Wascally Part Eight

[dysonrules]

This one ended up a bit longer than intended, but hopefully it's worth the wait.  *snicker*  Billions of thanks and huggles to my precious beta, byaghro  , who cranks out the edits as fast as I write them...

The very beginning...

Part Eight

 

Draco tried to shake his feeling of despondency, but the simmering anger left by the loss of his bird and the traitorous theft by the Gryffindors, complicated by Potter’s shocking behavior, put him in a black mood that left most of Slytherin house quaking in their boots should they be unlucky enough to draw his attention.  Crabbe and Goyle had deserted him after a particularly brutal tongue-lashing earlier that morning.

 

He had spent the remainder of Sunday trying, without success, to dredge up some clue as to where Harry had gone.  Even trapping Longbottom and tormenting the boy until he was in tears gave Draco no new evidence.  Longbottom had not seen the bird and had no idea what Draco sought.  A bit of Legilimency had ascertained the truth of Longbottom’s sobs, much to Draco’s annoyance.  It had to have been one of Potter’s close clan… or Potter himself.

 

The thought that it may have been the Golden Boy in Draco’s bed left him with sweating palms and a fluttering sensation in his gut, but he rejected the idea immediately.  Potter might have stolen the bird to be an arsehole, but he would never have touched Draco so intimately, despite what that incredible kiss might have suggested.  Draco refused to think about that.  At all.

 

Draco had finally given up tormenting Gryffindors and gone to bed, vowing never to acquire another pet as long as he lived.  He despised the feeling of loss and was particularly irritated with himself for becoming attached to the stupid bird after only one day.  Still, Harry had needed him.  He had been injured and…  Well, fuck, Draco missed the fluffy cooing thing and he vowed revenge on whatever bastard had snatched it.

 

Classes on Monday were torment and he spent most of his time glaring balefully at Potter’s unconcerned visage or bullying anyone within range.  At lunchtime he poked at his food with disinterest until a nondescript school owl dropped a letter in front of his plate.  It read: If you really want to know about the bird, meet me in front of the Room of Hidden Things at 11 pm.  Come alone.

 

Draco crumpled the message.  His gaze shot to the Gryffindor table, but the Trio of Idiocy was giggling merrily at the antics of Finnegan, who seemed to take an unnatural delight in playing with his food.  Immature louts, the lot of them.

 

Although he somewhat suspected a trap, Draco lay awake until the appointed time and then made his way up the myriad steps to the Room of Hidden Things.  Potter lounged against the wall, making Draco want to leap on him and wrap his fingers around the slender throat.  Without so much as a greeting, the Gryffindor pushed away from the wall and walked in front of the blank wall a few times until a door appeared.

 

Potter held it open for Draco, who felt he might be walking to his doom.  How long until someone found his body if Potter decided to do away with him?  He raised his chin a notch and breezed by the black-haired boy as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

 

The room was a bizarre recreation of the Gryffindor common room and Draco frowned in annoyance.  Potter tossed a large duffel bag onto the couch.

 

“Sorry,” Potter said with a grin.  “I just wanted somewhere I could feel comfortable.  You can sit down.”

 

“I don’t want to sit down, Potter.  I want to know what happened to my bird.”

 

“I would never expect you to get so attached to an animal,” Potter said in a conversational tone.

 

Draco sneered.  “That shows how much you know about me, Potter.”

 

The Gryffindor shrugged.  “Nevertheless, I was pleasantly surprised.  You seem really depressed about the loss.”

 

“The theft, you mean,” Draco retorted with a glare.

 

“It wasn’t quite what you think.”

 

Draco refrained from tapping his foot on the floor and waited patiently for Potter to get to the point.  The Gryffindor tugged at his hair and Draco wondered idly if he would scuff his foot on the floor like a wayward child.

 

“The truth is, I’m an unregistered Animagus,” Potter blurted.

 

It took a moment for the words to sink it.  By the time Draco fully understood, Potter had blurred, shifted, and disappeared.  A white shape fluttered around the room and landed on the back of a chair near Draco.  It cocked its head and peered at him through black eyes.

 

“Harry,” Draco said in wonder.  The colossal irony nearly overwhelmed him and he sank into the chair to bury his head in his hands.  Life was too ridiculously cruel at times.  His irritating stupid pet not only acted like Harry Potter, it was Harry Potter.  Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up and he choked it back with a groan.  He heard a loud chirp and a ghosting of wings brushed near his hair before the bird fluttered away.

 

Potter cleared his throat and Draco raised his head to see the Gryffindor standing behind the couch.  The sight of his bare flesh made Draco’s brows shoot upward.  Potter blushed nearly scarlet.  “The thing is…  I haven’t figured out how to change back with my personal effects.  My clothes and my wand always disappear.  I always find my wand in the Gryffindor dorm next to my bed, but my clothes…  I don’t know where they go.”

 

“You’re not wearing clothes?” Draco asked mildly.

 

Potter scowled and reached over the back of the couch for the bag.  “Didn’t I just say that?  Anyway, I haven’t told Ron and Hermione about this yet, because it’s embarrassing.  That day you found me in the forest I had gone out for a test flight and was nearly killed by a hawk.  It injured my wing and I could hardly fly.”  Potter paused in digging through the bag.  “So… um, thanks.  For helping me.  Even though you didn’t know it was me.  And here is your dressing gown back.”

 

Potter yanked Draco’s green dressing gown from the bag and set it on the couch with another dark blush.  Draco immediately recalled the events leading up to the disappearance of the garment and he felt warmth flood into his cheeks, as well.

 

Draco got to his feet and walked toward the couch, slightly amused at Potter’s downcast gaze; he seemed unwilling to meet Draco’s eyes.  Draco ignored the offered dressing gown and instead walked around the couch to stand next to the startled Gryffindor.  Potter snatched the garment close to clutch it against his front like a shield.

 

“What are you doing?” Potter asked with obvious alarm.

 

Draco halted when he was close enough to touch Potter by simply leaning forward a centimeter or two.  “Why did you kiss me?” Draco countered.

 

Gryffindor to the end, Potter did not move away, but his blush darkened and he still would not meet Draco’s eyes.  His voice was a bare whisper.  “Because I wanted to.”

 

Draco tipped his head forward and asked, “And you were in my bed because…?”

 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I was cold and you were warm and I sort of drifted off.  I must have changed back in my sleep.”

 

“And you let me think you were Blaise.”

 

Potter nodded and Draco felt the tips of his hair brush against his cheek with the movement.

 

“Well, then, I suppose I owe you one,” Draco purred and let his hand slip beneath the green silk to touch Potter’s abdomen.  The Gryffindor leaped backward and cracked his hip against the back of the couch.  Draco moved forward, effectively trapping him.  “Don’t be nervous, Potter, you’ve already felt me up.  Tit for tat and all that.”  Draco’s hand moved purposefully downward and he gripped Potter’s cock, already pleasantly hard.  Draco smirked, but the Gryffindor’s nervous panting was more satisfying than any witty retort, as was the moan that seemed wrenched from Potter’s throat.

 

Draco stroked wickedly and was surprised to find himself enjoying the feel of Potter and the damned sounds he made—fuck if they weren’t astoundingly hot.  He felt his own erection strain against the constriction of his trousers.  The dressing gown fell away and Draco feasted on the sight of Potter’s naked body, taut and shivering.

 

Potter had no staying power, thankfully, because Draco thought he might come just from the sight and sensation of giving Harry Potter a hand job.  Potter’s release was explosive and his head tipped back beautifully as hot liquid spilled over Draco’s fingers.  He gave in to temptation and pressed his mouth against Potter’s neck, sucking lightly as his teeth marked the Chosen One as his own personal property.  Potter’s fingers were fastened on Draco’s sleeves and they detached slowly as Draco left off branding the Gryffindor and stepped away.

 

Without pausing to think, Draco made his way to the door with a flippant, “You can keep the dressing gown.”

 

He paused with his hand on the latch and looked back.  Potter still leaned against the back of the couch, looking shaken.  “Hey, Potter?”

 

The intense gaze fastened on his and Draco smiled with all the Slytherin wickedness he could muster.

 

“I’d let you fuck me,” he said and went out.

...and no, it's not quite done yet...  THE END