No Sign of Weakening

“Potty.” The slow drawl enters Harry’s ears almost as quickly as it leaves, but Malfoy just stands there in the doorway to Harry’s compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Ron and Hermione are sharing it with him, but they have prefect duties to attend to for now. It appears to Harry that Malfoy does too.

“Malfoy.” He barely acknowledges the boy, staring down at the Daily Prophet clenched in his hands. The compartment door slides shut and he looks up. Malfoy’s still there. “What do you want?”

“I told you in June that you would pay for what you’ve done to my father,” Malfoy hissed, fingers still on the door handle. “You’re going to pay now.”

“Get out of here,” Harry says calmly, but his heart beats harder beneath his chest. They’re completely alone and Harry’s wand is in his bag in the overhead compartment. He quickly tries to decide the best way to get to it. Malfoy takes a step closer and Harry stands up, putting the paper down next to him. “Don’t want anyone else wandering in.”

“Your friends are busy, and who else would care?” Malfoy sneers. Another step and he’s not a foot away from Harry. Harry’s grown a bit but he’s still small for his age and notes that Malfoy is as well. He hasn’t been this close to someone he knows to be evil in months and he wonders how the children of Death Eaters could be allowed back at Hogwarts.

Especially Malfoy.

“Go away,” Harry says quietly, coldly, staring Malfoy in the eye. He wants to show he’s not scared, no matter how hard his hands are shaking. He shoves them in his pockets. His wand is near his head—if he can only—

“No,” Malfoy says and draws his wand out of his pocket, pointing it at Harry.

“You’re pathetic,” Harry says clearly, his hand itching to have his wand safely in it. He knows he’s taking a risk, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “You won’t hex me. You don’t have the—”

“Don’t have the what, Potter?” Malfoy snarls, grabbing him by his shirtfront and shoving him against the outer wall. Harry hasn’t changed into his school robes yet. Malfoy’s breath is hot on his face and Harry gropes blindly forward, tangling his fingers in the soft fabric of the robes and shoving back, a thrill running through him as Malfoy stumbles.

“Don’t have the balls, Malfoy. You don’t have the fucking balls to do anything but run like a pansy to your father and whine about all your problems but now that he’s gone you’ve got no one. Not even your mum cares, all she cares about is not getting exposed as a Death Eater herself. There’s no way you would hex me right here when there are people in the compartment next to us that could—” Malfoy is backing up as Harry advances on him and jumps when he hits the compartment door. Harry is suddenly, inexplicably, hard. He feels powerful and strong—he hasn’t felt this good since Sirius died—

“Fuck you, Potter! You think I can’t—” He whirls Harry around and shoves him against the door instead and all the air leaves Harry’s lungs. “I could kill you right now, you little shit,” Malfoy says dangerously, his voice wavering slightly. “I could kill you and leave you here and no one would know it until the weasel and the mudblood came back from their prefect duties. No one would know it was me and you would be gone. You don’t even have your wand on you right now, there’s no way you could block it. Do you want me to, Potty? So you could go and be with your precious godfather behind the veil?”

“How the fuck do you know—”

“I know everything, Potter. I know more about you than you do about yourself. I know how exhilarating it is for you to have me to fight with again and I know that you’re hard right now and that you’d only want me to kill you after I jerked you off. Want me to?”

Malfoy’s hand fumbles to Harry’s groin and starts rubbing slowly and Harry’s mouth drops open.

“Malfoy—stop—”

“Shut up, Potter,” he snarls, his mouth close to Harry’s own. Harry breathes in his breath—sour, disgusting, just like him. “I’m going to jerk you off, and then I’m going to kill you. How does that sound?”

“Fuck, Malfoy—”

“Shut up, Potter! Just shut the fuck up!” Malfoy sounds on the verge of hysterics as his hand flies over the bulge in Harry’s trousers and Harry no longer has it in him to fight—he gives in and clutches at Malfoy’s robes as those fingers slide down the zip, unbutton the button, and pull his prick out just enough to get his hand around. He wastes no time in settling into a quick, rough rhythm and Harry rocks helplessly into his hand as warmth spreads through his body, as arousal pools low in his belly. Malfoy’s hand is hard and warm and he pulls Harry off until Harry is gasping against his long, pale neck—he’s sure his face is red and he feels dreadful, pathetic, that he’s letting Malfoy do this to him but he doesn’t think he could stop him now if he wanted to—he’s shaking slightly, harder, and his breath catches repeatedly in his throat, and he feels as though he’s about to collapse but at the same time he’s frozen still—

“Fuck,” Harry chokes out as he comes, grabbing Malfoy’s wrist and stopping his hand as wet warmth pulses out of him and little waves of pleasure pulse through his body. He collapses then, falls onto the ground and Malfoy follows, never taking his eyes from Harry’s while he wipes his hand on Harry’s shirt.

“Fucking slut,” Malfoy hisses. “I hope you enjoyed that—”

He cuts off as the compartment door suddenly slides open and Harry chokes and zips his trousers, shoving Malfoy off of him.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“Harry? What’s going on?” Hermione asks quickly, stepping inside and glaring at Malfoy.

“Nothing, he just—” Harry gasps as Malfoy grabs his wrist and pulls him close.

“You’re pathetic,” he murmurs in Harry’s ear. “You are fucking pathetic.” He stands up, straightens his robes, and stalks out with haughty glances at Ron and Hermione. Harry leans shakily against the seat.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“What did he say to you?”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Harry bites out, rubbing his face with his hands. He feels nauseated, positively sick, and he closes his eyes, trying to breathe through it.

“Are you sure?” Hermione says, her voice full of worry.

“Yes, just—just give me a minute.”

Harry breathes slowly until the nausea begins to subside; he’s left with a dull ache in his chest, throbbing insistently. It shows no sign of weakening and it’s then that Harry realizes Draco got exactly what he wanted.

Harry stumbles out the door and into the bathroom to throw up.

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