Strange Brew
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
9,545
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
9,545
Reviews:
36
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.
REPOSTED - Chapter One - Beta'd & Revised
Title: Strange Brew
Author: Phantomtale
Pairing: HP/DM
Rating: Eventual NC17
Summary: Something strange is happening at Hogwarts and Harry does not approve, neither does Draco. The rest of the students are running around in happy, fluffy, ignorance. Takes place in Harry’s seventh year after the defeat of Voldemort.
Disclaimer: JKR’s not mine *sniff*
Genre: Slash, romance, silliness and fluff (oh and over the top OOC but for good reason as you will soon see
Feedback: Yes please - with a lubed up Harry on the top - tastier than a cherry don\'t ya think?
Beta: Thanks to the intrepid [info]noesnifunifa for braving the harsh terrain of my grammar and taming it;-)
Chapter 1
Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, defeater of the Dark Lord, champion of the small and fluffy and, on occasion, the large and hairy, came to a screeching halt, back stepped three paces and gawked at his two best friends in disbelief.
Ron was sitting beneath the gnarled old oak tree, which was not unusual; it was a favourite summertime study spot for the illustrious trio. However, the fact that he was sandwiched rather intimately between Crabbe and Goyle was, Harry thought, a definite cause for concern. On closer inspection, Ron appeared to be attempting to explain the fundamental rules of chess to the two beefy Slytherins. Hermione was sitting cross-legged with a heavily bound book in her lap and looking highly entertained at the chess player’s antics. Other than having a slightly exasperated countenance, Ron seemed quite comfortable in the presence of their one-time antagonists, and Crabbe and Goyle looked - Merlin forbid - thoughtful!
Hermione, seeming to sense his presence, looked up and flashed him an indulgent smile and motioned him over. He shook his head emphatically, pointed his body in what he hoped was the general direction of the school, and fled. Harry had built up quite a momentum by the time he reached Hogwart’s main entrance, so when he smacked head-on into something solid, the impact knocked him off his feet.
He saw stars and then bright blue sky before an enquiring face drifted into view.
Daphne Greengrass, at least four inches taller and nearly twice as wide as Harry, was peering down at his sprawled figure. He braced himself for the sarcastic yet witty tirade that trademarked ‘The Slytherin.’
“Sorry Potter, my fault. Do forgive me, never do look where I’m going.”
Harry blinked as Daphne profited a beefy hand - which Harry took gingerly – and she pulled him to his feet.
“Liked your interview with the Quibbler by the way, very enlightening,” said Daphne waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Alarmed and confused, Harry took a step back, his whole body tense and poised to flee.
“We’re having a celebration in the Slytherin common room next weekend; you simply must come,” she stated in her no-nonsense telegram-like discourse, and her two companions, one Slytherin and the other Ravenclaw, nodded eagerly.
“Malfoy’s going to be there. Saw him buying his outfit at Gladrags.” Leaning closer to Harry she whispered, “Cream silk!” and winked meaningfully, although this was lost on Harry who mistook it for the involuntary twitchings of a madwoman.
“Isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever heard?” the Ravenclaw on Daphne’s left squeaked, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Daphne glared at the girl and pointed to a clump of trees in the distance.
“Go! Order three glasses,” she instructed in the manner of one familiar with obedience. The Ravenclaw shot off eagerly, bouncing all the way, and Daphne turned back to Harry with a wild grin.
“Don’t mind McDougal, very excitable creature,” she said, handing Harry a piece of green shiny paper which he stared at fearfully. “Invitation,” she explained. “It’s charmed to open the Slytherin portrait on the evening of our little soirée. Dress smart but casual.” That said, Daphne & Co. walked off towards the clump of trees that the Ravenclaw had disappeared into moments earlier.
Harry watched them go, slack-jawed. There seemed to be a large amount of students heading for the same clump of trees - Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. All were grinning happily and chattering like Fwoopers. Some were even jostling each other good-naturedly. Madam Hooch was loitering suspiciously under a large yew tree with a glass in her hand.
Harry was so busy pondering the genuine strangeness of his day and the behaviour of his peers that he almost didn’t spot the mousy-brown head bobbing in the sun-hazed distance. In an instant Harry was off, narrowly avoiding a nasty confrontation with a prickly looking holly bush.
He leapt up the ancient stone steps of Hogwarts two at a time, so preoccupied with the insane notion that the holly bush had just wolf whistled at him that he very nearly fell over the Hufflepuff first year sitting on the top step sniffling and nursing a grazed knee. Pansy Parkinson was standing over him with a raised wand and was about to utter an incantation.
Pure reflexes took over.
“Expelliarmus.”
Pansy yelped and grasped her right hand as though stung.
“Bloody hell Potter, what is your bellyache?”
Snatching her wand back with a growl, she cast a small healing spell over the boy’s knee and then rounded on Harry.
“Not content with putting a damper on my sex life,” she said cryptically, “you want to scare me to death, too? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have Harry Potter point his wand at you?”
Harry noted that Pansy was shaking slightly and had a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Your sex life?” he asked bemusedly.
“Oh, go save something small and fluffy.”
“I thought I was,” he said looking down at the first year, who beamed up at him, seemingly captivated by the hero of the wizarding world even though said hero had just made a complete arse of himself.
“Oh,” comprehension dawned on Pansy’s face. “You thought I was going to hurt him. Of all the…”
She glared at Harry, smiled down indulgently at the little Hufflepuff, patting him hesitantly on his head as though slightly unsure of performing such a gesture, and then stalked off mumbling something about hypocrites and House prejudices. Just before turning the corner, she swung back around, a sudden expression of polite enquiry on her face “You are coming to the party next weekend, aren’t you?’ she asked, smoothing down her shiny locks with an elegant hand.
Before Harry could respond, she disappeared around the corner.
Harry looked down at the Hufflepuff again who shrugged happily and beamed some more.
Harry had mere moments to dwell on the interesting little exchange with the Slytherin when he caught a glimpse of an eager, shiny face at the edge of his vision. He set off once more at a brisk pace, twisting and turning through the maze of arched corridors.
He dashed passed a group of Ravenclaws huddled together and giggling over a magazine.
He darted past Blaise Zabini pinning Neville Longbottom up against a wall and once again ground to a screeching halt. Curbing the instinct to dive in and rescue his fellow Gryffindor (still smarting from the Parkinson fiasco), Harry tucked himself behind a convenient pillar and watched.
This turned out to be a very wise decision. Judging from the way Zabini was grinding his hips against Neville’s, there was more than simple bullying going on here. Harry considered the look of intense bliss on both boys’ faces, the panting coming from Neville and the soft growls coming from the back of Zabini’s throat. He considered the way Neville’s body squirmed with pleasure and the way Zabini thrust his tongue enthusiastically into Neville’s mouth. He considered the possibility that any form of intervention would likely result in his beaten and bloodied body being hexed to Ottery St. Catchpole and back.
Harry had a disturbing urge to stop and watch, but he quashed it and ran on.
A few minutes later, he screeched to a halt and backed up. It was becoming a bit of a trademark move. Professor Snape had just emerged from the kitchens holding a large bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream. He was smiling; he looked younger, relaxed… sane! Upon catching sight of Harry, he glared the perfunctory glare - which Harry returned with fervour - and glided away without a backward glance.
No points! No detention! No snide comments! Harry felt nauseous.
Maybe he hadn’t really woken up yet, maybe he was still lying in St. Mungo’s being prodded and poked by distraught mediwitches and wept on by people he didn’t even know. With any luck, this was just some kind of coma-induced nightmare.
Although he was completely derailed by his fellow students and professors’ behaviour (he didn’t want to think about what he’d caught Flitwick and Hagrid doing in the broom shed two hours ago), he still had a powerful sense of self-preservation, and didn’t linger. As soon as Professor Snape had disappeared through a dark alcove, he took off again at a steady pace. The knowledge that something very unpleasant was going to happen if he didn’t run, propelled his already knackered legs forward.
He ran past a classroom and executed the ‘screeching halt, back step formation™’ and peered through the classroom door.
There was music blaring out from a strange looking device in the corner of the room, and all the tables were stacked up at the back of the class. There was Michael Corner wedged between Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones, all three gyrating against each other in orgasmic abandon. There was a mirror ball hanging from the ceiling, and it was casting slivers of light around the dimly lit room. There was singing!
‘Beautiful boys on a beautiful dance floor
Michael you\'re dancing like a beautiful dance whore
Michael waiting on a silver platter now
And nothing matters now’
Noticing their spectator standing in the doorway, Michael smiled and ask Harry if he’d like to join in. Harry shook his head and ran.
Five minutes later, figuring that he had finally lost his pursuer, Harry stopped to catch his breath. He was just thinking of doubling back and escaping to the sanctuary of Dumbledore’s office when he was panicked by the sound of footsteps behind him.
Looking around frantically, he noticed a rather nondescript door hidden in the shadows at the end of the corridor.
He raced forward, a graceless tangle of flailing arms and legs, and grabbed at the door handle desperately, but the door wouldn’t budge. He remedied this with a quick Alohomora and burst through with little finesse and much determination. He performed a locking charm and leant back against the door, sighing with relief - and found himself gazing into the startled eyes of Draco Malfoy…
tbc.
Notes:
*The song is an excerpt from Michael by the georgeous Franz Ferdinand. Yes, I know that technically this song doesn’t exist in 1998 but *cough* Artistic Licence *cough*
* A Fwooper is a African bird with brightly-colored feathers. The Fwooper song will drive the listener insane and must therefore be sold with a Silencing Charm on it.
Author: Phantomtale
Pairing: HP/DM
Rating: Eventual NC17
Summary: Something strange is happening at Hogwarts and Harry does not approve, neither does Draco. The rest of the students are running around in happy, fluffy, ignorance. Takes place in Harry’s seventh year after the defeat of Voldemort.
Disclaimer: JKR’s not mine *sniff*
Genre: Slash, romance, silliness and fluff (oh and over the top OOC but for good reason as you will soon see
Feedback: Yes please - with a lubed up Harry on the top - tastier than a cherry don\'t ya think?
Beta: Thanks to the intrepid [info]noesnifunifa for braving the harsh terrain of my grammar and taming it;-)
Chapter 1
Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, defeater of the Dark Lord, champion of the small and fluffy and, on occasion, the large and hairy, came to a screeching halt, back stepped three paces and gawked at his two best friends in disbelief.
Ron was sitting beneath the gnarled old oak tree, which was not unusual; it was a favourite summertime study spot for the illustrious trio. However, the fact that he was sandwiched rather intimately between Crabbe and Goyle was, Harry thought, a definite cause for concern. On closer inspection, Ron appeared to be attempting to explain the fundamental rules of chess to the two beefy Slytherins. Hermione was sitting cross-legged with a heavily bound book in her lap and looking highly entertained at the chess player’s antics. Other than having a slightly exasperated countenance, Ron seemed quite comfortable in the presence of their one-time antagonists, and Crabbe and Goyle looked - Merlin forbid - thoughtful!
Hermione, seeming to sense his presence, looked up and flashed him an indulgent smile and motioned him over. He shook his head emphatically, pointed his body in what he hoped was the general direction of the school, and fled. Harry had built up quite a momentum by the time he reached Hogwart’s main entrance, so when he smacked head-on into something solid, the impact knocked him off his feet.
He saw stars and then bright blue sky before an enquiring face drifted into view.
Daphne Greengrass, at least four inches taller and nearly twice as wide as Harry, was peering down at his sprawled figure. He braced himself for the sarcastic yet witty tirade that trademarked ‘The Slytherin.’
“Sorry Potter, my fault. Do forgive me, never do look where I’m going.”
Harry blinked as Daphne profited a beefy hand - which Harry took gingerly – and she pulled him to his feet.
“Liked your interview with the Quibbler by the way, very enlightening,” said Daphne waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Alarmed and confused, Harry took a step back, his whole body tense and poised to flee.
“We’re having a celebration in the Slytherin common room next weekend; you simply must come,” she stated in her no-nonsense telegram-like discourse, and her two companions, one Slytherin and the other Ravenclaw, nodded eagerly.
“Malfoy’s going to be there. Saw him buying his outfit at Gladrags.” Leaning closer to Harry she whispered, “Cream silk!” and winked meaningfully, although this was lost on Harry who mistook it for the involuntary twitchings of a madwoman.
“Isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever heard?” the Ravenclaw on Daphne’s left squeaked, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Daphne glared at the girl and pointed to a clump of trees in the distance.
“Go! Order three glasses,” she instructed in the manner of one familiar with obedience. The Ravenclaw shot off eagerly, bouncing all the way, and Daphne turned back to Harry with a wild grin.
“Don’t mind McDougal, very excitable creature,” she said, handing Harry a piece of green shiny paper which he stared at fearfully. “Invitation,” she explained. “It’s charmed to open the Slytherin portrait on the evening of our little soirée. Dress smart but casual.” That said, Daphne & Co. walked off towards the clump of trees that the Ravenclaw had disappeared into moments earlier.
Harry watched them go, slack-jawed. There seemed to be a large amount of students heading for the same clump of trees - Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. All were grinning happily and chattering like Fwoopers. Some were even jostling each other good-naturedly. Madam Hooch was loitering suspiciously under a large yew tree with a glass in her hand.
Harry was so busy pondering the genuine strangeness of his day and the behaviour of his peers that he almost didn’t spot the mousy-brown head bobbing in the sun-hazed distance. In an instant Harry was off, narrowly avoiding a nasty confrontation with a prickly looking holly bush.
He leapt up the ancient stone steps of Hogwarts two at a time, so preoccupied with the insane notion that the holly bush had just wolf whistled at him that he very nearly fell over the Hufflepuff first year sitting on the top step sniffling and nursing a grazed knee. Pansy Parkinson was standing over him with a raised wand and was about to utter an incantation.
Pure reflexes took over.
“Expelliarmus.”
Pansy yelped and grasped her right hand as though stung.
“Bloody hell Potter, what is your bellyache?”
Snatching her wand back with a growl, she cast a small healing spell over the boy’s knee and then rounded on Harry.
“Not content with putting a damper on my sex life,” she said cryptically, “you want to scare me to death, too? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have Harry Potter point his wand at you?”
Harry noted that Pansy was shaking slightly and had a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Your sex life?” he asked bemusedly.
“Oh, go save something small and fluffy.”
“I thought I was,” he said looking down at the first year, who beamed up at him, seemingly captivated by the hero of the wizarding world even though said hero had just made a complete arse of himself.
“Oh,” comprehension dawned on Pansy’s face. “You thought I was going to hurt him. Of all the…”
She glared at Harry, smiled down indulgently at the little Hufflepuff, patting him hesitantly on his head as though slightly unsure of performing such a gesture, and then stalked off mumbling something about hypocrites and House prejudices. Just before turning the corner, she swung back around, a sudden expression of polite enquiry on her face “You are coming to the party next weekend, aren’t you?’ she asked, smoothing down her shiny locks with an elegant hand.
Before Harry could respond, she disappeared around the corner.
Harry looked down at the Hufflepuff again who shrugged happily and beamed some more.
Harry had mere moments to dwell on the interesting little exchange with the Slytherin when he caught a glimpse of an eager, shiny face at the edge of his vision. He set off once more at a brisk pace, twisting and turning through the maze of arched corridors.
He dashed passed a group of Ravenclaws huddled together and giggling over a magazine.
He darted past Blaise Zabini pinning Neville Longbottom up against a wall and once again ground to a screeching halt. Curbing the instinct to dive in and rescue his fellow Gryffindor (still smarting from the Parkinson fiasco), Harry tucked himself behind a convenient pillar and watched.
This turned out to be a very wise decision. Judging from the way Zabini was grinding his hips against Neville’s, there was more than simple bullying going on here. Harry considered the look of intense bliss on both boys’ faces, the panting coming from Neville and the soft growls coming from the back of Zabini’s throat. He considered the way Neville’s body squirmed with pleasure and the way Zabini thrust his tongue enthusiastically into Neville’s mouth. He considered the possibility that any form of intervention would likely result in his beaten and bloodied body being hexed to Ottery St. Catchpole and back.
Harry had a disturbing urge to stop and watch, but he quashed it and ran on.
A few minutes later, he screeched to a halt and backed up. It was becoming a bit of a trademark move. Professor Snape had just emerged from the kitchens holding a large bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream. He was smiling; he looked younger, relaxed… sane! Upon catching sight of Harry, he glared the perfunctory glare - which Harry returned with fervour - and glided away without a backward glance.
No points! No detention! No snide comments! Harry felt nauseous.
Maybe he hadn’t really woken up yet, maybe he was still lying in St. Mungo’s being prodded and poked by distraught mediwitches and wept on by people he didn’t even know. With any luck, this was just some kind of coma-induced nightmare.
Although he was completely derailed by his fellow students and professors’ behaviour (he didn’t want to think about what he’d caught Flitwick and Hagrid doing in the broom shed two hours ago), he still had a powerful sense of self-preservation, and didn’t linger. As soon as Professor Snape had disappeared through a dark alcove, he took off again at a steady pace. The knowledge that something very unpleasant was going to happen if he didn’t run, propelled his already knackered legs forward.
He ran past a classroom and executed the ‘screeching halt, back step formation™’ and peered through the classroom door.
There was music blaring out from a strange looking device in the corner of the room, and all the tables were stacked up at the back of the class. There was Michael Corner wedged between Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones, all three gyrating against each other in orgasmic abandon. There was a mirror ball hanging from the ceiling, and it was casting slivers of light around the dimly lit room. There was singing!
Michael you\'re dancing like a beautiful dance whore
Michael waiting on a silver platter now
And nothing matters now’
Noticing their spectator standing in the doorway, Michael smiled and ask Harry if he’d like to join in. Harry shook his head and ran.
Five minutes later, figuring that he had finally lost his pursuer, Harry stopped to catch his breath. He was just thinking of doubling back and escaping to the sanctuary of Dumbledore’s office when he was panicked by the sound of footsteps behind him.
Looking around frantically, he noticed a rather nondescript door hidden in the shadows at the end of the corridor.
He raced forward, a graceless tangle of flailing arms and legs, and grabbed at the door handle desperately, but the door wouldn’t budge. He remedied this with a quick Alohomora and burst through with little finesse and much determination. He performed a locking charm and leant back against the door, sighing with relief - and found himself gazing into the startled eyes of Draco Malfoy…
tbc.
Notes:
*The song is an excerpt from Michael by the georgeous Franz Ferdinand. Yes, I know that technically this song doesn’t exist in 1998 but *cough* Artistic Licence *cough*
* A Fwooper is a African bird with brightly-colored feathers. The Fwooper song will drive the listener insane and must therefore be sold with a Silencing Charm on it.