Summer 5: Part C

Two weeks at Malfoy Manor was equivalent to two weeks in one of the lower levels of hell.  At least, that was Harry’s opinion on the matter when it was all said and done.  The clothing had arrived only the day after Narcissa ordered them and she’d forced Harry to try several of them on before she was satisfied.  Then, she’d burned the rest of his clothing.  Well, everything except his Weasley jumpers, which he hadn’t brought with him, and his pyjama pants, which were still lying next to him on the floor.  He had managed to save those by using his foot to scoot them under the bed before she noticed.  With a happy sigh, she’d patted him on the head and had ignored them both ever since.

It wasn’t that any of the clothes were bad.  They fit well enough and they didn’t look feminine, as he’d been worried they would and in fact, they felt very nice against his skin, almost luxurious.  Even the boxers were made of some kind of silk that caressed him with every step.  But there in lay the problem.

It seemed that his traitorous body, which couldn’t be bothered to tell the difference between Oliver Wood’s roguishly handsome looks and Draco Malfoy’s pointy face when it came to midnight fantasies, could very well tell the difference between cotton and silk and it made a point every morning (and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon) of letting Harry know that.

Since they didn’t share a room at the manor, it was much easier than normal for him to find time to take care of himself.  The privacy was something of a relief, actually.  At Hogwarts he had always felt embarrassed and cautious, because a certain female ghost was known to sneak in through the plumbing and watch people in the baths; and at Ron’s, well, eight people in one house just was not conducive to time alone.

The only problem was that with that much space to himself, Harry was starting to feel like he might not want to be alone all the time.  In fact, his fantasies had started to include more than just images of other boys masturbating, but images of himself joining in and touching them and then, to his eternal shame, kissing them.

It was the morning after one such fantasy (a particularly vivid one in which he had been pressing Malfoy against a shower stall at Hogwarts and grinding against him, while trying to get as much tongue as possible down his throat) that he was woken by Draco knocking on his door.  “Potter, are you awake in there?”

He sat up, blinking, “Wha?”

The door opened and Draco came in, “What was all that noise about?”

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, suddenly very alert and very aware of his achingly hard penis, “Nothing!  Nothing at all.”

Draco frowned at him, “Are you sure?  It sounded like you were in pain.”

Harry’s could feel his ears going red and desperately tried to keep the colour from spreading into his cheeks.  “No, I was just… having a nightmare.”  He silently cursed himself for his habit of talking in his sleep.  Maybe he should invest in a gag.

“Nightmare, huh?”  Draco raised one eyebrow and Harry felt his cheeks flame up and dropped his head onto his knees as Draco laughed.  “Oh, Potter, that’s priceless.”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

“You were having one of those dreams, weren’t you?  Who was it about?  Bell?  Spinnet?  Brown?  Patil?”  The blonde’s face split in a nasty grin, “Granger?”

Harry looked up sharply, his erection quickly deflating as he saw his best friend’s face in the back of his head.  “Oh, thanks a lot, Malfoy.”  Though, to be honest, he was indeed thankful, because otherwise getting out of bed might have been very embarrassing.

Pushing the covers aside, he stood up, stretched, and went to the wardrobe.  The only other thing positive he had to say about Malfoy Manor was that once one engaged the services of the wardrobes, they picked your clothes out for you.  There was no scrambling around, trying to decide what would match, especially now that he had a much larger selection to choose from.  He simply opened the wardrobe and the clothes that he should wear that day were hanging on the door.

Pulling them off the hanger, he flung them on the bed and started for the bathroom, only to be stopped by Draco’s mocking voice, “Going to take a shower, Potter?”

Harry turned around, frowning.  He really wasn’t a morning person, if he had his way, he would lay in bed half-awake for hours.  Draco had apparently picked up on this at some point and decided that mornings were the most opportune time to be annoying.  Not that he wasn’t annoying all the times, he just put forth more effort.

“It’s not what you think, Malfoy, I just got all sweaty and…”  He stopped as he realised what he’d said and blushed deeply, “You know what, never mind.  I’m going to go take a bath.”

While Harry tried to dunk himself into cold water, hoping to stave off any other urges he might have, Malfoy stood outside the door to the bathroom, talking to him.  “Last night one of the ghosts came into my room and asked why I hadn’t brought you by to see him.”

He scrubbed the soap into his hair, “One of the ghosts?  I didn’t know you had ghosts.”

“Oh, please, any wizarding home more than a century old is bound to have a ghost or two.  Ours tend to stay in the South wing, away from the family.  Great great uncle Varius, however, wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Because, Potter, you’re the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, everyone wants to meet you.  Besides, he was… father’s home!”

Harry, who had been dunking his face in the water at that moment, had the misfortune to inhale in surprise.  Choking out the water, he grabbed his towel and stood up, quickly wrapping it around him while he coughed and came out of the bathroom, looking out the window that Draco was standing in front of.

Lucius Malfoy was standing in the gardens next to another wizard that Harry recognised as Nott.  Ducking out of view, Harry cursed under his breath.  He looked down to where the little gold chain hung around his ankle and recited the word that would activate it in the head, wondering if perhaps he should just go ahead and use it.  The idea of spending even a few short hours in the same Manor as that man was troubling.  Especially when he remembered what had happened last summer and the way Malfoy had looked at him.

Then again, Dumbledore had said only to use it if it looked like the elder Malfoy intended to do him harm and as he hadn’t even said hello, yet, he had know idea of his intentions.  Draco was staring at him and Harry shrugged, “It’s nothing, I was thinking.”

“You do an awful lot of that for a bull-headed Gryffindor.  And what is that on your ankle?  Potter, are you wearing jewellery?”

Harry pushed his foot behind him self-consciously.  “It was a present and… well, I don’t want to lose it.”

Draco chuckled, “Sure, Potter.”

Going over to the bed, he looked down at the pair of green boxers, folded neatly next to black trousers and a dark green shirt.  “That wardrobe is absolutely obsessed with putting me in green.”

Dropping his towel, he picked up the boxers and was pulling them on when he notice something out of the corner of his eyes.  Draco was staring at him.  As disturbing as this was, however, what was more disturbing was that when Harry turned to ask him what he was staring at, Draco looked away quickly and concentrated very hard on something outside.  Harry raised his eyebrows, but he knew Draco well enough to know that he would never admit to it, so he went back to getting dressed.

Draco stared pointedly at the top of the trees, being careful not to notice the fact that he could still see Harry’s reflection in the window.  When Harry was dressed in those slightly baggy, worn muggle clothing it was easy not to notice certain things.  Things like the way Harry was really starting to fill out in places.  Things like the way there was a line of muscle that ran from his knee up along his thigh.  Things like the small bulge of delicate muscles on his arms and the well-developed abdomen that became more and more defined as the years went on.  But when Harry put on the clothing that had been specially tailored for him, everything stood out; from his smooth, golden skin to his bright emerald eyes.  It was disgusting, it was disturbing, it was… Harry’s reflection stood on its toes to take the pants off the hanger and the muscles in his thighs tightened and bulged.

Damn!  Look at the treetops.  Look at the treetops.  Better yet, think about Pansy, that was safe territory.  He was practically betrothed to the girl, so it hardly mattered if he got inappropriate erections while thinking about her.  To his eternal horror, his cock went from semi-hard to completely flaccid at the mere thought of her.  “The nerve!”

“What?”

Shit, he’d said that out loud.  Draco looked over at Harry, who was half way through pulled his shirt on.  “You’re taking too long and I’m getting bored.”

Harry rolled his eyes and started buttoning his shirt.  “You’re always bored, Malfoy.  Have you ever noticed that?”

“I’m always bored because I’m always being forced to hang around with you.  Now hurry up, I have to take you to meet Uncle Varius and then we can go do something.”

Harry rolled his eyes and reached into the wardrobe for his socks while Draco tried to pretend he wasn’t watching.  There wasn’t any reason he should be watching, Harry was… Harry, and he was a boy, which was by far the more important thing.  Malfoys were not gay.  They married upstanding, pureblood women and had one heir, two if they were ostentatious.

Potter stood up and dusted off the green shirt, pressing it into his flat stomach, before heading towards the door.  Draco stood up, quickly taking the lead and walking briskly towards the southern most wing of the manor.  It was very simple really.  He was a Malfoy and Malfoys were not gay, that was all there was to it.

 

____________________

 

Draco Malfoy was gay.  Snape had given him the benefit of the doubt for many years.  The boy did, of course, spend a great deal of time with his mother, which was enough to make even the most masculine of wizards bend.  He also had very little in the way of male role models as Lucius was inclined to spend as little time at home as possible.

So, over all, Snape could see why the boy would pay so much attention to the way he dressed, or make the occasional flamboyant statement about decor.  What he could not ignore, however, was the way that Draco was blatantly staring at Potter’s backside and had been doing so since the moment they started to walk down the hall from Dumbledore’s office.

The problem with noticing that was that it became increasingly difficult not to notice that, for a fourteen-year-old, Potter did have a nice arse, which led to memories that he didn’t particularly want to conjure when said boy was in the near vicinity.  The house of ill-repute that Lucius favoured, had acquired a most peculiar specimen during the previous summer and Lucius had been most adamant that Snape participate.  He had reluctantly agreed, because the Dark Lord was only on temporary hiatus and appearances had to be maintained.  At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

The specimen was a young muggle boy that had the unfortunate bad luck to look almost exactly like Harry Potter.  Oh, there were differences, or Snape would have suspected polyjuice.  The lower lip was a bit too thin, the eyes slightly too large and the ears were just a fraction smaller than they ought to be, but the tear-filled eyes and sweat-drenched hair were perfect and the golden skin that had turned red and blue with abuse was flawless.

Eventually, after nearly three hours of violent assault, the company had become tired of the boy’s heart wrenching sobs and half-hearted attempts at struggling against the bindings he couldn’t even see.  When that happened, they forced a powerful aphrodisiac down the child’s throat and started playing with him again, their lusts renewed by the wanton pleading and whimpers and moans when they slid into the loosened arse.

While Snape had always considered himself a man of moderately good moral standing, one who would never even consider doing that sort of thing to one of his students, it was hard not to wonder if the real Potter would make those same delicious noises, or if he had a repertoire all his own.  Oh, and it did not help that Narcissa had taken it upon herself to dress the boy.  Every article of clothing hung just right, unlike the cheap muggle fair the boy had worn every other summer.

He snatched his hand out and tugged Draco’s robes before the boy plowed into the wall.  Draco’s pale cheeks went bright pink with embarrassment and he set his eyes forward, watching where he was going, rather than what he was following.  Harry looked back for a moment, but Malfoy pulled a face, so he looked away quickly.   Not quickly enough.  It was so easy to imagine what that face would look like twisted in perverse pleasures.  Too easy.

It had been a glorious two weeks of silence.  Two weeks without one child or another under foot and this was the price.  The rest of his summer holiday spent in amoral agony.  He followed Draco’s eyes, which were once again focused on the other boy’s arse.   Well, he supposed there were worse fates, even if it was Potter.

-tbc-