve of her robe. He tugged it and pulled her down so he could whisper, “Yes! He caught me looking at him and the Weasel girl. I think he knows.”

“Shut up, Draco,” she snapped, frowning at him and snatching her robe back in the process. “I swear, sometimes you’re more of a girl than I am. He does not know, no one knows, you imbecile!”

“Shut up, Pans. He knows!”

“Maybe he just thought you were looking at him because you’ve been fucking him for the past---” Pansy’s sentence never ended, seeing as Draco stood up and left, leaving Pansy’s opinions and her spelled shut mouth behind.

*

“Not like that, Potter. You’re not doing it right.”

“Shut the fuck up! I know how to get in, Malfoy, I’ve been doing it since fifth year!”

“Doesn’t seem like it now---OW! That hurt!”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

Emerald eyes glared into silver. Neither blinking. Neither wavering. Neither even daring to look away.

Malfoy finally sighed deeply, giving in like he always did. “Fine, Potter, do whatever the hell you want to do. Just don’t punch me again.”

Harry watched as the tall blonde waltz across the hall to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his team of pirouetting trolls before turning back to the door that still refused him. He took a deep breath and tried again. Walking past the door three times, he thought to himself, ‘I need a place to be with Malfoy. I need a place to be with Malfoy. I need a place to be with Malfoy . . .’ He reached out, turned the knob, and . . .

Broom closet.

Again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Malfoy rasped out, pushing Harry away from the door. He slammed it shut and in his haughtiest voice announced, “I need a place to fuck Potter to bloody pieces!” And when he reached out and opened the door . . .

Bedroom.

Life just had to suck when Draco Malfoy’s will was chosen over his own.

“How the---” Harry tried to ask, but the blonde was already pulling him into the ivory room. The door was shut behind him and soon he was on the floor, under Malfoy’s hard, hungry body. Malfoy’s hands were everywhere, tearing his shirt off, yanking his pants down in their frantic search for skin. “Malfoy! What’s with the---”

“I need this, Potter. You have no idea what my day’s been like,” the Slytherin said between mouthfuls of Harry’s skin.

“Careful, Malfoy! I don’t want---”

Malfoy growled, but released the skin of Harry’s neck nonetheless. “Yes, I know, Potter. You don’t want your precious Weasel bitch to see the marks.”

“Don’t call her---” Harry just couldn’t seem to finish a sentence. The blonde’s mouth, either his words or his tongue, would cut him off every time he tried to speak. “Sto---”

“Fuck me, Potter. Fuck me now,” the blonde begged desperately, straddling Harry’s hips and tugging off his own shirt. “I need you.”

“Malfoy, why---”

“I’ll tell you after, just . . . just now, I need you inside me. Alright?” Harry looked into his rival’s wary, desperate eyes. Malfoy was sitting in his lap, rubbing himself against Harry as a tempting sacrifice, and all the green-eyed boy could do was gape at his lover. “Potter?”

“I can’t do this.”

Malfoy was taken aback for a moment; he sat up a little straighter in Harry’s lap and leaned in close to look the boy straight in his eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

Harry’s gaze never faltered. “I said I can’t do this. Not this way.”

“Which way?”

“With you in control. I don’t like it and---”

“You don’t like it! I don’t bloody care if you---” Suddenly Malfoy found himself sprawled out on the hard floor beneath him with what appeared to be a very, very angry Harry Potter sitting on his chest.

“Shut up, bitch, I wasn’t finished talking.” The silver-eyed blonde’s entire being shook as he heard that tone of voice. “I don’t like it and refuse to let the likes of you reduce me to the role you currently occupy.”

“And what role is this?” the other boy asked carefully, his breathing erratic and hard. Harry smiled and sadistically ground his hips hard into Malfoy’s chest, further depleting the boy of air.

“My bitch, of course.” Before Malfoy could even respond, Harry had him flat on his stomach and was pushing against his sweet ass. “What was the point of making this great big room---with a bed, if I might add---if you intended to maul me as soon as we got into here, anyway?”

Malfoy groaned and grinded his behind further onto the hardness at the front of Harry’s boxers before giving his answer. “You . . . Oh God . . . You seemed to want a bedroom . . .”

“So you made this room for me?” the Gryffindor asked, nibbling the pale boy’s ear.

“Of course it’s for you. I’m not very particular about where you fuck me.”

“You were this morning.” When Malfoy didn’t answer, Harry rolled off of him and onto his back. He stared at the ivory ceiling of the invented room and began to count the crystals he saw in the glorious chandelier just to avoid looking at his lover. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“You already apologized.”

“I know, but I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have hit you . . . I shouldn’t have even taken you in there. You said no and you were reluctant and I made you late to Arithmancy---”

“Ancient Runes,” Malfoy corrected, playing with the carpet fibers below him.

“Whatever . . . I’m just really sorry.”

“I already forgave you.”

“I know, but---”

“Shut up,” the blonde snarled, sitting up on his elbows so that he could look down on Harry condescendingly. “I forgave you for slapping me even though it totally helped me get off.”

Harry finally took his gaze away from the crystals and looked into silver eyes. “Yeah, about that, why do you get off on getting spankings?”

“Why do you get off on giving spankings?” Malfoy snapped back.

“I think it’s because of your father,” Harry continued as if the other boy had never spoken.

“Father? You’re saying that I get off because of my . . . That’s sick!”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry stressed. “I just have a theory.”

The Slytherin made a big show of sitting up and folding his legs before putting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, looking expectantly for Harry to continue.”Oh, do share this theory, Potter.”

“I’m guessing you’re father wasn’t the really touchy-feely type of dad, so probably the only time he ever touched you or even got close to you was to punish with spankings when you misbehaved.”

“What are you, one of those Muggle psycho-trips?” Malfoy asked, his face scrunched up in frustration.

“Psycho-trips? Oh, you mean ‘psychiatrists’?” Harry laughed. “Shut up. I was just giving a theory, not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Maybe I should psychoanalyze you,” Malfoy suggested, licking his lips and trailing a hand down Harry’s smooth, naked chest. He leaned in to lick softly at his dark-haired lover’s lips. “Maybe we should get to the bottom of your spanking fetish.”

“Maybe you should just get to the bottom,” Harry suggested, his voice dropping down to that low octave that gave Malfoy chills. The blonde brought his mouth to the points of Harry’s body that he knew always made the other boy incredibly hot; under his chin, his collarbone, his nipple, his naval . . . Malfoy spent a lot of time at his naval, trailing his tongue back and forth across the thin strip of dark hair Harry had that led to the glorious joy between his legs.

The Gryffindor jolted when a pale hand found its way into his boxers and cool fingers cupped him. His gaze was back on the grand chandelier as those expert fingers began to pump his hot flesh. “Mmm . . . yeah, like that . . .”

“Maybe you do it because you lack control,” Malfoy mused, sitting up straight again and stopping his hand just as Harry’s eyes glazed and rolled back.

Harry’s eyes rolled forward to their original position and shot his rival a death glare. “What the fuck are you doing, asshole! Finish me off!”

Malfoy merely shook his head distractedly and pulled his hand from the other boy’s underwear. “I said, maybe you like spanking me so much because you lack control.”

“Are you saying I’m out of control?” Harry asked, his voice carefully strained as he felt like he was going to burst and attack the blonde any second now for stopping. He did not want to talk right now, let alone on previous reasons he got off when he wasn’t getting off at the moment. But he decided to humor Malfoy anyway.

“Not the way you put it. I don’t mean you can’t control yourself, I just mean that you cannot control your life and the things that happened to you. All your life had been mapped out for you by Dumbledore and so many people have had expectations of you that you have had to uphold. You practically had no choice but to defeat the Dark Lord because of that prophecy and even now, in your seventh year with the Dark Lord dead and gone, you still have the people’s expectations to uphold. Everyone expects you to become an auror, so of course, you will become one. I assume that your girlfriend and best friends have expectations of what you should do with your present and your future as well as many of the teachers here. Everyone expects so much of you and it’s beginning to rule your life and you just have to grin and bear it, so the only time you have an outlet for anger and violence and the only time you have complete control of something is when you’re with me. And that’s probably why you enjoy giving me spankings so much.”

“And you thought of all this while you were giving me a hand-job and licking my nipples?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” the other boy said simply, looking at Harry with his big silver eyes as if he wanted further discussion. Harry sighed deeply and gave his lover a highly exasperated look.

“Can we just fuck now?”

Malfoy reddened and nodded quickly, turning away from Harry and pulling his trousers down. Soon the Gryffindor was inside him, pumping gloriously in and out of his tight, lubricated ass, hitting his spot perfectly. They both remained silent, but Malfoy had no time to think about the absence of Harry’s usually extreme outspokenness during sex since he was so close to coming. Suddenly, Harry pulled out and stood up, dragging the paler boy with him and he led Malfoy to the bed. The green-eyed boy kneeled in the center of the bed and adjusted Malfoy so that he was flat on his stomach with the front of his thighs on top of Harry’s. The Gryffindor plunged back into the other boy so fiercely that Malfoy cried out the loudest he had ever heard him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“F-f-f-fuck, Pot-t-t-ter! Oh God!” the blonde moaned, thrusting himself back further onto Harry’s dick. The Slytherin adjusted himself so that he was leaning up on one elbow and stroking his own erection with is free hand as Harry pounded into him. “D-d-d-d-don’t ssssstop!”

Harry began giving the other boy harder, faster strokes that had Malfoy scrambling to get a pillow to hold onto and bite. Soon, the blonde was coming, his weeping erection releasing itself on the soft ivory sheets underneath him, but he continued to ride his wave of pleasure for what seemed to be millennia because the Chosen One was hitting his spot so precisely, over and over again.

Finally, Harry sunk a hand into his rival’s smooth, silky hair and thrust out his own orgasm; his thighs shaking from the pleasure.

“Oh God . . . Draco . . .” Harry opened his eyes to see that his glasses were steamed up and sweat was dripping from his hair onto Malfoy’s own damp back. He leaned forward and licked salty drops from between his lover’s shoulder blades. “Mmm . . . that was so good . . . You feel so good, baby.”

“Yeah . . . Mmm . . . Sorry, Potter, I’m sleepy . . .”

“Well, sit up and I’ll clean us up,” Harry suggested, slipping out of the still trembling boy below him and sitting up straight. He casually stroked his fingers across the pale back. “You can have a quick wink and I’ll wake you up so you can get back to your dorm, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks . . .”

Harry stood and crossed the room to search through his and Malfoy’s clothing to find his wand. When he finally did, he waved it over himself, Malfoy and the bed and settled into the freshly clean four-poster to snuggle with his silver lover. He had never shared a bed with Malfoy before and he found that rather enjoyed the smooth sensation of the other boy’s skin on his, even when they were not having sex. Malfoy turned towards him and snuggled deep into his arms and the blankets, a sweet smile of contentment on his face. Harry traced a finger over the silky silver fans Malfoy’s eyelashes created on his cheeks and wondered quietly what the hell was wrong with him.

Why was he still in this room?

Why was he watching Malfoy sleep?

Why was this unfamiliar rush of emotion taking up so much room in his chest and throat?

Harry pushed the feelings back and tried hard to think of other things. Quidditch . . . no, not that. Made him think of Ginny. Wizard’s chess . . . no. Made him think of Ron, which in turn made him think of Ginny. Homework . . . nope, still Ginny. This wasn’t working, so he opted to just stare at the beauty of the boy before him.

His gaze traced over smooth silver-blond strands that haloed a face that angels would envy. Harry wished his eyes to be open so he could experience the piercing silver gaze that rivaled the shine of a diamond, then he remembered how wary those eyes had been over an hour before.

“Malfoy, you awake?” he whispered quietly into the other boy’s ear.

“Hmm?”

“What was wrong earlier?”

“What?” the blonde asked sleepily, his eyes still closed.

“Remember when you said you would tell me after? What were you going to tell me?” The blonde snuggled even closer, his smooth cheek rubbing against Harry’s nipple ever so sweetly until Harry wanted to capture his mouth and devour him over and over again. “What were you going to tell me, baby?”

“Mmm . . . Pansy and I are engaged,” the sweet blond murmured into Harry’s chest. “Our parents decided this morning.”

And with a large yawn, Malfoy fell back into sleep and left Harry feeling desperately restless and alone.

*

A/N: Thanks to thrnbrooke, HarleyD, Stella Mourir, Lilith, and elphaba for reviewing. -blaquejaxx