Don't Get Caught
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,794
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
7,794
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Revenge is Sweet
At the door of his study, Draco steps aside to let Harry past. What he is about to do leaves him feeling slightly queasy, but it is necessary, and there is unlikely to be any retribution because Potter is trapped; trapped like the animal he is. Draco feels a surge of triumph that after so many years, he is finally about to gain the upper hand.
He gestures to the ostentatious sofa, all the sweeter to watch Potter sink nervously into it after what he did to Al there, less than a week ago. Draco moves gracefully to the drinks cabinet and extracts two glasses. He picks the finest blend of scotch he has, and pours equal measures of the amber liquid with controlled precision.
When he turns around, Potter is staring at him. Draco sees fear, anger, and the remnants of spent passion suffusing his cheeks. It turns his craving to humiliate into the kind of hunger that begs to be satisfied without delay. He silently hands Potter one of the tumblers and returns to lean against the sideboard, evaluating how long he has until the potion laced drink begins to work. If Snape is worth his salt, then Draco has less than five minutes between Potter finishing his drink and the effects kicking in, then another three minutes before it wears off again. The speed with which his uninvited guest is gulping down the whisky, it may even be less.
Potter wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Draco is disgusted to imagine it touching his son, the damaged nails raking across smooth, delicate skin, calloused fingertips sullying the perfection that is Scorpius. Ugly, stubby fingers forcing their way...Draco almost takes a slug of his own drink before he remembers the entire bottle has been contaminated.
“Draco – “
Draco silences him with a glare. He is in charge here, not Potter. Potter whose mouth has done Merlin knows what to his son, likely in the name of debt recovery. Potter whose dirty, middle-aged prick has defiled Scorpius and undoubtedly claimed his virginity. Draco is finding it difficult to formulate words. Potter fidgeting on the sofa is not helping and the palpable tension makes him want to scream. When he speaks, he enunciates carefully, concise enough that even a moron like Potter is left in no doubt as to his meaning.
“Tell me, Potter, what are the laws regarding teacher student relationships these days? No. No matter. I have already been fully informed. As will the Headmistress if you so much as look at my son again.”
Potter’s mouth opens to protest, the formed but unspoken word, ‘Al’ resting heavily on his lips. Apparently he considers Draco to be hypocritical, but Draco isn’t breaking any laws and Potter knows it.
Rather suddenly, his lips go slack and his pupils dilate so wide Draco can no longer see the green of his irises. A flash of panic crosses Potter’s face and Draco smiles as the potion infiltrates every muscle in his body and renders him immobile. Draco knows he has no way of making sure Potter keeps his grubby hands to himself at Hogwarts, so a small insurance policy is required.
Draco rips his shirt open, enjoying the look of abject horror on Potter’s face. He draws his wand and with a few waves, a set of fresh bruises appear around his neck and face, two particularly nasty ones on each wrist. He dishevels his hair by running a rough hand through, then trips the intruder alarm on the study. The sound is loud enough to wake the dead, and Potter looks like he would cover his ears if he were in control of his body. Draco saunters over to the couch, and sits down next to him, seizing Potter’s limp wrists with a maniacal grin. He pulls him down until he is trapped beneath, surprised at how heavy Potter’s body is, and how wonderfully unresisting the potion has rendered it.
When Draco hears footsteps thundering down the stairs, he starts shouting, pleading, begging Potter to stop, no, and get off. He hears Scorpius barrel into the study and draw in a sharp, shocked breath. Seconds before Potter is roughly pulled off of him, the green eyes slide back into focus, confirming the potion is indeed wearing off just as quickly as Snape promised him it would.
Draco enjoys the sound of Potter’s nose crunching under Scorpius’ fist and straightens himself out before pulling his son away from the crumpled form of his Professor. He revels in the concerned expression on Scorpius’ face, and murmurs soothingly, assuring him he is unharmed, just a little shaken. They both take a step back as Potter staggers to his feet, glasses askew, a dark river of blood meandering from his nose. The sight fills Draco with delight but the mixture of hurt and betrayal on Scorpius face – well, he tells himself the boy is resilient and will get over his inappropriate crush on Potter. He is a Malfoy, after all.
***
He gestures to the ostentatious sofa, all the sweeter to watch Potter sink nervously into it after what he did to Al there, less than a week ago. Draco moves gracefully to the drinks cabinet and extracts two glasses. He picks the finest blend of scotch he has, and pours equal measures of the amber liquid with controlled precision.
When he turns around, Potter is staring at him. Draco sees fear, anger, and the remnants of spent passion suffusing his cheeks. It turns his craving to humiliate into the kind of hunger that begs to be satisfied without delay. He silently hands Potter one of the tumblers and returns to lean against the sideboard, evaluating how long he has until the potion laced drink begins to work. If Snape is worth his salt, then Draco has less than five minutes between Potter finishing his drink and the effects kicking in, then another three minutes before it wears off again. The speed with which his uninvited guest is gulping down the whisky, it may even be less.
Potter wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Draco is disgusted to imagine it touching his son, the damaged nails raking across smooth, delicate skin, calloused fingertips sullying the perfection that is Scorpius. Ugly, stubby fingers forcing their way...Draco almost takes a slug of his own drink before he remembers the entire bottle has been contaminated.
“Draco – “
Draco silences him with a glare. He is in charge here, not Potter. Potter whose mouth has done Merlin knows what to his son, likely in the name of debt recovery. Potter whose dirty, middle-aged prick has defiled Scorpius and undoubtedly claimed his virginity. Draco is finding it difficult to formulate words. Potter fidgeting on the sofa is not helping and the palpable tension makes him want to scream. When he speaks, he enunciates carefully, concise enough that even a moron like Potter is left in no doubt as to his meaning.
“Tell me, Potter, what are the laws regarding teacher student relationships these days? No. No matter. I have already been fully informed. As will the Headmistress if you so much as look at my son again.”
Potter’s mouth opens to protest, the formed but unspoken word, ‘Al’ resting heavily on his lips. Apparently he considers Draco to be hypocritical, but Draco isn’t breaking any laws and Potter knows it.
Rather suddenly, his lips go slack and his pupils dilate so wide Draco can no longer see the green of his irises. A flash of panic crosses Potter’s face and Draco smiles as the potion infiltrates every muscle in his body and renders him immobile. Draco knows he has no way of making sure Potter keeps his grubby hands to himself at Hogwarts, so a small insurance policy is required.
Draco rips his shirt open, enjoying the look of abject horror on Potter’s face. He draws his wand and with a few waves, a set of fresh bruises appear around his neck and face, two particularly nasty ones on each wrist. He dishevels his hair by running a rough hand through, then trips the intruder alarm on the study. The sound is loud enough to wake the dead, and Potter looks like he would cover his ears if he were in control of his body. Draco saunters over to the couch, and sits down next to him, seizing Potter’s limp wrists with a maniacal grin. He pulls him down until he is trapped beneath, surprised at how heavy Potter’s body is, and how wonderfully unresisting the potion has rendered it.
When Draco hears footsteps thundering down the stairs, he starts shouting, pleading, begging Potter to stop, no, and get off. He hears Scorpius barrel into the study and draw in a sharp, shocked breath. Seconds before Potter is roughly pulled off of him, the green eyes slide back into focus, confirming the potion is indeed wearing off just as quickly as Snape promised him it would.
Draco enjoys the sound of Potter’s nose crunching under Scorpius’ fist and straightens himself out before pulling his son away from the crumpled form of his Professor. He revels in the concerned expression on Scorpius’ face, and murmurs soothingly, assuring him he is unharmed, just a little shaken. They both take a step back as Potter staggers to his feet, glasses askew, a dark river of blood meandering from his nose. The sight fills Draco with delight but the mixture of hurt and betrayal on Scorpius face – well, he tells himself the boy is resilient and will get over his inappropriate crush on Potter. He is a Malfoy, after all.
***