Summer 4: Part D

Frisbee was like chasing the Snitch, only you couldn’t fly and someone was throwing it at your head.  All in all, he couldn’t say that he liked it very much.  Especially seeing as Harry managed to hit him twice and he’d mussed his perfectly gelled hair so badly that he couldn’t manage to get it to lay flat again.

He was still desperately sore about his hair when McGonagall called them down for dinner.  Only it wasn’t dinner, Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room, talking to the Professor with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.  Draco came to a halt at the bottom the stairs and then fell to his knees as Harry slammed into him from behind.

“What the blo...” Harry stopped cursing at Draco as he saw Dumbledore.  With a tense smile, he helped the blonde the stand up.  “Hello, Headmaster, what are you doing here?”

Dumbledore’s smile didn’t waver in the least.  “I’ve come to invite you all to have dinner with the other professors and myself in the Great Hall.  I think I’ve even managed to convince Professor Trelawney to descend from the rafters.”  Harry laughed, but Draco wasn’t sure why this was so funny, he’d only met her once and she seemed more annoying than amusing.

“I think, however, that you should go change your clothes first.”  Harry looked down at his shirt, covered in mud and wrinkled from being outside that afternoon.  “Draco however, appears to be in fine dress.  I believe I shall escort him there myself and wait for you and Professor McGonagall to arrive.”

Before Draco could protest, he was being ushered gently, but firmly out the door by the Headmaster.  It closed behind them and he found himself once again alone with the man his father had warned him to avoid.  “Well, Draco, shall we go?”

Draco nodded and followed.  At first, he tried to keep a moderate distance, but when he slowed the Headmaster did as well.  However, he also didn’t want to seem hurried, so he settled on a moderate pace, hoping that Dumbledore didn’t have anything to say.  He wasn’t so lucky.

“I almost fear that I do not wish to ask you this, but old fools do as they must.”  Draco very nearly blushed, remembering the number of times he had called Dumbledore an ‘old fool’.  “How are you and Mr. Potter getting on this summer?”

Draco shrugged, “Well enough.”

“Better than last year?”

“Yes, I suppose.”  Last year they had managed to get into a fistfight less than an hour after he’d arrived.  This year they were almost... well, friendly with each other.

Dumbledore’s eyes gave a particularly bright twinkle, which alarmed Draco greatly, but he couldn’t very well take back what he’d said.  The door to the Great Hall opened as they approached and Draco found himself staring at a very brightly decorated room.

Streamers of all colours were floating around a large table in the centre of the room where the professors sat, anxiously looking at the door.  Well, all except for Professor Snape, who was sitting with his arms folded over his chest, sneering in distaste.  A large banner reading ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ was flying overhead, occasionally changing colours and doing loops in the air.  The table had been covered in a thick red cloth that shimmered under the star covered ceiling and there were party hat on every plate.

With a hand on his back, Draco was pushed through into the room and made to sit next to Professor Trelawney, who kept eyeing him sympathetically.  Dumbledore took his seat and the waited.  Snape didn’t move the entire time, nor did his glare waiver.  Draco was just beginning to feel edgy when the doors opened and Professor McGonagall entered, followed by a stunned Harry Potter, who stopped in the entranceway and stared, open mouthed, at the room.

Dumbledore stood up, his arms open, “Welcome Harry, and Happy Birthday.”

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It seemed that Dumbledore had not forgotten Harry’s birthday, as he had thought, but had simply been detained by a conference with the Minister that had gone very badly that morning.  Fudge wanted to station Dementors at Hogwarts and Dumbledore did not approve.  Since he had been unable to join Harry on his actual birthday, Dumbledore had designed a sort of party for him.  According to Harry, later that night, it had been his first one ever.

“But, with the muggles, didn’t they...”

“The Dursleys hated me, I was lucky to get a sock for my birthday, let alone a party.”  Harry sighed happily, lying on the bed with his arms over his head.  “I used to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, I was lucky to get a few slices of bacon in the morning, I had to cook for my family, and I didn’t look forward to anything, let alone my birthday.  Now, I have my own room, I get to eat as much as I want, the house elves clean up after me and cook for me, and I get to learn magic and have friends and... and I get a birthday party with cake and everything.”

Draco had turned his head to stare at Harry, but other boy didn’t even seem to notice.  “You slept in a cupboard under the stairs?”

Harry’s smile wavered, but only slightly, “Hm.  There were spiders in there and it was dark, especially at night and when Uncle Vernon was mad at me, he’d lock me in for days without food and only let me out to use the bathroom.”  He looked over at Draco very suddenly, a glint of shame in his eyes “You’ll not tell anyone, will you?  Not even Ron knows.”

For half a second, Draco wanted to mock him.  Then he blinked.  He blinked and behind his eyes he saw the haunted expression on Harry’s face when he’d been locked in the storeroom two year ago, the way he had not eaten after and the nightmares he’d had.  His mind flashed with the half mumbled words that he’d heard so often in the dark, “Sorry”, “I don’t know”, and, most commonly, “Please, Uncle Vernon.”  Could he really mock him after knowing all that?  More importantly, could he really pass up the chance to know something about Potter that even his precious Weasel didn’t?

“Fine, but you owe me.”

The smile returned, “Thanks, Malfoy.”  Harry turned around on his side and tucked his arms under his head, falling asleep in only minutes.  Draco, however, stayed up much later.

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The next morning looked ominous and Professor McGonagall suggested they stay in.  Draco wasn’t upset about this in the least, as he’d been up much of the night, thinking about what Harry had said.  Not that he would be willing to admit it to anyone, but he suddenly felt very guilty about having gotten Harry into so much trouble in the past.  He didn’t want to feel guilty though, he wanted to feel annoyed and angry, he wanted to go back to being the way he was only a few short hours ago.

There was still a little over a week to go before he went home and Draco was feeling more and more anxious with every passing minute.  He’d wrung his hands the entire game of Exploding Snap, and he’d nearly chewed him lip entirely off while trying to play chess, which he’d lost and now his lip was bleeding and...

“Malfoy, what is your problem?”

Draco’s head shot up and he sneered, because everyone had their default expressions and that was his.  “What do you mean, Potter?”

“You’ve hardly been paying attention all day.”  Draco didn’t answer, though he allowed his sneer to deepen.  “Is this about last night?  You said you wouldn’t say anything…”

There was a warning in Harry’s voice as he trailed off and Draco rolled his eyes, “Come off it, Potter, I said I wouldn’t tell.”

“You also said I owed you one.  What if you decide that you’d rather just make fun of me in front of the entire school than have me do you a favour?”

Draco opened his mouth to tell him that, for the last time, he wasn’t going to blab, when it occurred to him that Potter was right.  Not that Draco intended to, but the realisation that Harry thought he might, had the potential to be great fun.  “I suppose you’ll just have to keep me happy then.”

He started to set the board back up again while Harry fumed, “Come on, Malfoy, ask me to do something.”

Draco scoffed, “Malfoy’s don’t throw away favours like that.  You owe me and I intend to collect, but not until I know what it is I want.”

Harry leaned on his hands and knees over the board, causing the pieces to slide off it and onto the bed, “There has to be something you want that I can do.  Anything.”

With a sigh, Draco leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest in as Snapish a manner as he could.  He wanted Harry to drop it, because at that moment he was feeling charitable and he didn’t think he wanted to make Harry buy his silence with favours.  Unfortunately, the stubborn set of Harry’s face told him that this wasn’t an option.  Maybe if he asked him to do something he simply wouldn’t do... Draco perked up when he remembered what he’d caught some of the seventh year boys doing in the bathroom last year.  Surely, Potter wouldn’t do that.

“All right, Potter, toss me off.”

Harry blanched, “Excuse me?”

“Lie down, take out my penis, and give it a go.”

Harry’s teeth worried his lower lip and Draco sat, smug in the assurance that Prude-Potter wouldn’t dare do it.  Then, Harry nodded, “Fine.”

Without another word, the Gryffindor reached forward to undo his trousers and Draco scurried back a foot.  “Wait, I wasn’t finished.”  Harry stopped, looking at him with his eyes slit suspiciously.  Oh, bloody hell, how was he going to get out of this?  “Um... I have to do it to you too.”  There, Potter couldn’t possibly be okay with the idea of Draco touching him there.

Harry paused, frozen on the spot for all of two, long seconds before he shrugged.  “How do you want to do it?”

Bugger.  Draco almost said he didn’t know, but quickly realised how ignorant that would make him look and he didn’t want to feel ignorant in front of Potter, especially not on something like this.  “Lie down beside me.”

Harry stretched out on the bed, his elbow resting uncomfortably against Draco’s side.  After a few deep, calming breaths, Draco felt the other boy moving to undo his own trousers and had to force himself to do the same, because he didn’t want to look nervous.  Fortunately, Potter was concentrating very hard on the ceiling, or he might have seen how badly Draco’s hands were shaking.

Unbuttoning his trousers, he didn’t push them down, but instead pulled his very limp penis out and moved his hand away to let Harry wrap his fingers around it.  They were cold and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making any particularly undignified noises.  Closing his eyes, he tried to think of something that would get him aroused while Harry began moving his hand and adjusting his grip experimentally.

He thought about Pansy’s breasts, when she’d lost the bet and he’d made her show him.  She wasn’t much to look at overall, but her breasts were nice.  Small, but nice.  Not working.  He switched gears and thought about one of the seventh year Slytherin girls he’d managed to peak a look at in the shower.  Now she’d been nicely built, with perky tits and a slim waist.  Water had been trickling down her body and falling onto the floor with little pats against the tile.  Tacky bit of tile, it was too, he wondered who had chosen it.

Bad news, it wasn’t working.  Good news, apparently it didn’t have to.  His penis didn’t seem to know the difference between masturbating himself and having someone else do it for him.  Harry stopped moving and Draco opened his eyes, looking over at him, prepared to make a vicious comment about whether he’d said he could stop, but found himself so close to Harry’s bright green eyes that he couldn’t manage to breathe, let alone speak.  Harry found his voice first, “Aren’t you going to... you know?”

Draco bit back a gulp and nodded, turning his head back towards the ceiling and reaching his hand out nervously.  It felt like his and didn’t at the same time.  Harry was circumcised, as Draco was, and by the feel of it, he wasn’t much bigger around than Draco, but there was something disconcerting about the hard heat of it in his hand and the way Harry’s breath hitched when he started moving.

Trying to concentrate on his own pleasure and not think about the fact that it was Harry’s hand and not his own doing it, he began to stroke in earnest, hoping to end this as quickly as possible.  It wasn’t long before he felt the familiar tightness in his balls and he let out a strangled moan as he came, vaguely aware that Harry was doing the same next to him.

It took several moments of panting for Draco to come back to himself and when he finally did, the first thing he became aware of was something warm and wet on his hand.  Letting go of Potter, he looked at the cum-covered fingers and sneered, “Oh, that’s just lovely, Potter.  I’ll never be able to look at my hand the same way again.”

Harry frowned and stood up, shoving himself back into his trousers and wiping the sticky residue on his shirt before pulling it off.  “Like you were any better.”  He went to the wardrobe and took another shirt out, not bothering to pick up the one he’d left on the floor.  “So, we’re even?”

Draco sighed and nodded, still looking at his hand and trying to determine what it could have done.   Was it possible to get a disease through his hand?  “Yes, fine, we’re even.  Could you get me a washcloth?”

He was so busy looking at his hand that he didn’t see the towel flying towards him until it had hit his hand, knocking it into his face.  With a cry of outrage, Draco threw the towel off, but Potter was gone and the door was slamming shut behind him.  Wiping his hand and face off, Draco tossed the towel on the floor and went into the bathroom to do a more thorough cleaning, trying to ignore the incessant little voice in the back of his mind, asking when the hell they were going to do that again?