Wonder Boy

Title: Wonder Boy
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic gay sex, violence, bad language, and a surprising display of Slytherin cunning
Summary: Harry manipulates Draco into having sex with him in order to save the world. And that’s pretty much it. D/H. Bottom!Harry.
Spoilers: Up to and including book 6
Word Count: 2,617 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.


“Fuck!” said Harry. “Then there’s no way in? At all?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Hermione. “There are ways…I just don’t think we’ll be able to do them.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry. “What ways?”

“Well, we know the wards are almost impenetrable…but if you were able to, say, marry someone from the family, the magic around the Manor would automatically re-configure itself to allow you in.”

“Me? Marry a Malfoy?” asked Harry, grimacing. “I see your point. But there’s another way in, besides that?”

“If you could get something from one of the Malfoys—” said Hermione, “blood, or hair, or semen; something like that—if you could get that, I could make a potion with it and some of your blood, and that would allow you access into the Manor.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard,” said Harry. “I mean, I know Lucius and Narcissa are inaccessible to us, but Draco’s been spotted in several raids. All we have to do is catch him long enough for me to cut off some of his hair.”

“It’s not quite that easy, Harry,” said Hermione. “Whatever you get from Malfoy has to be given freely. Something taken from him without his consent is useless.”

“Fuck,” said Harry again.

“Exactly,” said Hermione. “We’d never get him to agree to giving us anything. So we’re back to where we started.”

“No,” said Harry. “We’ve gone too far to just give up now. This is the last Horcrux, Hermione! It’s right there, waiting for us to walk in and take it! I just need a way into the Manor, so I can get to it. That’s all. Then we can finally finish this.”

“We’ll just have to wait for him to move it again,” said Hermione. “That’s all we can do. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but we have to.”

“We don’t have that long,” said Harry. “You know that. It could be another year or two before he does it, and the way things are going, we’ll all be dead by then. Or, if we’re not, the new hiding spot will be better warded than ever, and we can’t afford that. This is our best—our only option.”

“Well, how to you plan on getting Malfoy to willingly give you anything of his?” asked Hermione. “It’s impossible.”

“No. Not impossible,” said Harry. “I know…I know something he’ll give me. We’ll just have to wait until the next raid he’s in, and I can get it for us.”

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Harry,” said Hermione, a now-familiar crease forming between the brows of her young—her much too young—face.

“Me too,” said Harry, quietly. “Me too.”

****************************************************
They didn’t have to wait all that long. Malfoy showed up at an attack on Diagon Alley the very next month; he was wearing his mask, but the telltale white-blond of his hair under his hood gave him away.

“Malfoy,” said Harry, grabbing Draco’s arm in the confusion and dragging him into the alleyway between two stores; knocking the other boy’s mask off in his haste.

“Potter?” said Draco, managing, despite his surprise, to slam the smaller boy up against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?”

One hand was grabbing at Harry’s jumper, and the other was pointing a wand at the base of Harry’s neck.

Of course, Harry had his wand pointed at Draco, as well. All-in-all, they were at a bit of a stand-still.

“Don’t fire,” said Harry.

“And why shouldn’t I?” asked Draco.

“Well,” said Harry, lowering his wand, slowly; “I think you’d much rather fuck me than kill me.”

“What?” said Draco. His fist, curled around Harry’s clothing, was hard against Harry’s stomach, pressing the Gryffindor even further into the wall. “What are you talking about?”

“If I’d wanted you dead, I could have done it outside of here,” said Harry. “And if you’d wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have stopped to ask me questions first.”

“What the hell are you playing at?” asked Draco. “Is this some sick ploy at getting me over to your side?”

Harry laughed.

“Yeah, like that would really work,” said Harry. “I give you more credit than that.”

“Then what are you doing?” said Draco. His wand jabbed viciously at Harry’s neck.

“We’re both healthy teenaged boys,” said Harry. “What do you think I want?”

“But why would you think that I’d ever want to do that with you?” asked Draco.

“Come on, I know you’ve thought about it,” said Harry.

“You have entirely too high of an opinion of yourself,” said Draco.

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” asked Harry. “You think I didn’t wonder about it, too?”

“Shut up,” said Draco.

“I would have thought you’d love having the Boy-Who-Lived asking you to pop his cherry,” said Harry.

“You’re a virgin?” asked Draco, interested despite himself.

“Yes. That’s basically the problem,” said Harry.

“Why me?” asked Draco.

“Because you won’t tell,” said Harry. “And because I want to. I’ve been…wanting to. With you, I mean. Er—that is. If you want.”

“There’s no one on your side you could have done this with?” said Draco.

“No one there can give me what I want,” said Harry.

Draco sucked in a breath. His wand eased away, just slightly, from Harry’s vulnerable throat.

“And what is it that you want, exactly?” said Draco.

“Anything you can dish out, Malfoy,” said Harry. “You don’t have to be careful with me. I don’t want you to be.”

“Never planned on it,” said Draco, and then he kissed him, brutalizing the other boy’s chapped, tender-pink mouth.

Harry tasted like pumpkin juice and sharp-minty mouthwash, and Draco kind of liked it.

“I take it that means ‘yes,’ then?” said Harry, breathlessly, and Draco said, “I hope you don’t plan on walking much the next few days,” and grabbed Harry’s wand from him, putting it away in the folds of his own cloak.

“We should find somewhere else to do this,” said Harry. “It isn’t safe here. Someone could see.”

“There’s a door,” said Draco, inclining his head in its direction. “Over there.”

He used an unlocking charm to get it open, snorting disbelievingly when he saw which store it was they’d broken into.

“How appropriate,” he said, locking the door behind them and putting his wand away.

“Madame Malkins,” said Harry. “Where we first met. You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that,” said Draco, but didn’t elaborate.

“Hello?” called Harry. “Is anybody here?”

“They’ve all left by now, of course,” said Draco. “Anybody with sense would.”

“I know that,” said Harry. “I was just checking.”

The shutters were pulled down over the windows, and the front door locked tight.

“We’ll have to be quick,” said Draco. “I don’t know how much longer the raid is supposed to last.”

“Right,” said Harry, and, hesitantly, shrugged out of his robes.

“Faster,” said Draco, unbuttoning his belt. “Get down on all fours in front of the mirror when you’re done with that. And, for God’s sake, take off that horrible jumper!”

“In front of the mirror?” asked Harry, removing his garish Weasley jumper without complaint.

“Oh, yes,” said Draco, smirking at him. “We’re going to watch. These mirrors aren’t enchanted, so we’ll get to see the exact expression on your face when I put my cock in you.”

Harry blushed bright red, and fumbled for the zipper of his jeans.

Draco laughed. His prick, when he freed it from his briefs, was hard and ready.

Harry made a funny sort of choking sound in the back of his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he said.

“Glad you like it, Potter,” said Draco, and Harry bit his lip as Draco curled his hand around his shaft and gave a few leisurely strokes, his thumb rubbing precome all over the flushed, sensitive head.

The t-shirt Harry was wearing—the only thing he was wearing, at this point—was huge and faded; a dingy white-grey gone thin with washing and age.

Its massive neck-hole drooped prettily around Harry’s bare shoulder, and its hem fell mid-way down Harry’s slim, strong thighs. The shirt was so worn it was practically translucent; Draco could see the outline of Harry’s round, dark nipples, and his cock was rigid and tenting the fabric—there was a wet spot on it where the head of Harry’s prick was jutting up against the material—and Draco said, “Take it off. Now. And get on the floor.” And Harry obeyed.

Draco removed the rest of his clothing—carelessly, yanking off his shoes and socks and popping off the last few buttons of his shirt—and riffled through his discarded robes for his wand, grabbing it and dropping heavily to his knees behind Harry.

He spread Harry’s arse-cheeks apart with his hands, and rubbed the pad of his thumb lightly over Harry’s tight, so very tight and tiny exposed arsehole; his prick throbbed against Harry’s backside, and Harry shivered, and said, “Please!”

And how could Draco say no to that?

“Lubricus,” he said, touching the tip of his wand to that clenched, puckered ring, then placed the wand behind him—out of Harry’s reach. Just in case.

He wouldn’t want Harry to change his mind halfway through, after all.

“OhGod,” said Harry, when Draco shoved a finger into him.

Draco could have made it easier on him—he could have made it feel good—but he chose not to. Harry knew what he was in for.

“Stop wiggling around so much,” said Draco, curling his finger wickedly, and grabbed at Harry’s waist to steady him.

He added a second finger—probably before Harry was ready for it, really, but Draco couldn’t wait, and, frankly, didn’t care to—and Harry gasped, but he didn’t try to get away.

He mewled like a kitten and arched into Draco’s hand when Draco touched his prostate, and Draco scissored his fingers and said, “That’ll have to be enough,” and positioned his cock outside of Harry’s entrance, holding onto either side of Harry’s waist.

“I want you to know,” said Draco, “that the lube you’ve gotten already is all you’re going to get, so this will probably hurt quite a bit.”

He nudged the head of his cock against Harry’s entrance, but didn’t penetrate him.

“Oh, and Potter?” he said. “Look at the mirror now. I want us both to remember this.”

And as soon as those lovely green eyes were focused on the mirror, Draco pressed in, so that just his tip was enveloped in Harry’s squeezing heat, and then he snapped his hips forward, unexpectedly, and Harry bucked and screamed, but Draco held his hips firmly in place—and Harry was sobbing, but at the same time saying, “Don’t stop, pleasedon’tstop.”

“There, there,” said Draco, petting the baby-smooth skin at the base of Harry’s back, and Harry’s arsehole convulsed uselessly around his cock, trying to close up again: trying to force out this unfamiliar invasion.

“Tell me what you looked like when I pushed into you,” said Draco.

“You saw it,” said Harry, sniffling.

“I want to hear you say it,” said Draco.

“I—” said Harry. “I was surprised, at first,” he said. “My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t say anything. My eyes went really wide. And then—and then the pain kicked in, and I felt like all I could do was scream. I had to close my eyes. I dropped my head. I banged my forehead on the floor.”

“And do you think you deserve this?” asked Draco. “Do you want this from me?”

“Absolutely,” said Harry, and tilted his arse up for more—and Draco obliged.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” said Harry, as Draco moved out, and then inevitably back in again.

“God damn it, Potter, you’re tight,” said Draco, filling Harry in short, quick jabs—then drawing out almost completely; thrusting almost his entire length back into the slight Gryffindor: making Harry’s whole body move with the force of it.

“If I’d known you were this tight, I would have shagged you ages ago,” he said.

“Mmmm,” said Harry, and Draco licked curiously at the pale, damp planes of his back.

The sweat-salty taste of it lingered on his tongue, and he kissed Harry on the mouth again, and didn’t wonder why.

“Draco,” breathed Harry, hazily, licking at his lips and looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “Draco, please, I—”

“Look at us,” said Draco, staring at the mirror. Harry did. “Look at how amazing we are like this.”

And they were. Amazing, that is.

They were both flushed, and a little sweaty—Draco’s blond hair was bent near Harry’s black, and Harry’s arms trembled as he bore the added weight of Draco’s chest against his back, and his lips were bitten raw and red.

Draco’s hand was big and capable on Harry’s flat stomach, and, as they watched, he moved it down and down further still to fondle Harry’s bollocks, and then his own.

Harry whimpered, and Draco moved back and put both hands on Harry’s hips—Harry’s arms stopped trembling, now that he only had to support himself, again—and he rocked deep inside of Harry’s body, his cock touching that glorious little spot that made Harry arch his back and cry out, and then Harry was throwing his arse further back onto Draco’s cock and coming desperately all over his chest and Madam Malkins’s spotless hardwood floor, and Draco was thrusting and thrusting inside of him—Harry’s arsehole had tensed up around him instinctively—and then Draco came, too; long and wet and white-stringy hot inside Harry’s gorgeous arse, and, when they’d recovered, their bodies came away from one another with a reluctant, moist-sucking pop.

“We’ll, it’s been fun,” said Draco, a short while later, doing up the last of his clothing. “But I’ve really got to go. Thanks for the fuck, Potter,” he said, and threw the other boy’s wand back to him, his own wand already secure in his hand. “We should do this again,” he said.

“Maybe,” said Harry, still curled up on his side on the floor. “Have fun killing Muggles, Malfoy,” he said.

“Have fun saving the world, Wonder Boy,” said Draco, and left.

“Unlikely,” said Harry, crawling over to his robes and taking out a small buttplug from its pocket, and inserting the toy into himself.

He was still stretched enough that it didn’t hurt. Much.

He put his clothes back on, cast a cleaning charm on the mess on the floor and a locking spell on the side door, and Apparated away, into Grimmauld Place, where Hermione was waiting.

“What happened?” asked Hermione, when Harry hobbled into view. “Are you okay? What did you do?”

“Where’s the test tube for the Malfoy sample?” asked Harry.

“It’s here,” said Hermione, handing it to him. “You mean you got the sample? Consensually?”

“I got the sample,” said Harry. “Consensually.”

“Where is it?” she said.

“Hold on,” he said, and made his way, laboriously, into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him.

He walked out a few minutes later with a test tube full of Malfoy’s ejaculate, looking noticeably more comfortable. He must have cast a few healing charms on himself while he was in there.

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, when she saw what he’d brought. “You didn’t. Please tell me that you didn’t.”

“I got us what we needed, didn’t I?” asked Harry.

He put the test-tube back in its holder—the contents were tinged pink; Harry’s blood had been added to it, already—and said, “How soon will the potion be done?”

“I can have it ready for you by tomorrow,” said Hermione, and, if she cried later, Harry never knew.