dripping_cherry | (no subject)

Title: Harry Potter and the Lost Grimiore 4/?
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,770
Beta:
Summary: Harry attends a post-Hogwarts University where Draco Malfoy is his roommate, and secrets of an ancient evil threatening to resurface lurk within the castle walls.

Sharing a room with Malfoy wasn’t as quite as horrible as Harry had feared. Harry spent most of his evenings that week with Ron and Hermione and saw Malfoy only when he returned to his dorm to sleep. During the brief moments that they were together, they did a fine job ignoring each other. Harry even managed to keep his unbidden desires under control, and hadn’t dreamed about Malfoy since coming to school.

Harry had gone to bed early tonight, because he hadn’t gotten much sleep since receiving Remus’s letter—he’d been too worried—and he wanted to be well rested for Quidditch tryouts. He’d been surprised to see that Malfoy wasn’t in the room, but shrugged it off—it was about time the former Slytherin began to spend some time with other people. Harry changed into his pajamas and went to bed, looking forward to a night of well-deserved rest. An hour had passed since then, and Harry still hadn’t fallen asleep. He fluffed up his pillow and turned onto his other side—for what seemed like the hundredth time that night—just when the door opened. Harry quickly closed his eyes.

Malfoy spent about ten minutes putting his clothes and school things neatly away—his orderly manner irritated Harry to no end—then got into bed. Harry could feel Malfoy looking at him, as if making sure he was asleep, and wished he’d closed the curtains around his bed.

When Malfoy settled in, Harry hoped that the renewed silence would put him to sleep. It almost worked—Harry had been on the verge of dropping off to reverie, when a soft, long sigh made his eyes snap open. It could have been a breath of comfort or exhaustion, but it made Harry’s stomach twist uncomfortably as he immediately associated it with something much less innocent than tiredness.

The sound of rustling sheets made Harry’s throat tighten. He assumed he was definitely reading too much into the sounds he was hearing—Malfoy would never toss off in the same room with him, even if he did think Harry was asleep. That’s what Harry would have liked to believe, in any case. No matter what actions he kept telling himself were the cause of the noises he was hearing, Harry’s cock was quickly coming to life.

The quiet sighs and the occasional rustling of sheets soon gave way to more labored breathing and the rhythmic tapping sound of skin hitting skin, and there was no room for doubt in Harry’s mind—Malfoy was wanking.

Harry’s cock was rigid and forming a wet spot on the inside of his boxers. He found himself holding his breath in order to better hear every breath and barely audible moan that left his roommate’s lips. The swollen flesh in between Harry’s legs began to ache to the sound of Malfoy’s building pleasure. He wished he could touch himself, but feared that the slightest movement on his part would make Malfoy stop.

Harry marveled at the length of time it was taking for Malfoy to come, while wishing it would end soon or he’d have a serious case of blue balls in the morning. He was lying on his side, facing away from his roommate, and couldn’t see Malfoy, so he closed his eyes and imagined what he might look like right now—head pressed into the pillows, lips slightly parted…

Harry tried to imagine what it would feel like to touch another bloke’s cock, Malfoy’s in particular. Would the blond gasp and moan like he was now if it were Harry’s hand working his prick? Would he want Harry to take it in his mouth?

Harry’s thoughts disturbed him—clearly, he was confused about his sexual preferences, and he didn’t feel ready to deal with such a change. At this point it didn’t matter, though, because Malfoy was fast approaching orgasm and Harry’s cock was an overfilled water balloon, ready to burst at the slightest touch.

“Aaahh,” was Malfoy’s strangled cry as he reached his peak, the sound nearly sending Harry over the edge.

Harry waited, every muscle in his body taut, until Malfoy’s breathing slowed and deepened, indicating that the blond had fallen asleep. Then, he rolled slowly onto his stomach, rubbed himself against the mattress, once, twice… three times, and flooded his boxers with liquid heat.

The pressure in his nether regions finally relieved, Harry wondered why in the world he’d been allowed to witness Malfoy’s wank. His roommate never closed the hangings around his bed, for whatever reason-- but for this occasion, he should have. And just why hadn’t Malfoy cast a silencing charm? Harry didn’t understand the blond at all—he took the time to arrange all of his things into perfect order, yet was too lazy to take a few extra steps to ensure his own privacy.

His thoughts continued for barely a minute before blissful sleep finally swept over him.

*****

When Harry woke up the next morning, Malfoy’s bed was empty, much to his relief. He sat up, and the movement brought to his attention the fact that his boxers were sticking to his cock, as he had fallen asleep before he could clean himself up. He also realized that he’d woken up late and wouldn’t have time to eat before Quidditch tryouts. Harry grabbed a towel and clean clothes. When he opened the door to leave the room, he came face-to-face with Ron.

“What’s taking you so long, mate? We’re going to be late for tryouts,” said Ron.

“I overslept,” said Harry. “You go ahead, I’ll take a quick shower and meet you there.”

Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief, “Harry, it’s late. You’ll need a shower after tryouts, anyway.”

“Well, I need one now, too,” said Harry as he pushed past Ron, letting the door swing shut behind them. He couldn’t imagine how he could possibly perform his best while feeling the remains of the previous night’s wank in between legs. Ron shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction, while Harry made his way to the bathroom, taking long strides.

It was the quickest shower of Harry’s life, but when he stepped out from beneath the streaming water, he felt awake, refreshed, and clean. He was ready to show off his Quidditch skills.

Harry arrived at the Quidditch Pitch just in time. He found Ron and Hermione sitting together in the bleachers. Hermione had a murderous expression, and Harry supposed she and Ron had been arguing about some nonsense, as usual. Then he saw that Mimosa was sitting in the row below them, smiling up at Ron as they chatted—and Ron looked whipped. Harry almost laughed as he took his seat beside his friends.

There were no houses in the university, which meant that anyone could try out for their favorite of the four school teams. They were: the Firebirds, the Griffins, the Hell Hounds, and the Manticores. Ron and Harry had chosen to try out for the Hell Hounds—it was the most difficult team to make, and the best. Harry had nothing to lose—he was sure his skills were adequate for the team, and even if he wasn’t accepted, he could try to make one of the other teams, whose tryouts would be coming in the following weeks.

As Harry took a quick look around at the other applicants, and saw a shock of white-blonde hair and froze. He hadn’t expected to see Malfoy here, although he wasn’t sure why—he did love Quidditch, after all. Seeing Malfoy calmed Harry’s nerves a bit, because he’d played against the former Slytherin many times, and knew what he was up against. He only hoped that Malfoy was going to be his most difficult competition.

Ron’s face was drained of all color when the captain—a pretty, but solid looking girl named Skadi White —called Ron’s name. Harry thanked God, Merlin, and everyone else he could think of that the captain decided to put Ron on trial first. Harry had used the same strategy their seventh year at Hogwarts, hoping that by being allowed less time to fret, Ron would perform better—and it had worked.

As Ron mounted his broom, Harry cast a quick glance in Malfoy’s direction to see if the blond was going to cause any trouble, but Malfoy seemed not to have any negative intentions as he sat, watching quietly.

Ron failed to save the first goal, but thankfully, this wasn’t Hogwarts—no Slytherins were sitting in the bleachers and laughing. Ron regained his composure and succeeded in blocking the Quaffle almost every time, while his friends cheered him on. Altogether, he blocked eight out of ten goals, more than any of the following applicants.

Ron looked ecstatic as he returned to the bleachers, and even more so when Hermione threw her arms around him in a heartfelt hug. Harry wished he had someone special to share in his joy if he was accepted, or his misery if he wasn’t.

Harry had remained calm throughout the trials, but his heart began to race when his turn came. There were more applicants for Seeker than for any other position. As he mounted his broom, Harry wondered what he would do if he were rejected. He could still try out for one of the other teams—but he would most likely still feel like a failure, unworthy of his father’s name. Harry decided it was best not to think about losing, and instead, concentrate on winning.

First, they were ordered to race a few laps around the Pitch, which reduced the number of applicants down to five. Harry and Malfoy had flown neck and neck the entire time, followed by three others, only slightly behind. The remaining Seekers were dismissed.

Next, they were asked to do a series of dives, turns, and various stunts. It was not Harry’s day for Quidditch. Maybe it was because he was worrying about Remus, or because Malfoy’s presence unnerved him after Harry had wanked to the blond pleasuring himself, or perhaps it was a mixture of the two—but Harry kept screwing up. His turns were sloppier than ever, and he nearly crashed into the ground while attempting a Wronski Feint.

Harry seemed to be in luck, though, because only he and Malfoy were chosen to continue to the third, and last, part of the trial—Harry figured the other Seekers must have been terrible, since he hadn’t been cut after his horrid performance.

He took a deep breath, telling himself to relax and concentrate—at this rate; Malfoy would surely send his career as a Seeker to the grave. Something about his opponent’s expression unnerved Harry. Malfoy’s face was free of the passionate hate that Harry knew had usually been the reason the Slytherin had lost to him. Now, Malfoy was focused and calm. Harry could hear Ron and Hermione cheering him on in the background, and realized that if Malfoy would become the team’s Seeker, Ron would quit. He suddenly felt queasy.

At the sound of the whistle, both Seekers set off in search of the Snitch. Harry tried to forget that Malfoy existed, that Remus had sent him that letter, and not to think about what Ron would say if he lost. All that mattered was that tiny flutter of gold, and Harry focused all of his attention on finding it and closing his fingers around it before Malfoy did.

They circled the Pitch for what seemed like an hour before Harry spotted the Snitch and set off after it. Malfoy followed. Harry could see, out of the corner of his eye, Malfoy’s Quidditch robe fluttering in the wind as they sped after the snitch at insane speeds. The golden ball was just out of reach. Harry stretched his arm out as far as he could and… pale fingers hand suddenly appeared in front of him, closed around the Snitch, and both disappeared from sight. Well fuck.

Harry’s stomach plummeted along with his broom as he headed towards the ground, seriously contemplating committing suicide. When he returned to the bleachers, Ron was whiter than he’d been at the start of trials. He didn’t say one word.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to pull him into a hug. Harry pushed her arms away and left the Quidditch Pitch. He needed to be alone.

******

Harry sought solitude by a small pond on the school grounds, hoping it wasn’t a popular spot to hang out on a Saturday afternoon. He’d have preferred to go to his room, but dreaded that Malfoy would come in after him to gloat over his victory. He picked up a small, green stone and cast it into the pond, watching the ripples that formed on the water’s shiny surface. Soon he’d gathered a fistful of similar stones and threw them into the pond, one after another.

Only about three stones were left in his hand when he heard someone calling his name. He turned around to see Hermione and Ron jogging towards him. He sighed, wishing they’d just leave him alone for the time being.

“Harry why’d you run off like that. We were worried,” said Hermione.

Harry wondered why in hell Ron was smiling. “What are you so happy about?” he asked.

“Don’t be so sore, Harry,” Ron said. “We both made the team.”

“What?” Harry asked, disbelieving his ears.

“You’re on the team,” Ron repeated, seating himself beside Harry.

“We were sure Malfoy was going to be chosen, though,” said Hermione. “He either equaled or surpassed you in everything you two did out there today.”

“Hermione, listen to yourself,” Ron said incredulously. “Would you rather Malfoy have made the team?”

“No. But I don’t think the captain was being fair. That’s all.”

“Stop pretending you know anything about Quidditch,” Ron said angrily.

“She’s right,” said Harry. “Malfoy did do better than I did. I’d hate to think her decision was based on like or dislike.” It was true. Elated as Harry was about having made the team, he hated the thought of being chosen because people hated Malfoy, rather than because he’d been the better of the two of them.

“Listen to yourself,” said Ron. “Who cares about Malfoy? That git deserves it, after all he’s done. No one wants someone like that on their team. Besides, you are the better Quidditch player. You just… had some difficulties today.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Harry, trying to push his doubts out of his mind and enjoy the moment.

“C’mon let’s celebrate,” said Hermione, grabbing both their hands and pulling them to their feet. “There’s a party going on tonight.”

Harry and Ron gave each other quizzical looks. “Don’t you have homework to work on?” they asked simultaneously.

Hermione blushed. “It can wait until tomorrow. I promised myself I’d have some fun in school, this time around.”

*****

Harry returned to his room in the wee hours of the morning. Malfoy was still up, reading in bed. Harry was a bit tipsy, after drinking a few too many shots of fire whiskey, but he could swear that the blonde’s eyes appeared very red. Had he been crying?

Malfoy seemed very uptight when Harry entered—as if he expected Harry to make snide remarks about his victory. But the brunet did no such thing. Instead, Harry changed into his pajamas and went to bed. He cast another glance at Malfoy, and a scrunched up tissue lying on the covers confirmed his suspicions that he’d been crying.

Harry felt terrible again. It wasn’t fair—Malfoy had shown much better skill during tryouts, and it should have been him celebrating today. Harry thought that the right thing to do would be to refuse his position as Seeker, since it had only been given to him because no one wanted Malfoy on the team. But that was something Harry knew he couldn’t do. He loved Quidditch too much to deny himself a chance to be on the school’s best team.

“You were great out there today, you know,” he said. Malfoy pretended he hadn’t heard him, but Harry knew he was listening. “You should’ve been the one to make the team.”

Harry couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, but admitting it was the least he could do. He refused to go as far as to say he was sorry, so he pulled the curtains shut and lay down. The space between his hangings went black a minute later as Malfoy put out his lamplight. Harry hoped that his words had at least brought his roommate some succor.

Tbc…

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

Current Mood: discontent

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From:

enchanted-jae.livejournal.com

Is it just me, or did Draco wank the prior night just to throw Harry off his game? If so, quite Slytherin of him! I'm happy for Harry, but it doesn't seem fair that Draco didn't make the team.

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