Unconditionally

Author: TheSiner

Title: Unconditionally - continued

Genre: Drama, Romance.

Pairing: Harry/Draco (main), Hermione/Ron

Summary: HP/DM slash. Sequel to Unconditionally Draco and Harry are happy together, but others have hard time accepting it.

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: These characters are not my own and belong to J.K. Rowling and affiliates.

Warnings: slash (duh!), swearing, sex, dubious consent, some fluff. Not beta-edited.

Setting after Voldemort’ demise. Kind of HBP compliant, but almost ignores DH.





4.



Harry’s POV



It’s about time to wake up, but I have hardly closed my eyes. I can only envy my roommates, who are still snoring in their beds. Ron rather loudly.



It is painfully obvious that I am not going to get any sleep, so I get up and drag myself to the bathroom. I think it will be some time before those three will wake, so I think that I have enough time for a wank before they hit the showers. Or I could simply clean up and find Draco…



Fuck, thinking about Draco all night long is what got me here. I am so fucking horny and there are dark circles under my eyes if one knows what to look for. I want Draco… well, but if I went and found him, where would we go then? Find a broom closet? Doesn’t sound too great.



But, I might just be desperate enough….



Merlin! I am so used to being with Draco. I am used to falling asleep every night after making love to him for at least once. I am used to waking him up to make love to him every morning or him waking up me for the same reason. Or waking up and finding out that we have been making love for some time already. It’s our little competition – to get the other off without waking him up. None of us have managed so far, but, hey, it’s a lot of fun on both sides.



I really hope that we will work something out. It’s not only that I want to be close to him. It’s not only that I want his body. I also need to see that he is alright, safe. I know that not everyone here likes him and I am concerned that someone might want to hurt him. It is driving me crazy. I was so worried all the time last night that I had to remind myself all the time that Draco is in his room with Zabini whom he trusts and he has a wand and no one will dare to attack him in the castle… oh, whom am I kidding, like I have never been attacked here. Hah! I have been attacked by my professors. With Dumbledore still around.



How could I not be worried?



And what can I do?



I guess I am lucky that we didn’t have to return to our original houses. I can’t imagine being in the Gryffindor tower while he is in dungeons.



After I shower and dress I go to the common room, sink into the cushy couch and wait, listening to the sounds of Hogwarts, which I have never noticed before.



Fifteen minutes later the first students start leaving for the Great Hall. All of them greet me, some ask me to come with them, but I decline without a second thought. Some obviously are trying hard to hide their dislike. Like Zacharias Smith. No, on the other hand, he’s not really hiding it. The git. What have I ever done to him?

He and Justin Finch-Fletchley are the only Hufflepuffs who didn’t finish the school when they were supposed to though. They fought. I respect Smith for that. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make him les of a prick.



Then finally, Draco enters the common room. Finally! I stand up grinning like an idiot. Draco is trying not to smile and I am trying not to run to him like a love sick puppy. But then I am standing next to him at last, I am inhaling his delightful scent, touching his beautiful, soft hair. Hungrily kissing his heavenly soft lips…



Then someone clears their throat and Draco’s hands, which have been lying on my chest so far, gently push me away. I groan in frustration.



“We are not alone, Potter,”



Who cares if we are not alone! The only thing I truly care of when Draco’s--



Alright, Draco obviously does care. He is even calling me ‘Potter’.



When I manage to tear my eyes away from Draco’s beautiful… beautiful everything, I notice that we are really not alone. There is Ron, Hermione, Parkinson, Zabini, Dean and Neville. Why do they look so surprised? They all know that Draco and I are together. Ah, kissing, they have never seen us kiss.

What did you expect guys?

We are together, of course we are going to snog. I have seen Ron and Hermione going at it many times (too many times – it’s time for some payback, I think).



But, anyway, there is no reason to look so freaked out.



“That was hot!” Zabini is the first one to break the stunned silence.



Draco is definitely embarrassed to be caught judging by the pink spots adorning his cheeks. The look suits him. It is an added bonus to getting some action.



“Yes, well,” Hermione shifts apparently uncomfortable. “We should go before the breakfast is over.”



I don’t point out that actually we have plenty of time.



It’s amusing, how Draco straightens his robe and is the first who hurries out of the common room, looking still flustered. I follow him and I can hear footsteps behind me as the others come after us. But I don’t really care as I am chasing after Draco. What is the matter with him?



I catch up easily. I want to touch him.



“Are you alright Draco?”



He doesn’t answer at first as we keep walking. He is looking down as if looking for answers in the intricate pattern the flagstones are making under our feet. I see that I have never paid them much attention to many things. Well, I have realised that there are a lot of things I have never paid much attention since my senses have received a boost.



I thought that I knew Hogwarts as well as my pocket. Especially with all the nightly explorations and the Map. But I was wrong. I have missed a lot. Like, the intricate flagstone pattern, for example.



“I don’t know, if I am alright,” Draco interrupts my musings. “I am not comfortable with people seeing me… you know…”



Ah. Well I know how self-conscious Draco actually is and not in a way I am. I just hate people who fawn over me, get really annoyed, but can’t quite bring myself to tell them to bugger off. Draco… well with Draco it’s more complicated.



“Sorry, Draco, I will try not to grope you in public,” I promise trying to sound like I mean it. “It will not be easy though.”



“I don’t mind you groping me, Potter,” Draco sneers. “I mind people being around when you do it and gawking. I wish they weren’t.”



This is the Draco I know – expecting everyone to change their behaviour to suit him. Once upon a time, I thought his arrogance was disgusting, now I think it’s kind of cute, because I know that Draco doesn’t really expect everything to happen as he wants, he just wouldn’t mind if it did. He’s just pushy.



“We can’t do anything about that,” I say because I feel I have to say something, no matter if it’s pointless.



“I know,” he grumbles. “I was just used to… you know.”



Yes, I do, the summer that we spent together was the greatest in my life.



“Do you think there will be something about us in ‘The Prophet’?”



“Who knows? We will see. But sooner or later they will write something. It s inevitable, right?”



Merlin, but I do hate those bastards.



I am worried about the reaction to our relationship mostly because I know that they will blame Draco for everything that they’ll find wrong with it. And they will find something wrong, I have no doubt. They will call Draco names and make up lies about him. We have talked about it.



“I have no reputation anyway. It’s you who has a lot to loose.” He said.



I disagree. I don’t care if my fans will not send me marriage proposals, spiked chocolates and their underwear anymore. I said I’ll ride Draco’s trunk if would ever feel like sniffing some panties, thank you very much.



At first Draco’s eyes widened and mouth hung open. Then his face went through several hues of red; Draco hit me on arm, spluttered and called me a ‘pervert’. It was so damn funny!

I said that maybe we should try improving public opinion of him letting everyone know what a prude the Big Bad Malfoy actually was. He was glaring at me, but it was very funny, because Draco was also trying not to laugh at the same time… well, but the conversation didn’t really resolve anything.



We keep walking towards the Great Hall side by side. I want to hold his hand; I want to have his skin under mine, because (no matter how corny that sounds), it sings to me and because I don’t think I will ever have enough. However I will behave. Because he asked me to.

I understand, why he is uncomfortable, I understand that he is afraid to look vulnerable in their eyes.



And at the moment it wouldn’t make me comfortable too, because it’s like every eye is on us when we enter the Great Hall. It only makes me want to keep Draco closer to me.



“Get lives people,” I hear Parkinson mutter.



I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything when he glances at me and then follows Parkinson and Zabini to the Slytherin table.



I am not sure if I can trust those two with Draco. He is my whole life.



Ouch!



Hermione grabs me by the ear and turns my head so I am looking at our table instead of Draco.



“Eat,” she orders. Someone has already piled bacon, eggs and baked beans on my plate. I grudgingly thank her.



It’s good that I still eat fast (not that Draco hasn’t been trying to correct that), because the arrival of the post owls totally ruins my appetite. They carry latest issues of ‘Prophet’ and I can see the headlines even before the owls drop them.



‘Look Out for Draco Malfoy.What Does Pardoned Death Eater Want With Harry Potter.’



I wish I had never subscribed the rag, but Draco insisted that we should be informed. I just hate the idea that I am funding this, this… gah!



And, look! They have filled the three first pages with Draco and me. And, what a surprise, they have gotten it all wrong.



I am not sure if I should start laughing or burst into tears.



The whole article is made up of speculations on why I could be seen in public with Draco Malfoy. The most popular is the one where I am assigned by the Ministry to keep an eye on a Death Eater who got away until he does something evil and they can ship him off to Azkaban (where he belongs).



I think I will blow up the breakfast table… no, no blowing, must take a deep breath…



Oh, and they think it’s unwise to allow him be that close to me. They are encouraging people to watch Draco and look out for me.



I can’t believe this.



Without saying a word, I pass the paper to Dean, who’s been craning his neck to see it.



I turn to look at the Slytherin table trying to catch Draco’s eye and somehow let him know that I am terribly sorry. I can handle this. It’s not the first time ‘The Prophet’ had spouted lies about me. But I don’t want this hurting him.



Draco looks up and our eyes meet. Then he looks away, his mouth set in a hard, firm line. It’s as if someone has stabbed my heart.



“Bastards,” Ron says and pats my back comfortingly.



Someone’s shoes are clicking against the stone floor.



The new Defence Against Dark Arts professor coming our way. She is handing out our schedules. McGonagall obviously didn’t have much choice if she made the DADA professor the head of Gryffindor too. True, the curse on that post is supposed to be gone. But who knows for sure? I guess we will see by the end of the year.



The witch looks very plain. Her age might be somewhere between forty and sixty, (one never knows with magical people). With boring grey eyes (in comparison to Draco’s quicksilver orbs) and ash blond hair and no prominent features she’s so usual, it’s almost fascinating.



“Mister Potter,” the witch offers her hand. “As you might already know, I am Enid Forester.”



I smile at her politely and shake her hand.



“Even if you are in the remedial class, you are still one of my Gryffindors, Potter, so you should know that my doors are open if you need anything.”



I thank her, of course, but can’t help being annoyed that I have been singled out. While she is obviously trying to channel McGonagall and act all strict and aloof (not like a regular fawning fan of mine), I wonder why I am the only one who receives such personal attention. And talking about fans - out of the corner of my eye I see Slughorn looking at me almost hungrily. I think I should start avoiding him unless I want to become the vice-president of the Slug Club.



Slug Club – god, but it’s even worse than S.P.E.W. Who’d want to become a slug?



“And this is your schedule Mr. Potter. You will be continuing with the same classes you were taking in your Sixth year. Of course, Professor Snape usually doesn’t accept students except those who got ‘Outstanding’ in their OWLs, but don’t worry, since he is taking over Professor Slughorn’s class you are still on. I am sorry that I will not have pleasure to have you in my defence class.”



Well, I’d rather had her than Snape too. I bet he’s as ‘happy’ to teach me and Ron again as we are to learn, it would be amusing, if he wasn’t bound to take out his irritation on me. I can tell by the looks that Snape has been giving me, that it’s not going to change. I wonder why he’s here, teaching only two classes to us. I would have thought he’d want nothing to do with dunderheads…



So it’s DADA Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology for me. I will share some classes with Draco. He isn’t taking Herbology, because it’s ’too easy’ and he isn’t going to waste his time. Instead he has both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.



I was itching to point out that he had a lot in common with Hermione, when Draco told me that, but, hey, sacrifices must be made for sake of good relationship.



Speaking about relationship… Draco has finished his breakfast, so I mumble to Ron and Hermione that I will meet them in the class and nothing will keep me from walking Draco there. I am wondering how much time it will take before the wizarding world will realise that I am not trailing him, because I want to hex him from behind.



We sit next each to other in Charms and Transfiguration thigh to thigh, our elbows bumping seemingly on accident. It’s a bit of a torture, for me even more, because not only I have to suffer being aroused, I can smell his interest as well. But we haven’t been together for more than twenty four hours now. Talk about distracting.



After Transfiguration we have a free period. I glance at Draco and I think that for once we understand each other perfectly without words. As soon as McGonagall announces that we are dismissed Draco flicks his wand performing some kind of fancy charm the kind purebloods teach their children so they don’t have to do anything the muggle way (show offs), but this time I am grateful, because our things pack themselves into our bags before anyone else has even touched theirs and we are out of the door pretending that we don’t hear Ron calling after me.



I grab his hand and we run down the corridor towards the Gryffindor tower where I know is at least three empty classrooms. I try the first door and it’s open. I am pressing him against the door and non-verbally casting a locking charm while trying to kiss the living daylights out of him.



I push my hands down his pants and squeeze the little, pert bottom, pulling him closer to me so we can grind our cocks together.



“Potter,” he whimpers as I found that special spot on his neck. Draco’s long fingered, agile hands clumsily start working on my belt. I could spell it away, hell, I could spell our trousers and pants off any time, but I find it strangely erotic when he’s unbuckling me, sometimes murmuring under his breath while he is impatiently struggling with the belt.



I must admit, he’s getting better and better with every time. My trousers and boxers slide off and I reach for the sole button that’s keeping up Draco’s trousers. Funny, but he’s wearing little, black tight fitting muggle-style shorts made of some kind of modern material I don’t remember name of without seams. My little fashion whore. Doesn’t even care if the new hit is muggle.



I peel off his underwear and our uncovered erections meat and we start grinding for real. Skin against hot skin, it doesn’t take much for us to come as I am once again devouring his sweet mouth.



Draco slumps against me, his damp forehead resting against my shoulder. I spell away the mess we have created not moving a muscle, I don’t want to ruin the moment. We stay for some time just like that – still, in each other’s arms, the only sound in the room our laboured breaths.



“It’s getting chilly around my bits,” Draco finally breaks the silence and I can’t help, but chuckle. “See how you will be laughing when it will freeze, shrivel and fall off,” he grumbles.



“Want me to hold it for you, my hands are very warm,” I can’t help it, I just have to offer.



“Oh, Harry Potter, you are so generous today!” Draco gushes theatrically as he’s pulling on his trousers.

I stop him halfway, inserting my hand between his arse and shorts.



“We still have time before lunch and I missed you,”



He sighs: “I miss you too.”



Our lips meet again and this time it is slow and throughout. It’s getting reacquainted, it’s coming home, it’s doing something nice for each other, it’s a promise and it’s saying ‘I love you,’… I still love you and want you and not going to stop. Ever.



Draco’s POV



If I hadn’t had experienced worse during the war I would be complaining. I would be whining about being treated as a child again, about having to get up before seven every morning, about having to put up with too many annoying people, about being forced to sneak around and snog my lover in the dusty broom closets and abandoned classrooms. The list goes on and on.



Of course, I am better than that, but it’s very tempting to succumb to my inner Weasley and have a really good moan about amount of the homework we are assigned.



Wait a minute… my inner Weasley… eew! Did I really just think that?



It’s proved – I am going mad. That I just had tried to sleep through the second night without Harry is not improving things, so it is no wonder that I am getting strange ideas.



Besides, I am getting more nervous with every passing minute. A toast and some tea is all I manage to get down. As much as I would have liked to stay in The Great Hall forever, the breakfast will be over soon and no amount of toying with food would change that. So I might as well admit that I am done and get going.



But I really don’t want too...



Merlin, for the first time in my life I wish I could skip Potions. I could care less for showing off my superior brewing skills that have greatly improved during the time I spent in The Dark Lord’s service.



The thing is that I can’t face Severus. Or don’t want to – really, what’s the difference?



But it’s not like I can walk up to McGonagall and tell her: ‘Hey, I’d rather put up with Slughorn, even if he’s totally incompetent, than learn from my former head of house. Why? Oh, it’s nothing, just that he… he has a thing for me… if you can call it that…’



I really have no idea, what it is… was… whatever.



Minutes later I am standing outside the classroom with others from the remedial class who don’t look any happier than me. It takes me some effort and restraint to keep myself from fidgeting and I find myself feeling like moving away from Potter whose presence I usually find calming.



Exactly one minute before the class starts the door bangs open.



“In!” The familiar voice bellows. I take a deep breath – not a calming one, but grasping and desperate.



I sit down at about the middle of the classroom and Harry immediately gracelessly flops down next to me.



I don’t dare to lift my eyes exactly, but I think, I can feel Snape sneering at us.



“So, let’s see,” his tone is dry as a piece of parchment, “to what extent your brewing skills have deteriorated. Not that it’s possible to loose something one never had, which is talent in most of your cases…”



He looks at Harry with disdain as he says that.



“We will start with something that should be simple enough even with your level of incompetence. Blood replenishing potion. Instructions are on the board.”



I used to love this class. Not even Granger could best me in this classroom. Besides during the Potions I heard more praise than in my whole life. I knew that it was not only for my benefit, but to annoy the Gryffindors as well. But still. Father was not known for his generosity with compliments and somehow I always managed to disappoint him, no matter how hard I was trying.



But then I went to Hogwarts. Father was complaining about Dumbledore and threatening to send me to Durmstang, but I doubt he ever really meant it. Of course then I didn’t know it then. It gave him one more thing to threaten me with in case I failed to live up to his expectations.



I almost fainted, when a month before the first of September father announced that I would attend Hogwarts after all. I was so excited.

Severus Snape had a part of my excitement. I knew him before, because he used to visit Lucius. He always spoke to me kindly, even brought little presents which were usually something practical and potion-related. I knew he was the head of Slytherin, my future house. I thought he was impressive. I quite adored the man in fact, since in his own austere way he was much kinder to me than my own father was. Snape was much more predictable and his expectations were possible to meet.



And then my idol was suddenly praising me while scorning others. Especially Potter. Not much of a surprise that I loved the Potions.



Now the class is almost unbearable for me. Severus isn’t even looking at me. He is treating me… well, he is not treating me like anything. It’s as if I am not even there. He isn’t suddenly glaring, sneering, barking at me as if I were a Gryffindor; he’s just ignoring me, which is almost worse.



My potion is perfect. Even my inner turmoil doesn’t affect my brewing. I am used to that. I had to learn working in such circumstances very fast. After you get crucioed for messing up a couple of times, you don’t make mistakes, no matter how much your hands are shaking, no matter how sore you are, or how little sleep you had gotten the night before.



Potter’s shoulder bumps into mine.



Well, his potion is… almost there. The colour is off, but it smells right. Of course, that earns him only a sneer and a derogatory remark about his lack of intelligence from Snape, which Harry only answers with a polite ‘yes sir’.



I am proud. He is growing up, my Harry.



I am so relieved to leave the class. Of course, I will have Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow, but at least I know what to expect. To be ignored.



Blaise is giving me a weird look. I pretend to see nothing. I know he must have noticed Severus’ coldness towards me and is curious now. But I am not going to talk to him about that. No one can know what happened between Severus and I.



Then I feel fingers brush against mine. And again. I look at Potter with a raised eyebrow. He has that terribly cute and a bit desperate expression on his face and looks like he is trying very hard not to pout. I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh and let him hook our fingers together as we are following Granger and Weasley towards the library.



Oh, well, let everyone see. It will come out sooner and later, wouldn’t it?



Our being in relationship as such wouldn’t be a big deal at all if he wasn’t famous and I wasn’t infamous. There are gay couples in our society, but they are not supposed to be visible. The public will be outraged. Potter is lucky that his friends are so accepting.



The first time I sit in the library with The Golden Trio goes marginally well. I still think that Granger is somewhat annoying; her all-it-knowingness is a bit overbearing. Yes, she is a smart witch, even if it pains me to admit that. But that doesn’t mean that she has to prove it all the time. Oh, sure, she is very capable when it’s necessary to get Weasel to shut up, but I am not sure how long the guy will put up with his girlfriend treating like a five year old.



Not that it’s my problem.



It looks like she has handed supervising Potter’s studying habits over to me. I don’t mind. Occasionally I read over his Transfiguration essay and point out a couple of mistakes. The thing is that while he’s probably way better than me in practical transfiguration, Harry obviously doesn’t have patience for writing essays and doesn’t care much about the origins of one spell or another or about how it works.



“You, know, Potter,” I sigh. “I thought I will never see worse handwriting than Crabbe’s, but here it is, making my eyes water.”



Weasley snickers and Harry pouts.



“That’s why I am not keen on handing out autographs,” he announces and then it happens. Our first public kiss. Not much of a kiss, just a quick, light peck on lips.



“Harr-rry…” Weasley groans.



“Thank you for putting up with me and my scrawl,” Potter says sweetly. “You wanted something, Ron?”



“For you to get a room?”



“Gee, Ron, I don’t see you and Hermione ever getting a room for something as innocent as a kiss. Are you going to from now on? I’ll have to owl your mother, she will be proud of having raised such a prude of a son,”



“Well, but…” Weasley splutters. “It’s different!”



“How is it different?” Harry has narrowed his eye and doesn’t look amused anymore.



“You… you are both… you know!”



“No, I don’t,” Harry says flatly and gets up starting gathering his things. I do the same.



“Harry… I didn’t mean it like that…” Weasley tries.



“Yes, you did,” Potters grabs my hand and drags me out of the library.



“I can’t believe he said that,” he mumbles.



I can’t believe I am saying this: “Give him some slack. He will get used to it. Believe me, he is taking it well.”



Harry doesn’t notice some of the looks we get as we were leaving the library hand in hand.



“I guess I still expected more. He’s my best friend, Draco.”



I don’t know what to say. I don’t know Weasley that well, after all. But I still think that he took our relationship rather well. But Harry is obviously not ready to hear that right now.



***





I realise that the kneazle is out of the bag as soon as I step into the Great Hall the next morning. There are more stares and more whispers and strange looks than normal and ‘The Daily Prophet’ exchanging hands. Granger looks worried. Weasley really uncomfortable and when I glance at the head table, I see that McGonagall appears more constipated than usually.



I look at my lover and see that he has noticed as well. I am aware that he can probably hear some of the whispers. Veela senses and all. His grip on my arm tightens and I guess that I am not given much choice, but to follow him to the Gryffindor table. I should be annoyed, but I guess he’s doing the right thing.



Majority of the Gryffindors are obviously not happy to see me. Except Thomas and Longbottom. Thomas is the most laid back guy I have ever met and Longbottom, well, Longbottom is too meek to really object to anything that doesn’t concerns him directly. And he has a good sense of what concerns him and what doesn’t, not like most of people. The guy really knows how to mind his own business, I’ll give him that.



Harry reaches for the paper and Granger reluctantly hands it over.



THE BOY WHO LIVED TO BE TURNED GAY BY DRACO MALFOY!!!



I am starting to regret that we didn’t do anything to control when and how the public finds out. The message is more than clear. ‘Gayness’ is a disease and their Hero had been maliciously infected with it by me.



I don’t have a chance to really read the article, because Potter forcefully and demonstratively crumples it up, throws on the floor and casts a silent incendio on it. the air around him starts feeling a bit different. Well, I haven’t seen him this angry since before the war. I put a hand on his thigh when he sits down and squeeze.



He looks at me as if suddenly remembering where he is.



I give him a pointed look, trying to communicate that this is nor the place, nor the time to display any wandless magic.



He lets out a sigh then and it’s obvious that some of the tense anger is gone.



“I can’t believe those idiots,” he grounds out though.



I decide not to say anything. I just don’t know what I can say to that.



We eat the breakfast pretty much ignoring everyone around us. Potter is obviously still not alright with Weasley, the insensitive idiot. And I will die my hair carrot red, before I will admit it aloud, but I am hoping that they will make up soon, because it’s obviously hurting Potter.



Granger looks like she is about to say something, but keeps biting her tongue. No doubt it’s something patronising. But unlike her babbling boyfriend she knows when to hold her tongue. And while Potter is the most patient and accepting person I know, when he is riled up like this, it’s better to leave him be.



During the rest of the day Potter doesn’t leave my side and keeps glaring at everyone whom he suspects of even trying to look at us the wrong way. Or rather look at me the wrong way. I don’t think anyone would dare to say something to him. Not directly, at least. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean the tongues are not waggling behind our backs and something isn’t brewing.



When the lunch comes Harry takes my hand and asks if I minded terribly if we ate by the lake. I nod. I wouldn’t mind at all.



It’s still quite warm outside. He summons the house elf Dobby who doesn’t particularly like me, but worships the ground under Harry’s feel and we have more and better food than is served at The Great Hall.



“I’m sorry Draco, for al of this mess,” Potter says solemnly like someone who is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and is responsible for all the wrongs happening in said world. Ridiculous.



“For what,” I sound more irritated and snappish than I intended and that is not the right way to approach it. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I try to make my voice softer. “It’s not your fault. Believe me, I knew what I was signing up for. Probably better than you.”



“But it’s you whom they are…”



“Yes, I am the bad guy, and?”



He looks at me, those incredible green eyes full of al kind of emotion and… fear. He’s scared? What is he scared of… but I think I know…



“Harry,” I reach out and put my palm against his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. It will pass. It won’t change anything between us. I don’t regret being with you and I never will.”



And he looks so grateful, so ridiculously grateful and happy that I want to kick him. You are Harry Potter, I want to scream. But the thing is that he’s not Harry Potter, he’s just Harry and it fills me with guilt when even I forget sometimes. Would he hate me if he knew that I love Harry Potter as well? But in my defence, I love Harry a lot more.



I lean closer and kiss him gently, reassuringly.



“So, what’s with Weasley,” I am not sure if I have changed the topic to a better one, but I think this also is something he needs to talk about.



Harry says that Weasley did try to apologize, but he doesn’t want to make that easy for him. That it did hurt when his best friend implied that their relationship was somehow less… he struggles to find the right word… real? Important to us? Deep?... just because we were both men. He gets a bit worked up again. He says that he doesn’t want to hide his feelings and will not let them to bully us into hiding who we are.



I really don’t deserve him. My hero. And this time I am saying it without even a trace of irony or sneer.





***



There is nothing we can do about the fact that I am not sharing all the classes with Harry. He walks me almost to the Arithmancy classroom though. We are sharing the lesson with regular seven years, since this class is not that popular and we rarely have any practical lessons. The class goes well. Vector isn’t loosing time with introductions and other nonsense, even if it’s the first lesson this year. I find myself quite fascinated with use of different numbers in magical rituals.



In the end of the lesson it finally happens.



“So, tell us Malfoy, how is it to go from being You-Know-Who’s whore to being Potter’s bitch?”



It’s Zacharias Smith. And by the snickering that follows, I can assume that some agrees with him.



“Try to control your jealousy, Smith. Green is not your colour. But speaking seriously, it will be good for you to remember whose bitch exactly I am and who would be very angry if you will mess with me,”



“Going to hide in Potter’s pants, aren’t you? Can’t hold your own.”



I look at him with compassion trying to convey what a pitiful fool I think he is: “oh, I can ‘hold my own’ very well, Smith. But I wouldn’t bother. But he’s a Gryffindor, you know, with all that chivalry thing and quick temper and you can add ‘very powerful’ to that. And did I mention that he is very protective as well? Not that I care about what happens to you, but if he did something stupid… I don’t want my lover to get in trouble, do I?”



I stroll out of the classroom as if I own the place. Granger catches up with me.



“What?” I ask when she keeps giving me those weird looks.



“I am not sure if I like that you are threatening people with Harry, I doubt he will like it,”



I snort. “You and your moral scruples, Granger. Your righteousness is clouding your judgment. If I had said nothing, that had encouraged Smith to continue. If I had simply insulted him, it would only incite an idiot like him further. In both cases Potter would hear something sooner or later. And the part about me not wanting to see him getting in trouble defending my honour… I really meant it. You should know. I hope that no one tries anything stupid. Not because of me, not because of them. Because of Potter.”



“You are still calling Harry by his surname,” she reproachfully states the obvious.



I am not trying to correct her, that I am calling him ‘Potter’ only in public and rarely when there are only two of us. I don’t care what she thinks.



And I don’t have time to try to talk sense into the girl. Harry is coming towards me down the hall. Besides I couldn’t care less of what she thinks as long as it doesn’t affect my relationship with Harry.





Harry’s POV



Wherever we go, there are hushed whispers and even outraged looks. Even the Professors are looking at us funny. I am not sure if it’s because we are a male couple, because he is a Malfoy or because they remember how we were at school.



Oh, whatever…



Last night I couldn’t sleep. It’s like my body simply can’t deal with separation from him. Or my mind. I can’t be sure.



What I know that Draco is feeling the same. Yes, we managed to find a deserted classroom during the day or use Draco’s room when Zabini is out. But it’s not enough. I need his warm body next to me in the bed to sleep properly. I am not getting used to not having it there.



The next day I still feel the urge to have him close by my side. The protectiveness I feel… I almost wish someone said anything to our places or tried to act up, so I could tear into them… I, myself, would be annoyed if someone was treating me that way, but thankfully Draco is more understanding and agrees to eat at the Gryffindor table.



I sit next to Hermione and it’s not long before the owls start flying in, carrying the morning post. Hemione puts two sickles in the pouch tied to bird’s legs and unfolds her ‘Prophet’.



Today’s headline is PUBLIC DEMANDS ACTION!



Apparently so called ‘public’ wants the Ministry to do ‘something’. Something? About what? Apparently there are many different opinions on why it is wrong for me to be involved with Draco Malfoy, but what they all agree about is that something should be done to separate us.



I think I can see dark spots in front of me…



“Harry,” lips brush against my ear sending something akin to electric jolt through my body and I turn my head to the left to be pulled into the most beautiful grey, no, not grey, quicksilver, eyes I have ever seen… stunning…



“Breathe, Potter,” those light pink lips part to order me, I am not going to deny those lips anything.



“Snap out of it!” The beautiful voice gets harsher. “You really look as if I have been feeding you love potions right now…” someone snickers, but Draco doesn’t look that amused.



I shake my head and mumble an apology and then I remember that I was angry. Still am angry.



“I hate them,”



“No, really, mate,” Dean speaks up looking vaguely amused. “Didn’t really notice, with plates rattling and all that.”



Oh. I guess I should apologize once more.



“Look at this,” Lavender pipes up and shoves a magazine under Hermione’s nose, apparently not trusting me to keep my cool.



Hermione makes a hmm-ing sound: “They are trying to rally all the witches to try to ‘save’ you from Malfoy’s evil charms, Harry. There is a reward promised to the witch who would manage to… err… ‘to turn you back’.”



“I could use some extra cash, Harry,” Lavender smirks and winks at me from across the table. I can do nothing, but groan.



“Bloody fucking bastards!”



“Ron!” Hermione admonishes.



I look at Ron to see what the problem is; he’s really gone very red.



“Don’t, Ron, me ‘Mione! How dare they drag her into this! How dare they even mention her name!”



Neville is the one who asks whose name.



“Ginny’s!” Ron almost yells and doesn’t look like the hand Hermione has placed on his arm in a calming gesture had been noticed at all.



But what Ginny has to do with anything?



My confusion must be showing on my face, because Hermione hurries to explain: “Someone obviously had told them that you dated Ginny and was serious about it and to them it proves that you actually like women and Malfoy had simply done something to you…”



Draco snorts: “You, better keep some distance boys. Wouldn’t want to turn you all ‘gay’. Didn’t you know that it was what The Dark Lord wanted me for? To use my gay-ing powers and keep his enemies from propagating?”



It shouldn’t be funny, but it is, and I can’t hep it, I start laughing and soon am followed by Lavender, Pravaty, Dean, Neville, Hermione and even Ron’s lips are twitching.



“Oh,” Dean snickers. “So that was the big plan?”



“Oh, yes,” Draco performs a stage whisper. “I was the secret weapon.”



“I don’t know,” Dean shakes his head. “But you might have used up all your powers on Harry.” He gives Lavender’s cleavage a sidelong glance, waggles his eyebrows at her and she hits him on shoulder playfully.



She is one of the people who had accepted me and Draco without batting an eyelid. Maybe because she is a muggleborn. Dean is the same. Neville is generally very accepting of everything and everyone. Pravaty though is obviously unsure what to think, we are making her uncomfortable. But she doesn’t say anything out of Gryffindor solidarity or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t really understand girls that well anyway.



Of course Hermione is a girl and one of my best friends, but that doesn’t mean I fully understand her, does it? At least not always. Pravaty and Lavender, they are really the worst kind of them, really girly ones. Make no sense to me. Well, I got on with Ginny pretty well, but I guess that growing up with six brothers had affected her quite a lot. While Ginny was beautiful and liked nice robes and suff, she was also very independent, fierce and sarcastic at the times. She certainly grew out of giggling and simpering pretty soon.



I am afraid that after the Chamber of Secrets Ginny changed a lot. Grew up, maybe. Got over her crush on me. what we had later, it had nothing to do with that. Funny, but my heroically saving her life somehow crushed her fantasies about The-Boy-Who-Lived, the prince riding the white unicorn or whatever.



I guess it had something to do with the realisation that there was nothing romantic about what happened and it wasn’t all that great as it sounded if you were one of the persons that were involved. It brought her down to earth. One time a couple of years later Ginny admitted that she was ashamed about the way she had idealised me.



But anyway. I am angry that they had dared to pull Ginny into this. My relationship with Draco has nothing to do with her and I am not thinking of what could have happened if she were still alive. She isn’t. I loved her. I am not going to compare the feelings I had for Ginny to the ones I have for Draco. It would be disrespectful and unfair to both of them.



“I don’t know how about you,” Hermione stands up. “But I will be going. Wouldn’t want to be late for Transfiguration.”



Ron immediately follows her; Draco groans very silently, but my weird senses pick it up of course. At least we both have that class, so I can look after Draco. It’s very strange, but since everyone knows about our relationship and it has become clear that many are against it, I feel almost physical need to be close to Draco.



It’s like our relationship is being threatened and my lover is being threatened and I get really uncomfortable when he’s out of my sight. I am not sure how I will manage to sleep tonight. I am almost desperate enough to seek out Madame Pomfrey. Almost.



The less people know about my change of species and all the additional effects, the better. Not that I don’t trust Poppy, but one can never know who is listening.



The morning classes go smoothly. We don’t have to split up and everyone is too busy to gossip much. Then comes the dinner during which Draco once again sits next to me at the Gryffindor table. He is very accepting about it which makes things a lot easier than they could be. Unfortunately the dinner is when the gossiping starts and I can hear too much of it.



Apparently with those who don’t know me at all the theories, which have been developed by ‘Daily Prophet’, are gaining popularity. I wouldn’t be that upset if at least one of them was true. But the truth is too boring, isn’t it?



Draco is piling chips on my plate and giving me ‘the look’. There are some sausages and salad already. Oh, yes, I admit that I did zone off for a bit again. I give him a grateful smile, too sweet, judging by the fact that Draco rolls his eyes, but I know that he doesn’t really mind taking care of me.



I haven’t even really chewed my second chip when the door opens and four Aurors in their full regalia stroll into The Great Hall and in the direction of the Head Table. The one who is obviously in charge greets McGonagall almost respectfully, but the others are already scanning the room as if looking for something. I can’t really imagine what could they want here. I know it would sound kind of self-centred to say that I am afraid that it has something to do with me.



I hope I am wrong.



And then the leading Auror informs the Headmistress that his name is Wendell Plover and he is here on official Ministry business (a pompous ass) to question… no… NO FUCKING WAY! ...they are here to question Draco Lucius Malfoy… over my dead body!



I feel him stiffen next to me. I slide my hand under the table and lay it on his thigh. I am not going to let anything happen to him if I will be able to do anything about it. McGonagall doesn’t look happy at all. It’s so obvious that she’s one of Dumbledore’s people; he also didn’t want anyone to interfere with the school. For obvious reasons.



She says the usual that they don’t have any right to aggravate her student’s. Plover arrogantly states that Draco is not a child and so they don’t have to get permission from his guardians to question him and they are ‘informing’ her, not begging for her permission. Aren’t they courteous, the buggers. Can’t believe that once I wanted to become one of them. Talk about young and stupid.



And Plover (whom I hate already) adds that if the Headmistress is ‘unable’ to provide them a room for their little interwiew, they will gladly take Mister Malfoy back with them. To the Ministry.



“Over my dead body,” I am not going to listen to this anymore and I don’t care that the light in the Great Hall are flickering and wind is rising. I reckon it will help to get the point across.



I am aware that Draco is clutching one of my hands and Hermione another. I haven’t completely lost it. I can’t afford it. I have to protect my mate. That notion kind of gives me the control I sometimes lack. I feel the power coursing through my body, wild and dangerous, ready to strike… but under my command.



I shrug off Hermione’s and Draco’s hands. I look at Draco and order him to stay with my friends and walk towards the Aurors.



“You will not take Draco Malfoy anywhere,” I state.



The man splutters deeply affronted and says that he is here on Minister’s orders and has an authority to do whatever…



“Is Mister Malfoy being accused of something?” Hermione had joined me.



“And you would be…” the man looks at her as if she were a bug. And things like that doesn’t faze Hermione at least. I know and am proud.



She politely introduces herself and repeats the question. Professor McGonagall says that she would like to know as well.



“No, he’s not. Not yet,” the Auror is forced to answer.



“Ah, then an investigation has been initiated?” Hermione prods.



“Well, yes, certainly,” Plover huffs.



“What investigation exactly?” Hermione continues.



“I beg your pardon?” The Auror looks a bit uncomfortable.



“What is your case, Auror Plover,” Hermione is going for the kill, I have learned to recognise the look. It’s the look she has when she’s bout to prove someone that he’s a complete fool. “To start an investigation there has to be some kind of proof that an illegal act has been committed, a testimony, a complaint has to be made, handed in to the Auror office. The Auror office has to accept it and to institute proceedings, of course if they deem such measures necessary. So, what are you investigating?”



I love Hermione, I really love her sometimes!



Plover stutters something about certain claims and complaints being made and that they are not really here to interrogate Mister Malfoy, just ask some questions…



“No, no,” Hermione refuses to listen. “I don’t think you understand me. If you come here as an Auror to question Mister Malfoy, he has right to know what investigation has been initiated. An Auror can’t just randomly show up and start asking questions to people at their homes, workplaces, schools… of course it’s different if they are crime scenes… But I am not aware that anything criminal has happened here, at least not recently.”



“As far as I know, if you want to interwiew Mister Malfoy, you must politely state you reasons and ask for his cooperation, unless you have a warrant. Do you?”



“No, I don’t! But the Minister…”



“Ah, but as far as I know, if the Minister has become aware of some crime or anything, he has to approach the Head of the Auror office and then the head of the Aurors who is Kingsley Shacklebolt, at the moment, would initiate an investigation if he will see the necessity, am I right? So has an investigation been initiated or not?”



It’s kind of cute the way she is standing there, a very lithe girl with big hair, arms crossed over her chest and a feet stamping against the stone floor impatiently.



“No, but…” Plover will never win this.



“I am very sorry, Auror Plover, but it’s obvious that you can’t prove that you have a good reason to question Mister Malfoy. I don’t think that he will be willing to answer your questions. Come Harry. Our food is getting cold.”



We return to our places and plover angrily stomps out of the hall with his cronies trailing after him.



“thanks, Granger,” Draco murmurs. I can see he’s impressed.



“It was nothing,” Hermione scoffs. “It’s obvious that Scrimgeour read ‘the Prophet’, received a couple of howlers and decided that this was a good chance to get back at Harry or the Malfoy family. He obviously bypassed Shacklebolt and ordered those Aurors to come here, which is a breech of procedure, but if they got dirt on Malfoy, no one would have been bothered about that. But they don’t have right to simply show up here like that. Without a good reason, not talking about an order from Kingsley. Really, those people at the Ministry think they can do as they wish, someone should tell them about civil rights…”



“So what? We will wait until they get it? The order.” Draco interrupts her rant impatiently.



“Next time we will be ready Malfoy,” I am taken aback. Hermione sounds almost pleased that there is trouble brewing, something to fight against. Is she missing the action or something? I wouldn’t have expected that from Hermione.



“And,” she adds. “Kingsley will be really hard pressed to investigate Harry’s love-life. He might be forced to, but he will put up a fight, I am sure of that.”



Draco looks sceptical.



“He is somewhat aware of the situation,” Hemione whispers.



Now Draco looks really distraught. I shake my head and mouth ‘later’. This is not the right place for that kind of discussion.



The Aurors are gone for now, but I don’t actually feel better. I hate that my lover has to suffer all of this for me. I hate when they see him as some kind of pariah, when they make polls trying to determine if he is worthy of me or isn’t. when they prise me and want to hex him.



As if I am not the one who has wronged Draco, probably hurt him more than he had ever hurt me.



We never talk about that though. And it’s eating at me. The guilt.





Draco’s POV



As we walk back to our tower, I can feel Potter seething besides me. He’s angry, that’s clear enough. And something else. I asked Blaise to go to the Library or do whatever he does (I don’t want to know probably), but stay away from our room for at least two hours.



When the door closes I stat with the first question: “So what exactly Kingsley Shacklebolt knows?”



Potter says that he is not sure about how much the man knows, just that Shacklebolt was in the Order and is aware that I spent some time at the Godric’s Hollow before I was arrested and brought before the Wizengamot. He and some Aurors, slash, members of The Order, covered tat one up for Harry. Good.



„Kingsley is very reasonable, he won’t go witch-hunting,” Potter blurts out.



Excuse me? Witch-hunting?



Potter laughs (I don’t see what’s funny) and explains, well, he doesn’t really explains, but says it’s a muggle expression. Another one of those, you better not try to figure out. But for obvious reasons I don’t really like this one. Damn, muggles… if I started talking about muggle hunting McGonagall would take points (she actually did on my second year).



“Damn them,” Potter swears. “God, Draco, I am so sorry. They have no right to treat you like that.”



It’s obvious that he has his boxers in the twist because of today. I tell him I will survive: “It’s not that I didn’t expect something like that. I am not naïve, Harry.”



“But, Draco, God, you have to put up with so much for me… how can you be so calm about it?”



I shrug. I must admit that I am a bit pleased that he feels so grateful and praises the sacrifices I am supposedly making for him. The fact that I am not going to demand any favours doesn’t mean that the Slytherin in me isn’t happy to hear that my lover thinks he owes me so much. So I guess I should let him make a martyr out of me if he wishes so. Just have to make sure, the idiot doesn’t notice my inner smirk.



“If they only knew that it was I who, who…” he chokes on the words and an enormous cloud slides in front of the sun of Potter’s adoration that I am basking in. No, no, no, please shut up! I know what he’s going to say… Why does he have to bring it up all the time? Can’t he take a hint?



“Draco, I… God, I… I….” he’s choking on words and looking at me with eyes bigger than that house-elve’s he once stole from my face and the expression as pitiful, that’s probably the reason I remembered that wretched creature…



The only topic I wished he would never touch. Why can’t he just… urgh! Of course he can’t. I think I go from content to furious in about five seconds.



“You, nothing, Potter! NOTHING! Do you hear me? You did nothing. Am I making myself clear?”



He looks right into my eyes: “I raped you Draco.”



He says it with such conviction, serenity. No! I press palms over my ears, I am not going to listen to this, this… nonsense!



He doesn’t let me. Potter pries my hands off and clutches them in his strong, tanned ones.



“Yes, Draco. I raped you. More than once. We can’t just ignore it. We have been ignoring it for months now. It is not healthy and not fair. Especially now. I keep hearing what a horrible person you are and I know that it’s me. I am the real monster here, not you.”



The monster! Ha!



“Oh, really,” I sneer at him. “And what are you going to do? Go to the Aurors, turn yourself in? Or maybe you want me to do it? Or you want to tell ‘The Prophet’? Skeeter will certainly agree to write a nice article, including as much details as possible.”



“In fact…”



“Shut up! Don’t you dare to finish that!” I have had it with him. oh, I know that Harry can’t help himself, that he is a Gryffindor to the bone, which is really fine with me, because who else would carter tolerate my whims.



“You don’t understand! There is a reason, why I don’t want to talk about it…”



“Because you can’t accept what really happened, Draco. I fucked you without asking if you wanted it. It’s rape,”



I wince; I am not a fan of such crudeness.



“I…”



‘SLAP!’



I smack him on the cheek. Not even hard enough to hurt, but enough to shut him up, to get his attention and to drag Potter out of that bubble of guilt he’s drifting in and listen to me. And maybe, because it makes me feel better.

I push him down on the bed.



“Sit. And listen to me,” I take a deep breath. Merlin, haven’t I given him so much of me already, no, he wants more and more, another piece of my soul.



“Don’t try to tell me that Granger didn’t drag a pile of books about veela for you to read. Did you red them?”



He nods.



“And obviously didn’t understand a word. Yes, you did… fuck me, as you put it so nicely and, yes, we didn’t discuss it much. But did you ever hear a word from me? Did I ever tell you to stop or just ‘no’? I didn’t. And while it didn’t really mean that I consented,” I lift my hand to prevent the objections he’s ready to make.



“You are a veela. You were claiming your mate, a mate who was not really protesting much. A mate whom not only you had to keep safe from others, but also a mate whom you thought you had to control, to keep others safe. Am I not right? You thought that I had done unseemly things…” and I was too proud to disabuse him of that notion.

“Veela in you had to gain control over his mate to keep the mate from doing harm again and that was exactly what you did. You have to understand! It was not your fault! At least not the way you imagine it!”



“But Draco, for you it still must have felt…”



“Yes, we come to my part in all of it,” I know I sound bitter. Bitterness is ugly and a part of me is screaming that it’s not wise to let your lover to see ugliness in you, but, it’s already too late for that.

“The reason I really never wanted to touch the subject, Harry. Don’t you see? I allowed you, as you say it, ‘rape me’. I never said ‘no’. Never even showed any sign that I was not fine with it. I never said anything about my place in Dark Lord’s army. The fact that I was more of a prisoner myself… I held to my stupid pride, as if I ever had any… I just let you to do with me whatever you wanted… I don’t really know what I was trying to prove, but it all of it was about me. Not you.”



“You wanted the truth? So there it is. I am the sick one in this relationship. I am the freak. You did what was natural to you under those circumstances. I could have stopped you, at least tried, but I didn’t. now tell me, who is sick here?”



“Draco… no, Draco, you are not sick… you are the most wonderful...”



“You are delusional…” I laugh out on a bit of hysterical note.



“No, I am not. And you are who you are and… I still don’t understand how you can want me after everything, even if you are right about the veela thing…”



“Of course I am right about the veela thing! And I can still want you. If you have to know, this is nothing new for me. people have been doing it to me since I was born, fucking me over. Starting with father… surely you remember him… well, my father was raping my mind for fifteen years and doing it deliberately and I still wanted him.”



I see his expression change and as inappropriate it is, but I burst out laughing. “It was a metaphor, Potter. He never touched me like that. He hardly ever touched me at all, he just… I don’t think I can explain. Messed with my mind a lot. I was his and I would have done anything he had asked of me, the same with my mother, the same with the Dark Lord and…” I can’t tell him about Severus.



“I have always belonged to someone, Harry. I have always been under someone’s control and to be under yours after the Dark Lord… well, it wasn’t so bad and that is not the point anyway, the point was that I let you to do with me, what you wished, because, because… I just did, I am like that… it is twisted, but…”



I am blinking furiously, trying to keep the tears at the bay. I am already feeling more vulnerable than I have ever wanted to. Harry opens his arms for me, but I shake my head, if I will touch him, I’ll certainly start bawling, but I haven’t finished yet.



“But you are different, you are not like them, they are all selfish. None of them ever wanted to know me, the real me. They all wanted to change me, to turn me into someone else or to use me. You are the first one, who wants me the way I am without any conditions, or it’s the veela in you, but what does it matter?”

“And you are the only one in this world I can trust, I know that whatever you will help me if I will need it, even without getting something in return, that you will even let me go, if you will think it would be better for me. You will never pretend to be a friend, to do things for me, just because you want to fuck me. I feel safe with you.”



I see the look on his face and I know what he is thinking, before he even opens his mouth to say, that it would be alright if I wanted to break up with him, that it’s wrong if I am with him just because he makes me feel safe, that… I let him speak. He’s so noble. It’s ridiculous.



“Potter,” I want to make it crystal clear. “That is the point. I know, that I could get whatever I wanted out of you, even if we broke up. You are stupid like that. I realise that it’s not a necessity for me to be with you. Don’t you think, it might mean that I want to be with you? Someone told me once, that we have been chasing after each other since we met. I think they were right. And I don’t really want to talk about this anymore. Please.”



I don’t use that word very often, because my parents didn’t think it was necessary for me to know it. You don’t use it when you order around house-elves and people, who are lower than yourself and almost everyone is beneath Malfoys. That’s not true anymore, but I just don’t have the habit of finishing every sentence with ‘thank-yous’, ‘excuse-mes’ and ‘pleases’. Harry knows that and he knows that, when I say ‘please’, I really mean that.



He smiles at me and pulls me in his lap with so much energy that we both topple over on the bed.



He’s looking in my eyes in such a particular way. Curious. Sweet. Loving.



I see him still looking at me with that silly expression on his face, with those shiny eyes. He’s like a stupid puppy I could have kicked around, but he would be still crawling back to me, to lick my hands…



The thought sends shivers down my spine.



He takes a strand of my hair and twines it round his finger.



“You are a better person than you think, Draco,”



And I can’t snort or roll my eyes, when he says it like that. With such conviction. I decide to let it go.



His fingers are running lightly over the knobbles of my spine.



I decide that this is when I turn his attention of the topic I never wanted to discuss to begin with.



I part my lips and run the tip of my tongue along my upper lip.



I am never sure when Harry knows that I am trying to manipulate him and when he doesn’t. I am strongly suspecting that sometimes he gives in rolling his eyes behind y back, because it doesn’t cost him much and he likes to please me.

But anyway, subtle manipulation works pretty well and any suggestion, that has something to do with sex is usually received pretty well.



***



Blaise doesn’t knock when he returns. Well, yes, it is his room, but he knew that I was there with Potter…



But of course the pervert probably doesn’t mind to catch us with Potters tongue down my throat and hands up my shirt. No, he’s enjoying this, but whatever… I am having a lot of fun and he isn’t. I bet he’s jealous.



Yes, that thought warms my little Slytherin heart.



TBC



A/N: I am too busy with work to write much. Sorry guys. But I will do, what I can.