Hissy Fit Chapter Six

[dysonrules]

Title:  Hissy Fit
Rating:  NC17... someday
Warnings:  Snake cuddling
Summary:  Draco tries to fix Harry, who still isn't getting it.

The Beginning - Hissy Fit - Chapter 1

 Chapter Six

           It was nearly an hour later when the place was finally cleared of all evidence of wizarding presence.  Harry bid goodnight to the final Auror before exiting the container wearily.  He was so tired he almost stumbled with each step.  He had also neglected to have his wrist seen to, other than to cast a quick Numbing Spell on it.  Once it no longer hurt, he had forgotten it, but the charm was wearing off and it was beginning to ache again.  All he wanted was to go home and go to bed.

            It was a sign of his exhaustion that when something dropped onto his shoulders, he did not even flinch.  After a moment of alarm, he realized it was his missing partner.

            “Nice of you to disappear,” Harry snapped.  “I thought you went home.”

            I thought my presence was supposed to remain secret, the snake said.

            Harry rubbed his eyes.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Sorry.  You did the right thing.  Fuck, I’m tired.”

            The snake turned back into Malfoy, still partially wrapped around Harry, who gave in to a moment of weakness and leaned into him.

            “Come on, let’s get you home, hero.”  Without releasing Harry, Malfoy Disapparated them.  It was with some surprise that Harry found them standing outside his flat.

            “How do you know where I live?” he asked.

            “I know everything, Potter.  Don’t you know that by now?”

            Harry sighed, knowing he would never get a straight answer out of the blond, especially in the middle of the night.  He pushed away from Malfoy and dissipated the wards before unlocking the door.  “I suppose you’re coming in?”

            “Unless you expect me to Apparate all the way to Wiltshire after the day I’ve had.  If you want me to Splinch myself, I will understand, of course.”

            “Come in,” Harry growled.

            Malfoy entered and Harry gauged his reaction more than he should have.  The blond gave the place a critical once-over and Harry tried to look at his flat with a detached gaze.  It was a bit more cluttered than he would have liked, but the colour scheme of pale green and walnut was appealing.  He almost smirked at the thought that was nearly obvious in the Slytherin’s face—at least there was no Gryffindor red.

            “Would you like a drink?” Harry asked politely.  He wondered how to most quickly rid himself of the blond and crawl into bed.

            “Heavens no.  I’m tired enough without pouring alcohol onto the mountain of exhaustion.  Do you mind if I sleep here tonight, Potter?”

            Harry blinked at him for what seemed a full five minutes.  Obviously, it was long enough to annoy the blond, who curled his lip.  “Never mind.  I’m sorry I’m not Chesterfield.  No doubt you prefer him to be here now instead of me.”

            “Who?”  Harry was dumbfounded.

            “Chesterfield.  That pretty little Auror you were ogling at the docks tonight.  You practically drooled on him and then gave him that lovely blush.  I thought you two might kick everyone out and shag atop the animal cages.”

            The name finally.clicked  Chesterfield.  That was the blond Auror’s name.

            “I’m not interested in Chesterfield,” Harry said tiredly.  “If you’re sleeping here, you can take the couch.”

            Malfoy glared at him.  “Malfoys do not sleep on sofas.”

            Harry restrained himself from throttling the blond—barely.  “Fine.  Whatever.  Take the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.  I’m going to sleep now and I don’t want to hear a syllable from you until morning.  Late morning.  There are clothes in my wardrobe—help yourself to whatever you like.”

            Harry did not wait around for the complaints to begin, but stumbled to the chaise lounge in the corner.  He had thought it a ridiculous piece of furniture when Hermione had picked it out, but it had quickly become his favourite.  It was nearly as large as a bed, and perfect for lounging on.

            Harry tore off his outer clothing and glanced over his shoulder.  Thankfully, Malfoy had gone into the bedroom.  Harry Summoned blankets from the hall cupboard, threw himself onto the chaise, and fell into an immediate sleep.

            He was awakened sometime later by a heaviness on his chest.  His questing hand encountered soft scales.  “Malfoy,” he mumbled.  “What are you doing here?”

            Cold.  Don’t know where you keep your spare blankets.

            “Hall cupboard,” Harry murmured, but his fingers trailed over the snake and then he tugged his covers up to give the viper additional warmth before drifting back to sleep.  He supposed it would be all right to sleep with Malfoy as long as the Animagus remained a snake.

 

            The next time he awoke, sunlight was trickling through the gaps in the curtains and the pressure on his chest was definitely not snakelike.  Harry drew in a surprised breath at the feel of the man curled against him.  The blond head was nestled on his shoulder and a muscular arm had been flung over his torso.  The rest of Malfoy’s lean form was pressed tightly against him and the blankets seemed to have tangled in their legs.

            Malfoy huffed lightly and snuggled closer.  He was probably cold again.  Harry noted with surprise that his hand rested on Malfoy’s waist.  He wore nothing but pants and Harry felt his skin nearly burn where Malfoy’s touched his.  He wondered if he could let go without waking the blond.  His hand twitched at the thought and the Slytherin asked quietly, “Going somewhere?”

            “Um… loo,” Harry said lamely, even though he would rather not move at all.  It was disturbingly pleasant holding the blond this way.  Apparently, Malfoy was not ready to move, either.

            “Not yet,” he mumbled.  “You’re warm.”  He sighed and moved his arm off of Harry’s chest, but only long enough to grab the blankets and drag them up again.  The arm dropped around Harry’s waist this time and hugged him tightly.  “Go back to sleep.”

            Harry sighed in contentment and went back to sleep.

            A tickling sensation woke him the third time and he opened his eyes to find Malfoy staring down at him.

            “I’m hungry, Potter,” he said.

            “You are always hungry,” Harry replied.  He was somewhat surprised to find Malfoy still snuggled against him.

            “Not always.”  Malfoy’s lips jutted in a cute pout and Harry had to shut his eyes to combat the knowledge that he had just thought of Malfoy as cute.  And that he was not at all upset about the blond sleeping next to him.  And that he really wouldn’t mind if Malfoy leaned down and kissed him…

            And then Malfoy moved and his elbow caught Harry’s injured wrist.  He yelped like a kicked dog and the blond jerked back in surprise.  “What the hell?”

            Harry lifted his arm over his head and clutched it with his other hand, fighting back tears.  Mother of Merlin, it hurt!  “Last night,” he gasped.  “I forgot to heal my arm.”

            Malfoy sat up with a curse.  “Idiot!  Let me see it!”

            Harry reluctantly lowered his arm and winced again when Malfoy took his hand gently and turned it.  Harry felt a bit nauseous when he looked at the swollen, purpling mass.  It looked atrocious.

            “Fuck, Potter, if it’s not broken it’s doing a damn fine impression of it.”  Malfoy pulled Harry’s arm onto his lap and grabbed his wand from the floor.  Harry felt only a mild flash of amusement that the blond had not left his wand in the bedroom—typical Slytherin—before the pale fingertips prodded at his arm and drew a ragged gasp of pain.

            “Damn it, Potter, this would have been simpler if you had fixed it last night!  It’s completely inflamed now.”  Malfoy sighed.  “Hang on, this might hurt a bit.”

            A few muttered spells later and Harry’s arm tingled quite painfully before settling into a dull ache.  He focused on Malfoy’s profile and blinked when he realized he had never really appreciated how handsome the blond was.  His features were really quite beautiful, especially when his hair was slightly mussed from sleep and his lips were pursed in concentration.  His mouth was very expressive, Harry admitted, thinking of the varied expressions he had seen from Malfoy—sneers, smirks, grins, and thin lines of annoyance.

            “Some of the swelling is down.  I’m going to try to heal the bones.  I’m not especially good at this, so if you would rather go to St. Mungo’s, tell me now.”  The grey eyes looked at him seriously, clouded slightly with worry.  Harry felt a rush of emotion that surprised him.  He had really come to care for the blond in the past couple of days.  Possibly a little too much.

            “I trust you,” Harry said simply.

            Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.  “You really shouldn’t do that.”

            “Do what?”

            Malfoy sighed.  “Never mind.”  He cast another spell and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a scream.  Fuck!  Malfoy had not been kidding about his lack of ability.  It took him a few moments to feel past the blinding pain, but it eventually lessened.  Malfoy looked even more worried.  “Are you okay?”

            Harry flexed his hand and was pleased to note that it did feel better.  “I think you did it,” he said.

            “You need not sound so surprised,” Malfoy said dryly.

            “I’m not surprised,” Harry lied.  He noticed that Malfoy’s fingers were drawing tiny circles on his wrist as if testing for residual tenderness.  For some reason, the light motions sent warmth flooding through him, travelling at lightning speed from his arm straight to other parts of his body that did not need awakening.  Not with Malfoy sitting next to him, at any rate.  To Harry’s alarm, his cock refused to listen to reason and rose eagerly.  If anything, Harry’s panic seemed to hasten the process.  He suddenly needed to escape.

            “Any other wounds?” Malfoy asked, not pausing in his fingertip massage therapy.

            “No!” Harry said too quickly.

            Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.  “Why do I not believe you?  Gryffindors never could lie worth a damn.”

            Malfoy finally released Harry’s arm, only to turn, obviously determined to find other bits of Harry to heal.  Harry sat up quickly, dragging the blankets into his lap to hide his condition.  That was all he needed—Malfoy was already prattling on about Harry’s attraction to blonds and making insinuations.  He would never let Harry live this down.  “No!” he yelled, trying to scoot away.  The quick movement caused him to wince involuntarily—he had forgotten about the injury to his hip.

            Malfoy shoved his chest.  “Damn it, just lie down.  I’m trying to help you.”

            “You’ve done enough.  I don’t need any more help,” Harry said sharply.  The blankets tangled in his legs, preventing escape.  Malfoy glared at him.

            “Don’t be such a stubborn fool.  What could be worse than a broken wrist?”

            Harry nearly barked a hysterical laugh.  He tried to force himself free of the confining covers and succeeded only in tangling himself worse.  Where the hell was his wand?  He needed to vanish these damned blankets and get the hell out of here!

            “Harry!  Calm down!  Merlin, what’s gotten into you?  Hold still and I’ll get you free.”

            Rather than wait for that frightening possibility, Harry threw himself off the end of the chaise, blankets and all, and sprawled facedown, nearly slamming his forehead into the floor.  Finally dragging his legs free of the material, he bolted for the loo and slammed the door behind him.  He sat on the toilet and shook with relief while pressing a hand to his groin, willing the hardness to dissipate enough to allow him to pee.  Malfoy probably thought he had gone mental.  Merlin, he was mental.  He could not allow himself to fall for Draco Malfoy.  The Animagus would laugh all the way to the Daily Prophet.

            A light tap came on the door.  “Potter?  Are you all right?”

            “Fine,” Harry said.  “I’ll be out in a bit.  I just didn’t feel well for a minute.”

            He tried not to think about the blond padding around his house wearing only sexy black boxers and finally had to picture Ron Weasley in one of Hermione’s negligees to crush his stubborn erection.  Thank Merlin he had never been attracted to his friend.  Maybe Malfoy was right about the freckles.

            When Harry finally came out, he found Malfoy—thankfully dressed—sitting at his kitchen table sipping at a cup of tea.

            “Feeling better?” Malfoy asked blandly.

            “Yeah.  Do you want breakfast?” Harry asked and then held up a hand.  “Never mind, stupid question.  I’ll make something.”

            Malfoy jerked a thumb at a slip of paper on the table.  “Owl came from Kingsley while you were in there.”

            “Did you read it?”

            “Of course I read it.  He wants you to come in as soon as you’re up.  Are you up?”

            “Not until after breakfast.”

            Malfoy changed the subject to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup and kept Harry diverted with friendly arguments about the various players until Harry finished preparing bangers, eggs, and several slices of toast.

            “Samael Johnson is gay, which is why the Tornados lose every time the Italian Seeker gets on the field.  Have you seen him?”

            “Johnson is gay?” Harry asked through a mouthful of sausage.  He had, indeed, noticed the Seeker for the Italian team—ruddy gorgeous bastard.  The thought made Harry pause for a moment, wondering how many other men he had noticed without actually noticing himself noticing.  What the fuck?

            “I have it on good authority that Johnson plays for the other team,” Malfoy said with a smirk.

            Harry snorted.  “I believe you.  No need to go into sordid details.”

            “Last night you said you were not interested in Paul Chesterfield.  Are you certain about that?  He fits your criteria, other than the dominance thing.  He seems a bit submissive for your tastes, but perhaps my charts were wrong about that.  I’ll have to go over them again.”

            Harry flushed at Malfoy’s insistence on bringing up Harry’s lack of love life.  “Malfoy, I would really prefer you stop thinking so much about this.  Paul Chesterfield is most definitely not my type, all right?  Can you dispense with the charts and data and concentrate on this case, instead?  I’m going to go see if Kingsley managed to pry any information out of Carter.  You can stay here, if you’d like.”

            Malfoy ignored Harry’s subtle hint that he was not welcome to accompany Harry to the Ministry.  “Are you certain Chesterfield is not your type?  What don’t you like about him?”

            He’s not you, Harry nearly blurted and stood up quickly to cover his astonishment over the wayward thought.  “I’m not discussing this,” he said in a singsong tone, instead.

            “I’m just trying to help you, Potter.”

            “You’re trying to torture me, as usual.”  Harry rinsed his cup in the sink and nearly dropped it when he felt Malfoy press up against him.  Strong arms wrapped around his waist and Malfoy’s lips nuzzled at his neck.  Just like that, his hard-on was back.

            “Thanks for breakfast, Potter,” Malfoy murmured.

            Harry’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.  “Knock it off!” he snapped.  “Go play your annoying games with someone else.  I’m not interested.”

            Malfoy’s hands fell away immediately and Harry ignored the rush of disappointment that took their place.  He glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy disappearing into the living room.  Not feeling up to placating the annoyed man, he took the coward’s way out.  “See you later!” he called and Apparated to a deserted alley near the Ministry.  Once again he waited for his erection to subside before walking to the Ministry building.  He really needed to do something about his ridiculous attraction.

Hissy Fit - Chapter 7