Potter Potions

I cannot tell you how much it delighted me to leave the shocking brightness and excessively sanitised conditions of the Infirmary. Returning to the comfortable and familiar surroundings of the dungeons is not just simple relief at being allowed to come home; I have spent three quarters of my life at Hogwarts, and half of that existing inside the four walls of my quarters. I am a man of habit, and find contentment in maintaining routine and order, despite the frequency with which my life is deluged by problematic egotists.

A life that, whilst some might not consider particularly valuable, I happen to be quite partial to. Routine and order. Hardly two words I could apply to the reckless miscreants hammering on my door.

Why in Merlin’s name have they come? Did Albus not pass on the message that their respective reasons for being here have been terminated?

If only to stop the insistent pounding from inducing a headache, I spell the door open and watch with muted satisfaction as they stumble through it, each catching the other before they hit the flagstones.

Draco rights himself quickly and glares at me. It takes Potter a little longer but he gets there eventually. One can only hope the Dark Lord is unaware of his inherent clumsiness.

“What is the meaning of this?” I snarl. “Were you not informed that your presence here is no longer welcome?”

For a moment it looks like Potter might mumble an apology and flee, but then he gets that calculating look in his eye, the one I have been forced to endure for six years, and even before it happens, I know his jaw will tense and his cheeks will flare belligerently. His face has always been a facsimile of his father, but when he stares like that, when his vivacious bottle-green eyes radiate such spirited defiance, I am only reminded of Lily Evans in all her feisty glory.

“Sir, you said you would help me with Potions revision, there isn’t anyone else who can do that.”

“And I had detention with you, not Filch,” Draco says bluntly.

“I am certain Miss Granger would be more than delighted to help you study, Potter, and it is Mr Filch, Draco, and all detentions have been temporarily reassigned to him.”

“Hermione doesn’t have a laboratory,” Potter protests.

“Whatever. He makes me polish manacles and that mangy cat of his sets my allergy off.”

“Perhaps my mental faculties have rapidly diminished but did you not both visit me in the Infirmary? I am supposed to be recuperating! The Headmaster saw fit to excuse me from the burden of teaching for a week, something I am profoundly grateful for and-“

It takes me a moment to realise that whilst I have been speaking, they have defiantly crossed the room and plonked themselves on my sofa.

“Accio whisky,” Potter says, and I can only gape as the bottle hurtles past my head and smacks into his outstretched hand.

“Potter! Put that back at once!”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you look like you could use a drink.”

“Accio glasses,” Draco smirks, “I think we should celebrate your speedy recovery, Professor.”

The dungeon door is still wide open and I notify myself that I am only closing it to thwart snooping Slytherins, for as long as it will take to oust the two intruders.

“I have no intention of-“

“Here you go, sir.” Potter slinks out of his seat and offers me a generous glassful of scotch. My scotch.

“One drink,” I concede begrudgingly, “and then you will leave.”

They have the audacity to smirk at each other, no doubt triumphant at how successful their joint effort at manipulation was. Were I not still slightly under par I would have hexed them out of my sight.

“So,” Potter says, taking a sip of his drink and leaning back, familiarly close to Draco, I cannot help but notice, “are you going to tell us why you threw us out yesterday?”

“It was rather unsporting of you, sir,” Draco agrees.

Fair? Since when did a Slytherin expect fairness? Especially from another Slytherin.

“Am I bound to elucidate my actions to you? I simply wished to be left in peace and not disturbed with childish antics.”

“We were worried about you,” Draco retorts, the mask of arrogance he assumes only serving to enhance the fine structure of his porcelain skin. Arrogance that I would be willing to wager I could eradicate quite beautifully given five minutes with my cock up his-virgin arse? Speaking of which-

“We?” I sneer at them in turn. “Should I expect an invitation to your bonding ceremony in the near future?”

“What?” Potter splutters his drink across my expensive Tuyserkan rug. I crow internally at his embarrassment but had not counted on Draco’s acute perceptiveness.

“I think he’s jealous, Harry,” he says, silver eyes glinting dangerously as he puts down his glass, an action so analogous of throwing down a gauntlet that I want to beat him around the head with it.

This conversation is clearly at an end; I will not tolerate such liberty taking. I draw my wand and begin to Summon the bottle of scotch, but before it manages to travel halfway, Potter has drawn his own and is wrestling it back; for all of two seconds our eyes lock and I almost end my spell purely for the fun of watching it smash back into him; but his power, it seems, is superior to mine and the bottle wavers hesitantly before returning to his grasp.

He looks surprised; I daresay the sentiment is echoed across my own face. My chambers, my wand and my bloody whisky are no match for Potter’s raw magical energy.

“Out,” I growl, “and since you are so adamant about having it, take the sodding bottle with you.”

“That’s not- look,” Potter runs an exasperated hand through his hair, “we wanted to see you, not drink your bloody booze.”

“Forget it, Harry,” Draco says in a bored tone, “he’s obviously not interested.”

Interested? What am I not interested in? Entertaining their nauseous display of mutual admiration? No, I bloody well am not interested in that.

“Draco,” Harry pleads, reaching out to stop the wretched boy from leaving, “just-wait a minute.”

“Disregard that, Mr Malfoy, keep walking.”

He tries to shake off Harry’s hand, but the infuriating Gryffindor is nothing, if not persistent.

“Whatever lover’s tiff you are in the middle of, kindly conduct the rest of it elsewhere. Have you not been allocated personal quarters sufficient for such an occurrence?”

I am aware of the degrading tone colouring my words, but Potter’s pathetic display of objection is eroding a very delicate layer of my composure.

“I told you didn’t I, Potter!” Draco yells, violently wrenching his sleeve away, “he doesn’t care! He couldn’t give a flying fuck about us.”

Draco stalks to the door and then time ceases to be counted in minutes and seconds; I can only judge it by actions and reactions. Potter glances rapidly between us, as though weighing up his options and it occurs to me he is trying to decide whether to pursue Draco or-

Kiss me.

Dear Gods, the boy is kissing me. I am so shocked I cannot move my mouth, either to claim him properly or jerk away from those soft, full lips. It feels like an eternity, his nose pressed awkwardly alongside my own, eyelashes tickling my cheek as they flutter madly, and he moans-Merlin-he moans into the kiss and somewhere inside my chest, something splinters. Quite possibly my sanity, because I should have pushed him away by now and demanded to know what the fuck he thinks he is doing.

I almost forget about Draco until Potter pulls back with a small gasp and drops to his knees in front of me, glancing over his shoulder to gauge the reaction. I follow his line of sight to observe Draco’s fingers tighten around the doorknob, standing stock still and looking as lost for words as I have ever witnessed. Gawping, would probably be a more accurate description.

I am waiting for an explosion; I am convinced there will be one, but I cannot decide where it will come from. Possibly from myself, more likely Draco, since I believe them to be involved, and surely what just occurred should have the boy reaching for his wand with a howl of indignation.

I should have objected immediately, voiced my outrage as soon as his lips broke contact with mine. But I have left it too long now. Suddenly spluttering my protest at this late stage would lend the impression Potter rendered me speechless with his clumsy, adolescent attempt at seduction.

“Draco,” Harry urges softly, beckoning the other boy with a crooked finger, “come here.”

Far from resembling someone horrified to witness his lover kiss another man, Draco bears more similarity to a cat that got not just the cream, but the whole bloody dairy.

I had been relying on him screaming obscenities and insults at Potter before storming out. I had absolutely, unequivocally not expected this.

His attention is focused on Potter, whom, incidentally, I cannot bring myself to look at, as he crosses the room and stops just in front of us.

Potter extends a hand and entwines his fingers with Draco’s, gently tugging him down until they are sitting side by side. At my feet.

“What do you want?” I distantly hear someone croak.

“You,” Draco states in that no nonsense tone of his. “Both of us want you.”

I am not looking directly at either of them; in fact I am ruthlessly concentrating on a small stain adorning the wall behind them, but in my peripheral vision I catch the movement of a messy black head nodding vigorously.

“It’s true, sir,” Potter says breathily, and Merlin, my resolve all but crumbles to hear him sound so affected. Still I refuse to acknowledge their proximity or the request, idly wondering if the castle wards will recognise conditions of extreme duress and let me Apparate directly to my classroom.

Apparently not.

“This is exceedingly inappropriate! Is it not enough that you have each other?” I splutter, quite meaning to kick them both out of the way but forget to do so as I add nastily, “Had each other?”

Something tickles my foot and my immediate reaction is to shake it off; I admit with no shame I lack a fondness for spiders, live ones at any rate. I can chop, grind, crush and collect venom quite happily from dead specimens, but observe me in my quarters with a live one and you will see a very different side to this normally austere Potions Master. I am forced to conclude my response was a trifle overzealous when Potter shrieks-

“Oww! Careful! Your toenails are sharp!”

Hardly the romantic enticement I was anticipating. Draco snickers and I finally relent and glare down at him.

His breath catches under my scrutiny, eyes widening and then narrowing and that infuriating smirk returns, if only the merest hint of it. He taunts me wordlessly, challenging eyes and faintly suffused cheeks, possibly from the fire, more likely from sitting too bloody close to pulchritudinous Potter. His hair reminds me of a slipped halo, white blond smoothness fanned out around his shoulders.

“We didn’t, sir.” Potter purrs, resuming the light caressing of my foot.

“Have each other, that is,” Draco amends silkily.

“I have no interest in your-Potter! Stop that! I have absolutely no interest in what you have or have not done with one another. Draco was correct in his earlier assumption; I couldn’t care less. Get out and count yourselves lucky. I have not given the pair of you yearlong detention for such disgraceful behaviour.”

There, that should be an effective deterrent.

“Would the yearlong detentions be with you, sir?”

“I wouldn’t call that absolutely no interest,” Draco drawls, flicking lazy eyes over my groin. Merlin, why can I not be wearing robes? Oh yes, I remember now: because I had not expected my evening to be derailed in such a spectacular fashion.

I am about to give Draco a thorough verbal remonstration when I hear Potter’s sharp intake of breath; it appears he too has noticed the treacherous lengths my body is willing to ascribe, to get what it wants.

This situation is untenable. I cannot in all good conscience take advantage, nor can I fool myself into thinking that this wouldn’t be the case. I am their professor, I am bound by a code of ethics and morals that despite being unable to abide by in the murky privacy of my own mind, I have a duty to implement-

“Leave! You must leave now!” I shout, trying and failing miserably to sound anything other than furious.

Potter gets to his feet and I heave a sigh of relief, but instead of heading towards the door, he circles my armchair to stand behind me, the weight of his hands resting on my shoulders. I feel his erratic breathing against my hair and move to capture his arm before he unravels me completely, but Draco’s reflexes have the advantage of youth and he catches my fingers, gently but firmly to pull them back into my lap.

Sweet Merlin, I shall be eaten alive. No amount of willpower in the world could stop the waves of desire that are crashing through me as a result of their tentative touches. Potter’s hands brush across my shoulders and up into my hair, sweeping it aside to expose my skin to the elements; elements being icy dungeon air and a warm wet mouth, the two alternating across the nape of my neck. I twist my hands uselessly, eliciting a delighted laugh from Draco who crawls into my lap and steals a kiss.

When he seems satisfied that he has stolen sufficient breath from my body, he sits back and admires the flush bleeding from the collar of my shirt, creeping steadily higher with each exquisite swipe of Potter’s tongue.

Draco smiles as he watches Potter’s progress, tracking the path of bestowed kisses around my throat and up to my ears, taking the lobe in his mouth and nipping hard enough to make me hiss. I only wish I could claim it as a noise of dissent, but my painfully hard cock betrays me once again.

“I cannot-I will not-“

Their chuckles cut me off and I should be enraged by such brazenness, but I too would be tempted to mock the absurdity of such a pitiable protest.

Attempting one last line of resistance with the only option left to me, I go on the defensive.

“I was under the impression you disliked cocksuckers, Mr Malfoy.”

Potter ceases abusing a patch of skin just above my collarbone and stares hard at his partner in crime. I cannot believe the boy had not thought to pose this question himself before they got as far as planning this surprise attack.

“Yeah, Draco,” Potter demands, “what was that all about?”

“I never said I was adverse to having my cock sucked, did I?” Draco says petulantly. The way he twists his lips in defiance makes me long to thrust my own aching length between them and sully those perfect white teeth with my...

“I see,” I drawl, suddenly feeling the balance of power shift subtlety back in my favour, “Well Potter, it seems Draco here expects us to give and not receive. Quite a significant error of judgement, wouldn’t you say?”

Apparently he cannot say anything because his mouth has reattached itself to my neck with bruising ferocity and his fingers are unbuttoning my shirt, managing to loosen just enough of them to slip a hand inside and locate my left nipple.

I smirk at Draco, determined to capsize at least one of the little buggers into submission. He though, appears to have other plans.

“Fine,” he snaps, sliding off of my lap to land gracefully on bended knee, “don’t blame me when you come so hard you pass out.”

I catch his hand on its journey to my zipper and lean forward, making sure to brush his ear with my mouth, “What makes you think I would let someone with such wild disregard anywhere near the most delicate and sensitive part of my body?”

He looks scandalized; as if I should want nothing more than his pretty mouth stretched around my cock. Truth be told, he is not wrong, but I am not about to let the superior little brat lord it over me. If we are doing this, then we are going to do it my way.

“I...I want to,” he says quietly, as though the words cost him something. His flinty grey eyes drop to the bulge in my trousers and his tongue darts out nervously to wet at his lips.

“Potter,” I say, with an unnerving amount of gentleness in my voice, “come here.”

My shirt practically flaps in the breeze at the speed that Potter moves around the chair, needing to navigate Draco as he comes closer. I slide my hands around his waist, and drop them to rest on his hips before firmly turning him around and pulling him into my lap. He lets out a long ‘oh,’ and I know he can feel my erection nestled snugly against the cleft of his arse, despite the layers of clothing between us.

Draco takes on the tardiness of a reprimanded child and not for the first time since this ridiculous charade began do I wonder if he wanted to involve me as much as Potter did or if he merely went along with this for some other reason. Still, now is probably not the time to dwell on such things; not when the Saviour of the Wizarding World is precariously balanced on my prick.

“What about Potter, Draco? Do you also wish to suck him?” His eyes widen as I encircle Potter’s waist with my arms and use two fingers to grasp the zip of his trousers, much in the same way I would grip a particularly delicate stirring rod.


The metallic clink of it being dragged downwards is delicious. Potter grinds himself harder against my cock and it is only now I realise how lost I am. There will be no going back now, I can no more stop myself from fucking him than I can stop my own body drawing breath. He is divine.

Rather amusingly, I had not counted on him being quite so well endowed, and it is a struggle to pull his fat, erect prick out of his trousers. He evidently realises this too and his fingers brush my own as we both go for the buttons, slipping them free with Draco hungrily watching every single second of our erotic interaction.

Potter braces his hands on the edge of the chair and raises himself up, just enough so that I can slide his trousers and pants down, freeing his cock and allowing me my first glimpse of the soft, biteable flesh of his arse. My own prick throws itself against the fabric confines in demented lust, desperate to be fed into the tight, virgin hole that is hidden between those rounded cheeks.

Draco’s loud moan refocuses my attention, and I realise he is glancing back and forth between Potter’s cock and my face, perhaps waiting for instruction, or an order. Smirking slightly, I let my hand slide over Potter’s naked hip, slow and teasing, until my fingers touch and play along his shaft. He melts against me at the contact, throwing his head back to rest on my shoulder and turning his face to seek mine, full red lips opening and closing in wordless pleasure next to my ear.

I notice Draco’s hand travelling down to clutch at his own erection, eyes following my thumb like a hawk as its steady encircling of Potter’s slit captures his fullest attention.

“Suck him off,” I drawl, waving Potter’s cock at him in rather an obscene way.

He rises up on his knees, one hand steadying itself on my leg, the other blanketing mine and leans forward, breath hitching in anticipation. Potter looks down at him, fleetingly, and their eyes lock just before Draco parts his lips and sucks the dribbling head into his mouth. Potter jerks as though electrified, fingers clawing the chair arms and I have to hold his hips still with firm hands.

Draco’s technique is, for want of a better word, sloppy. But Potter isn’t complaining and the wet smacking sounds are certainly not having a negative effect on my own desire. Quite the opposite, it appears, to the point where I am no longer willing to wait to sink myself balls deep into Potter’s arse.

I hold him tightly around the waist, fingers trailing down his back to rub at his crack, and when he realises my intention, he lifts himself up and thrusts his hips back. I mutter a rather handy incantation I learnt in third year, from Lucius, ironically enough, and enjoy his gasps and moans as his passage becomes slippery and his hole stretched and ready. In normal circumstances, I would have prepared him in a more intimate and leisurely way, but nothing about this situation is normal, and I am desperate to fill and claim him.

My hands are shaking as I pull my throbbing cock from its confines, guiding him back until he can feel it pressing against him, and his shout is half panicked and half sobbed encouragement. Draco looks up and moans around his mouthful, evidently turned on by the sight of his Potions Master seconds away from fucking his schoolboy nemesis.

“Do not worry, Draco, I am certain Potter will let you fuck him a little later. In fact, I shall insist upon it.”

Up until now, Potter has barely said a word, other than for the sounds of pleasure he has been making, but now he seems to come alive.

“Oh God yeah, both of you, want both of you to fuck me,” he babbles, still canting his hips in a frantic attempt for me to take him. And so without a backwards glance at my decayed morals, I push my cock into the tightest arse I have ever known. It is quite possible I won’t make it to full sheath before soiling his walls with my seed, the constriction around me unbelievably gripping. His whimpering gets louder the further I ease him down and Draco is having difficulty keeping Potter’s length in his mouth from all the erratic movement, though he manages it, and Potter’s yelled ‘I’m coming,’ does nothing to distract him when his mouth is flooded with a scream and a series of violent shudders. Draco’s grey eyes are slitted and he looks me straight in the eye and smiles in that smug way. The cat that got the cream indeed.

I try to content myself with short, shallow thrusts, as much as I can manage them, because what I really want to do is clamp his hips in my hands and slam him down with unparalleled force, but I don’t, I want this to feel good for him too. Even with the stretching and the lube, his soft hisses and sharp intakes tell me this is still hurting him. He needs something to take his mind off of the burn.

“Draco. Trousers off. Let Potter return the favour.” Draco complies immediately, no bloody hint of defiance from the boy when he wants his cock sucked.

“Uh, yeah Draco, uh, want you, uh, in my mouth, uh.” I muse how far improved his eloquence is when I am ploughing into him and fucking him thoroughly. Draco spreads his legs, straddling mine and supports his weight on the back of the chair. Potter has to lean forward slightly to take the shaft into his mouth and Draco’s face looms in front of my own, such delicate features he has. Such pure, unblemished skin, satin soft in texture and incredibly addictive to touch as I am doing now. I stroke his cheek and trail the tip of a finger across his lips. He, greedy as ever, sucks it in and I am assuming, mirrors the movement of his tongue to that of Potter’s on his cock.

Each of my thrusts pushes Potter forward, Draco panting his pleasure in my face, around my finger and the friction of being inside Potter’s fiery channel has me grunting and twisting and coming and coming, his cries heightening with each sharp pulse that floods him with my semen.

Draco watches me intently; I sense his steel eyes boring into me and as soon as I open my own, he snaps his hips forward and crushes his lips against mine, groaning into my mouth as he fucks Potter’s, and, judging by the sounds he is making, emptying himself down Potter’s throat. Oh, how the Golden Gryffindor has been thoroughly debauched tonight.

Even before my softened cock has slipped out of his dripping hole, Potter has a request.

“Don’t send us away. Let us stay with you tonight, please.” It is rather awkward to see his face, with his back to me and Draco slumped on my shoulder, but I can imagine the pretty pleading in his green eyes and cannot refuse him.

“You may stay. Just for tonight.”

Draco laughs softly and finds my mouth, gifting me with the taste of Potter’s come mingled with his own saliva, and I cannot help but wonder how this is all going to turn out. Hardly for the greater good, of that much I am certain of.

***