Kneeling

Title: Kneeling
Author: Semira
Summary: Draco is acting strangely. Harry is not - quite - saying no.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Feedback: Very much appreciated, even and especially constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and all associated characters from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author of this fic and the website maintainers are making no profit off this story.



Kneeling


To his own surprise, Harry Potter noticed that he was more than slightly buzzed. He shook his head to clear it, and promptly stumbled against a wall as the fast movement made him lose his balance.

“Whoa.”

Alright, so maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to let Erwin, one of the older Hufflepuffs, talk him into trying a bit of that schnaps he had smuggled in for the occasion, at least not on top of all the butterbeers he had already had before that. The party had been rather wild, even for Hogwarts’ standards. Jenna, a red-haired ravenclaw girl he barely knew, had invited half the castle to her eighteenth birthday party. Ron and Hermione had already gone home an hour ago, but Harry had decided to stay a bit longer, until the tired head of house had finally chased the last of the guests out to their own houses. Harry was glad that the other Gryffindors had already gone to bed. At least that way they wouldn’t see his rather unsteady progress through the dark corridor.
“Harry!” Harry whirled around, swearing quietly to himself. Damn. Malfoy was the last one he wanted to see right now.

“Fuck off, Malfoy” he growled, glad that at least he wasn’t slurring his speech too badly. Of course the irritating litle snit paid him no mind.

“All alone here, Harry?” he asked, stopping directly in front of him and lifting a hand to Harry’s face. Harry shoved him back, hard, before he realised that Malfoy’s movement had been too slow for a blow. Malfoy tried to catch himself, but couldn’t quite manage it, and fell. His head struck the base of a statue with a little crash, before he slid to the ground limply.
Harry swore softly. He hadn’t meant to really hurt the little prick. He took a step towards Malfoy, but before he could reach him, he had already pulled himself to his knees and was shaking his head, looking a little dazed, but mostly unharmed. But instead of getting up and attacking, as Harry had expected he would, he stayed on his knees and crawled towards him with a preadator’s snake-like grace. Harry shook his head slowly. Something seemed off about Malfoy’s movements in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.

“Enjoyed that, Potter, didn’t you?” Malfoy drawled softly. His customary sneer was strong in the sentence - and only then did Harry notice that it had been strangely absent from his earlier words. And he had called him Harry, he realized suddenly. What the hell was up with Malfoy?

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what you want, but I’m really not in the mood for -“

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re in the mood for”, Malfoy interrupted him and pressed a long-fingered, pale hand firmly between Harry’s legs. Harry gasped as he became suddenly, startlingly aware that he was so hard it hurt, and had been for some time.

“What the fuck -“ He slapped Malfoy’s hand away, equal parts shocked and disgusted. It didn’t mean anything, he knew that. It was just the fight. Adrenaline sometimes did strange things to one’s body, and this was one of them. It wasn’t the first time that he walked away from a fight to find that he was hard. It certainly didn’t mean that he got off on beating someone up, and certainly not that he got off on the sight of Malfoy on his knees in front of him, a little trickle of blood running down his chin from where his lip had impacted on the stone pedestal. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, just sat back on his haunches, and was watching Harry with strangely patient expression on his face, as if he was content to kneel there and wait for Harry to come to a decision.

What did the little bastard think he was doing, anyway? Had he completely lost his mind?

“What is up with you, Malfoy? Are you drunk, or what?”

Malfoy had just opened his mouth to reply, when the sound of steps behind the corner made them both flinch, and reminded Harry that he should have been in his room ten minutes ago. And this wasn’t a scene he wanted to have to explain to a teacher, or worse, Filch. Not with Malfoy still bleeding, and himself clearly unharmed.

Malfoy’s thoughts seemed to be running in the same direction, because he suddenly got up and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Come on, we don’t want to get caught out here.” He did something to the statue beside them. Harry barely had time for a moment of surprise - *I didn’t know there was a secret door here* - before he found himself tugged through the dark doorway into a small room barely illuminated by some tiny, glimming crystals embedded into the ceiling. Surprise and alcohol slowed his reactions, and by the time he had remembered why it was not a good idea to follow Malfoy into some dark, unknown room in the middle of the night, the door was already firmly shut behind them.

And then suddenly every thought was cut off as Malfoy sank to his knees in front of him -again - and those pale hands began to scrabble at the fly of his jeans.

“What -“ he began, totally dumbfounded, but Malfoy looked up at him with such a strange expression that he found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

“Please, Harry”, he whispered, urgently. “Please, let me.”

For a moment Harry could do nothing but watch him, frozen in place, and then Malfoy had already opened his jeans, pulled his cock out and gently closed his lips around the head. *Malfoy is sucking my cock*, he thought, helplessy, and that was such a ludicrous thought that it shocked him right out of the strange paralysis he had been in.

“What -“ he began, again, too confused to think of anything better to say.

“Please, Harry” Malfoy whispered, letting him slide out of his mouth with an obscenely wet sound. He had said that before, Harry remembered, feeling caught in some strange déjà vu.Of course, strange was practically normal for Hogwards, but nothing had ever seemed this strange.

His mind was scrabbling desperately to come up with an explanation, a reason for Malfoy’s behaviour. A trap, it wanted to insist. Any second now the door would open and Crabbe and Goyle would burst in, laughing and pointing. But that didn’t make sense. Because while they would get to see the Boy Who Lived with his pants down - literally - they would also get to see Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of him, sucking his cock. And that was by far the more embarassing situation, wasn’t it? So what else could Malfoy be planning? Try as he might, he just couldn’t think of any reason that made sense.

“Why?” he finally asked. Malfoy, who had been watching him with that disquietingly patient expression he’d only seen once before, out in the corridor, smiled. “I want to. Didn’t it feel good?
Well, of course it had - Malfoy’s mouth was hot and wet, with tiny, startling scrapes of teeth that send shivers down his spine… But that wasn’t the point! He couldn’t just let Malfoy blow him, for so many reasons - enough reasons that they seemed to be crowding together in his brain, making him unable to name just a single one of them, except the absolute conviction that it would be just plain wrong.

“Please, let me”, Malfoy whispered again, like a broken record. And that was wrong, too. He should have been sneering and snarling and flinging insults, not just sit there, demurely waiting for Harry’s permission, like… like a houseelf awaiting his master’s orders. Malfoy seemed to take Harry’s silence as aquiescense, because he suddenly leaned forward, taking Harry’s cock into his mouth again.
Harry gasped. God, this was so very, very wrong… but who the fuck cared, anyway? No-one would have to know, not ever - Malfoy certainly wouldn’t be telling. So why not let him do it, when it felt so good, was so good to have Malfoy on his knees in front of him, his cheeks hollowed around Harry’s cock, snaking a hand between his own spread legs and rubbing at the bulge in his trousers?
And somehow that was what did it - the sight of Malfoy getting off on sucking his worst enemy, so obviously helpless to prevent it.

Harry threw his head back, hardly noticing the impact with the hard wall behind his back, and came with a choked-off sound that was more evocative of pain than pleasure.
For a moment he stood dazed, dizzy, the last aftershocks slowly fading from his system. Then he looked down at Malfoy - who was still placidly kneeling in front of him, hands braced on the floor, a wet stain slowly spreading on the front of his robe. A wave of nausea swept over Harry. He barely managed two small, stumbling steps before he found himself abruptly on the floor, vomiting violently.

A cool, longfingered hand gently stroked his sweaty hair back, and another one gripped his shoulder, holding him, while convulsions shook his body. Harry weakly tried to bat the hands away, but they wouldn’t move. Finally the heaves subsided.

He got to his feet, slowly, braced by the hand on his shoulder.

“Harry…” Draco sounded almost… miserable. Harry’s shoulders shook again, this time in bitter laughter. God, he was indeed going crazy, wasn’t he? When Harry ignored him, Draco’s shaky whisper got louder.

“Harry…”

He whirled around abruptly. “Will you now finally tell me what. the. fuck. is up with you? What the hell was that?”

Draco flinched, but smiled shyly. Shyly. Another word he’d never have thought could ever apply to Draco Malfoy.

“Harry…” Again Malfoy reached out for him, but this time he slapped the hand away. “Harry, didn’t you like it? At least a little bit? I promise I’ll do better next time. I’ll make it good for you.”
Harry stared, dumbfouned. Finally he found his voice - no, this was the voice of a stranger, this hoarse, grating sound. But it would have to do for now.

“Next time? What makes you think there’ll be a next time? I don’t know what you think you’re doing, here, but it’s sure as hell never going to happen again. Why did you do it, anyway? You going to answer now?”

“Because I love you!” Dracio’s desperate cry almost broke over a sob, choked down with obvious effort. His pale eyes were glimmering with tears.

“You... what?” Harry asked, weakly. What had happened to reality as he knew it, and could he please get it back some time soon? Right now would be nice.

“I love you”, Malfoy repeated, utter conviction in his eyes, his voice. He smiled at Harry, eyes big and trusting as a puppy’s.

Suddenly Harry felt sick again, with an anger and loathing that he would only much later notice was more directed at himself than at this vulnerable changeling who had somehow taken the place of the sneering bastard he knew and despised. Right now, all he knew was that Malfoy, cruel, despicable, twisted Malfoy was playing some sick game he wanted no part of. He didn’t even try to fight the revulsion and anger that washed over him like a tidal wave. Through the red veil that suddenly tinged his visipon he saw his hand pulling back as if it was a stranger’s, saw it punch in the middle of that smiling face. Malfoy made no move to defend himself, he just swayed with the blow, stumbling to his knees and bracing himself on the floor, his position only too much like the one he had held just minutes before.

Harry whirled around, in a motion that might have looked dramatic had he been wearing robes, and if the alcohol hadn’t made him almost lose his balance and stumble. He stalked out of the room without looking back. Behind him, Draco’s stunned face slowly crumbled into tears. He sank to the floos, pressed his hot face against the cool, slightly wet stones, and started to cry without a sound.


************


„Very nice“, the man whispered softly. He tapped the mirror with his wand and waited patiently as the image of Draco sobbing on the dirty floor slowly faded. His long, pale fingers idly stirred the rest of the potion in the bowl beside him. He could do that now without danger to himself - the magic was gone, used up to enhance the effects of the love spell he had so successfully wrought. Oh, the boy had fought him, and fought hard, his mind steeled by the training that many purebloods received from an early age, but in the end, he had had to submit. The man allowed himself a moment of gleeful pride. *Not as powerful as you thought you were, little brat, are you?*

He tapped the mirror again. “Volo videre Lucius.” For a moment the ornate frame glowed in a pale golden light, as the powerful magic woven into the mirror’s glossy surface fought the privacy wards surrounding Malfoy manor. Then the image came into focus. Lucius Malfoy was sitting in his study, reading an antique parchment sprinkled with dark stains that might be blood, or might simply be pumpkin juice, splattered by a careless wizard ages ago, dark with age. For a moment a hateful grimace distorted the man’s face at the sight, then it smoothed out to a malicious sort of smile.

“You just wait”, he whispered hatefully.

He couldn’t wait to see Lucius’ face when his little spoiled brat came crying to daddy, as he always did when he found that he couldn’t get something he wanted. But this time, he wouldn’t like what he’d get to hear one bit. In love with Harry Potter. In love with The Enemy.

Lucius’ disappointment would be boundless. *Just as I was disappointed when you got the promotion that should have been mine*, the man thought viciously. *Little asslicker, thought you could just suck up to the Dark Lord and take what was mine?* The man didn’t even try to calm his anger. His revenge would be all the sweeter for it. His old chair creaked loudly as he settled back to watch the show that was soon to start.





To all my reviewers: Thank you all for your positive comments! Feedback, both positive and negative, is always very, very much appreciated. So, if you liked something, I\'d love to hear from you, but if anything bugged you about the story, feel free to tell me, as well - I promise you won\'t hurt my feelings, and I\'ll be grateful for any sort of concrit.