Draco/Harry

Title: Excuse Me?
Rating: NC-17 (naughty bits!)
Genre: mostly PWPish, some fluff. Attempts at comedy.
Summary: random_glitch requested a fic: Harry/Draco: Malfoy's been staring an awful lot lately. Harry wonders if there's something wrong with his face. [Note: I adore oblivious Harry]

And so oblivious!Harry it is. I tried for just about as oblivious as I could get. And the story ended up a little longer than I thought!




Be nice, my first HP fandom piece!




It started at dinner time. Harry rubbed his fingers across his mouth and checked them. Nothing. “Ron?” he asked his best friend in a low voice. “Do I have something on my face?”

Across the table Ron looked up from where he was shoveling food into his mouth and shrugged. “No.”

Harry briefly ran his tongue over his teeth, checking for stray food, and then along his lips. Across the room, Draco Malfoy’s eyes were fixated on Harry’s tongue as it swept across his full lower lip. Chin in hand, he remained in the same position he’d been in for the last fifteen minutes: staring at Harry Potter’s mouth.

He noticed Harry watching him and suddenly straightened up, glaring fiercely at Harry. Then with a smirk he leant over to Pansy sitting next to him and whispered something. Harry caught a word: “fairy”. They both glanced back at Harry and chortled.

Frowning angrily and barely restraining himself from going over there and punching the git, Harry turned away. Malfoy’s attitude towards him hadn’t changed since they’d met seven years ago. Harry couldn’t help it if Malfoy was a Slytherin weasel who was practically head of the Junior Death Eaters group. Although this was new. Malfoy was always mocking or taunting him, but there must have been some reason for staring at Harry for so long.

Harry suspected Draco Malfoy might be planning something.




His entrance to Double Potions confirmed it. Draco flicked his wand and Harry’s shoelaces tied themselves together, causing him to fall almost flat on his face. Harry skidded across the floor and landed, feet tangled awkwardly, bottom resolutely in the air right at Snape’s feet.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?” Snape sneered.

Harry gritted his teeth and used a spell to slice angrily through the impenetrable knot in his new shoes. He wished he could do the same to Malfoy’s neck. “No, Professor Snape,” he muttered. He glared at Draco as he stood up and pocketed his wand; the other boy jerked upright and pretended to look innocent. Harry knew he’d get nowhere by complaining.

“When you have finished learning how to walk, please take your seat with the rest of us, Potter,” Snape growled.

By that time the only empty seat was next to Neville. Harry began to sit down, but Draco’s rapt attention on his arse caught his eye and he paused, jerking back up.

“Neville?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth, still not sitting down. “Do I have anything on the seat of my pants?”

“What?” Neville stared blankly and then glanced down at Harry’s arse. “No. Why, Harry?”

“Did Malfoy come near this chair before I got into the room?” Harry pressed.

“No.” Neville glanced up at Harry. “What’s going on?”

Snape swooped in on him, glaring maliciously. “What part of sitting down did you not understand, Potter? When I ask you to sit down, you will sit down, or I will take points from Gryffindor for not following instructions.”

Harry cautiously sat down. Nothing happened.

“Harry, what’s wrong with you?”

“I-”

“Potter, I realize that Longbottom is a less than desirable partner, but will you be quiet!” Snape snapped from the head of the class.

Slightly mortified that all that embarrassment was for nothing, he whispered urgently to Neville, “I think Draco Malfoy’s planning something,” Harry muttered, grinding his teeth and sliding into his chair as Snape glared at him. “He keeps staring at my arse.”

Comprehension immediately followed by annoyance crossed Neville’s face. “Oh really, Harry!” he huffed, and turned back to his book.

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered. He didn’t get an answer out of Neville.



Mind focused on trying to figure out whatever Malfoy was planning, Harry started ignoring his Divination class. He blocked out Professor Trelawney and stared out the tower windows, undraped at Dumbledore’s request. The Slytherins were practicing Quidditch outside on the pitch.

Malfoy was hovering on his broom disinterestedly, lording over the pitch like some arrogant pale prince, taking no notice of the movements of the lesser creatures underneath him. His pale hair was tossed by the October wind. Harry noted with a mild shock that it was significantly longer than last year and despite all his (many) character faults it looked rather nice as it tossed around his sharp cheekbones.

Trelawney’s voice spiked, and Harry jumped. His cup clattered in its saucer and he stilled it.

When he next turned back to the window, Malfoy was watching him.
Harry saw him look away, as if he had just been idly scanning the buildings, and Harry looked away himself.

Then he counted to five and looked back.

Malfoy hurriedly looked away, cheeks pinker than wind chill could account for.

Harry frowned. Harry wondered what he was trying to do this time: hex, curse, or perhaps just general plotting.

Ron nudged his foot under the table and he turned to focus on the class again. In moments his eyes drifted to the window, and he jumped with a yell. A dementor hovered right outside the window. He expected to feel cold, to hear his mother’s scream, and readied his wand for the correct incantation. The illusion of the dementor disappeared to reveal the entire Slytherin Quidditch team laughing at him, Draco Malfoy in the foreground. Harry flushed with anger, and then felt eyes upon him.

Trelawney looked at him expectantly. Behind her, the entire class was staring at Harry and the snickering Slytherins behind him, now flying away.

“Is this the, ah, the Grim?” Harry asked, pointing at his cup. While Trelawney accepted that, Harry could tell that the rest of the class knew he wouldn’t have been frightened by a small pattern in tea leaves. Luckily, most of them were Gryffindors so they understood the feud between Harry and Malfoy. Even as he breathed a sigh of relief as Trelawney started to drone on again, his mind went back to Malfoy’s face: laughing, but brow furrowed in thought or anger. Harry tried to push Malfoy out of his mind but he kept coming back, pale face and gray eyes blazing. There was something different in that face. It must be the beginning of a plot.

Harry was sure that Malfoy was planning something.




This Draco-Watching-Harry thing was getting old really fast. The snide comments, occasional threats, and evil glares Harry could take. But this year Malfoy was… different. He was angrier, for some reason. Always glaring around him with stiff shoulders and prickly persona. And he was more physically vicious: Harry had been pushed, tripped, thrown into walls, bumped into, shouldered over, and on one occasion, he’d been pretty sure that he was groped. But he blamed that on Blaise Zabini who was standing behind him rather than Malfoy, who’d just been walking by.

All this, though extremely aggravating, was pretty normal. The difference was the manner of his taunting, not that he did it. All of it was done by Malfoy himself, instead of Crabbe and Goyle, who had actually been conspicuously absent from Malfoy’s side this year. Before Malfoy would keep a careful distance away from any sort of misbehavior, so as to lessen the risk of being caught. Now he did it all himself, which was reckless and unlike him to want to get his hands dirty. In fact, Harry had noticed that for the main part of the school year Draco Malfoy was alone entirely.

There wasn’t the usual semi-circle of flunkies that surrounded him as he taunted. What was the point of making fun of him when he didn’t even share it with others? Harry chalked it up to his increasingly sour personality. He’d even heard Slytherins complain about Malfoy’s rudeness and short temper. Ron remarked on more than one occasion that Malfoy was bucking to be the next Snape: alone and living in a dungeon by age forty, probably unwashed in years. Harry hoped not - one Snape in the world was bad enough.

It became increasingly worse as the weeks moved on, until Aragog decided to leave his forest home during one of Hagrid’s outdoor lessons.

All was chaos. The class raced away in sheer blind fear as Hagrid attempted to coax the giant spider away. Ron in his haste bumped heavily into Harry. Harry went down on the grass, his glasses knocked one way, his wand another. The rest of the students had run into the school, Hagrid had disappeared and Harry was the only one on the grass. Frantically patting around in the blurry scene with both hands Harry’s fingers had finally grasped his wand just as there was a touch on his shoulder.

He straightened up on his knees to see a large black-robed blur above him. Harry’s first thought was that Ron had returned to help him, but the red hair which should have been visible even in the blur that was Harry’s current world, was nowhere to be seen. There was a click and his glasses were slid gently on to his face, pushed up properly with a long pale finger. The finger trailed down the arch of his nose in a tender gesture as Harry stared into soft gray eyes.

Harry didn’t move, and hardly even breathed. The warm finger reached the tip of his nose and fell to Harry’s lips. It outlined the bottom lower lip in a gentle brush. In doing so the gray eyes fell to watch the movement of the finger. The spell was broken.

Harry blinked. Blinked again.

Then he jerked back and smacked the hand away from him. “What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” he demanded. Disgusted, he wiped the places where Malfoy had touched him on his face with the sleeve of his robe.

Awareness took the place of dazed peace in Malfoy’s eyes, and his brows suddenly snapped together as he glared at Harry. His cheeks were flushed and his face filled with rage like Harry had never seen. “Just like you to lose your specs at a time like this, Potter,” he sneered. Spinning on his heel he stomped off.

Harry glanced around quickly, hoping nobody had seen those last few moments. He sighed with relief when he found the area deserted, but was extremely confused shortly afterwards. No one had been watching. What had went on just then he had no idea, but at least he was sure of something: Malfoy was definitely plotting some scheme.

Harry was just really confused about what it was.




It took Harry four tries to corner Malfoy so that he could confront him. Finally, he ducked out of dinner early and caught Malfoy leaving for a private tutoring session with Snape. Luckily Crabbe and Goyle were no where to be seen, and Harry was waiting for Malfoy when the other boy left the classroom.

He slammed one hand up against the wall, pinning Malfoy in. There was a flash of some unnamed emotion that gave Harry pause and then it was gone, the blonde glowering at him from down the length of his straight, aristocratic nose.

“Do you have a problem, Potter?” he sneered.

“Yes!” Harry shouted. “You. You’re my problem, Malfoy. What the hell is going on lately?”

Sharp gray eyes narrowed at him. Grey eyes lingered on Harry’s own, and then were torn away. “I can’t possibly imagine what you mean.”

“Whatever the hell you’re planning!” he demanded. “With last week - in the field! I don’t know what you want Malfoy, but I’m not just going to give it up!”

Malfoy looked back quickly, brows arched. “Are you?” Malfoy arched a brow.

“No! Well, I’ve had it with the shit you keep on pulling,” Harry ranted. “If you want to dick around with someone’s life go back to your small-time Slytherin mind games. Leave me out of it!”

“Not that small,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.

“Huh?” Harry was distracted for a moment, but rallied admirably. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about besides your tiny grudge.”

“I’ll do what I damn well please,” Malfoy shouted. He pushed Harry away.

“Well, go ahead, but don’t expect me to bend over and take it!” A small part of Harry’s mind noted the odd expression that crossed Malfoy’s face. “You don’t touch me again, get it? Or else I’m going to take my foot and plant it so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste it in the back of your throat!”

There was white around Malfoy’s mouth where his lips were pressed tightly together.

“Get it, Malfoy?”

“Your… foot, my ass,” Malfoy said, face contorted into a grimace. “I’d like to see that happen.”

“Well, keep on and it might!”

Harry stomped away. He was going to figure out exactly what Malfoy was planning. There was no stopping him now.





Late, late at night Harry felt a small vibration next to him in bed, and he rolled over, awake. The spell that he had set on his wand was to wake him when Malfoy moved out of the Slytherin dorms. He reached for his glasses and glanced at the Marauder’s Map. The little dot that was Draco Malfoy moved along the hallway slowly, carefully.

Harry snatched up his Invisibility Cloak. Ron rolled over, waking up from the noise. “Wha…?”

“Malfoy’s on the move,” Harry said, pulling up his hood. “I’m going to find out exactly what he’d doing. You coming?”

“Merlin,” Ron moaned. “I hate to say it, but don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far? Sure, Malfoy’s a prat, but he’s not planning anything!”

“He bloody well is!” Harry hissed, careful not to wake up any of the others.

“Harry, give it up mate.” Ron pulled his blankets back over his head.

“If you don’t want to help, fine,” Harry said, feeling a little betrayed. “But I’m not going to stop until I get to the bottom of this!” He left Ron sleeping and headed out of the Gryffindor dorm to track down Malfoy.

Thousands of images went through his mind as he ran silently through the hallways. Malfoy was meeting Death Eaters; Malfoy was meeting Snape; Malfoy was meeting a girl; Malfoy was meeting… other Slytherins?
Then why leave the dorm and go downstairs to the… laundry?

Harry caught a flash of white-blond hair around the corner, and walked faster. Malfoy was tiptoeing around the sleeping house-elves and hedged nearer to the giant carts of laundry. Obviously hesitant about sticking his hands into the carts that loomed above him, Malfoy pulled his wand out of his pocket and flicked it in a complicated pattern.

Out floated a robe that looked very familiar - one of Harry’s own worn robes, nearly seven years old and far outgrown. He’d used it for Herbology work last week and it had been drenched in his sweat. Malfoy clutched the robe as it drifted closer to him.

He brought it up to his nose and breathed in deeply, eyes closed.

Harry was confused. Malfoy wanted to smell his dirty robes?

Other possibilities for dastardly plans presented themselves to Harry: Malfoy was going to train some animal to attack him based on the smell of his robes. Malfoy was going to use some of his hair left on the robes to create an evil potion. Malfoy was going to spread rumors about… how much Harry smelt?

Harry watched in confusion. As a house-elf stirred, Malfoy hurriedly threw Harry’s robe back into the pile and ducked out of the laundry.

Harry made his way back to his own dorm, thoroughly confused about what Malfoy was planning. But the last thought on his mind was not the possible plans for difficulty in his future, but the beatific expression on Malfoy’s face as he breathed in Harry’s scent. It was the look of a man at peace.




If the portraits could slam shut, Harry would have. As it was, he furiously stomped over to where Ron and Hermione sat and threw himself into a comfy chair. Ron looked up from the latest issue of the Quidditch Quoter and blanched at Harry’s scowling face.

“What’s up, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s Malfoy,” Harry growled. “He’s plotting something, I just know it.” He’d just gotten back from the Owlrey to have three people stop him in the halls, all asking him about who he was going to take to the St. Valentine’s Ball. As he turned Cho Chang down, he’d caught Malfoy sneering at him from across the hallway.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, realizing that this was a safe topic, “He’s gotten worse since he moved in with his veela great-uncle last summer.”

“He did what?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted.

“Remember?” Ron joined in. “After his mother tried to trade him for his father at Azkaban? The ministry put him under the care of his great-uncle?” At Harry’s blank look he sighed. “I sent you a letter about it-it was all in the news.”

“Ron, your letters were three pages of how wonderful Jemele Figg’s breasts were and two sentences of actual news.” Harry ignored Hermione’s huff as Ron blushed as red as his hair. “Besides, veela can be evil, right? He could have learnt some evil from his veela uncle.”

Ron looked about ready to defend veela on behalf of his ex-girlfriend Fleur, but Hermione interrupted.

“Why do you think he’s planning something, Harry?”

“He keeps on staring at me,” Harry said plaintively. “At first I thought I had something on my mouth, or my arse, but…”

“Hold on.” Ron held up a hand, his face getting redder and redder with what appeared to be anger. “Malfoy has been staring at your arse?”

“Yes!” Harry exploded. “And I can’t imagine what he wants to do!” He conveniently left out the part about Malfoy returning his glasses last week; all his attempts to talk to Malfoy alone about it had come to nothing.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry,” she said, “You do know Malfoy’s gay, right?”

“What??”

Both boys stared at her in shock.

“Oh honestly,” she said. “Don’t you two pay attention to anything?”

“Hermione!” Ron shrieked. “How do you know that?”

“Millicent,” Hermione said simply. “And my own two eyes.”

“Millicent Bulstrode?” Harry echoed. “The Slytherin?”

“She’d… dropped a few hints,” was all Hermione said. “But it’s not as if it isn’t obvious!”

“What?” Ron demanded. “Obvious?”

Hermione rolled her eyes again. Harry figured that her eye-rolling muscles had to be the strongest in the world, she did that so much. “Think about it,” she said. “He’s always been a good dresser and very conscious of his appearance. He’s never had a real relationship with a girl.”

“Neither have I,” Harry said defensively.

“There was Cho,” Ron contributed. “And even though that didn’t work out you’re nothing like Malfoy. Ok,” he said to Hermione, “he’s gay. So why’s he got to be such a prat?”

“It’s because of how he was raised,” she said patiently. “Think of his father: purebloods only! Can you imagine for one moment that he was raised to accept gays? And now that he’s realized it, it must be like he is everything he was raised to hate. It’s likely he’s feeling very angry and confused right now.” They both stared at her. “I read about it in a book,” she offered, to neither of their surprise.

“It almost sounds like you’re feeling sorry for him!” Ron sputtered. “This from the guy who called you a mudblood for the past four years!”

“Just try to put yourself in his place,” Harry briefly thought of being in Malfoy’s body, but quickly put the thought aside. He wouldn’t look good as a blond. Hermione said huffily. “Although I don’t see why he has to be so mean to Harry now.”

“I’m still the Boy Who Lived, aren’t I?” Harry said, “He’s probably sore about that still.” Even as he said it, the reason felt a little flimsy. But when he thought about it the new intensity of Draco’s provocation didn’t make sense.

Harry considered what Hermione said later that night, alone in his bed with the curtains drawn. He didn’t see what Malfoy had to be really angry about. It wasn’t like he was everything that his father had probably taught against. Malfoy wasn’t a mudblood or even half-Muggle, he wasn’t poor or middle-class, he was smart and fairly attractive. So he was gay, Harry thought. So what?

He froze. Did I just think of Draco Malfoy as attractive?

And what was wrong with that? Draco- Malfoy was a good-looking guy. He was tall, with a slim build, white-blond hair, nice mouth, good ass…

Hold on.

Harry shook his head. Ok, so he was well aware of how nice Dra-Malfoy looked. It just made it harder for the rest of them who were merely average to pick up girls. And as long as he didn’t admit it out loud, then everything would be fine.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.



The tables had turned - the next day Harry started to watch Draco everywhere. He was aware of wherever the other boy was, what expression he had on his face. Where he was looking. And Draco, it turned out, was almost always looking at Harry.

Harry found it a little creepy. Every time Draco and he locked eyes, he felt a funny sort of jolt. Just one look could make his skin crawl for classes.

And somehow… flattering.

In a way that he’d never imagined.

He decided to put Draco out of his mind during that night, the final dinner before holiday break. While Ron’s family had offered to put him up as usual, Harry was still waiting for news from Lupin, who was supposed to be back in the country. He’d promised Ron that if he didn’t get an owl from Lupin by tomorrow he’d catch the next train back to the Burrow.

It was leaving the dining hall, as the rest of Harry’s friends ran ahead, that Draco pounced.

“Hey, Potter. I want a word with you,” Draco shouted menacingly behind Harry. He turned and found Draco, usual sneer on full force, sauntering quickly up to Harry.

“What is it no-?”

This time it was Draco who pushed Harry up against the wall. They were nose-to-nose, breaths intermingling. Draco’s hand slid down the wall, sliding along Harry’s side to hip and then-

Harry fell backwards into the broom closet that Draco opened up behind them. Luckily Draco caught his hand and then there was a click as the door shut behind them.

“Lumos,” said Draco in the darkness, and his wand lit up. He did something with the light so that it was suspended above them, and Harry was faced with a Draco Malfoy that, while slightly paler than normal, was resolute.

Heart racing from anger (supposedly), he tried not to think about the way the light cast over Draco’s face, and tried to pull himself together. “What-” Harry started, and then was cut off as Draco’s lips pressed against his.

Two brief thoughts crossed Harry’s mind: Men’s lips shouldn’t be so soft, and When did I start thinking about him as Draco?

And then Draco’s tongue was asking for entry and Harry unthinkingly let it. Draco tasted sweet, not bitter or cold like Harry would have imagined - but when would he have imagined such things? Draco kissed and teased, his hands sliding against Harry’s sides, tugging and pulling him in close, flush against Draco’s long, hard, slightly taller frame.

Unbalanced emotionally as well as physically, Harry realized as he leant against Draco that it wasn’t just Draco’s muscles that were hard. He broke the kiss, feeling Draco’s pelvis against his. “What…?” he asked, breathless and confused.

Draco put Harry’s hand on his erection. “This is how you make me feel,” the blond growled harshly into Harry’s ear, his voice hot and wet. “Every time I see you, every time I smell you or hear you talk to that Weasley and Granger… You’ve got me all turned around and I hate it!”

“I-” Harry tried to think of something he could say. Thank you, how flattering? I’m sorry, it’s not my fault? You’re rather good-looking yourself?

“Well, I’ve had enough of your teasing and mocking,” Draco muttered, catching Harry’s ear between his lips. Harry felt a graze of teeth just as a hand stroked his own stiffening cock. “You’ve been flaunting your body as something I can’t have; hiding it behind those ugly clothes. But I’ve seen what I want and I’m going to take it, by Merlin!”

“Uh-all right,” Harry said, gasping as Draco’s hand touched bare skin - when had he lost his trousers? “Ok.” But Draco’s somewhat clumsy stroking wasn’t getting him anywhere. “Who’s teasing whom now?” he demanded with a little more urgency. While ordinarily he would have picked out some insult: “You’re almost as bad at this as you are at catching the Snitch”, Harry decided that in this case insults would get him the opposite of satisfaction.

For one brief moment Draco looked flustered. Then his habitual sneer returned to his face, albeit dimmed. He grabbed Harry’s hand from where it had dropped to his side and returned it to its resting place on Draco’s cock. “Well, Potter, let’s see you do better.”

Harry never could pass up a challenge.

He spat into his hand and ran it over the hard flesh. He treated it like it was his own, even adjusting his hand so that his fingertips provided the maximum stimulation, thumb brushing the head. Draco gasped, leaning against the wall as his knees buckled. Harry felt a swell of pride at the flush that spread across the pale features.

“See,” he chuckled, “Gryffindors do it better.”

Draco tugged on Harry’s shirt, bringing him closer. Then he slid his hand up underneath, cool hand tracing muscles. The shirt was removed quickly.

“But Slytherins get the job done quicker,” he said, taking hold of Harry’s cock with newfound assuredness and confidence. Harry snorted, but found it only fair to put Draco in the same position; in heartbeats the expanse of pale skin was exposed.

Together they alternately pulled and thrust into each other’s hands, pre-come making their hands slick, panting the only sound in the closet. Harry put his chin on Draco’s shoulder so he could lean against him, and kissed the apex of shoulder and neck in a desperate, sucking kiss.

The splash of warm fluid on his hand triggered Harry’s orgasm, and even as he spilled on Draco’s hand he couldn’t help but smirk that he’d lasted longer. Draco sagged and they both lowered themselves to the floor, the force of their coupling exhausting them. Harry fumbled for some cloth to clean himself up with, and Draco protested weakly.

“That’s Western Silk Wyrm,” the blond muttered, taking his shirt out of Harry’s hands and replacing it with Harry’s own worn hand-down overshirt.

“What?” Harry offered the shirt to Draco, but when the other boy just gazed at him out of sleepy gray eyes he cleaned up Draco himself.

Draco curled up next to Harry and leant his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Plebian.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve never,” Harry yawned, “been to Plebes.”






Harry blinked and looked around. His watch said it was 6:43, only an hour since they’d left from dinner. His eyes fell on Draco, curled up next to him. There was a darkening hickie on Draco’s neck.

I guess Hermione was right, Harry thought. Draco is gay.

And that’s about when it hit him.

Oh. My. God. I am naked, in a broom closet, after getting a hand job from Draco Malfoy!! What the hell is wrong with me? And immediately on that thought came the answer, in the form of another question: Am I gay now?

Pulling away from Draco, he hitched up his trousers and staggered out into the hallway. Harry ducked into an alcove and rubbed his face with his hands. They still smelled like Draco, and he scrubbed them against his pants frantically. He ran into the nearest bathroom and washed his hands until they were red. Was it a spell? What did it mean? Did this make him gay?

He thought about everything the Dursleys had raised him on: the general disgust and hatred of “poofters” and “shirtlifters”. And while he knew that the Dursleys were never right on anything so far, he had no clue how being gay worked in the wizarding world. Was it illegal? Could he be punished? He didn’t even know how his parents would have felt about someone being gay - he’d wanted so desperately to be everything they’d wanted for him. He’d wanted to be someone that they could be proud of, someone who could continue his family’s legacy as strong, ethical wizards.

More than anything, Harry wanted a regular life and a regular family. He’d wanted to escape his stigma of The Boy Who Lived and just be regular, plain old Harry Potter. How was he ever to accomplish this now? He knew that whatever had happened had changed his future forever in an uncompromising way.

First things first. Harry took a slow breath and straightened his clothes, trying to appear as normal as possible. His over-shirt was ruined; Harry was about to toss it in the bin, but his hand hovered over it, reluctant to let go. Finally he shrank it and stuffed it in his pocket.

He glanced in the mirror, he didn’t look different - it might not be a spell. Only one way to find out.

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with commotion. Students were packing, shrinking boxes, chattering loudly. After tucking the shrunken shirt into his trunk Harry spotted Hermione and pulled her over to a corner.

“Hey, Hermione?” he asked. “Could you do a Finite Incantatem spell on me really quick?”

Hermione glanced at Harry’s slightly flustered face as he tried to appear as calm as possible. She crossed her arms. “This is about Malfoy, isn’t it?” she asked.

“What??” Harry could almost feel the blood rush from his face. Was it that obvious?

“Harry, he’s not planning anything,” Hermione said firmly. “You’re just going to have to accept it.”

“Hermione - just do the spell, ok?”

Hermione flicked her wand and shrugged. “Nothing. No spells or magic on you of any kind. Can you finally accept that Malfoy’s not planning anything?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Maybe,” he said.

“Don’t forget to come and visit!” Hermione said as he turned away. Her expression was worried and a little confused.

Ron was sitting on his bed as Harry went up to pack, reading a magazine. The dorm was empty except for the two of them. “What’s up, Harry?” he asked. “You hear from Lupin yet?”

“No.” Harry tossed some of his clothes into his trunk. He paused. Was there a way to get out of this? “Ron, if-if you had a circle jerk with a-a couple of other guys, does that make you gay?”

“Nah,” Ron said, never looking up from his magazine, to Harry’s immense relief.

“Not unless there’s kissing, too.”

The relief disappeared.

“Why do you ask?”

“Uh-no reason.”

“Ron, are you coming?” Hermione’s voice floated up from downstairs. “The train’s here!”

“Alright then,” Ron said, hopping off the bed. “Owl us as soon as you get to Lupin’s.”

“Right,” Harry said miserably as Ron left. Lupin: his parents’ friend. How could he ever tell Lupin? Did he want to tell Lupin?

He’d just finished packing when there was a tapping at his window. A slightly raggedy owl rested on the frame just outside. Harry let it in, paid it, and then stared at the letter and train ticket in his hands. Simple and to the point, the letter was just really two lines, saying Sorry I was late about contacting you. See you at the train station! And signed Lupin.

Harry sighed. Hopefully he could get through the holidays without letting anyone know. He didn’t want to let anyone know about what had happened until he figured it out for himself. He just had to keep his mouth shut.



“So, Harry, got a girl yet?” Two days into the vacation, the jovial words out of Lupin’s mouth made Harry cringe.

“Er, not exactly.”

The werewolf shrugged. “Don’t worry, you’re young yet. James and Lily didn’t actually get married until they were both out of Hogwarts.” Lupin’s flat was filled with worn but obviously loved trinkets. Harry wandered over to a bookshelf to pick up a photograph of his parents. It had been taken when they were younger, and a grinning Sirius leant into the frame of the picture, only to duck out. Then a black dog bounded behind the couple, tail wagging madly.

“Lupin?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “What did my parents want me to be when I grew up?”

“Oh, Harry,” Lupin said. He patted the couch seat next to him. “Happy, mostly. When Lily first found out she was pregnant, there was a lot of talk about what you’d be like as a child. James always said he’d give anything if Lily’s eye color remained in the family. There were plans about the Little Quidditch when you got older, starting you out at flying at as young an age as possible. Your father always wanted you to have a cat familiar, but your mother was adamant about an owl. So much more practical, she said. Sirius wanted to give you a parrot instead, so he could help you teach it all kinds of naughty words. We’d all hoped for Gryffindor, but just an acceptance into Hogwarts would have been enough.” He brushed the top of Harry’s head. “You’ve succeeded every one of their expectations. They’d be proud.”

“What-what if I never married?” Harry blurted.

Lupin blinked. “Never married or fell in love?”

“Well,” Harry couldn’t let himself think about this, so he tensed his shoulders and stared at the short table, taking a deep breath. “What if I fell in love with the wrong person?”

“Harry, you can’t direct where you love,” Lupin said. “I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t see how special and good you are. You can’t love the wrong person. How does she think of you?”

Harry ignored the last question. “What if I fell in love with the wrong type of person?” he asked plaintively, still staring at the table.

“The wrong type…” Lupin coughed. “Harry, have you been-I mean, is she human?”

Now Harry looked up. “What?”

“Harry, you should understand the implications of, er, love that transcends species. I’m sure the mermaids are very nice and um, well-endowed, but-”

“Mermaids?” Harry echoed. “No, I’m not in love with the mermaids.”

“Oh. Ah, is she a veela? I realize that they visit the castle sometimes…”

“No!” Harry said incredulously. “No, he’s human.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he froze.

“Oh.”

Harry hunched his shoulders and stared at the table again.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t suspect…” Lupin sighed. “Although I probably should have.”

“What?” Harry’s head whipped around to stare at Lupin so hard it hurt. “Why would you?”

“Because I saw Sirius go through almost exactly the same thing,” Lupin said. He stood up. “Wait here-I want to show you something.”

He returned from the bedroom with an old worn photo album, bound in black leather. On the first page was a picture of a very young Sirius, looking perhaps fourteen. He was sitting on a window sill, staring out into the fallen snow morosely. His hair tossed in the breeze. Harry realized that his godfather had been very attractive when he was younger. Although not quite up to Malfoy’s level.

The next page was a picture of Sirius slouched unappealingly in an overstuffed chair. He was unreservedly pouting, and Harry’s mother, a young Lily of about seventeen, was playing happily with his hair. Half of the black mop was done up in cheerful pink bows. Harry’s father leant over from the chair next to Lily and tugged one of them. Sirius snapped his teeth at James’s hand.

But the next picture was a shocker. Sirius was draped sexily over the shoulders of a gangly young man with pale red hair; while Sirius’s expression was challenging and a seductive half-smile played about his lips, the young man was blushing furiously but his eyes were full of happiness.

Lupin’s fingers played with the edge of the page. “It was the seventies,” he said quietly. “And while we still weren’t universally accepted, it was - a little easier. I knew I was attracted to men since I was twelve, but I didn’t do anything about it until I’d known Sirius for years. He gave me my first kiss. Telling other people that we were together took a little bit more convincing, but from the first time I saw him, I’d have done anything for him. Telling my parents was a chore, but they came around eventually. They’d expected for me to never get married because of my…problem. He worried less about what his family thought; he was a disgrace to them in more than one way, and by the time we had…found each other, he’d long given up on what they’d thought. Which was good; what his father had to say about him dating a lower-middle class with an accountant’s future and a distressing werewolf tendency was less than admirable.”

A brief smile crossed his face. “What Sirius had to say in return, of course, was much more enjoyable. Then he took me home and we-” he glanced at Harry. “Well, we enjoyed ourselves.”

Harry blinked. “You - and Sirius? You. And Sirius. You two were…”

“Lovers, yes Harry.”

“Wait, so you and Sirius… were… were lovers? Sirius Sirius? Sirius Black? My godfather? The one that I know? And you? Lovers?!”

“Yes, that’s right Harry.”

Lupin waited patiently. Harry blinked again. “Oh. That’s…um…” There was a huge mental stumbling block in Harry’s head, and he had to rev his mental engines to get over it. “How-how did my parents take it? Did they know?”

“They were fine with it,” Lupin said, turning the page. The two of them, age about twenty, were locked in a passionate kiss. “Who do you think took the pictures? Peter was the only one who wouldn’t look at us when we kissed - although I could never figure out if he was disgusted or jealous. Harry,” he said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s alright to be attracted to a man. I don’t think you should restrict yourself to one type of person, and I don’t think you should try to change who and what you love. What you should do is love wholeheartedly, without reservations or rules. Your parents wouldn’t have been ashamed of you. They’d have loved you, no matter how you turned out. And there’s nothing wrong with it; some people may not accept it, but you have the right to live and love however you want. All people- gay or straight- do.”

“Hold on,” Harry said. “You’re gay?”

This time it was Lupin’s turn to blink. “Yes, Harry. I am only attracted to men. That technically makes me gay.”

“Gay.”

“Yes.”

“A poofter.”

“Er… yes.”

“A fudgepacker.”

“Um. Upon occasion...”

“A shirtlifter.”

“Harry-”

“An ass-chaser.”

“Harry-”

“A prancing fairy.”

“Only when I wear my pink tights and sparkly wings,” Lupin interrupted with a straight face. “Yes, Harry. I like men - they make me aroused. I would like to have settled down in love with one man. This makes me, at the very least, not completely straight. And if you have fallen in love with a man, or at least found yourself attracted to him, you should consider the possibility that you might, er, straddle the fence, so to speak. If this is just a passing attraction, then don’t feel that you have to be attracted to men for your entire life, but speaking as someone who found the love of their life in another male body, you really shouldn’t rule someone out because of genitalia.”

Harry blinked, trying to absorb all this. Lupin hugged his shoulders gently. “I know that’s a lot to think about,” he said. “And if you want to take some time with it, go ahead.” He pushed the book into Harry’s lap. “I’ll still care for you, no matter what you decide.”

Lupin stood up, wiping his eyes with the edge of his patched sleeve, and made his way to the door.

“Lupin?” Harry asked, looking up at his former professor. “Do you miss him?”

“Every day,” the werewolf said.




Harry seemed to do most of his thinking alone in bed. He firmly squelched the voice that said that Draco might want to help keep him company, and then with reluctance, returned to that thought. Was he gay? Was he attracted to men?

He rolled over on one side, hugging a large pillow to his chest, and mentally ran down a list.

Ron? God, no. Just friendship there.

Neville? No.

Fred and George? No.

Percy? No.

Charley? He paused. The dragon-skin pants were kind of hot…

Bill? No.

Seamus? No. Although that accent…

Dean? No.

Oliver Wood? No.

Lee Jordan? No.

Harry eventually ran out of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff boys. Then slowly, reluctantly, he turned to Slytherin.

Crabbe? No.

Goyle? No way.

Snape? Ew.

Ok, fine then. Draco. Draco bloody Malfoy. Yes. Yes. A great big screaming lump of yes resting right on Harry’s heart. He was intelligent, and witty, and clever and self-confident and he didn’t think of Harry as a hero, and he said what he thought, and alright he was funny at the expense of others, but he thought fast and was a hell of a flyer and had the best body in the world…

And he liked Harry. Was attracted to Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but just Harry. In fact, he probably hated the Boy Who Lived.

Harry didn’t mind that-most of the time, Harry hated him too.

He rolled over on to his stomach. Right then. So Harry was attracted to Draco Malfoy. So what? What was he going to do about it?

Two options presented themselves: hide it forever, or date the bastard.
Neither were appealing. Well, in all honesty, Harry could see himself holding hands with Draco, dancing with Draco, kissing Draco in the closet, in the hall, in his room on his bed as he ran his hands down Draco’s perfect white chest…

Harry shifted.

But in order to date Draco, he’d have to be in the open. Harry couldn’t stand being someone’s dark little secret, and keeping a dark little secret- even a blond dark little secret- wasn’t all that appealing either. So that meant coming out to Ron, Hermione, the school, Draco himself…

Harry groaned and pulled the pillow up over his head. This was bad.

Suffering in silence was looking better and better.

The silence lasted until the next morning. Awkward silence that lingered over the breakfast table with Lupin and Harry’s slowly cooling sausages. Heavy silence that rested between them only to be broken as Lupin put down his fork, the quiet tink against the plate.

“Harry,” Lupin said.

Harry sighed.

“Harry.”

This time it was a sigh with a little groan at the end.

“Harry, what are you going to do?” Lupin demanded.

“What?” Harry’s head came up.

Lupin’s brow furrowed firmly. “This boy- have you kissed him?”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “Sort of.”

“Done anything else?”

Shrug. “Maybe.”

“Harry, you do know about wizarding safe sex?” Lupin prodded.

Harry’s ears burned. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright. Are you dating him?”

Harry started to draw little circles in his sausage grease. “Not…really.”

“Why not?”

“He’s…” Harry trailed off. “He’s not someone people like.”

“So are you not dating him because you don’t like him, or are you not dating him because other people don’t like him?”

Harry shrugged. “A bit of both, I guess.”

“So are you just attracted to him? Is it just lust?”

“Ye… no.” Harry couldn’t lie to Lupin.

“Then do you like him?”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t you date him, then? Find out if you like him?” Lupin pressured.

“No one would believe it.” Harry muttered.

“Why not?” Lupin gave a little laugh. “Come on, Harry. It can’t be all that bad. I mean, it’s not like it’s Draco Malfoy or anything, right?”

Harry could feel the blood drain from his face. He stared at his sausages.

Silence.

“Harry?”

“Harry, it isn’t Draco Malfoy, is it?”

“Harry?”

He nodded miserably. This conversation was turning out just like the one last night. Too much looking down while Lupin spoke.

“It is Draco Malfoy. Oh, Harry,” Lupin sighed. “No wonder this is so hard for you.”

Harry blinked. “What, no ‘How is this possible?’ No ‘But he’s a Slytherin’? No ‘His father is a Death-Eater, he’s probably one, but even if he’s not, he’s most definitely evil and therefore should not be someone that you, Harry, the Boy Who Lived, should be dating!’!!”

“Calm down, Harry,” Lupin said placatingly. “First of all, do you think that Draco’s a Death-Eater?”

Harry snorted. “Draco Malfoy? Take orders from someone? Right.”

“Ok. Do you think he’s evil?”

“Probably not.” Harry certainly didn’t want to think that Draco was evil. Just… really conceited.

“And so you like him, and want to get to know him better.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry wasn’t quite sure where Lupin was going with this.

“Do you think that he’ll turn you down if you ask to date him?”

“There’s about a fifty percent chance of that happening.”

“Because?”

“He hates the Boy Who Lived, hates all Gryffindors, hates Ron and Hermione, and his father, his father’s boss, and all his family friends might try to kill me,” Harry ticked off points on his fingers. “I could go on.”

“Then why would he say yes?”

“Because he likes my ass,” Harry blushed.

“But you think he might say yes?”

“If he’s feeling antagonistic.”

“Harry,” Lupin said exasperatedly. “Why don’t you just ask him out?”

“What would you know?” Harry exploded. “He’s a Slytherin! I’m a Gryffindor! It’d never work out! He’d laugh and I’d get teased by him for the rest of the school year!”

“Think of it this way,” Lupin said with a hint of sarcasm, “if the precedent holds, he’ll never tell anyone about it, and end up living alone in the Hogwarts dungeons.” He pushed himself away from the table and stalked away.

This time Harry caught on. “Snape?”

Almost.

“Precedent?”






Harry set his broomstick against the wall carefully. Flying always helped him think, and he’d come to a few conclusions:

1. Lupin was right: he should ask Draco out for a date.

2. Because of (1.) he was going to get killed, either by Draco himself or by shame.

3. Lupin had suggested Snape was also gay, and might have at one time propositioned the potions master.

4. (3.) left a creepy feeling in Harry’s stomach and a disquieting mental image.

5. Because of (2.) and (4.), Harry should get laid as soon as possible.

6. The best way of achieving (5.) is to talk to, or possibly entrap Draco in another closet.

So, 7. The plan was: have sex with Draco, and then ask him out for a date.

He considered adding an addendum to 7: ask Lupin never to mention Snape again, but then he got to thinking about how lonely his almost-godfather was. So instead, Harry formed a plan. Another one.

“Harry?” Lupin called from the kitchen. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “Sorry about freaking out on you earlier.”

Lupin looked up from where he was stirring pasta sauce. “Don’t worry,” he said with a lopsided grin. “It isn’t every day that you hear a near-godfather come out to you. And about your potions master.”

“Tell me about it?” Harry begged as he grabbed a piece of garlic bread.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Lupin said. “It was third year at Hogwarts, I had just figured out that I was attracted to men, and Severus was right on the top of that list.” Here he blushed. “I’ve always been one for the long, black hair.” Then the smile faded. “He told me that under no circumstances could he ever be seen with a wizard of my lower class, and then he threw pumpkin juice in my face and left. We never spoke of it again.”

“Huh.” Harry was disappointed, there really wasn’t much to tell.

But as they began to eat, Harry started to plan.




First day back in Hogwarts after holidays, Harry was keeping an eye out for Draco.

“I’m glad you’ve given up on the idea that Malfoy was planning something,” Hermione said as she passed the meats.

“Yeah, did you two shake hands or what?” Ron asked, his mouth full.

“Something like that,” Harry muttered, craning his neck.

“Well I- honestly Harry, what are you looking for?” Hermione asked exasperatedly.

Just then Draco walked in. Gray eyes coolly scanned the room, and Harry froze as their eyes connected. Draco blushed a furious red and spun on his heel. Harry pushed back his seat and followed him at a fast walk.

“Harry? Harry!” Hermione’s voice faded behind.

“Wait!” Harry shouted at Draco, who angrily pushed through first years and broke into a run down the nearest staircase. Harry grabbed the banister and slid down, meeting Draco at the bottom just in time to use his momentum to push the blond into a wall.

Again he had him pinned, arms on either side. Draco glared mutinously up at him, but when Harry refused to glare back, looked down at the ground.

“Um,” Harry began. Now that he had Draco where he wanted him, it didn’t seem so simple. So he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Why did you run away?”

“Do you really think that I want to be stuck in the Great Hall with you?” Draco snorted angrily. “After you’ve told all your friends about how you let me give you a hand job and left me?”

“Hey, I seem to recall mutual hand jobs there!” Harry snapped back. “And I haven’t told anyone!”

“So I’m a dirty little secret, am I?” Draco sneered. “Some closet bum-boy you can keep quiet about and just do me when you feel like it? Your own private Death Eater pet?”

“What?” Harry was astounded at the turnaround. “No! Draco, I-”

“Then it was just that one time?” the blond demanded. “I wasn’t good enough, was that it?”

“Hold the hell on!” Harry shouted. His voice echoed in the empty halls and he was glad that everyone else was at dinner. “Why are you so angry?”

“You left!” Draco shouted back. “Not word one about what we were going to do next, about how you liked it, or if you even did!” Anger turned the gray eyes silver. “I felt used!”

“Draco,” Harry said, trying to put some patience into his voice. “I was confused! I’ve never even considered guys! And suddenly you pull me into a closet and there’s your hand on my-”

Draco’s hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the nearest closet. Harry started to protest but Draco’s other hand was wrapped around his mouth. “Filch,” Draco said in his ear, and Harry realized that he was pressed up against Draco, in a closet, feeling Draco’s hard cock against his body.

How familiar.

He slowly turned around, carefully putting aside brooms and mops to stare at Draco in the half-light of the closet. “It surprised me,” he finished in a low voice. “And I freaked. The Dursleys always said that gays were evil, and I had no clue about gays in the wizarding world. But…”

“But?” Draco prompted quietly as Harry trailed off.

“But I’ve had some time to think,” Harry said. He laid a hand on Draco’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the soft, pale skin. “I’d like to give this a try.”

“This?” Draco’s voice was whisper-soft, eyes big and shining by the dim light.

“This.” Harry bent forward and kissed Draco.

While the earlier kisses had been needy, desperate things, Harry took this softly. He kissed Draco like how Harry had always wanted to have been kissed: gently but passionately, tongue licking out firmly to part Draco’s lips. His hand slid around to grasp Draco’s waist, pulling them closer together. Draco’s hands lifted to twine in Harry’s shaggy hair as the Slytherin responded to the kiss.

“Gods, Harry,” Draco moaned as Harry broke the kiss to lick down Draco’s neck. He yanked the shirt open, knowing that Draco would have to cast the button-mending charm later, and placed his mouth around one firm pink nipple. He figured if girls liked it… the frantic motions of Draco’s hands, half-pinned by his own shirt, proved that theory right.

Harry continued to kiss down the pale, perfect chest. He licked the top of the blond hair that started a few centimeters below Draco’s navel, and slooooowly popped one button at a time on Draco’s trousers.

Draco was leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

Once faced with Draco’s freed erection, Harry paused. He breathed lightly on it, gingerly licked the tip, took in the smell of Draco, but he wasn’t sure how to go about what he wanted. Finally he just took the head and shaft in as much as he could.

Draco shrieked softly and his hips arched up, half-thrusting into Harry’s mouth. Harry backed up and increased the suction, moving his tongue around to examine the cock in his mouth by touch. He found the little slit that was leaking and probed it, and Draco shuddered and came, filling Harry’s mouth.

Harry swallowed some, trying the taste out, and Draco pulled him back up to give him a ferocious kiss. The blond didn’t flinch when tasting some of himself on Harry’s lips, and even tongued him deeply, as if looking for more. His hand slid down Harry’s side to press at Harry’s own hard cock, pausing as if to count the heartbeats that were obvious in the blood-filled member.

“Want to see what that’s like?” Draco purred silkily.

Before Harry could even nod, he descended on Harry’s cock.

Warm wetness surrounded Harry and quickly became the center of his world. It was all a blur of pleasure as it felt like Draco was going to suck the very marrow from Harry’s bones. Blindly his mind thought, Maybe this is how Voldemort’s going to kill me. Death by blowjob, and Draco’s the tool.

He was fine with that.

Better than fine. In what seemed like heartbeats he was emptying himself into Draco’s wet and willing mouth. The obliging tongue licked a warm swath up his cock, cleaning and swallowing.

Draco straightened up and wiped his mouth a little. He was smirking. “See?” he said. “Slytherins get it done faster.”

Harry felt a silly grin he couldn’t control spread across his face. “You’ve got no complaints from this department,” he said, holding up his hands.

They leant against opposite walls, catching their breath and staring at one another. Finally Harry broached his idea.

“I don’t want you to be a secret,” he said rather out of the blue. “Do you want to go on a date to Hogsmead?”

Draco blinked. “What?”

“A date. You and I.”

Draco gave him a long, considering look. “As long as I choose the place, time, and your clothing.”

Harry felt like cheering, but was obligated to warn: “I don’t know if this is going to work out; I mean, with Voldemort and all.”

“Well, he’s not invited,” Draco said reasonably. “He’s got terrible table manners and dresses like an old blind transvestite.”

“Then he’ll stick out at the restaurant?”

“Unless you want to go to a Burger Boy,” Draco said.

“Because that’s populated entirely by evil blind transvestite wizards?”

“Ah, I see you’ve been there.”

Harry pushed himself away from the wall to give Draco a kiss. “Ok. No Burger Boys.”

Draco smirked. “A man after my own heart.”







Many thanks to my dear beta burly_curly and werewindle for double checking it for me!