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Chapter Text

1*Harry wanted to uncover the truth

The atmosphere at Cedric's memorial service was heavy with grief and sorrow. The Great Hall, usually filled with the lively chatter of students, was now engulfed in a solemn silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional sniffles and quiet sobs of those who couldn't hold back their tears. Harry Potter, who had witnessed Cedric's tragic death firsthand, felt the weight of his grief more acutely than most. As he looked around the hall, his eyes fell upon Draco Malfoy, who was conversing with Crabbe and Goyle. The sight filled Harry with a burning anger. How could Malfoy be so disrespectful and insensitive in the face of such a terrible loss?

It wasn't just Malfoy, either. Many of the Slytherins seemed to be utterly unmoved by Cedric's passing. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were whispering to each other, their heads bent close together, while Theodore Nott kept shooting furtive glances in Malfoy's direction. Harry couldn't quite decipher the meaning behind Nott's probing looks, but he bristled at the thought that these students could be so indifferent to the tragedy that had befallen their school.

Harry's gaze bore into Malfoy and his Slytherin cohorts as if he could force some semblance of emotional response from them through sheer force of will. But Malfoy remained impassive, his face a mask of cold indifference. His pale skin, always so fair, now seemed as lifeless and white as marble. His eyes were fixed on the untouched food before him, staring blankly ahead as if he were entirely somewhere else.

Beside Malfoy, Theodore Nott seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but before he could get a word out, Pansy Parkinson grabbed him roughly by the sleeve of his robe. She shot him a warning look and hissed something in his ear, her voice low and fierce.

Harry watched these exchanges with rapt attention, desperately searching for any clue or hint that might shed light on the Slytherins' strange behavior. But he found none. It wasn't until the end of the service when Dumbledore began to speak of the imminent departure of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang that something finally happened. Malfoy abruptly stood up, his face hidden behind his hands, and fled the Great Hall.

Few people seemed to notice Malfoy's sudden exit, but Harry, who had been watching the Slytherins like a hawk, found it deeply troubling. What was even more shocking was that Crabbe and Goyle, usually so quick to follow Malfoy's every move, remained seated at the table, their heads bowed in an uncharacteristic show of deference.

Harry's mind raced with questions. Malfoy had been acting strangely for weeks, skipping classes and avoiding his usual taunts and jabs. Something was clearly amiss, but Harry couldn't quite grasp it.

But the farewell was coming as scheduled, and the students from other schools were about to return. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape gathered the students from each house in the square. As the students began to say their goodbyes, Harry found himself caught up in the bittersweet emotions of the moment. He hugged his friends from Durmstrang tightly, promising to write and stay in touch. Ron, meanwhile, was staring longingly at a group of pretty Beauxbatons girls while Hermione wiped away a few stray tears and playfully punched him in the arm.

Amidst the chaos of the farewells, Harry spotted Malfoy again, this time in a corridor near the entrance hall. He was talking to an elegant, dark-haired girl, and as Harry watched, the two embraced each other warmly.

Just then, a familiar figure caught Harry's eye: Lucius Malfoy, his long blond hair shining like a beacon in the crowd. He strode through the crowd of students and parents with an air of arrogance, a beautiful woman by his side. Harry realizes at first that the woman must be Malfoy's mother. She was breathtakingly lovely, with porcelain skin and hair that glinted with strands of gold and black.

Lucius Malfoy paused to greet a tall man and his son, speaking to them with familiarity. Harry remembered Dumbledore mentioning the man, a high-ranking official from Bulgaria, but he couldn't recall the specifics. After a brief chat, Malfoy joined his parents, and Harry watched as the Bulgarian boy enveloped him in a crushing hug.

Harry's eyes searched the crowd for Theodore Nott, but he was nowhere to be seen. Harry knew that Nott's father had been present at the graveyard the night Voldemort returned, even if the two didn't bear a strong resemblance.

Harry's interactions with Nott had been limited, but he couldn't shake the suspicion that Nott was cut from the same cloth as Malfoy. Hermione had insisted that Nott was different, but Harry had seen the boy's father swear allegiance to Voldemort with his own eyes. The memory of that wrinkled, sallow-faced man kissing Voldemort's fingers still made Harry feel sick to his stomach. In Harry's mind, it seemed inevitable that Nott would be privy to additional information about Voldemort and his activities.

In Harry's eyes, what set Nott apart from Malfoy was how he operated. While Malfoy was often brash and attention-seeking, Nott was far more low-key, moving through the school with a mysterious air. He had a knack for disappearing without a trace, only to reappear unexpectedly, his demeanor shifting between calm and furious in a way that left Harry feeling unsettled. This enigmatic behavior made Nott even more challenging to read than Malfoy, adding to Harry's unease.

A particular memory stuck out in Harry's mind: when Nott approached him, questioning his relationship with Malfoy. The incident sparked a nagging suspicion in Harry's mind that Nott and Malfoy shared some unspeakable secret, a bond that went beyond mere friendship. The thought of this secret consumed him, and Harry wanted to uncover the truth.

As he mulled over these thoughts, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. He knew that unraveling the mystery surrounding Nott and Malfoy could be crucial in the fight against Voldemort. With each passing day, the stakes seemed to grow higher, and Harry's determination to get to the bottom of their secret only intensified. He vowed to keep a close eye on both Slytherins, watching for clues or slips that might shed light on the information they might be hiding.

As Harry Potter donned his invisibility cloak and set out to track Theodore Nott's movements on a class-free weekend, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. He quickly located Nott near Professor Flitwick's office, a place where the professor was well-known for his appreciation for the Slytherin student.

Harry watched as Nott collected a few books from Professor Flitwick's office, his curiosity piqued. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that they were all ordinary spell books. Nott then made his way to the library, where he immersed himself in reading. Halfway through his study session, a red-haired Ravenclaw boy joined him, and they spent some time together before Nott departed for the greenhouse to tend to his plants.

In contrast to his previous attempt at following Malfoy, which had left Harry seething with anger as he witnessed the blond Slytherin bullying several students, Nott's life he seemed remarkably mundane. He dedicated nearly the entire day to the library and greenhouse, with no suspicious activities to be found.

As the hours ticked by, Harry fought off drowsiness outside the greenhouse. Suddenly, a Slytherin girl appeared at the door, nearly stepping on Harry and jolting him awake. From the side, Harry watched as the girl approached Nott, exchanged a few words, and then unexpectedly pushed him against the table, engaging him in a passionate kiss. Harry's eyes widened in shock, and he forced himself to avert his gaze from the intimate scene until Nott gently pushed the girl away, offering to escort her back to the dormitory. Harry couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

As Nott and the girl made their way toward the underground Slytherin dormitory, Harry followed them closely despite feeling like he was intruding on Nott's privacy. He overheard the girl's constant declarations of affection for Nott, and true to his word, Nott accompanied her to the girls' dormitory before heading to the Slytherin common room.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry quickly slipped into the common room behind Nott, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He hoped this chance encounter would shed light on Nott and Malfoy's relationship and provide valuable information.

As Harry slipped into the Slytherin common room, concealed beneath his invisibility cloak, he found himself amid an intriguing and unsettling scene. The room was sparsely populated, with a group of students engrossed in a game of cards by the fireplace and a few others scattered around, their noses buried in books. However, what immediately caught Harry's attention was the sight of Malfoy sprawled across a long table, his face blotchy and red, as if he had been crying. The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill down Harry's spine, and he couldn't help but wonder what had caused such distress in the usually composed Slytherin.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy hovered around Malfoy, their expressions uncharacteristically somber. Harry's surprise only grew when he noticed that Nott didn't join these Slytherins. He crossed the room and settled himself on a small sofa by the window, putting as much distance between himself and the group as possible.

The silence that engulfed the room was thick and heavy, like a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother them all. Pansy finally broke the stillness, her voice hesitant and trembling as she addressed Malfoy. "I just don't want you to misunderstand," she began, her words seeming to carry a weight that Harry couldn't quite comprehend. "That day, I wasn't following you. I just happened to run into you at the room door..."

Malfoy's reaction was as swift as it was fierce. He bolted upright, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and apprehension as he glared at Pansy. "Shut up, Pansy!" he hissed, his voice low and menacing. Harry could see how Malfoy's eyes darted around the room as if searching for hidden threats. "I warned you not to mention this in front of others! Otherwise, get out of my sight!"

Pansy's eyes widened in shock, and Harry could see the struggle within her as she tried to contain her aggrieved feelings. Unable to vent her anger, she stamped her foot, gritting her teeth in frustration before turning on her heel and joining Nott on the distant sofa.

Left alone, Malfoy seemed to be in a state of agitation. He stood abruptly, causing the stool to creak under the sudden movement. Pointing an accusing finger at Crabbe and Goyle, he snapped, "Don't follow me!" before storming out of the common room, leaving a trail of tension in his wake.

Harry found himself at a crossroads, torn between the desire to follow Malfoy and uncover the source of his distress and the temptation to stay behind and eavesdrop on the conversation between Nott and Pansy. In the end, the door closed, and he had to choose to creep closer to the pair, eager to glean any information he could.

"I'm really worried about him..." Pansy complained, her voice thick with emotion as tears glistened in her eyes. "But he's still mad at me..."

Nott looked at her, his expression a complex tapestry of emotions that Harry couldn't quite decipher. "So am I..." he sighed, seeming to swallow the words he was about to say. Sensing his hesitation, Pansy leaned closer to him, a sly smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Although I'm surprised by the truth... what about you? Did you know it a long time ago?"

Nott paused, carefully setting down the book he had been holding. He raised his eyebrows at Pansy, his voice cool and distant, and replied, "It's none of your business."

Pansy pretended to be angry, pouting at Nott's unwillingness to share. "You're just jealous! You're afraid that someone will take your Draco away. You think he belongs to you, but the fact is different from what you think," she teased, her words dripping with a hint of malice.

Nott's expression remained stoic as he responded, "This is not funny, Pansy."

Pansy's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned even closer to Nott, her eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "You know, about that secret~ If you want me to spread this news, I can help you... and help myself."

Nott sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. "Spreading the news won't make any difference, and he won't belong to you because of it."

Pansy, looking bored and frustrated, snorted and leaned back in her chair, not saying another word.

Harry's mind raced as he tried to make sense of their cryptic conversation. The words "jealous" and "your Draco" echoed in his mind, depicting Nott and Pansy as love rivals vying for Malfoy's affection. Suddenly, he recalled Nott's earlier questioning about whether he had an affair with Malfoy, and the pieces began to fall into place.

Could Nott and Malfoy be secretly lovers, despite Nott's apparent dalliances with other girls? The thought sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he found himself more determined than ever to unravel the tangled web of secrets that seemed to surround the Slytherin trio.

This newfound information left Harry feeling distracted and uncomfortable. He had initially set out to gather information about Voldemort, but instead, he found himself entangled in Slytherin gossip. The idea of Nott and Malfoy being a couple shouldn't have bothered him, but for some reason, it did. Moreover, he was desperate to uncover the secret that only Pansy and Nott seemed to know.

Harry confided in Ron about his suspicions, but chose not to tell Hermione. He feared that this information might hurt her, given her seemingly good relationship with Nott. However, Ron's reaction was less than enthusiastic. "I'm pretty sure I don't want to know about this, Harry," he said, his face wrinkling in distaste. "And you're already being targeted for promoting the return of the Dark Lord. I don't want my friend to become a weird stalker."

Harry's mind wandered when Ron said that, back to the image of Malfoy's swollen, tear-stained eyes. It was the first time he had seen this vulnerable side of his rival, and it affected him deeply. He realized that there might be more to Malfoy than the ruthless, hurtful persona he projected.

Sighing, Harry decided not to pursue the matter further with Ron. Although he planned to stop tracking Nott, the mysteries continued to plague his thoughts even as he returned to Privet Drive for the summer. Little did he know that in the coming days, he would uncover secrets he wished he had never learned.

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Meanwhile, Malfoy was grappling with his painful revelations. His summer vacation was far from happy, with Death Eaters and the Dark Lord roaming the halls of Malfoy Manor. Even the news of his prefect appointment failed to lift his spirits, especially knowing that the Gryffindor prefects were the know-it-all Granger and the weasel Weasley. However, the promise he had made to Cedric and the inescapable reality that he would have to return to the haunting bathroom where their forbidden love had blossomed truly shattered his soul.

Malfoy teetered on the brink of a complete breakdown, the agony of Cedric's death threatening to consume him entirely. He was forced to bear his grief in solitude, acutely aware that their past had become a taboo subject, a secret he could never share with another living soul. The weight of his loss pressed down upon him, suffocating him slowly, day by day.

As his mental state deteriorated, sleep became an elusive luxury. The nights grew longer, the shadows deeper, and the silence more deafening. One day, the arrival of Nott's two brothers and their father for a meeting at Malfoy Manor caught Malfoy by surprise. He had expected Theodore Nott to accompany them, though he didn't want to face him. Nott's absence left a bitter taste in Malfoy's mouth, a reminder of their unspoken secrets.

Malfoy knew that both Nott and Pansy were aware of his relationship with Cedric. However, there was one crucial detail that Pansy might not have known, but Nott certainly did: the Dark Lord was responsible for Cedric's death.

The thought of Nott's possible reaction to this knowledge filled Malfoy with a sickening dread. Given Nott's intense dislike for Cedric, he might have reveled in the turn of events, taking perverse pleasure in Malfoy's suffering. To shield himself from further pain, Malfoy donned a mask of indifference whenever Nott was present, pretending that Cedric's death meant nothing to him. But the charade only intensified his inner turmoil, eating away at his already fragile psyche.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the manor settled into an eerie stillness, Malfoy retreated to the solitude of his bedchamber. Here, in the privacy of his own space, he could finally shed the facade he had so carefully maintained throughout the day.

The longing for Cedric's embrace consumed him, a desperate yearning that threatened to tear him apart. With trembling hands, he reached for the bottle of perfume Cedric had given him, a cherished memento he had smuggled home from school and hidden beneath his bed. Though he didn't dare to wear the fragrance, fearing that it would attract unwanted attention, he found solace in secretly inhaling its scent from the folds of his quilt. The familiar notes of Cedric's favorite perfume enveloped him, offering a fleeting moment of comfort in his otherwise bleak existence.

Malfoy clung to these nightly rituals of self-consolation, desperate to alleviate the suffocating anxiety and unease that plagued his waking hours. He closed his eyes, allowing his imagination to conjure the phantom sensation of Cedric's arms around him, the warmth of his body pressed closer, Cedric's hardness against his backbone. The ghost of Cedric's signature floral scent lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the happiness Malfoy had once believed, or perhaps foolishly hoped, could last forever.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions, Malfoy opened his mouth wide, shoving his fingers inside, sucking hard as he could, gagging on his despair. He spread his legs as wide as he could and shoved his cock into his fist violently as he wanted to destroy himself. He wanted to feel his desire by rocking his hips, fighting the urge to go deeper as bitter tears stung his eyes.

Through the haze of his anguish, he gazed at the cold, unforgiving moon outside his window, its pale light casting eerie shadows across the room. In the distance, he could hear the restless murmurs of the Death Eaters, their presence a constant reminder of the darkness that had engulfed his world.

Desperate to block out the intrusive sounds, Malfoy plunged his fingers into the anal, biting down hard on his quilt to stifle his own ragged breaths. With trembling hands, he reached out deeper inside, inserting his index and middle fingers into the narrow, warm pipeline of himself, seeking a physical connection to the memories that haunted him. His body trembled on the bed with the thrusts of his fingers, struggling to find the place that made him comfortable. But he could never get to the point where he could cum. He convulsed on the bed, wracked with the sobs he couldn't contain.

He probed deeper, searching for that elusive spot that would bring him the comfort he so desperately craved. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite reach it. The realization struck him like a blow to the gut: it wasn't just the romantic or sexual relationship with Cedric he longed for.

Malfoy knew that he longed for something that could fill the void within him, a tangible force, a powerful, all-consuming entity that could truly enter his body, soothe the ache and take control of him. The emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole was a constant reminder of what he lacked, and he knew that only something extraordinary could fulfill his desires.

Chapter Text

2*Malfoy decided to conduct an experiment

After Malfoy settled into his new quarters in the prefect's dormitory, a sense of relief washed over him. No longer would he have to endure the awkward encounters with Theodore Nott that had plagued him in the same dorm. The privacy of his own room also allowed him to host discreet meetings with his selected friends, away from prying eyes.

Lucius Malfoy had spared no expense in decorating his son's room, filling it with opulent furnishings and lavish decor. The plush bedding, rich tapestries, and gleaming fixtures served as a reminder of the wealth and status that the Malfoy name commanded. Despite the growing unease Draco felt at the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor, which had recently been covered by a strange atmosphere, he found solace in the grandeur of his new living space.

The arrival of Dolores Umbridge and her Ministry-backed initiatives brought with it a new level of power for Malfoy. As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, he was granted unprecedented authority to enforce the strict rules and regulations that Umbridge had put in place. For the first time, Draco began to understand the difference between the privileges his parents' influence had always afforded him and the rights he now possessed in his own right. This made him unable to imagine that Cedric, as a former prefect, only extended his prefect privileges once to take him into the prefect's bathroom.

Pansy Parkinson, too, reveled in their new power, her attitude becoming increasingly arrogant and domineering. Protected by the Ministry, Malfoy and his squad acted with impunity, confident that no one could oppose them. Draco smirked, relishing the feeling of invincibility that came with his newfound authority. As the Inquisitorial Squad's influence grew within Slytherin, Draco's personal rules began to shape school policy. He couldn't deny the immense satisfaction that his newfound "rights" brought him. Some might call this feeling "empty," but Malfoy didn't care. He had long accepted the void within his heart.

But even as he basked in his authority, Malfoy stumbled upon a perplexing mystery. While tracking Harry Potter's movements, he noticed that the Gryffindors seemed to vanish into thin air, disappearing without a trace in the middle of a corridor. It was as if they had stepped into an invisible space, concealed by some unknown magic. Whether it was a spell, an enchanted object, or perhaps a clever invention courtesy of the Weasley twins, Malfoy couldn't be certain. One thing, however, was clear: he was determined to unravel the secret behind their disappearance and use it to further cement his own power and control within the halls of Hogwarts.

In the luxurious prefect's dormitory, Draco Malfoy lounged on a plush armchair, his mind obsessing over the mysterious disappearances of the Gryffindor students. The room was dimly lit, with the flickering fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls. Blaise Zabini lay sprawled across a nearby sofa, casually stuffing his face with sweets from Malfoy's personal stash.

"Blaise, you know the DA's got some kind of secret hideout that makes people vanish?" Malfoy asked, his voice dripping with curiosity. He sat at the table, crossing his legs and staring intently at Blaise, who remained chill on the sofa, leaning against the armrest and chewing gum.

"No clue," Blaise replied simply, before elaborating, "I mean, I know they've got some sort of way of ghosting into the corridors, but I don't know what it is." He shrugged his shoulders, popping another sweet into his mouth.

Malfoy's frown deepened, and he kicked the sofa's armrest with the toe of his designer shoe, interrupting Blaise's snacking. "Stop scarfing down my sweets, Blaise!" he demanded, his tone sharp and irritated.

Blaise grumbled, "I'm just trying to help you out, not be your servant. You've been grilling me about Gryffindor non-stop, and I'm getting tired of answering your questions." He sat up straighter, meeting Malfoy's intense gaze.

"So, you do know how they do it! Spill the tea!" Malfoy exclaimed, jumping off the table and pouncing on Blaise like a starving tiger. Startled, Blaise quickly curled his legs up and raised his hands defensively, trying to keep Malfoy from sitting on top of him. "Tell me, now!" Malfoy insisted, grabbing Blaise's trouser leg tightly, his eyes gleaming with determination.

"Whoa, chill out! Keep your distance from me; it's making me uncomfortable," Blaise said, ignoring Malfoy's displeased expression. He relaxed his muscles slightly and tried to straighten his posture to face Malfoy. "I know a way, and it's not exactly dark magic. It's just some ancient and special spells..."

Blaise continued, "The Spatial Illusion spell, legend has it that you can create a virtual space and control everything in it. People outside can't see what's inside. It's like you made a space out of thin air, and you can summon anyone into it. And those people have almost the same memories and personality as the real deal... so... if you need to find Harry Potter..." He paused, giving Malfoy a meaningful smile. "Ask something that has questions about the DA... just saying."

Ignoring Blaise's smile, Malfoy sighed and picked up his wand. "Fine, show me how," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

Blaise spread his hands and grinned with an innocent, crooked look on his face. "I didn't say I could; I just said I knew how." Seeing Malfoy staring hard at him, almost jabbing his wand into his throat, Blaise hurriedly grabbed his wrist and aimed the tip of Malfoy's wand at the ceiling. "But I know someone who knows that trick..." he said, his voice trailing off.

Malfoy wrenched himself out of Blaise's grasp and twisted his wrist, saying disgruntledly, "You've been messing with me a lot lately, haven't you? Zabini?" Blaise laughed, unable to deny it. He had been helping Malfoy with some of his chores and inquiring about various news lately, which had certainly brought them closer together.

Malfoy glared at him and glanced at his drawer, running over and grabbing a pudding from it. He held the pudding up to Blaise and made his offer, "Tell me who it is, and this is yours."

"Okay, deal," Blaise said, trying to reach for the pudding, but Malfoy dodged him. "You say the name first."

Blaise reluctantly withdrew his hand and said sympathetically, "You know there's a guy who's always working on weird spells." Malfoy immediately realized who he was referring to, and his smile vanished. He led the pudding towards the drawers. Blaise stood up as well, trying to keep up with him. "Why don't you go ask him?"

"Who? Nott? You think I'd go to him?" Malfoy turned around and growled angrily. "Why does a loser like him deserve my help getting into the squad? Or worth me asking him questions?"

"It's not that surprising that he refused it... besides, his personality wasn't suited to the squad anyway..." Blaise said, sounding like he was defending Nott, which only fueled Malfoy's anger. Malfoy had found Nott last week and informed him that he had a way to get him into the squad. On one hand, this was out of some family interest for Malfoy, but on the other hand, he had even gone as far as to try to maintain their relationship through this privilege. Yet, Nott had turned him down almost without even thinking about it. It had completely crushed Malfoy's ego when he, Goyle, and Crabbe were left fuming where they were with Nott.

"Blaise! If you ever mention that name again, you're out of here," Malfoy said, his face red with anger. "I don't believe I couldn't have learned the spell myself!" Blaise shrugged and left the room, mentally vowing never to get involved in their drama again.

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Malfoy's anger persisted for days, consuming him to the point where he lost his appetite. He picked at his meals, pushing food around his plate with disinterest. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged worried glances as they watched him from across the table, but Malfoy paid them no mind. He took out his frustrations on any student who crossed his path, snapping at first-years and sneering at anyone who dared to meet his gaze.

He even started ditching Goyle and Crabbe, opting to run off to the library alone to research the spell. Malfoy spent hours poring over dusty tomes, he searched for any mention of the illusion magic. At least Blaise hadn't lied to him; the spell did exist.

Malfoy found that the spell required the bones of a rat's four limbs. The caster needed to boil these four bones in a potion overnight and cast spells on them. Finally, by arranging the four bones into a rectangle, the barrier would form.

Malfoy began spending a significant amount of time at night experimenting in his room. He started small, focusing on creating a tiny illusory space no larger than a shoebox. Gradually, as he refined his technique and poured more energy into the spell, the area of the illusory space grew larger with his efforts until it could cover the entire room.

As he delved deeper into the intricacies of the spell, Malfoy started to find many interesting aspects in this process. For example, he could freely conjure furniture, paintings, or plants to decorate his room within the space. With a flick of his wand, a plush armchair appeared, followed by an ornate rug and a vase of fresh flowers. Malfoy couldn't help but grin as he watched his creations take shape. He discovered that he could make them tangible by touching them with his finger, and he spent hours exploring the limits of this newfound power.

Soon, he began attempting to manifest creatures in this space. He tried canaries first, watching in delight as a small flock of yellow birds fluttered around the room. Next, he summoned a pair of owls and some small snakes. All his attempts yielded good results, and Malfoy felt a sense of achievement welling up inside him especially gratifying when it occurred in a spell that wasn't his strongest, and he knew he could complete this task without anyone else's help.

With Malfoy's persistent efforts, he was now able to bring people into this space. A few days ago, he successfully brought Crabbe and Goyle into this space and materialized them by touch. Malfoy watched in awe as his friends took shape before his eyes, their forms shimmering slightly as the magic stabilized. He was almost stunned by the manifested illusions because it was even more magical than Polyjuice Potion. Crabbe and Goyle stood before him, blinking in confusion as they took in their surroundings. Although their physical bodies occasionally reverted to an image state due to the instability of the magic, their height, appearance, and voices were almost perfectly recreated. Malfoy circled them slowly, taking in every detail with a critical eye.

When Malfoy ordered them to take off their clothes, they did so without question, removing their shirts and pants. Malfoy carefully observed their illusions, he reached out to pinch their arms, tickle their waists, and grab their hair, testing the limits of the magic. To Malfoy's surprise, although they completely obeyed his commands, their reactions were very realistic. Crabbe dragged his heavy body, shaking his fat-covered flesh as he begged for mercy between gasps of laughter. Malfoy knew he had been afraid of tickling since he was a child, even though his body was covered in thick layers of fat. Goyle, on the other hand, stood stoically, enduring Malfoy's prodding with a grimace.

Moreover, Malfoy brought two girls' dresses and ordered them to wear them and dance around the room, which they also obediently did. Crabbe and Goyle looked ridiculous in the frilly garments, their large frames straining against the delicate fabric as they twirled and spun.

Of course, Malfoy just wanted to further believe that the people in the illusory space could be controlled by him, but it couldn't be denied that the scene was really funny. He threw his head back and laughed, clutching his sides as tears streamed down his face. Malfoy almost laughed himself dizzy, his earlier anger and frustration melting away in the face of this absurd display.

However, when he thought about Blaise's arrogant attitude towards him and prepared to do the same to Blaise, he discovered that the space seemed to only allow a maximum of two people's illusions to appear. Malfoy frowned, his good mood evaporating as he pondered this new limitation.

Malfoy spent every night hunched over the book, studying its pages with a fervor bordering on obsession. But despite his best efforts, he still couldn't determine whether the restriction on the number of people was due to his own lack of ability or the inherent nature of the spell itself. Malfoy realized with growing frustration that the library books' descriptions of the spell were woefully incomplete, lacking the crucial details he needed to fully master the magic. He was forced to explore the possibilities on his own, relying on trial and error and his own intuition to guide him.

Malfoy sat cross-legged on his bed, the book open in his lap. He waved his wand, and a single light flickered, casting a warm glow over the pages. Malfoy leaned closer, his eyes scanning the text as he silently recited the process described within. "Imagine the appearance... speak the name... touch the skin..." he murmured, committing the words to memory.

He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to visualize the person he wanted to summon. "Appearance..." he whispered, and suddenly, unbidden, an image of Cedric Diggory sprang to mind. Malfoy's breath caught in his throat as he pictured Cedric's chiseled features, his dark hair, and his strong, muscular frame. He could almost feel the warmth of Cedric's skin beneath his fingertips, and could almost hear the sound of his laughter.

"Cedric Diggory," Malfoy said softly.

He sat up, his heart racing as he scanned the room, searching for any sign that the spell had worked. But the room remained still and silent, the only sound the pounding of Malfoy's own heartbeat in his ears. Malfoy's shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head, feeling a profound sense of disappointment wash over him. He closed the book with a sigh, using his wand as a bookmark.

With a heavy heart, he picked up his notebook and scribbled a single line: "The dead cannot appear in the space." He had tried to summon Cedric several times before, but the result was always the same. No matter how much he wished it, he couldn't bring Cedric back, couldn't see his face or hear his voice one last time. A deep sadness settled over Malfoy.

Malfoy took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He stood up, patting his cheeks as if to shake off the melancholy that had settled over him. He walked over to the sofa and sat down heavily, his gaze falling on the coffee table in front of him.

There, neatly stacked, was a list of all the students from each house and year, a copy of which was given to every prefect. Malfoy picked up the list and began to flip through it idly, his eyes skimming over the names without really seeing them. But when he reached the Gryffindor page, his gaze was drawn to one name: Harry Potter.

Malfoy stared at the name, his mind racing as he tried to picture Potter's frame, but he couldn't seem to conjure a clear image of the boy. Not like he could with Cedric. Malfoy's memories of Potter were fragmented, colored by years of resentment and desire. Malfoy felt a flicker of unease as he considered summoning Potter to the illusory space. What would he say to him? What questions would he ask? Would it be awkward, or uncomfortable? Malfoy wasn't sure he was ready to face Potter, even in this fabricated reality.

But something compelled him to try. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was a desire to prove to himself that he could do it. Malfoy took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Harry Potter," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke the name aloud.

And then, suddenly, there he was. Harry Potter, standing before him, as clear and solid as if he were really there. But there was something different about him, something that made Malfoy's jaw drop in shock. Potter was completely naked, his bare skin glistening as if he had just stepped out of a steamy shower. Malfoy's eyes widened, and he felt his face flush with heat. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Potter's lean, muscular body, from the way the candlelight played over his skin.

"Harry Potter! Disappear!!!" Malfoy shouted, his voice cracking with panic. The illusion vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Malfoy alone once more, his heart pounding in his chest. He slumped back against the sofa, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Why had Potter appeared naked? Was it some glitch in the spell, some unintended consequence of Malfoy's own distracted state of mind?

Malfoy felt a rush of conflicting emotions - confusion, embarrassment, and a strange, tantalizing thrill that he couldn't quite name. He knew that he had seen more of Potter than he had ever intended to, more than he had ever dared to imagine. And though some part of him recoiled at the thought, another part of him couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement, a desire to see more, to explore the possibilities that this strange new magic offered.

But Malfoy wasn't ready to confront those feelings, not yet. He needed time to process what had happened, to understand the implications of the spell and his own role in shaping the illusions it created. He began to pace the room, his mind racing as he considered the possibility that his own fantasies and desires were somehow influencing the manifestations he created. Malfoy wondered if he could produce an equally realistic illusion of someone else, someone whose body he had seen in real life.

Malfoy paced the room, his heart pounding as his mind raced with forbidden thoughts and desires. The realization that his own fantasies might be shaping the illusions he conjured both thrilled and terrified him. Finally, Malfoy decided to conducted an experiment, he wanted to see just how far his magic could take him.

Closing his eyes, Malfoy mentally flipped through a catalog of familiar faces and physiques - Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, the Quidditch team. But one name stood out among the rest: Blaise Zabini. Though Malfoy had never tried and failed to picture Blaise nude earlier, the boy's aloof demeanor and striking figure still captured his imagination.

"Blaise Zabini," Malfoy intoned, his voice echoing in the empty room. With a sound like tearing parchment, Blaise materialized before him, disappointingly clothed. Feeling a pang of embarrassment at his apparent lack of control, Malfoy flopped onto the bed and buried his face in a book, only vaguely registering that Blaise stood awkwardly in the corner, looking confused and half-asleep.

"Come sit,” Malfoy sat straightly and commanded, motioning to a spot on the bed. As expected, the illusion of Blaise complied, followed his command, and slowly moved over.

As Blaise sat down, he eyed Malfoy suspiciously. "What do you want now?"

Malfoy shrugged, "I don't know, maybe play a game with me? I'm bored."

Blaise yawned, clearly unimpressed. "God, I'm so sleepy. What game?" But as an illusion bound to Malfoy's will, he had no choice but to comply.

A wicked grin spread across Malfoy's face as he remembered a game Pansy had mentioned. "Truth or Dare. You choose to answer a question truthfully, or fulfill any request I make."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Doesn't sound particularly appealing." But then, as if compelled by the magic, he added, "But let's play. You start."

Malfoy hesitated, suddenly unsure. "Truth or Dare?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Blaise shrugged, looking bored. "I don't know. You decide."

Malfoy sighed, realizing this wasn't how the game was meant to be played. But he pressed on, "Fine. I've been wondering...are you and Pansy dating?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes, studying Malfoy intently as if trying to discern his true intentions. After a long pause, he answered, "Of course not. It's obvious she's more interested in you."

Malfoy nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. "Your turn," he said, sitting up straighter. "Ask me anything."

Blaise hesitated, clearly torn between his own curiosity and the boundaries of the care. His mind raced with questions about the Malfoy family secrets, the tumultuous relationship with Nott, and the obsessive fixation on Harry Potter. Finally, he settled on a question, his voice low and measured.

"I've always wondered," Blaise began, leaning forward slightly, deciding to get into this issue again “What really happened between you and Theo? No one seemed to know the truth.”

Malfoy's breath caught in his throat. He wavered, part of him longing to unburden himself, while his prideful side recoiled at such exposure, whether he was facing an illusion or not. At last, the weight of secrecy proved too much to bear.

With a shaky breath, Malfoy began to speak. "It was just a stupid kiss in the common room. It didn't mean anything, but somehow word got out and people started talking..." As he recounted the story, he felt a strange mix of shame and exhilaration, as if speaking the words aloud made them more real, more powerful.

As Malfoy recounted the story, Blaise found himself leaning forward, hanging on every word. He felt a strange mix of criticism and envy, wondering what it would be like to be the subject of such a dilemma himself.

When Malfoy finished speaking about that night's case of rape, an awkward silence fell over the room. He didn’t want to talk about that originally, but undeniably he felt good to talk this to an illusion. Malfoy fidgeted with the edge of his robes, but suddenly unsure of what to say next.

Seeing Malfoy's hesitation, Blaise asked, "Do you want to know any more truths about me?" Malfoy stared back at him, somewhat at a loss for words. Then, cautiously, he asked, "If you as the real Zabini, how do you feel about this?"

"As Zabini, haha" Zabini gave a drily fake smile, he didn't seem to realize that he himself was an illusion as he replied, "As Zabini I've seen much more brutal and violent stories than this, I don't think it's a big deal." Then he continued his discourse, "But as Blaise. I think I might find Nott in the morning and punch him up, on his Weasley-broken nose."

Malfoy was a little surprised by his answer and for a moment didn't know how to react. While Blaise cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "My turn," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Truth or dare, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's heart skipped a beat. He knew he should probably choose the truth, and play it safe. But some reckless part of him longed for a dare, for the chance to do something wild and unexpected in this illusion.

He took a deep breath, and his decision was made. "Dare," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blaise grinned, looking both surprised and delighted by Malfoy's choice. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, considering his options. "I dare you," he said slowly, "to kiss me."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. Of all the dares he had imagined, this was not one of them. His mind raced with a million reasons why this was a terrible idea.

Almost of its own accord, his body swayed towards Blaise, propelled by a force beyond mere impulsivity. It was hunger, pure and simple - a craving for touch, for intimacy, for something real in this palace of illusions.

Malfoy's mind whirled with confusion as he tried to make sense of Blaise's unexpected advances. He had always known Blaise to be an unwaveringly heterosexual man, someone who held himself to high standards and wouldn't frivolously engage with multiple partners, unlike their mutual friend Theodore Nott. Yet here was Blaise, his dark eyes glinting mischievously, proactively seeking a kiss from Draco.

However, Blaise's next words quickly provided clarity. "Want to do something different?" he asked with a playful gleam in his eye. Then, almost as if reassuring himself, he added, "After all, it's just a dream."

With that, it clicked for Malfoy. They were in a fantasy world, separate from the constraints of reality. The Blaise in front of him wasn't truly Zabini, but a dream version, unrestricted by real-world expectations. Emboldened by this understanding, Malfoy reached out tentatively, brushing his fingertips against Blaise's. To his surprise, the ghostly illusion of Blaise's hand solidified at his touch, becoming warm and real.

Their lips met tentatively at first, then with growing urgency as Malfoy lost himself in the fantasy. But even as he surrendered to the warmth and pressure of Blaise's mouth on his, a single question burned at the edges of his consciousness:

What the heck happens now?

Then, Malfoy tries to meet Blaise's gaze with a challenging stare. "I dare you to touch me," he taunted, his voice low. Blaise's eyes widened as he watched his own form transform from translucent to fully tangible. A grin spread across his face and he chuckled, amused. "I always take every game seriously," he replied his tone light but aggravated by the word ”Game".

In one smooth motion, Blaise gripped Draco's shoulders firmly and guided him down onto the plush bed behind them. Draco's heart raced with anticipation and a thrill of excitement as he sank into the soft mattress. Here, in this fantastical dream space, he could shed the weight of expectations and propriety that constrained him in the waking world.

As Blaise's weight settled over him, Draco let himself surrender to the enticing pull of desire. Hands roamed boldly, mapping the contours of toned bodies through the fabric of their clothing. Gasps and sighs of pleasure filled the air as they lost themselves in the heady rush of passion.

Tomorrow, Draco knew, he would have to face reality once more, to slide back into the role of the perfect pureblood scion. But for now, cocooned in the safety of this dream, he could let himself indulge in this thrilling exploration, could savor the unadulterated moment of this.

Blaise chuckled softly, his breath warm on Malfoy's skin. "Well then," he said, trailing his fingers down Malfoy's chest, "let's make the most of this dream, shall we?"

With that, Blaise captured Malfoy's lips in a searing kiss. Their lips met in a searing kiss, tongues tangling urgently as they tasted one another for the first time. The bed creaked softly as their bodies moved together, skin against skin, heat against heat, eliciting gasps and moans of pleasure.

Blaise dropped to his knees in front of Malfoy, who buried his face in the crook of Blaise's neck and wrapped his arms around his neck, steadying his hips as he sat on the bed so that he wouldn't be pushed against the carved, floral bed.

Blaise's fingers deftly worked at the buttons of Malfoy's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and tossing it aside. Malfoy gasped as Blaise's mouth trailed down his neck, tongue, and teeth grazing sensitive flesh. Desire coursed through his veins, every nerve ending awakening to Blaise's sensual touch.

Emboldened, Malfoy tugged impatiently at Blaise's clothing, eager to feel the heat of his bare skin. Blaise obliged, shrugging out of his own shirt and pressing their bodies flush together. Malfoy reveled in the contact, his hands roaming the smooth expanse of Blaise's back, fingers digging into well-muscled shoulders as their hips rocked in a tantalizing rhythm, and cocks rubbing next to each others with two layers of trouser.

Lost in a haze of sensation, Malfoy dimly wondered if he would ever be able to look at Blaise the same way again after this dream rendezvous. But as Malfoy saw Blaise's hand dipped lower, stroking his dick, all coherent thought flew from Malfoy's mind.

Malfoy stared at the imposing size in his hand, momentarily stunned by its impressive size. The thought of putting the gaint in briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the idea. With slight hesitant, he closed the distance between himself and Blaise.

Reaching out, Malfoy grasped both of them, deftly wrapping their stems. He began to rub them together, the friction generating a steadily growing heat that seemed to radiate from the core. Blaise watched, transfixed, as Malfoy skillfully manipulated them, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the temperature continued to rise.

Time seemed to blur as they moved together, gasps and moans painted the air as they drove each other towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. As the heat reached its peak, with a shuddering cry, they tumbled over the edge into sweet oblivion.

Finally, the intense exchange came to an end, and Malfoy allowed himself to collapse onto the nearby bed, his body spent from the exertion. He gazed up at the ceiling, catching his breath as a light sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. His eyes drifted downward, noticing the haphazard liquid stains gathering in the grooves of his abdomen.

Blaise, still catching his breath, seemed to be awaiting Malfoy's next move. But Malfoy had already decided. They couldn't linger in this moment forever; it was time to return to reality.

“Blaise Zabini, Disappear" Malfoy commanded, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of feelings within him. With that simple phrase, Blaise faded from his view, dissipating like a dream until only Malfoy remained.

Malfoy knew that once the dream ended, they would go back to being just friends, their brief tryst nothing more than a sultry memory. But for the illusion, he was content to savor the closeness, to revel in the fantasy that had unexpectedly become reality, if only for a fleeting moment in this magical, liminal space.

The following morning, Malfoy encountered Blaise, who appeared much the same as always, save for a hint of fatigue in his eyes. As they sat together at lunchtime, Blaise's behavior remained unchanged, even going so far as to unapologetically claim the dessert that Malfoy had no intention of eating. This casual act served to reassure Malfoy that the illusory space was indeed a secure and private realm.

He couldn't help but begin to think that it could be used for something bad, free from the constraints and judgments of the waking world. The possibilities seemed endless, and a part of Malfoy thrilled at the prospect of indulging in activities that would otherwise be deemed taboo.

Chapter Text

3*Neville Longbottom and those damn plants

With some time to spare before the start of Herbology class, Malfoy finished his lunch and decided to wander around the campus. As he strolled, he took note of the names of students he found particularly distasteful, jotting them down for future reference.

As he approached the greenhouse, Malfoy spotted Longbottom busily engaged in some task nearby. He surmised that Longbottom was likely assisting the prof. Sprout with pre-class preparations, but boredom had begun to set in, and Malfoy found himself craving a bit of mischief. With a calculated step, he deliberately walked over to one of Longbottom's Plants and "accidentally" kicked over a pot of Sneezeworts, sending it tumbling to the ground.

When Longbottom returned and took in the sight of the fallen pot and Malfoy standing nearby, his face flushed with anger, but he remained silent. Malfoy, feigning ignorance, cocked his head to the side and said, "What's wrong? It's not like I did it on purpose."

Longbottom, choosing not to engage, quietly set down the flower pot he was holding and began to clean up the dirt and debris scattered around Malfoy's feet. Malfoy, in a mock display of helpfulness, moved closer to Longbottom as if to assist, but then, as if struck by a sudden realization, "Ewww... you're covered in dust! It smells like dirt!” He exaggeratedly recoiled, complaining loudly, dousing Longbottom with a "Aguamenti” spell. 

Just as Malfoy was reveling in this, his wand was suddenly knocked out of the air by an Expelliarmus from behind him. A voice rang out from behind him: “Stop that!Malfoy!"

As Malfoy spun around, he found himself face-to-face with a furious Harry Potter, who was charging towards him with determined strides. Before Malfoy could react, Harry's hand shot out, grabbing him firmly by the collar and slamming him against the plastic shed of the greenhouse. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of Malfoy, and he gasped, his eyes widening in shock as he realized just how close Harry was to him.

Caught off guard, Malfoy's heart raced, pounding against his ribcage as he struggled to process the overwhelming sensations that assaulted him. The proximity of Harry's body, the intensity of his gaze, and the raw emotion that emanated from him all combined to leave Malfoy feeling disoriented.

"Can't you stop bullying other people?" Harry growled, his green eyes blazing with anger. Malfoy, still reeling from the sudden confrontation, found himself at a loss for words, unable to formulate a response. His mind raced, trying to process the overwhelming sensation of Harry's proximity and the intensity of the moment.

Longbottom, who had been standing there and watching the exchange, hesitated, unsure whether to intervene or let the scene play out before him. Malfoy, acutely aware of Longbottom's presence, felt a sudden surge of embarrassment wash over him. He hated the idea of appearing weak or vulnerable in front of anyone, especially someone he considered beneath him.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was acutely aware of every point of contact between their bodies, from the rough grip of Harry's hand on his collar to the way their chests brushed against each other with each ragged breath. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt the warmth of Harry's body pressing against his own, the sensation both unsettling and strangely exhilarating. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Harry's fierce green eyes, which bore into him with an intensity that made his stomach flutter.

He found himself transfixed by the way Harry's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with barely contained anger. With a burst of effort, Malfoy managed to find his voice. "Let go of me, Potter," he whispered, his words coming out in a strained, breathy tone that sounded foreign to his own ears. His hands, which had been hanging limply at his sides, slowly rose to grip Harry's wrists, not quite pushing him away, but not quite pulling him closer either.

Harry blinked as if coming out of a trance. His grip on Malfoy's collar loosened, but he didn't let go entirely. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across Malfoy's face as he spoke.

"Let you go?” Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "This isn't over, Malfoy," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sent shivers down Malfoy's spine. Harry clamped his hands around Malfoy's shoulders and pressed his entire body against the plastic film of the greenhouse shed, the two of them practically wrapped in it.

Malfoy felt stuffy and hot, unsure if it was because of the plastic film trapping the heat or something else entirely. He fought to grab Harry's frizzy hair and tried to push him away, but he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the infuriating boy. He was trapped, and he began to wait for someone else to pull him away from this situation, but a part of him didn't want that intervention to come too soon.

"Oh, Merlin! Neville, are you alright?" Malfoy heard the voice of the know-it-all girl, who seemed to be busy drying Longbottom's hair and clothes, momentarily ignoring Malfoy's entanglement with Harry. As the students preparing for class began to gather, Malfoy began to get serious about extricating himself from this humiliating predicament.

Suddenly, Professor Sprout's voice breaks the tension like bubble gum blown up. "Boys! Break it up, look at this place, it's a total mess." She had arrived at the greenhouse earlier than usual and was now stepping between the two boys, shielding Harry behind her and separating them. Malfoy, still tangled in the plastic sheet, struggled to get up, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

To his surprise, Harry reached out a hand to him. Malfoy hesitated for a moment, finally, he grabbed Harry's hand, and Harry yanked him to his feet with a firm tug. As soon as he was upright, Harry released his grip on Malfoy's hand and stepped back, his eyes still locked on Malfoy's own. Malfoy sagged against the shed, his legs suddenly weak and unsteady. He watched as Harry turned and walked away, his heart racing and his mind reeling from the intensity of the encounter.

As he struggled to catch his breath, Malfoy couldn't shake the feeling that left him confused and off-balance. He didn't know what to make of the strange, electric tension that had crackled between them or the way his body had responded to Harry's contact.

Amid his confusion, Malfoy noticed Theodore Nott standing next to Professor Sprout. It seemed as though Nott was the person who had the responsibility for the professor's early arrival. Without saying a word, Nott picked up Malfoy's wand, which had fallen to the ground during the scuffle, and handed it back to him before turning to rejoin the group of students. Malfoy took the wand with a shaking hand, his mind still reeling from the events of the past few minutes.

As the students gathered in the greenhouse, Professor Sprout announced that today's lesson would focus on deworming plants and preventing pest infestations. To facilitate their learning, she had prepared a variety of pests for the students to study. Each student was randomly assigned a different bug, and as 'luck' would he always had, Longbottom found himself face-to-face with a particularly unsettling creature: the Skyhopper Serpentina.

The Skyhopper Serpentina was a worm-like creature with the ability to both fly and jump. Its slimy, mottled skin was covered in blotches of black and gray, giving it a truly repulsive appearance. The worm's rudimentary wings, tattered and veiny, fluttered constantly, even when the creature was airborne. Its segmented body wriggled incessantly, making it difficult to keep a firm grasp on the slippery pest.

In a moment of distraction, Longbottom 's hand slipped, and the Skyhopper Serpentina glided out of his grasp. To his horror, the worm flew directly towards the Slytherin squad opposite him. As the students scrambled to avoid the incoming pest, it landed squarely on Malfoy's shoulder.

The classroom erupted into a frenzy of screams and chaos as Malfoy desperately tried to remove the wriggling worm from his robes. His face contorted in a mixture of fear and revulsion as he clawed at his shoulder, trying to dislodge the Skyhopper Serpentina. His usually pale complexion had turned a sickly shade of red, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

Professor Sprout, alerted by the commotion, rushed to Malfoy's aid. With deft hands, she managed to control the worm and carefully extract it from the boy's robes. Seen Malfoy’s beaten wound on his finger, she quickly instructed Goyle and Crabbe to escort him to the hospital wing for further treatment.
 
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Malfoy dragged himself into his room and slumped down on the sofa, feeling utterly defeated after a disastrous, humiliating day.  Too consumed by despair and the throbbing pain in his finger, He poked listlessly at some fruit but had no appetite.

The healing salve hadn't worked completely - his finger was still red and swollen, a constant reminder of his public embarrassment. But even worse than the physical pain was the crushing shame of losing face in front of Harry Potter. Just picturing Potter’s smirk and hearing the other students' cruel laughter in his head made Malfoy seethe with impotent rage.

Wallowing in self-pity, his thoughts turned resentfully to Neville Longbottom and those damn plants that had started this whole mess. He clicked his tongue irritably, grumbling Neville's name under his breath like a curse.

Suddenly, a deafening bang made Malfoy nearly fall off the sofa in shock. To his utter disbelief, Longbottom was standing right there in front of him, awkwardly clutching some strange plant. The two boys gaped at each other, eyes wide with surprise and confusion.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with rage as the day's events replayed in his mind. His surprise at Longbottom's appearance quickly morphed into a burning anger. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, his hands grasping Longbottom's robes in a fierce grip. In one swift motion, Malfoy slammed Neville hard against the ground, the impact reverberating through the room.

Longbottom hit the ground with a thud, his fingers still clutching the plant tightly even if the flower pot was broken and the soil was everywhere. He looked up at Malfoy, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. Malfoy's mind raced as he realized that Longbottom had transformed from a mere image to a tangible entity just moments after being touched. The realization dawned on him—he had forgotten to remove the Space spell, and now it was taking effect.

Malfoy stood over the cowering boy and shoved his injured finger right in Longbottom's face, his own features twisted with livid anger as he screamed abuse at the stunned Gryffindor.

"Look what you did, you bloody idiot! You made me get hurt! I'm going to make you pay...I'll tell my father...no, I'll have you expelled for this!"

Longbottom babbled desperate apologies, his voice shaky and pleading. He felt terrible, and had been up all night trying to find a way to fix things. Nearly in tears, he begged Malfoy to let him try to heal the injury, swearing he could make it better.

Still vibrating with rage, Malfoy had no intention of making this easy. He sat down hard on Longbottom's chest, pinning him in place. Leaning in until their noses nearly touched, he hissed menacingly.

"Fine. Try it. But if it doesn't work, getting expelled will be the least of your problems."

Hands trembling, Longbottom tore a piece off the tip of the plant’s tentacle. Chewing the succulent plants into a mushy paste. And then, he did something that made Malfoy's jaw drop in shock. Gently, he took Malfoy's hurt finger and put it in his mouth.

Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Instinctively, he tried to jerk his hand back, but Longbottom, eyes closed and concentrating hard, held on and steadily, tenderly sucked the finger. To Malfoy's amazement, a cool, soothing feeling spread through his finger, easing the throbbing pain.

As Longbottom determinedly kept up the bizarre treatment, Malfoy was dumbstruck. His fury and humiliation gradually melted away, replaced by an odd sense of calm and relief. For the first time all day, he exhaled and relaxed, eyes drifting closed, just focusing on the unexpected feeling of Neville's warm, soft mouth on his skin.

Suddenly, Malfoy felt something unexpected touch his bum, sending a jolt of tremble through its body. ”What are you thinking you are doing!" He let out a scream, startling Longbottom, who immediately open his mouth and let Malfoy's finger out. Longbottom's brow furrowed with concern as he looked at him, trying to understand what had happened. 

"W …What…?" he asked softly, his voice filled with worry. “ Does it hurt…?" Longbottom, puzzled by his extreme reaction, noticed the fear in its eyes. He realized that something had frightened Malfoy, but he couldn't quite understand what it was.

Malfoy, however, was overwhelmed. He did felt as though some dexterous fingers was circling his bottom of tight, the sensation of something trying to wrap itself around the sensitive area like a soft snake. Embarrassment washed over Malfoy as he felt Longbottom's hand grasp his own. His face flushed a deep red, and he stammered, at a loss for words. But then, a sense of unease crept over him. Something was amiss. Malfoy's gaze fell to Longbottom's hand, which now rested innocently on the side, as if seeking an explanation for the sudden intrusion.

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock as he felt something slithering around his waist. The plant, mere moments ago decapitated by Longbottom, was now growing at a terrifying speed. Its stalks, like serpentine tentacles, coiled and twisted around Malfoy's body, dragging him into the writhing mass of the tentacle bush.

Fear consumed Malfoy as he realized the gravity of the situation. His heart pounded in his chest, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "Longbottom! Control this plant!" he shouted, his voice laced with panic and desperation.

Longbottom, startled by the sudden chaos, scrambled to his feet. His hands trembled, and his mind raced, trying to comprehend the bizarre scene unfolding before him. The once harmless plant had transformed into a monstrous entity, and Neville didn’t have a wand with him and found himself at a loss for how to respond.

The tentacle bush tightened its grip on Malfoy, constricting his movements and tearing at his clothes. The rhizomes entangled themselves around his arms, thighs, and ankles, their soft, slippery texture sending a sickening sensation across his skin. The rhizomes entered his damaged clothes and trousers like tiny snakes, and wandered across his skin, crawling up his neck, and invading his hole. 

Malfoy was forced to sit on his knees on the edge of the bed, feeling the conical tip of the plant traveling around his hole. He let out a groan, the tip was as deft as a tongue.They rubbed the delicate skin and folds of the secret place with the fine fuzz on the stalks as if preparing for an invasion. Malfoy yelled in panic, his voice echoing through the room. He desperately tried to clamp his legs around the roots, hoping to halt their relentless growth.

Neville, driven by a sense of urgency, rushed towards the plant. His fingers grasped at the stalks, trying to pry them off Malfoy's body. But the more he pulled, the tighter the plant seemed to hold on. Longbottom's efforts were futile against the stubborn tentacles.

Amidst the chaos, a moment of clarity struck Malfoy. They were in a room under his control. With a desperate shout, he called out, “Appear! Knife!" Instantly, a glinting blade materialized on the nearby bedside table.

Malfoy struggles against the tangled mess of plants, his arms are tied down, and his eyes are fixed on the nightstand. "The knife! On the nightstand!" he yelled, his voice strained with urgency, hoping Longbottom would understand.

Longbottom's eyes darted to the bedside table, widening with realization. He dashed towards it, his hand snatching the pocket knife. With determined steps, he rushed back to the writhing mass of plants and began sawing through the roots that held Malfoy captive.

As Longbottom frantically worked, Malfoy felt the plant's grip loosening slightly. Beads of sweat formed on Longbottom's forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration. The roots were tough and fibrous, requiring significant effort to cut through. The tentacle bush seemed to have a life of its own, its stalks invading and writhing twisting in his body’s entrance. Malfoy feels his heart pounding in his stomach as if he is gonna puke. 

With a final slice, the last root severed, and the plant's grip on Malfoy loosened completely. Malfoy gasped for air, his lungs filling with much-needed oxygen. He stumbled forward, his legs shaky from the ordeal. Longbottom dropped the pocket knife, his hands trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched on his face, his voice wavering slightly.

Malfoy nodded, rubbing his sore waist where the plant had held him. "I think so," he muttered, dragging the sheet on the bed to cover his body and trying to regain his composure. He glanced at the remains of the tentacle bush, its severed stalks lying lifelessly on the ground.

A mix of emotions swirled within Malfoy—relief at being freed, embarrassment at needing Longbottom's help, and a lingering anger at the entire situation. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing thoughts. Neville stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next. The room fell silent, the only sound being their labored breathing. 

But when Longbottom saw the corpse of the plant on the ground, his demeanor suddenly tensed and he acted rather confused and at a loss for words.

"Are you wanna go for a pee..." said Malfoy sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Longbottom's shilly-shally twisted.

And as if determined, Neville gulped and nervously opened his mouth, “Well… I’m… sorry, I didn't realize it was a male Tentacurl Bloombrush in a rut …I… I seemed to irritate it."

"Wow, how unsurprising, accidents always happen to you." Malfoy criticized unmercifully.

"No ......Emm...... the thing is ......The stamens, located at the tips of each tentacle, are where the Tentacurl Bloombrush stores its seeds. during the rut, these stamens swell and eventually burst to release the seeds. and I found these bodies… these stamens is burst."

"You mean..." the Malfoy turned pale as he reached out, probing to the base of his thigh. Then immediately felt a handful of seeds attached there. "That thing may have just blown up inside me."

Longbottom shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on Malfoy. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them as they stared at each other, tension palpable in the air. 

Finally, Longbottom seemed to muster his courage, his voice quavering slightly as he blurted out, "I...I'll get it out for you..." He took a step forward, his hands clenched at his sides, a look of determination mingled with apprehension on his face.

Malfoy paused, his mind racing as he considered his options. He had a hunch that the plant might not be real, that it could vanish along with Longbottom once he disappeared. It was a gamble, but one he was willing to take.

"Forget about it," Malfoy began, "Chances are the plant isn't real anyway, and when you disappear, it'll follow..."

But before he could finish his thought, Longbottom rushed towards him, his hand darting out to grasp Malfoy's shoulder firmly. Malfoy tensed at the sudden contact, his eyes widening in surprise.

Longbottom's face was etched with a serious expression, his eyes locked onto Malfoy's as he spoke with conviction, "Let me help you. This is all a mistake I caused!"

Without waiting for a response, Longbottom hurried over to Malfoy's bedside, motioning for him to follow. Malfoy hesitated, his suspicion evident in the wary look he cast towards Longbottom. Slowly, he made his way over, his steps cautious and measured.

"Lie on your back and get your arse up," Longbottom instructed, his tone firm and authoritative, catching Malfoy off guard. Confusion flickered across Malfoy's face as he processed the unexpected command. 

After a moment's hesitation, he complied, following his order, his eyes never leaving Longbottom's face, searching for any hint of what the other one had in mind. Unfortunately, the only thing the other seemed to be thinking about was the job of cleaning up the seeds.

Malfoy pouted ass awkwardly as he struggled to twist his head around to watch Longbottom's movements, which were in the process of using both hands to break his bum flaps apart. It was the first time Malfoy had noticed that Longbottom had large firm hands that didn't match his looks, his fingers were long and stubby with what appeared to be calluses on them that were probably from the scissors he usually used to prune his plants.

Longbottom carefully inserted his slender fingers into the moist cavity, meticulously probing for the tiny seeds that had tumbled into its depths. His long, dexterous digits granted him the ability to delve deep within the cavernous space, expertly navigating the contours. 

With unwavering focus, Neville's fingertips gently brushed against various nooks and crannies. His sensitive touch discerning the minuscule seeds from the surrounding tissue, stimulating Malfoy’s Nerves. Malfoy tried hard to relax, but still felt the slimy seeds made him sick.

Malfoy's face contorted in a mixture of disgust and unease. He made a valiant attempt to maintain his composure, taking slow, deliberate breaths to quell the rising nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. The mere thought of those slimy, foreign objects being extracted from within his body sent shivers down his spine, and he could feel his stomach churning in protest. Draco swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he fought against the urge to gag, determined not to show any signs of weakness in front of Longbottom.

Malfoy tried his hardest to relax, to allow his fingers to run rampant inside him, but when he came across places he wouldn't touch instead, Malfoy shuddered almost uncontrollably. He felt the heat gathering inside him, and Longbottom didn't seem to notice the change as he continued to rub against the walls of his bowels. One by one, he skillfully plucked out five or six spherical seeds, each measuring a mere three millimeters in diameter, their surfaces slightly slick with residual moisture.

After a few moments of diligent exploration, Neville withdrew his fingers from the cavity, a look of satisfaction on his face. "...I believe I've retrieved all the seeds," he declared with a note of satisfaction in his voice. As he spoke, his eyes met Draco's, noticing the barely concealed blush etched upon the blonde boy's normally pale features. 

"Wait..." said Malfoy abruptly, his hand darting out to grab Longbottom's arm as the other boy prepared to turn and leave. Longbottom paused, glancing down at the slender fingers grasping his forearm before raising his gaze questioningly to Draco's face. 

"I want you." Malfoy began, with a trembling voice.

"Want me for what?" Longbottom asked, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. Malfoy's frown deepened and his cheeks reddened further as he snapped in frustration, “I want your dick inside me! You stupid idiot!" 

As realization dawned, realizing what he just did, Longbottom felt a matching flush rising up his neck to engulf his round face. He ducked his head, suddenly finding the scattered potting soil on the floor utterly fascinating as he struggled to formulate a response to Malfoy's unexpected requirement.

But there wasn't much time left for him to think. Malfoy had already made his move, he stood up and turned around pushing Longbottom onto the bed. Then he mounted Longbottom's chest once more. "Suck it," Malfoy ordered, pressing his erection against Longbottom's mouth.

Longbottom lay flat on his back on the huge, supple bed and lifted his head to look straight at Malfoy as his breathing began to become labored. Malfoy was completely naked, and his cock, as slim and beautiful as a candy cane, jutted up from his flat belly and was hard and pinned against Longbottom‘s cheek. His snow-white cheeks were stained with scarlet in a watercolor that spread from his neck to his chest, catching Longbottom's eye as his chest rippled.

Longbottom wrapped his arms around Malfoy's thighs as he struggled to open his mouth to let the lollipop-like cock slide into his mouth, endeavoring to lick and suck on the erection. Longbottom could feel Malfoy's thighs quivering on either side of his body, gasps rang out over his head, he had never experienced such an erotic scene before, he felt the blood rush throughout his body to his lower limbs as his cock gradually hardened.

Malfoy seemed to notice the swelling of that cock as well, so he tried to support himself with one hand while his other stroked up Longbottom's shaft. He fed his cock into Longbottom's mouth while tugging on Longbottom's cock, making it grow bigger.

Then, Malfoy withdrew his cock from Longbottom's mouth and he gasped as he watched his cock droop over that stupid cheek of his. Malfoy moved himself to Longbottom's haunches, steadying his hand on his rock-hard cock, and slowly sat on it. With that hard stalk deep inside him, Malfoy almost shuddered and flopped onto Longbottom's chest.

As he moved himself up and down, Malfoy allowed his body to be flooded with a tidal wave of pleasure, warbling and wheezing out gasps of comfort. Longbottom's eyes grew disorientated and dumbfounded, and it was all he could do to hold onto Malfoy's smooth thighs, resisting the moist heat that Malfoy was sending into his ear, and mechanically wiggling his hips.

All of this was too stimulating for Longbottom, as Malfoy's slender waist swayed back and forth, moisture blonde hair falling over Longbottom's face and tickling his facial nerves.

Malfoy felt Longbottom's large hand slide down his thigh to his bum cheek, the somewhat rough fingers rubbing and kneading the flesh of his arse. Longbottom's movements were firm but subtle, delicate as if he were treating boil on a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Malfoy was so enthralled by this new experience that he was so completely lost in it that he felt his mind almost stop working.

That is until he felt Longbottom's fingers give his butt cheeks a light squeeze, and he heard Longbottom whisper, “Turn around and bend over" Malfoy got up, turned around, and nearly kicked Longbottom in the face. But they were both too impatient to get on with this gusty sexual experience to care about this little mishap.

Longbottom clumsily adjusted his position in preparation for another plunge. Malfoy was starting to get a little impatient when Longbottom suddenly lowered his hips and pushed into his hole, making sudden and mistaken contact with Malfoy's prostate. Unable to suppress a high moan, Malfoy shuddered and gripped the sheets hard.

"You like this one?" Longbottom muttered, like a stupid child learning the simplest of spells to himself. Malfoy didn't even want to listen to his babble as he struggled up to press his back against Longbottom's chest, twisting his head around to gag him with his mouth. This sent the two of them into a new round of entanglement. Longbottom's arm wrapped around his soft, slender waist, his fingers encircling his firmness, meticulously kneading his balls, learning how to appease his body while Malfoy fell into a new wave of frenzy.

After launching himself at Longbottom's hands, Malfoy was almost limp on the bed, resigning himself to Longbottom releasing his semen onto his back without complaint. This was unusual for Malfoy he had always thought Longbottom was something of a filth, but after this filthy feast, none of that mattered to him anymore.

"Disappear, Neville Longbottom." With his command, Longbottom disappeared like a puff of smoke. The plant he had brought with him disappeared along with the dirt on the ground as he disappeared. Malfoy sighed as he looked at the disappearing plant.

"I knew it..." but his voice faded into the air surrounded by sleepiness as he fell into sleep.

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Thanks to the AI for naming the plants and worms I made up! 

Skyhopper Serpentina 
Description of the Skyhopper Serpentina: The Skyhopper Serpentina is a notorious pest in magical ecosystems, feared not only for its detrimental effects on plants but also for its aggressive behavior towards people and animals. This creature combines an unsettling appearance with a unique set of abilities that allow it to thrive and wreak havoc in various environments. 
Unique Characteristics: 
Appearance: The Skyhopper Serpentina is characterized by its slimy, mottled skin that ranges in color from dark green to a murky brown, often covered in blotches of black or gray. Its body is segmented and wriggles constantly, even when airborne, giving it a particularly repulsive look. It has rudimentary wings that appear tattered and veiny, yet are remarkably efficient for short flights. 
Abilities: Aside from its ability to fly and jump with surprising agility, the Skyhopper Serpentina is known for its occasional aggressive interactions with people. It can deliver a painful whip-like strike with its tail, which is tipped with a hardened, barbed appendage. 
Impact on Plants: 
Feeding Habits: The Skyhopper Serpentina feeds by injecting a corrosive saliva into plants, which breaks down the tissues and allows it to suck out the nutrients. This not only causes severe damage to the plants but can also spread diseases. 
Plant Preferences: It has a particular taste for the juices of the Twilight Thistle and the Moonbeam Fern, plants known for their magical properties and delicate natures. 
Interaction with Humans and Animals: 
Aggressive Behavior: The Skyhopper Serpentina is not typically aggressive, but when threatened or during its mating season, it can become quite belligerent. Its tail strike can cause bruising and, in rare cases, mild poisoning. Avoidance Advice: Magical communities often advise keeping a distance from these worms during their active phases, especially in the wild where they are most commonly found. 
Management Strategies: 
Biological Control: Introducing natural predators like the Celestial Kite, a bird known for its ability to hunt flying pests, has been somewhat effective. Chemical Deterrents: Magical potions and sprays designed to repel the Skyhopper Serpentina without harming the plants have been developed. 
Community Education: Educating the magical community about the habitats, behaviors, and weaknesses of the Skyhopper Serpentina helps in mitigating its impacts. 

Tentacurl Bloombrush. 
Description of the Tentacurl Bloombrush: The Tentacurl Bloombrush is a unique, bush-like magical plant known for its mass of writhing tentacles and vibrant colors. This plant is commonly found in enchanted forests and magical meadows, where its unusual appearance and behaviors contribute to the diverse and mystical landscape. 
Unique Characteristics: 
Appearance: The Tentacurl Bloombrush features a dense cluster of long, flexible tentacles that can range in color from deep red to bright pink and vivid orange. Each tentacle is covered in tiny, fluffy hairs that exude a non-toxic, glistening mucus, giving the plant a perpetually wet look. 
Tentacles: The tentacles are constantly moving in a slow, undulating manner, which is particularly noticeable during its rut, or breeding season, when the movements become more vigorous and animated. 
Functionality of Tentacles: Mucus Production: The fluffy hairs on the tentacles produce a non-toxic mucus that serves multiple purposes. It helps in trapping small insects, not for feeding, as the plant is not carnivorous, but rather to prevent pests from damaging the plant. The mucus also helps in moisture retention, crucial for the plant’s survival in dryer climates. 
Seed Storage: The stamens, located at the tips of each tentacle, are where the Tentacurl Bloombrush stores its seeds. During the rut, these stamens swell and eventually burst to release the seeds, which are then dispersed by wind or passing animals. 
Behavior and Interaction: 
Restlessness During Rut: While generally not aggressive, the Tentacurl Bloombrush becomes noticeably restless during its rut. The tentacles engage in more rapid and pronounced movements, which can be quite a spectacle but might startle unsuspecting passersby. 
Non-Aggressive Nature: The plant does not pose any danger to humans or animals. Its mucus is non-toxic and may even provide minor skin benefits, such as moisturization and protection from small irritants. 
Habitat and Cultivation: Growing Conditions: The Tentacurl Bloombrush thrives in well-lit areas with ample moisture. It prefers slightly acidic soil and can often be found near streams or in damp forest clearings. 
Cultivation: Cultivating this plant requires patience and a willingness to accommodate its unique needs, especially during its active rut period. It is often grown for ornamental purposes, especially in magical gardens, where its dynamic movements and striking colors can be fully appreciated. The Tentacurl Bloombrush is a fascinating addition to any magical botanical collection, offering both aesthetic beauty and intriguing behaviors. It symbolizes the complexity and diversity of magical flora, showing that even plants with a somewhat "disgusting" appearance can hold unique ecological and aesthetic value.</p>

Chapter Text

4* Harry's dream peels back another layer of his soul

Harry stood in the ankle-deep frigid lake water, his feet numb and heavy as stone. The distant valley took on an eerie, unsettling appearance under the dark night sky, sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Suddenly, he felt something slick and slimy brush against his legs, but he remained unfazed, too consumed by the strange atmosphere to react. That is, until he realized that a massive black serpent had emerged from a burrow beneath the water's surface and was now coiling tightly around his feet, its scales smooth and cold against his skin.

As Harry looked closer, he noticed with a mix of horror and morbid fascination that the snake held a severed human hand in its jaws, the pale flesh a stark contrast to the serpent's dark body. Despite the gruesome sight, an inexplicable urge to laugh bubbled up inside him, and he found himself struggling to suppress the inappropriate response, his body shaking with the effort.

Compelled by a force he couldn't understand, Harry bent down to touch the water's surface, his fingers trembling with a combination of fear and anticipation. At that moment, a blinding bolt of lightning struck the far-off valley, illuminating the entire sky in a flash of white that seared his eyes. A powerful gust of wind hit him, nearly knocking him off balance and sending ripples across the lake. In the distance, he saw the Dementors swirling together, forming a colossal tornado that resembled a school of fish caught in a whirlpool, their tattered black cloaks billowing in the wind.

Harry felt a surge of exhilaration as he took in the awe-inspiring scene, laughter bubbling up inside him once more, tinged with a hysteria that he couldn't control. However, an intense pain originating from his ankle, as if he had been bitten by the serpent, caused him to cry out involuntarily, his scream piercing the night air and jolting him back to reality. The pain was excruciating, shooting up his leg and making his vision blur with tears.

With a gasp, Harry awoke in his bed, his heart pounding and his body drenched in sweat. He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide and his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he tried to orient himself. The vivid images from his nightmare still danced before his eyes, the sensation of the cold water and the serpent's coils lingering on his skin.

The icy November wind seeped through the cracks in the dormitory windows, causing Harry to shiver violently. He quickly tucked his feet under the covers, desperate for warmth, when he suddenly noticed a figure standing beside window. His heart leapt into his throat, panic gripping him for a moment before he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. As the world came into focus, he recognized the familiar face of his best friend, Ron,  illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the dormitory windows. Ron's expression was etched with concern, his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on Harry. Clearly, Ron hadn't been sleeping well either; dark circles hung heavily under his eyes, and he seemed startled by Harry's sudden movement, his body tensing as he watched his friend sit up abruptly. For a moment, Ron remained silent, staring blankly at Harry as if trying to process the situation.

Harry hesitated, his mind racing as he searched for the right words to start the conversation. He knew that Ron had been struggling lately, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced by a cloud of melancholy. Despite their recent victory on the Quidditch pitch, Ron seemed unable to shake off the weight of his mistakes during the season, his confidence shaken and his spirits low. To make matters worse, Malfoy had been relentless in his taunts, seizing every opportunity to mock Ron's missed catches whenever they crossed paths. Each encounter left Ron visibly flustered, his ears burning red with embarrassment and his hands trembling so badly that he could barely hold onto his wand.

Moreover, Harry had noticed a distinct change in Ron's mood since receiving a letter from his older brother, Percy. Although Harry was unsure how sibling rivalry in the Weasley family might affect Ron, he had observed the way Ron's shoulders would slump and his eyes would take on a distant, pained look whenever he thought no one was watching. Harry could only imagine the inner turmoil Ron must be experiencing, torn between his loyalty to his friends and the expectations of his family. The idea of being asked by a trusted sibling to distance oneself from friends was a deeply hurtful notion, and Harry's heart ached for his friend.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. Ron appeared startled by the sudden question, his head snapping up and his eyes widening as he turned towards Harry. "Ah... um... thanks..." Ron stammered, his gaze darting away from Harry's questioning look. He fidgeted with the hem of his pajama shirt, his fingers twisting the fabric nervously. "It's nothing, just a nightmare, I fell down from broom, head down" he mumbled.

Harry nodded understandingly, he scooted closer to Ron, leading Ron sit on his bed and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm here for you, mate," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Thanks, Harry," he mumbled, "I... I think I needed to hear that."

Harry smiled softly, giving Ron's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Anytime, mate. That's what friends are for." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "And if you ever need to talk, or just want some company, I am here."

"Deal," Ron agreed, giving Harry a playful shove. Harry grinned, relieved to see a hint of the usual Ron shining through. "Now, try to get some rest, okay?"

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Yeah, you're right…" he said, his voice steadier now. "For everything."Ron shifted uneasily on his feet, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words. Harry, sensing his friend's inner turmoil, met his gaze with a gentle, encouraging look. "Is there anything else I can do to help you?" 

Ron hesitated, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally spoke, his words coming out in a halting stutter. "When I was little and had nightmares, Bill would sleep next to me," he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It always made me feel better, you know? Like I wasn't alone."

Harry's heart swelled with understanding, and without a second thought, he shifted to the edge of his bed, making room for Ron. He patted the empty space beside him, a silent invitation. Ron, however, seemed to waver, scratching the back of his head as he glanced uncertainly at the bed. "I don't have any brothers or sisters," Harry said gently, trying to put Ron at ease, "but I don't think I have any strange sleeping habits. I shouldn't disturb your sleep, I promise."

A shy smile tugged at the corners of Ron's mouth, and he looked down at his feet, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're right, I was overthinking it," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Slowly, he climbed into the bed beside Harry, the mattress dipping under his weight.

As they settled in, Harry found himself turning on his side, facing Neville's bed. In the flickering glow of the candlelight, he could see that Neville's cheeks were flushed, his face contorted in a tense expression, as if he, too, were trapped in the throes of a nightmare. Neville's hands gripped the blanket tightly, his knuckles turning white with the force of his hold.

The candle on the nightstand sputtered and died, sending a thin wisp of blue smoke curling upwards in the darkness. Harry watched as it trembled slightly in the air, his eyelids growing heavy with each gentle sway. With Ron by his side, Harry allowed himself to fully relax, his mind and body surrendering to the gentle pull of slumber.

The nightmares that had once seemed so vivid and terrifying now felt distant, like fading echoes of a past long gone. In their place, a comforting warmth enveloped him, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety and tranquility.

The warmth of Gryffindor-style friendship provided Harry with immense comfort. He treated his friends tenderly, soothing their tense nerves and fulfilling his duties as a good friend. This brought him comfort, and the troubling, bizarre dreams that once haunted him ceased to appear; the cold, black serpent also disappeared into oblivacity. He fell asleep peacefully in a sea of white, feeling relaxed and comfortable.

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However, when Harry woke up the next morning, he found himself drenched in sweat, his heart pounding and his mind reeling from the chaotic, intensely vivid dreams that had plagued his sleep. Though he had experienced dozens of dreams throughout the night, each one more vivid and emotionally charged than the last, he could hardly recall any specific details, the memories slipping through his grasp like sand through an hourglass. As he sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he suddenly realized that Ron was no longer in the room. A sense of confusion and uncertainty washed over him, and he began to wonder if the previous night's events—waking up startled and sharing a bed with Ron—had actually occurred or if they were simply part of his jumbled, dream-filled night.

Turning to Neville, who was sitting on his own bed, Harry asked tentatively, "Did you sleep well last night?" Neville, startled by Harry's sudden question, sat up quickly, his eyes wide and his voice stammering, "Wha-what's wrong?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses, trying to gather his thoughts. "Oh, it was quite cold last night," he said casually, "and I kept having nightmares. It was a bit unsettling."

Neville nodded in understanding, his own eyes heavy with the weight of exhaustion. "I've been having nightmares recently too," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of resignation. "Maybe it's because I'm under a lot of stress. My grandmother always says I easily get stressed out."

Harry frowned, his concern for his friend growing. "Where's Ron?" he inquired, suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen the redhead since waking up.

"He was called to a perfect meeting early this morning," Neville replied, seeming to have been awake for a while already and well-informed about Ron's schedule. "He was complaining about Umbridge's nasty behavior first thing in the morning; I thought you might have been woken up by him."

Harry scratched his tousled hair, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I slept really heavily last night," he admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I guess I must have been more tired than I realized."

————————————————

Harry felt as though his head was filled with a dense fog, his thoughts scattered and unfocused as he drifted through his Transfiguration class that morning. Despite Hermione's repeated attempts to bring him back to the present, Harry remained in a daze, his spirit seemingly detached from his physical surroundings. The world around him felt muted and distant, as if he were observing it through a thick, hazy lens.

Meanwhile, Ron appeared to be in a state of unusual agitation, his energy levels spiking for reasons that remained a mystery to Harry. During lunch, Ron had a heated confrontation with Malfoy, his anger boiling over as he dramatically smashed his plate on the floor before storming out of the Great Hall, leaving behind a stunned and bewildered audience.

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, tried to provide Harry with context, explaining the "insult to the Weasley family by Malfoy" that had been discussed at the morning's prefect meeting. However, Harry found himself barely able to focus on her words, his mind consumed by the persistent flashes of fragmented dreams that danced behind his eyelids. These dreams felt so vivid and tangible that they seemed to blur the line between reality and fantasy, leaving Harry questioning the very nature of his waking life.

"..It's this characterisation of Ron that worries me the most, really... Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's concerned voice suddenly cut through the haze, jolting Harry back to the present moment. He looked at her with a puzzled expression, his brow furrowed in confusion. Hermione, sensing his disorientation, gently grabbed his shoulders to steady him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of distress. "You're swaying, Harry," she explained softly, her voice laced with worry. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Harry's confusion only deepened at her words. While he did feel a slight lightheadedness, he hadn't noticed any swaying or other physical symptoms of his inner turmoil. "I'm fine..." he mumbled, trying to reassure her even as his own mind grappled with the strange sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. "We still have the DA meeting this afternoon."

Hermione's expression hardened, her concern for Harry's well-being overriding any other considerations. "Forget that for now!" she insisted, her voice firm but caring. "You need to rest. Ron can't make it to today's meeting either. Let's cancel today's activities."

At the mention of Ron, Harry tried to muster some sense of concern for his friend, pushing past the fog that clouded his thoughts. "What happened to him?" he asked, his voice sounding distant and detached even to his own ears.

Hermione's lips pursed into a slight pout, her frustration evident in her tone. "I just told you," she sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Malfoy argued with him this morning, so Umbridge punished him with two nights of detention. It's completely unfair; she doesn't have the right to impose such punishments. Malfoy just wanted to embarrass him, and he made it."

"Malfoy?" The mention of Malfoy's name sent a jolt through Harry's system, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared blankly at Hermione. It was as if he were hearing the name for the first time, the syllables foreign and unfamiliar on his tongue.

But even as he struggled to process the information, images from Harry's dreams about him flashed through his mind—vivid and fleeting. These images almost stopped Harry in his tracks, puzzling and disturbing dreams.

Hermione was deeply disturbed by the state of two boys were in when she practically walked Harry back to their dormitory. Then, she realized that she was going to have to take care of them even knowing nothing about what was happening to them.

Lying on his bed, Harry was in a state of deep confusion. Disturbing scenes that had just popped into his mind haunted him, leaving him stunned that such images could have emanated from his subconscious.

He could see himself straddling Malfoy, tugging forcefully at the red tie wrapped around his neck. Even though Malfoy's face was turning crimson, Harry had no intention of loosening his grip. He heard himself whisper in the Slytherin's ear menacingly, "Beg me."

Malfoy clutched his tie with trembling hands, desperately repeating words he had sworn he would never utter. "Please, I'll be good, I'll do anything you want."

The visions continued to assail Harry. He saw himself savagely ripping Malfoy's shirt off, then grabbing his blond hair before slamming him violently into the bed. Meanwhile, Ron tried in vain to stop him from continuing his brutal harassment of Malfoy.

"What's the matter with you? You hate him, don't you?" Harry turned back to Ron shouting, "I'm helping you!"

Ron stared at Harry in bewilderment, as if he no longer recognized the man standing before him. But Harry, in his anger, ignored his friend's confusion. He pulled Ron by the arm and leaded him to sit on the mattress before shoving Malfoy roughly between Ron's legs.

"Kneel here so I can see your face." When Harry gave the order, Ron watched in utter shock as Malfoy immediately obeyed without hesitation or complaint. He complied fully and willingly, dropping to his knees before Harry and him. The sight was so surprising and unexpected that Ron found himself frozen in place, unable to move or react. His eyes were glued to the scene unfolding before him - Malfoy kneeling submissively at Harry's feet, ready and eager to carry out any command. Ron's heart raced and his mind reeled as he tried to process this startling turn of events.

"Do what you have to do! I want to see your filthy mouth serve my friend," Harry ordered imperiously, his hand pressing firmly on the back of Malfoy's head to force him towards Ron.

Ron's heart raced with panic as he desperately tried to halt Harry's frenzied rampage. His eyes widened in shock and revulsion at the appalling sight before him - Malfoy's face had appeared from between his legs, far too close to his most private area. But Harry seemed possessed, roughly yanking Malfoy this way and that, forcing the normally proud Slytherin to bend to his will.

Ron felt his skin crawl, he continued frantically pulling at his trousers, trying to cover himself, cheeks burning with humiliation at being exposed in front of his nemesis. But Malfoy seemed to have lost all will of his own, mutely following Harry's every depraved command.

Malfoy lay prone on the ground, his hands securely bound behind his back. He yanks the zip of Ron's trousers down with his mouth and presses his face against Ron's crotch. His pointed nose grazed the rough surface of his pants, causing his face to blush a deep shade of pink. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now appeared dazed and unfocused, as if he were lost in a bewildering haze.

While a part of Ron had longed to see Malfoy face some form of comeuppance, but definitely not in this form. The sight of Malfoy's mouth, awkwardly pressing against his glans each time he attempted to move. The fact he is erecting due to Malfoy added to the sense of humiliation in Ron. But when Ron watched in shock as Malfoy's lips wrapped around his glans, his initial feelings of discomfort quickly dissolving into a kind of sexual satisfaction.

Ron watched as Malfoy knelt on the bed, leaning down and sticking his tongue out to lick his cock, and couldn't help but feel ashamed and annoyed at his own physical reaction. Malfoy's face didn't have his usual cocky and obnoxious expression on it at all, it even looked like he was enjoying being ordered around.

"I want to see you ride his cock."

Ron was about to jump off the bed when he heard the words come out of Harry's mouth if it wasn't for the fact that Malfoy's mouth was still on him. "Harry..." he shouted nervously. Even now, Ron still couldn't believe that the man tugging on someone's hair, choking them, and smiling gleefully was the same Harry Potter he knew.

"Get your trousers off and stop dawdling. Don't pretend you don't like riding a man's cock, you lecherous whore." Harry continued to pull and tug on Malfoy's arm, who stumbled and fell to the side of the bed as he pulled.

Malfoy complied fully with Harry's orders, obediently removing his underwear as he sat with his legs clamped around Ron's waist, sitting on Ron's lower abdomen. The skin on Malfoy's body was as pale as the skin on his face, except for his semi-erect pink cock, which was drooping over Ron's stomach. Ron had been so surprised by the sight that he couldn't move, his fingers sinking deep into the flesh of Malfoy's thighs and feeling the blood rush straight to his brain.

Malfoy reached down and grabbed Ron's erection, aimed it at his hole, and sat down on it. In an instant, he went limp forward, letting out a loud gasp as he laid In an instant, he went limp forward, letting out a loud gasp as he laid his hands on Ron's chest to support his weight.

Ron felt the hot breath on his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Malfoy was sitting on his cock so close that Ron could feel the warmth radiating from the whole of his body. It was incredibly distracting, making it hard for Ron to focus on anything else but the smooth skin and moist erect of Malfoy.

Harry stood behind Malfoy, his gaze fixed intently on the tangled figures of them. He silently watched the moist place where his enemy and his friend joined together. The two boys, usually at odds, were now engaged in a heated, forced, sexual scene that Harry himself had wittingly orchestrated. The sight stirred a complex whirlpool of emotions within him; anger at Malfoy for all his past grievances mingled with a strange, gleeful triumph over the discord he had sown between them.

This scene rooted in a dream—or a nightmare, felt so real to Harry as if he had stepped into a real room of his own making. It was as though he had become a spectator in his own life, disconnected from the tangible world. His physical self seemed anchored in the shadows, while his consciousness floated free, an ethereal observer of the unfolding drama.

In this dream-like state, Harry experienced a profound disorientation. His body felt alien as if he no longer held the strings to his own movements. His mind, usually sharp and alert, swirled with a tumult of thoughts and emotions he could neither sort nor fully understand. It was as if he had become a ghost, a shadow of his former self, drifting helplessly around the periphery of his own life.

As he watched Malfoy's and Ron's flushed faces and mating place, the surreal quality of the moment deepened. Harry felt both detached and yet painfully present, caught in the limbo between his role as the instigator and his shock at the consequences of his actions. This internal conflict, mirrored in the external conflict before him, left him floating in a liminal space, disconnected from reality yet trapped by it, a witness to his own chaotic narrative.

Within this confusing whirl of emotions, Harry watched, almost as if from outside himself, as he intervened physically. His actions seemed both deliberate and involuntary. He reached out, his hand gently but firmly lifting Malfoy's chin, forcing his adversary to meet his eyes. With his other hand, Harry's fingers traced the base of his reddened ears to the line of Malfoy's neck, moving up to his spine flushed with the heat of desire and embarrassment.

Then, in a swift motion that seemed to surprise even Harry himself, he slapped Malfoy hard on his arse. Malfoy shuddered and moaned, a tremor that ran through his body like a clap of shine, drawing a startled yelp from Ron, who was equally taken aback by the sudden intensity of the moment.

"You want me to punish you, don't you?" Harry moved up to Malfoy's ear, his fingers gripping his ass cheeks hard, his nails sinking into the flesh of his buttocks, "Lowly Weasley cock turns you on doesn't it?” Harsh, biting words spilled from Harry's mouth, his emotions untamed as he gripped Malfoy tightly around the waist and guided Malfoy to sit deeper. His fingers dug into Malfoy with a desperate urgency as if trying to anchor himself amidst the storm of his own tumultuous feelings.

Above them, Harry's soul seemed to detach, floating ethereally over the room. From this vantage point, he gazed down at the tangled trio sprawled across the bed. The sight was surreal and Harry watched, as he struggled to reconcile his actions and words. The harshness of his own voice echoed back at him, filling him with a profound disbelief. How could he, Harry, ever speak of his friend with such venom? The realization was a sharp stab of regret in his chest, leaving him feeling hollow and disconcerted.

The room was suddenly filled with a deafening rumble, like a thunderclap right beside the bed, jolting Harry from his thoughts. He glanced around, bewildered, as the room slowly morphed into what looked strikingly like Ron's cozy room. However, amidst the familiar, there lay an odd assortment of Harry's own belongings. His owl's cage was perched near the window, his childhood diary lay open on the desk, and his robes from his first year at Hogwarts were draped over a chair. The table was overwhelmed with a sea of paper cranes as if someone had spent countless hours folding them, each a silent testament to wishes or perhaps unspoken dreams.

A fleeting thought crossed Harry's mind, tinged with a wistfulness so potent it almost hurt. "If only I could have had a family like this, as Ron... how wonderful that would have been." The words hung unspoken in the air, too sacred to disturb the quiet of the room.

The dream twisted further into the surreal, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over Harry. It felt as though he was both there and not, a silent observer trapped in his own body. He took a hesitant step back, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him—two figures twisting with each other in a tangle of heat.

"How marvelous it would be to actually be Ron in this moment," he thought, the idea blossoming with an ache of longing. Harry watched as Ron was pinned to the bed by Malfoy, his pupils dilated and lost in pleasure and shock, his face flushed as he wrapped his arms around Malfoy's thighs. For his part, Malfoy moaned as he was naked on top of Ron, struggling to sway his hips and grip his own cock, trembling as he almost came.

But then, a sudden surge of anger cut through the haze of his thoughts. Without fully understanding why, Harry found himself moving with unexpected speed. He dashed forward and shoved Malfoy with all his might, disentangling him from Ron and sending him crashing onto the adjacent bed. The room fell shockingly silent, save for the heavy breathing of the three boys. Malfoy's eyes, wide with shock and a flicker of something else, met Harry's from mere centimeters away. He shuddered and let out a sharp cry, and released his semen into his hand by the intensity of Harry's uncharacteristic outburst.

Panting harshly, Malfoy wrapped one arm around Harry's neck and pulled both of their faces closer together, kissing Harry on the lips. As Harry's awareness snapped sharply back into his body, a rush of adrenaline surged through him. His muscles clenched instinctively, and with a burst of unexpected strength, he pushed Malfoy away with such force that it felt both liberating and shocking.

An icy chill crept up from the soles of Harry's feet, sending shivers through his entire body. Suddenly, he found himself standing once again in the middle of a cold, forest lake. The menacing black snakes that had twined around his feet moments ago had vanished without a trace. In their place, the gentle, melodic sounds of birdsong floated across from the distant valley, filling the air with a sense of calm and renewal. Above him, the sky began to brighten as the first rays of sunrise peeked over the horizon. The soft hues of pink and orange painted the sky, heralding the arrival of a new day.

Harry lay in his bed and open his eyes, the images from his dream replayed in his mind, each frame pulsing with an intensity that seemed to shake the very core of his being. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, each beat a loud echo in the quiet of the early morning. These visions were disturbingly intense—so forceful and real that they left him feeling sick to his stomach. Why were these aggressive, almost tyrannical scenes infiltrating his dreams? They felt so tangible, so detailed, that Harry found himself gasping for air.

Restlessness took over as he tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around his legs. A deep sense of unease settled in his chest. What were these dreams trying to tell him? Deep down, he feared what it meant. His dreams seemed to be dredging up something from within him, revealing shadows in the depths of his own psyche that he was reluctant to acknowledge. Each replay of the dreams seemed to peel back another layer of his soul, exposing parts of him he wasn't ready to confront.

Chapter Text

5* These Slytherins haven't settled the score from their last game

Theodore Nott strolled along the shores of the Black Lake, his feet treading the well-worn path. The sky above was grey, the clouds heavy with the promise of rain. The air was cool and damp, the moisture clinging to his skin and seeping into his bones. But Nott paid no attention to the weather, his mind focused on the small, circular ring pendant that hung around his neck.

The ring had belonged to his mother, a final gift left to him before she had passed away. Nott had taken the ring and transformed it into a pendant, hidden beneath the layers of his clothing, a small and discreet way to keep his mother's memory close to his heart.

His fingers absently played with the pendant, spinning it around and around. It was a habit he had developed over the past year, ever since he had received the ring on his birthday.

The ring had become Nott's most cherished possession, the singular item in his life that he would go to any lengths to safeguard. It served as a constant reminder of the sacrifices he had made and the difficult decisions he had been compelled to make to preserve the memory of his mother.

Nott's father had always been strict about not allowing him to keep any mementos or items that reminded him of his mother. Since the start of the school year, Nott had not returned home, but somehow, his father had discovered that he had acquired the ring. In a fit of rage, his father demanded that Nott return home immediately.

The Dark Lord had tasked Nott's father with the responsibility of aiding Bellatrix in her escape from prison, a mission that he could not possibly accomplish on his own. So, Nott's father had initially hoped that his son would come home and assist the family in completing the assignments given to them by the Dark Lord. Despite Nott's strong reluctance to leave Hogwarts, his resistance proved ineffective, and he was eventually forced to return home by his father.

Upon Nott's arrival at home, his father immediately attempted to take the ring from him. Nott had to endure a barrage of violence from his father, fighting tooth and nail to keep the ring in his possession. It was a brutal and unrelenting confrontation, and Nott didn’t hold onto the ring, just as every time his father took his precious things.

Nott's saving grace came in the form of Professor Snape, who was acting as a spy for Dumbledore and had come to Nott Manor. At the time of Snape's arrival, Nott was locked away in the attic room, while his father was in the courtyard, attempting to destroy the ring. Snape's intervention prevented the ring's destruction, and he returned it to Nott.

Although Nott is grateful for Snape's help, he is unaware of what the professor has said to his father that convinced him to allow Nott to return to school. The only condition was that Theodore would be required to "help at school" in some unspecified way.

Despite being back at Hogwarts, Nott's life was no longer the same. He severed ties with all of his sexual partners and ceased discussing his problems with Hermione. He also stopped communicating with Dan, the boy with whom he once had a platonic relationship. Nott became increasingly isolated, withdrawing into himself, but he understood that this was the price he had to pay to protect the ring.

From the moment Nott became involved with the Death Eaters, a grim realization dawned upon him:

His life and his everything would be sacrificed for this ring. It will condemn him to a path of inevitable loss and sacrifice. Not by his own choices, but by the weight of his family name, Nott

As Nott walked, his thoughts turned to Malfoy, a dull ache growing in his chest. Since the start of the new school year, when Malfoy had moved out of their shared dormitory, their relationship had been strained over the past few months and had barely spoken to each other.

Nott blamed all of these on the ring. He couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he hadn't acted on impulse that day in the common room; if he hadn't raped Draco that night in the Malfoy Manor.

If he hadn't done what he did, would his friendship with Draco still be intact? Would they still be able to look each other in the eye, to speak to each other without the weight of awkwardness and regret hanging between them?

He missed Draco and the camaraderie they had once shared. But he knew that things could never go back to the way they were. The ring had changed everything, setting into motion a chain of events that could not be undone.

"Mom, I'm terrible," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the howling wind. "I keep doing things wrong." He gripped the ring tighter, seeking comfort from its cool metal surface. The Black Lake before him was covered in a thin layer of ice, a stark reminder of the cold reality he faced.

Nott's head hung low, his chin nearly touching his chest as he muttered, "Can I be forgiven for my sins?" The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the wind continued to blow, its icy fingers slipping through Nott's own, threatening to freeze the already chilly ring.

Suddenly, a deafening howl pierced the air behind him, startling Nott from his introspection. He spun around, his eyes widening as he saw a massive black creature with no flesh circling overhead. The fierce wind whipped up water droplets from the Black Lake, creating a curtain of mist that rushed toward him. Instinctively, Nott raised his arms to shield his face from the onslaught.

As the mist cleared, Nott lowered his arms and found himself face-to-face with the creature. Its white eyes bore into him, searing his soul like the gaze of a demon. Nott stood transfixed, unable to look away as the creature continued to circle him, its black fur tightly clinging to its skeletal structure, every bone visible.

Without warning, the creature turned and flew towards the Forbidden Forest, its dark form quickly disappearing into the distance. The wind seemed to follow in its wake, rushing from the far end of the Black Lake and vanishing into the dense trees. Nott was left alone, standing at the water's edge, his hand still tightly clutching the ring to his chest.

As he slowly uncurled his fingers, Nott realized that his palm was slick with sweat. The ring had left two distinct rectangular marks on his skin. He took a deep, shuddering breath and stared in the direction the creature had gone, his mind reeling with confusion and fear.

Nott had never encountered a creature like the one he had just seen. It seemed to embody the very essence of evil, with its dragon-like eerie appearance and the aura of darkness that surrounded it. The memory of its white eyes burned in his mind, awakening a primal fear that he had never known before.

Suddenly, Nott became aware of his surroundings and the purpose of his visit to the Black Lake. He had come to gather water plants for his Potions class but had become lost in his thoughts and the strange encounter with the creature. Realizing that he had lingered too long, Nott quickly retrieved his bag and the plants he had collected and walked briskly towards the Quidditch pitch.

He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the ground before him, as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. So lost was he in his thoughts that he failed to notice he had already reached the changing rooms near the pitch, his feet carrying him there by muscle memory alone.

As he neared the changing rooms, Nott's pace slowed. Realizing that someone was approaching, he hid himself behind a locker.

The two boys, both Quidditch players based on their attire, seemed to be discussing fiercely. One of the students, a tall, thin boy with brown hair, was adamantly expressing to his stocky companion about his sexuality.

"I'm not gay!" the brown-haired boy insisted, his voice tinged with defensiveness. "I just have these dreams now and then, that doesn't make me gay!"

His friend, attempting to offer reassurance, replied, “Relax, before this dream, I've never thought that way about the skinny guy from the Malfoys either. But, I think my dreams might be hinting at what's going on inside myself."

The brown-haired boy recoiled, his face twisting into a disgusted expression. "Are you saying you're gay? That's disgusting."

"Dude, you're overreacting," the other boy said calmly. "It's not a big deal."

As the conversation continued, Nott stood his ground, listening intently. While the two boys looked vaguely familiar, Nott's lack of interest in Quidditch meant he couldn't quite place them.

The brown-haired boy, growing increasingly agitated, lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "You are not to tell anyone! And repeat, I am not gay!"

The other boy, attempting to placate him, responded, "Of course I can help you keep your secret. But you have to admit that you were erected in your dream because Malfoy, don't you?"

"Shut up!" the brown-haired boy snapped, "This is the locker room! Someone else might hear!"

Nott felt a pang of irritation as he listened to the boys discussing Draco in such a manner. While he didn't appreciate the conversation, he also felt it wasn't his place to intervene.

Swallowing his anger, Nott was about to leave when a voice from behind startled him, causing him to nearly drop the bag he was holding.

"Hey, what are you doing here? The Quidditch pitch?" It was Blaise Zabini, carrying a large sack filled with various broom repair tools and equipment. Zabini's mother owned a business that specialized in Quidditch supplies, and she had recently secured a contract to provide the Slytherin team with their necessary paraphernalia. It seemed that Zabini had come to the pitch to drop off some of these items.

Nott turned to face Zabini, a slight look of annoyance flickering across his features at the unexpected interruption. "Blaise, you scared me," he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I'm looking for someone."

"Draco?" Zabini asked, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Nott's expression immediately tightened, his lips pressing together into a thin line. He had no intention of discussing anything related to the Death Eaters' activities with Zabini, let alone the specific details of his search for Draco. However, Zabini seemed to take Nott's reaction as confirmation, giving him an "I get it" look accompanied by a meaningful smile.

In the world of Slytherin, it was a well-established fact that even one's closest friends could not be fully trusted, a sentiment that Nott wholeheartedly agreed with.

Undeterred by Nott's apparent reluctance to engage in conversation, Zabini pressed on. "Did you hear what they just said about Draco?" he asked, referring to the bits of conversation Nott had overheard moments earlier.

Nott fixed Zabini with a blank stare, his tone flat and uninterested as he responded, "Eavesdropping isn't a good habit."

Zabini's smile widened slightly, his eyebrows raising as if to imply that they were both guilty of the same transgression, and continued, "But forget about these irrelevant folks, Nott. If you insist on playing this childish game of cat and mouse with Draco, it's only going to strain the already tenuous relationship between your families. "

Nott felt a surge of irritation at Zabini's implication, his voice taking on a sharp edge as he replied, "I don't need you to teach me how to play political games, Zabini. I'm looking for him on other important matters." Zabini nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response. He took a step closer to Nott and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to speak in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Then I don't understand why you aren't looking for him where he spends more time."

Feeling his explanation made no sense, Nott shook off Zabini's hand and prepared to take his leave. "I haven't got time for your nonsense," he said. As he turned to go, Zabini called out after him, "Well, when you finally decide to stop wasting your time on this wild goose chase, come find me. We can have a proper chat and perhaps even play a game together."

Nott paused, glancing back at Zabini with a sigh of exasperation. "I don't PLAY Quidditch, Blaise." Zabini, for his part, stood up straight and posed as if he were being serious, his four fingers pressed together in an elegant, aristocratic gesture of farewell.

Nott regarded him with a blank expression before allowing a soft speakless laugh to escape his lips. "Poser,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned to walk away.

Despite his annoyance at Zabini's interruption, the conversation had served to remind Nott of the "important" matter he needed to discuss with Draco. He planned to use the pretext of delivering a message as an opportunity to talk to him. They hadn't spoken in far too long. However, Nott was also determined to get to the bottom of the earlier conversation he had overheard, and he had already begun formulating plans to deal with the situation.

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Harry had been grappling with sleep disturbances for the past few days, leaving him feeling perpetually dizzy and disoriented. The situation at school was not helping matters, as Umbridge continued to lend her support to Malfoy's misdeeds, emboldening him to act with impunity, and Malfoy's behavior kept fueling Ron's anger.

Hermione, meanwhile, was preoccupied with her school assignments and the numerous responsibilities that came with being the Perfect. She had always been a diligent student, but now it seemed that she had taken on more than she could handle. Harry couldn't help but think that Hermione was a bit too anxious, as she had so many things on her mind that she was constantly busy, like an industrial conveyor belt running at high speed, never allowing herself a moment's rest.

As the night wore on, the three of them found themselves the last people remaining in the common room, surrounded by a sea of books, papers, and unfinished documents.

Hermione turned to Ron with a frown, “Ron, you need to finish filling out these forms. Every Prefect needs to complete them!” She placed the forms in front of him, her tone leaving no room for argument. Ron took the papers with an impatient look on his face, grumbling under his breath, "Even Percy didn't write any of this formal rubbish!"

"It can't be helped that every term is different," Hermione replied, her voice tinged with exasperation as she helped Ron organize the papers in front of him. Ron, however, was not to be placated. "Why don't you just say it's all because of that pink toad that we're in so much pain?"

Ignoring Ron's comment, Hermione looked up from her paperwork and addressed Harry, her brow furrowed with concern. "I'm a bit worried about Hagrid. He's been covered in injuries lately, and I was thinking that maybe we could visit him."

Harry, snapping out of his thoughts, glanced at the papers Ron and Hermione had spread across the table and sighed heavily. "Hermione, you're too busy. I'll go over and check on him later on my own." He knew that Hermione had far too much on her plate already, and he didn't want to add to her burden.

Leaving the Gryffindor common room, Harry made his way to his room to retrieve his invisibility cloak. He knew that he would need it if he would sneak over to Hagrid's hut in the dark of night.

He walked through the crowd of students heading to their dormitories and stepped outside the building.

As his feet hit the frozen, hard ground outside the building, Harry felt the cold winter wind biting at his exposed skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

From a distance, Harry noticed that Hagrid's hut was not lit, but there was some light emanating from the bushes not far from it. His curiosity piqued, he guessed that Hagrid might be tending to an animal, and he headed in that direction, his invisibility cloak pulled tightly around him.

As Harry cautiously approached the source of the light, he soon realized that it wasn't Hagrid who was responsible for the illumination. Instead, the white glow emanated from the tip of a wand, cast by the Lumos spell. The light filtered through the fallen leaves, outlining the silhouette of a tall slender figure that seemed vaguely familiar to Harry. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the person was wearing Slytherin robes, and with a start, he recognized the individual as none other than Theodore Nott.

Harry's mind raced as he recalled the previous encounter he had with Nott's father during the tumultuous events surrounding the Goblet of Fire. The memory had prompted Harry to keep a closer eye on the younger Nott, although his observations had yielded little in the way of unusual behavior or activities. The only thing that stood out to Harry was the apparent existence of some sort of unspoken contraindicated connection between Nott and Malfoy, a relationship that seemed to run deeper than mere housemates.

As Harry's thoughts turned to Malfoy, he felt a sudden rush of heat rise to his cheeks, accompanied by a series of fragmented, unsettling dreams that had been haunting him as of late. In these dreams, Malfoy appeared like shards of shattered, enameled glass, the jagged edges of his presence cutting through the fabric of Harry's subconscious. The two of them would find themselves entangled in intimate embraces, their lips meeting in passionate kisses and their hands exploring each other's bodies with a fervor that left Harry feeling both exhilarated and deeply disturbed upon waking.

He found himself simultaneously drawn to and repelled by the idea of Malfoy. The fact that he was now standing mere feet away from one who may be his boyfriend served to heighten the sense of unease that had settled over him, as though the morality boundaries between his dream world and reality were beginning to blur in ways that he couldn't quite comprehend.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath, trying to push the thoughts of Malfoy and his unsettling dreams to the back of his mind and focus on the situation at hand.

If Ron and Hermione were here at this moment, they would certainly have enjoyed the chance to get back at this Slytherin student who was so openly breaking school rules. Harry thought to himself with a feeling of satisfaction, as getting even with Malfoy's cronies was just as pleasing to him as getting back at Malfoy himself. However, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Nott's actions than met the eye and that his motives were not so easily discernible.

Carefully, Harry tried to move closer to get a better view of what Nott was doing. In his hand, Nott held a small shovel, and it looked like he had just dug up something that resembled a green duck egg from the bushes. He quickly stuffed the object into a small cloth bag and, with a skillful wave of his wand, perfectly erased any sign of the hole he had dug, leaving the ground clean and undisturbed.

Harry's curiosity was sparked, and he really wanted to get a closer look at what was inside the mysterious bag. However, the sound of dry leaves crunching under his feet alerted Nott to his presence. Nott's head snapped up from the bushes, and he scanned the surrounding area with sharp, attentive eyes. The look in his eyes was very different from the uninterested, indifferent gaze Harry was used to seeing from him. Instead, Nott's eyes were cold and keen, like a nocturnal animal on high alert.

Immediately after Nott left with the bag, Harry decided to stealthily follow in his footsteps. It didn't take long for Harry to understand where he was heading: the Slytherin dormitories. However, it was evident that it was not his own dormitory, but the one belonging to the Prefect, that is, Malfoy's.

Harry's spirits lifted at this unexpected discovery, as he felt he had found an important clue. He crouched around the corner of the hallway leading to Malfoy's dormitory, watching closely as Nott lingered hesitantly outside Malfoy's door, seemingly about to knock but not quite finding the nerve to do it. He walked from one end of the hallway to the other, turning around, as if internally debating what to do next.

But just at that moment, from the other end of the corridor, Malfoy appeared, who seemed to just have finished his nightly rounds. Upon seeing Nott, he stopped dead in his tracks and his voice sounded a bit cold as he asked, "What are you doing here at this time of night? Don't you know that curfew has already passed?”

"Umm... no... I...," Nott seemed a little flustered, but he quickly regained his composure and replied, "I have something to tell you."

"Well, go on then," Malfoy replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and impatience. Harry held his breath, wondering what would happen next. Nott, however, seemed hesitant to hand over the mysterious pouch or say anything further, simply standing there in silence.

"What? Is there something you can't say out here in the open?" Malfoy asked, growing more impatient by the moment. He glared at Nott, crossing his arms over his chest. Nott merely sighed, still showing no intention of speaking. From Harry's vantage point, it was impossible to see Nott's expression, leaving him to anxiously await whatever was about to unfold.

"Well...yeah...but you never know if there might be ears listening through the walls," Nott mumbled, his voice tinged with a hint of unease.

While his words may have been nothing more than an excuse to gain entry into Malfoy's room, they sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Despite knowing he was invisible, Harry instinctively shrank back behind the corner of the wall.

The sound of a door slamming echoed through the corridor, and the two figures disappeared from view. Realizing that they had entered Malfoy's room, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. He had been certain that he'd been vigilant the entire time, and yet he had no idea how Nott had managed to detect his presence.

Pushing aside his disappointment, Harry quickly refocused his efforts and cautiously made his way towards the door. Just as Harry was about to cast a sound amplification spell on the doorway, it abruptly swung open. He hadn't anticipated their conversation ending so quickly. He stumbled back, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Thanks for telling me this, and you can go now," Malfoy said curtly as he stepped out into the corridor. He reached out and grabbed Nott by the sleeve, his knuckles turning white as he practically dragged him out of the room, despite Nott's apparent reluctance to leave. The two of them stood facing each other in the middle of the hallway, an awkward silence hanging between them.

“Actually, I don't need to know that," Malfoy finally spoke, his expression conveying a strong reluctance to continue the conversation.

"It was your mother's sister. I thought you might want to know," Nott responded swiftly, his hand reaching out to stop Malfoy from pushing him further away from the room. Malfoy then drew out his hand and ran a hand through his pale blond hair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Nott's face.

As the two men continued their odd tug-of-war in the doorway, Harry noticed that the cloth bag was no longer in Nott's hand, and the door to Malfoy's room remained ajar. Glancing back at the two figures still grappling with each other, Harry hesitated for a brief moment before seizing the opportunity and slipping quietly into Malfoy's room.

After a few minutes, Malfoy returned to his dormitory, closing the door behind him with a heavy click. He began pacing the room, his brow furrowed in deep thought, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath his feet. The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the flickering flames in the fireplace and candlestick, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Harry had searched around the couch for a few moments, he scanned the area for any sign of the mysterious green egg-shaped object. He moved quietly, his hands running along the soft fabric of the couch, hoping to find it hidden within the cushions. but found nothing.

As Malfoy approached the table next to the couch, Harry quickly curled himself up behind the potted plant at the foot of the table, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make himself as small as possible to avoid detection.

However, Malfoy paid no attention to the plant or the surrounding area. Instead, he returned to the table and proceeded to fill out the papers that were spread out before him. Harry noticed that the papers looked remarkably similar to the ones Hermione and Ron had been working on earlier that day.

Malfoy's face was heavy with concentration, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the task at hand. He tapped his pen against the desk, the rhythmic thumping sound filling the room as if the action helped to ease his agitation. The scratching of the pen against paper was the only other sound, punctuated by the occasional crackle of the fire in the grate.

Suddenly, Malfoy's voice broke the silence, his words laced with frustration and anger. “Drat the Theodore Nott!" he cursed, slamming his pen down on the table. The outburst seemed to serve as a release for his pent-up emotions, and soon, he fell silent once more, his head bowed as he continued his work, his hand moving swiftly across the pages.

As Malfoy spent a considerable amount of time filling out the paperwork, the clock ticked on, marking the passing minutes of Harry's surveillance activity. The sheer volume of the paperwork seemed to keep Malfoy occupied, his attention focused solely on the task at hand. Harry, crouched behind the fireplace across from the couch, began to feel his legs growing stiff from the prolonged inactivity.

He suppressed the urge to yawn, not wanting to make any sound that might alert Malfoy to his presence. The room itself offered little in the way of distraction, with no obvious signs of the object Harry sought. Instead, he found himself noticing the pleasant, light floral scent that permeated the air, a subtle fragrance that seemed to bring a sense of calm to the otherwise tense atmosphere.

As the fire in the fireplace continued to cast its faint glow, Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy, the warmth and the soothing scent lulling him into a state of drowsiness.

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"We haven't settled the score from our last game, have we?”

"I don't fancy continuing that game of truth or dare with you today, Blaise..."

"Well, that's a pity. I reckoned the three of us could have had a good time,"

Someone is talking to Malfoy and their conversation wakes Harry up. Harry's mind grapples with the realization of his current surroundings. He struggled to wake from his drowsy state. It took a moment for him to remember that he was, in fact, in Malfoy's room, where he had been keeping a watchful eye on the Slytherin's activities.

Malfoy sat on the couch, his legs crossed and his posture relaxed, while Blaise Zabini leaned casually against one of the couch's arms. Across from them, Theodore Nott sat with a furrowed brow, his eyes darting between the two men, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“Game? What game are you on about? " Nott inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of suspicion. "And why exactly am I here? What are we supposed to be doing?"

Zabini, instead of answering Nott's questions directly, shifted his position, moving from the arm of the couch to sit beside Malfoy. He turned to face his blond companion, a soft smile playing on his lips as he spoke, "We're going to pick up where we left off last time. Come on, Draco. Tell him what we're going to do." He paused for a moment before adding, "Why don't you choose a dare, mate?"

Malfoy glanced at Zabini, his eyes lingering on the other boy's face as he gently bit his own lip. He remained silent, neither agreeing nor refusing the suggestion. Taking Malfoy's lack of objection as a sign of acquiescence, Zabini reached up and draped his arm around Malfoy's neck, drawing them closer together. The gesture seemed intimate.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with a sense of anticipation as if the occupants were on the cusp of something significant. Harry, still hidden from view, found himself holding his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the scene unfold before him.

"I dare you to give me a deep French kiss," Zabini said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Malfoy sighed, a mixture of exasperation and amusement playing across his features. In one swift motion, he grabbed Zabini by the collar, pulled him close, and pressed their lips together in a searing kiss. Quickly, Zabini's hand reached toward Malfoy's belt, foreshadowing the intimacy to come. Nott, who had been making his way across the room, froze in his tracks. Crouched beneath a nearby table, Harry's jaw dropped in shock at the brazen display.

Nott's surprise quickly gave way to anger, and he lunged forward, attempting to wrench Malfoy away from Zabini's embrace. As he clambered over the table, determined to separate the two, Malfoy broke the kiss.

Malfoy turned his attention to Nott. The firelight danced in Malfoy's eyes, transforming them into pools of molten silver, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he brushed his shimmering blond hair behind his ears.

“My puppy, truth or dare?" Malfoy asked, his voice smooth as silk, yet sweet like a pool of honey.

Nott's movements stilled, Malfoy's words seeming to pin him in place. He stood there, mouth agape as if struggling to comprehend the question that had just been posed to him.

"What... what did you just call me?" Nott asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

Malfoy's eyes met Nott's, a smug, impish grin spreading across his face as he wiped away the glistening saliva from the corners of his mouth with his fingers. "Anything you want to hear, Dear Theo," he purred.

"I assume you selected 'Dare,' correct?" Malfoy pressed, his gaze never wavering from Nott's face. He reached out and grasped Nott's wrist, “I dare you to take off your pants..." continued Malfoy, "and then I'll SUCK YOUR COCK."

Nott's brows furrowed, his gaze filled with suspicion as he retorted, "Are you serious?"

Despite his apparent reservations, he promptly pulled down his pants and seated himself upon the plush and emerald green couch. As soon as Nott had settled, Malfoy wasted no time in fulfilling his end of the bargain.

Kneeling before Nott, Malfoy's eyes flicked upwards, taking in the overwhelmed expression that had swiftly overtaken his friend's features. A wicked grin tugged at the corners of Malfoy's mouth as he extended his tongue, languidly lapping at the glistening juices that make it coated Nott's cock. "I say, my dear friend, haven't you been engaging in such activities with your…sex partners as of late?" Malfoy questioned his tone a mix of amusement and feigned innocence.

Nott, nearly dumbfounded by his sudden act, stammered in response, "I've... had a lot to do lately."

Malfoy nodded at that, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Maintaining his grip on Nott’s cock, he inclined his head and said, "Indeed, Theo should have been rather busy lately with family matters." His voice was smooth, almost melodic, yet there was an underlying current of something indecipherable, a hidden meaning that lingered in the air.

Nott could only watch in amazement as Malfoy licked the top of his penis, the glans disappearing between his lips. As Malfoy swallowed his whole thing, Nott's face turned a deep shade of red. Impulsive move, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of Malfoy's beautiful blonde hair with his right hand, his fingers tangling in the silky strands. His left hand, meanwhile, gripped the couch pillows, as if he were desperately trying to suppress himself from groaning too loudly.

Just as Nott's face was about to transition from red to a shade of purple, Zabini intervened. He gracefully wrapped her arms around Malfoy from behind. Leaning in close, he murmured, "Wait, Draco, we haven't done with our part just yet."--Norte had absolutely no idea when Zabini had gotten naked.

Zabini separated Malfoy's mouth from Nott's cock and had Malfoy lean on his torso. He ran his hand down the hem of Malfoy's tight-fitting black sweater and ran it down Malfoy's lower abdomen to his jaw.

Zabini led Malfoy to his feet and wrapped Malfoy tightly into his arms. He then picked up Malfoy's jaw so that Malfoy's face was facing him, leaving a kiss on Malfoy's mouth. His kiss was a subtle trigger in the face of Malfoy's mounting desire.

Malfoy was so mesmerized and disoriented that he faced Zabini and angled his head, claiming Zabini's deft tongue. Zabini's fingers lifted Malfoy's black bodysuit up, revealing his right nipple. The contrast between Malfoy's white skin and the pink nipple was so stark that it captured Nott's attention.

When Nott decided to get on his knees and take Malfoy's beautiful cock, Nott did feel like a puppy begging for a bone. However, Malfoy didn't care one bit about Nott's lips hovering over him. His arms were wrapped around Zabini's neck as he let Zabini remove his pants and underwear and caress his thighs and ass.

Malfoy's entire body flung itself over Zabini's, their bodies melding together. The flickering light of the room cast an ethereal glow upon the contours of Malfoy's back, accentuating the graceful waist lines and butt curves that lay beneath the tight black jersey. His skin, already pale by nature, seemed to take on an almost translucent quality, as if the light could penetrate through the delicate barrier and illuminate the very essence of his being.

The room fell silent, save for the soft rustling of fabric and the quickening of breaths. Nott watched the scene unfold before him, his eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and barely concealed jealousy.

Zabini, however, seemed to have something new in mind. He mirrored Nott's actions, gracefully lowering herself to her knees. The air in the room grew thick as he leaned in closer. His breath ghosting over Malfoy's skin, dropped a light kiss on Malfoy's crotch before moving his lips to Malfoy's cock.

Nott and Zabini knelt at Malfoy's feet, their lips against on his penis. The touch from two of man’s lips was electric, sending a shiver down Malfoy's spine. Malfoy gazed down at them, his pale lips slight opened and released some moan.

Malfoy appeared to relish the sensation of being attended to with such devotion, yet his slender legs trembled uncontrollably due to the way they take care of him, almost unable to steady himself. Malfoy reached out and grasped the hair strands of two, his fingers entwining themselves in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance.

As Zabini slowly withdrew his head from Malfoy's grip, a cryptic smile played upon his lips. With a deliberate air of intimacy, Zabini guided Malfoy to the nearby couch, his movements graceful and assured. As they sat together, their bodies mere inches apart, Zabini cast a pointed glance towards Nott.

Zabini gently eased the blond down onto the plush, velvet cushions, embracing Malfoy's form like a lover's caress, kissed his ears and lips, and began to undress him. While Nott pulled himself away from the other two, his angular features etched with a mix of envy and resignation.

Nott's voice was as dry as a barren winter meadow, as he attempted to inch closer to the two of them. His trembling hand reached out, hovering mere centimeters from Malfoy's porcelain skin, seeming he was aching to bridge the unbearable distance between them.

"Malfoy... I dare you..." Nott breathed, his words barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.

As if suddenly attuned to Nott's presence, Malfoy languidly pulled away from his deep, passionate kiss with Zabini. He tilted his head, his piercing grey eyes locking onto Nott's, a flicker of intrigue dancing within their depths. "Yes?" Malfoy purred, a single eyebrow arched in question.

Nott swallowed hard, "I dare you to get down your back to me." His voice quavered, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the weight of his boldness.

A slow, wicked smile spread across Malfoy's lips, his eyes glinting with a feeling of pleasure. He twisted further to face Nott fully, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm, “Get down my back to you? That's never a wise idea, is it? I concede."

Nott's heart plummeted, his expression crumpling into one of utter despondency. He lowered his gaze, shoulders slumping in defeat, words failing him in the face of Malfoy's rejection.

But then, with a sudden, electrifying touch, Malfoy's slender fingers gripped Nott's chin, tilting his face upwards until their eyes met once more. Malfoy's gaze was intense, and captivating, as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Nott's lips.

"However, if you were to tell me plainly what you want? Perhaps I might consider it," Malfoy drawled. As Malfoy’s arms were wrapped around the head of Zabini, Zabini continued to trail fervent kisses along the column of Malfoy's neck, seemingly unconcerned by the charged exchange taking place.

Nott was naked and perched awkwardly on his knees upon the settee. His eyes were wide, fixed longingly on Malfoy like a forlorn pup yearning for a morsel of affection.

Malfoy's slender fingers remained entwined in Zabini's raven tresses, yet his gaze fixed on Nott, issuing a silent, tantalizing ‘dare’. Malfoy regarded Nott intently for a long moment, but Nott remained frozen, scarcely daring to breathe. At last, with a soft sigh of resignation, Malfoy was ready to turn to Zabini.

Quick as a snake, Nott's hand darted out to seize Malfoy's wrist in a vice-like grip.

“…I wanna eat your ass," he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. Each word was articulated with painstaking clarity as if he feared Malfoy might somehow miss his meaning.

A flicker of surprise danced across Malfoy's features and he was visibly startled at the bold proclamation. But he quickly schooled his expression back into one of haughty disdain. A derisive laugh escaped his lips as he sneered, "You really are a pathetic little lapdog, aren't you…" he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension.

With that, Malfoy languidly stretched himself out on the sofa, arranged in a portrait of indolent grace, and get on Zabini’s lap, hold the cock, and bring it to his mouth. He then pivoted so that his butt was turned to Nott, a clear invite; While Nott was gratefully receptive to the invite.

Harry crouched behind the table across from the couch, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as a searing heat consumed his entire body as if the very blood in his veins had been set ablaze by the tantalizing scene unfolding mere feet away. Though logically he knew his invisibility cloak rendered him unseen, the sheer proximity to the lascivious and shockingly explicit display caused fragmented memories of his feverish, lust-addled dream to come rushing back in exquisite detail, sending electric shivers down his spine.

His legs, having supported him in this uncomfortable position for so long, had gone completely numb, as if replaced by two lifeless wooden piers. But Harry was transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away from the erotic and luscious scene of the three on the couch. Malfoy was sucking Zabini's dick, his flushed and panting face no more than 6 feet from Harry’s that Harry could feel the moist heat of Malfoy's labored breath ghosting across his burning cheeks.

Malfoy's wanton moans, even more raw and desperate in person than in Harry's fractured reverie, sent Harry's mind spinning with dizzying arousal. Their moanin’ filled his ears, bringing up his memories, as he slipped his hand into his underwear, teeth sinking harshly into his bottom lip to stifle any involuntary sounds of longing.

Harry's brain buzzed when his cock was already swollen and aching. All the cells in his body were craving release, screaming that they just couldn't take the torture anymore. His fingers curled into fists, his palms cover his erection as he fought to maintain control over his treacherous body's reactions to the depraved visual feast before him.

"Mmmm… oh …," Malfoy moaned, making some lovely noises, "Theo... that… that’s tickles... "

Nott's entire face was almost buried between Malfoy's ass cheeks, his tongue lapping at the cleft with a fierce, watery sound. "Have you tried this?" Mixed in with the obscene watery sounds and Malfoy's gasps, Nott's voice became muffled.

"Of course no...who'd put their tongue...," Malfoy's voice trembled, mixed with whimpers and constant gasps.

Nott's fingers sank deep into the flesh of Malfoy's buttocks as he struggled to break Malfoy's ass cheeks apart, then gave a strange smile.

Nott's eyes wandered down Malfoy's back, tracing over the cleft of his buttocks, savoring it slowly as if he were admiring a work of art. Immediately afterward, Nott grabbed Malfoy's waist hard with both hands and without a care buried his face between his ass cheeks once more and began to pump his tongue in and out of his hole.

Malfoy screamed and grabbed Zabini's hand, struggling to avoid the sensation he had never experienced before. But Nott's hand clamped tightly around the base of Malfoy's thigh, preventing Malfoy from moving forward to escape his grasp.

Nott meticulously licked every inch of Malfoy's skin; his tongue slid over every crease from his tailbone to his testicles; and his hands kept kneading those two asses like cream puffs, eliciting shuddering grunts from Malfoy. Zabini, on the other hand, was holding the back of Malfoy's neck and helping Malfoy deep-throat his cock.

Malfoy's mouth was so full that all he could do was helplessly make hard grunts. Zabini smiled when he heard it, like an artist admiring a painting he was pleased with. Zabini stroked Malfoy's cheek and pressed his lips to Malfoy's, flicking his tongue over Malfoy's thin scarlet lips as if to comfort him in some way.

Nott meticulously licked every inch of Malfoy's skin; his tongue slid over every crease from his tailbone to his testicles; and his hands kept kneading those two asses like cream puffs, eliciting shuddering grunts from Malfoy. Zabini, on the other hand, was holding the back of Malfoy's neck and helping Malfoy deep-throat his cock.

Malfoy's mouth was so full that all he could do was helplessly make hard grunts. Zabini smiled when he heard it, like an artist admiring a painting he was pleased with. Zabini stroked Malfoy's cheek and pressed his lips to Malfoy's, flicking his tongue over Malfoy's thin scarlet lips as if to comfort him in some way.

As Malfoy's arms trembled and tried to steady himself, pulling away from Zabini's grasp, Zabini firmly guided Malfoy's quivering right hand back between his thighs. Malfoy, nearly powerless, had little choice but to yield submissively. With one hand, he clasped Zabini’s cock, while the other sought out Nott's hand, which lay possessively upon Malfoy's waist, to fix Malfoy’s butt.

"That's enough, Theo....I want you to fuck me now." Malfoy's words emerged rough and breathy, his eyes fluttering shut in surrender as his fingers caressed Nott's knuckled fingers, hoping to address the awakened desire that comes from down there. Noticed Nott was gazing at him with the puppy eyes flash with delight, and unconcealed wonder at Malfoy's touch, a feeling of pity rose in Malfoy's heart.

“Him first?" Zabini grumbled, his brow furrowed in discontent. Nott, his gaze fixed on Malfoy's back, and kissed Malfoy's back. Then, lifting his head, he offered Zabini a faint, enigmatic smile. "It doesn't matter if I'm first or not," he said slowly, "I just want to be last."

Malfoy, upon hearing Nott's words, appeared to be on the verge of interjecting. His lips parted, a protest forming on the tip of his tongue. However, Malfoy's mouth had been stuffed with Zabini's cock, and Zabini's firm grip on the back of Malfoy's neck rendered him helpless.

Widened his eyes, Malfoy could only manage a few garbled sounds. With Nott's cock buried deep in Malfoy's butt, Malfoy was once again in a new frenzy. Nott wiggled his hips fiercely, his balls striking Malfoy's ass with a snapping sound. Malfoy was breathless from the high-speed thrusts, his body convulsed helplessly and all he could do was scream silently with his mouth open.

"Fuck..." moaned Nott in a low voice, holding onto Malfoy's waist in a death grip as he launched himself behind him, seemingly going deeper and deeper into his soul with each thrust. And all Malfoy could do was lie prostrate on Zabini's firm thighs, his mouth wide open, letting out unruly gasps in time with Nott's rhythmic movements.

Cloake d in his invisibility cloak, Harry's lips began to dry, his whole body was hot as if it were on fire, and he was almost about to pass out from the scarcity of air.

Imagining the possibility of himself blending in, Harry lassoed his erection. His cock was on the verge of erupting, the juices overflowing from the tip smeared everywhere.

Harry looked at Malfoy in front of him: his face was covered in a glistening liquid, not sure if it was spit or semen. He was straining for breath, fucked by Nott, almost irrational, barely able to continue sucking Zabini's cock.

Watching the scene, Harry almost shouted out. Luckily the three Slytherins were making a loud enough noise. As long as Harry could still keep his head down and suppress his voice, he could barely keep them from noticing.

With a loud slap, Malfoy screamed at the top of his lungs. "Ahh! OHHHH..."

Harry, looked up in shock at the sudden slap, and saw that the red handprints left by Nott had appeared on Malfoy's pale ass cheeks, and Nott's ensuing violent thrusts caused Malfoy to let out an even louder moan; he could barely breathe.

Meanwhile, Zabini's eyes sparkled with amusement, he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the spectacle before him. While grabbing the back of Malfoy's head and pushing his cock into Malfoy's mouth, he watched Nott frantically pounding Malfoy's ass, and stroking Malfoy's cock with an intensity.

"What do you find so funny?" Nott said, shooting Zabini an irritated glare. Zabini cocked his head to the side, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was just wondering why you couldn't be a bit gentler with him," he replied, his voice laced with mirth. He paused for a moment, then added with a chuckle, "You know, like you are with those sexual partners of yours.”

"Shut it," Nott snapped, his teeth clenched tightly as he spoke, not stopping his movements at the waist. Matching the rhythm of Zabini's cock into Malfoy's mouth, he slammered hitting Malfoy's prostate with his thing.

Harry was fascinated by the sparks between them, the way Nott and Zabini communicated, and the way Malfoy was clobbered by Nott's fucking and struggling to gulp down Zabini's huge cock. Watching this wonderful farce, Harry tries to work on his cock.

Malfoy was drooling all over the place and Zabini didn't give a shit. Zabini just yanked on Malfoy's hair and kept feeding his huge cock into Malfoy's mouth. Nott, on the other hand, was holding Malfoy's waist like he'd lost his mind and kept ravaging Malfoy's ass. He kneaded Malfoy's ass with both hands, occasionally slapping him on the flesh of his buttocks, causing Malfoy to let out a high, confused yelp.

As if to stop Malfoy from screaming, Zabini gagged him with his lips and kept stirring his tongue in Malfoy's mouth. Then Zabini reached down and took hold of Malfoy's cock, gently working it - to stop Malfoy's erection from bouncing constantly in the air from Nott's pounding.

Just as Malfoy fell into an intimate kiss with Zabini, Nott suddenly leaned over and wrapped his arms around Malfoy's shoulders, taking Malfoy in a hug and kissing him from his ears to his lips. Nott's hands wrapped around Malfoy's chest, pressing his chest against Malfoy's back and rocking his crotch so that his cock was sunk into Malfoy's ass.

Malfoy was in Nott's vice-like grip; Nott's mouth gagged him, which caused Malfoy to only grunt comfortably into Nott's mouth. His cock, on the other hand, stood straight up under Zabini's sheath, his body bent into an arch.

Nott released Malfoy's lips and whispered in his ear, "Do you like the way I fuck you?” Malfoy almost choked on that predatory kiss, and all he could do was assert his answer by nodding vigorously.

Looking satisfied, Nott hugged Malfoy and fucked him from behind. Malfoy cooperated by stretching his arms back and around the back of Nott's neck, as if to bring the two of them closer together, allowing Nott to fuck him while nibbling lightly on his ears and neck like a dog.

Meanwhile, Zabini's large hands began to roam over the skin of Malfoy's chest. With one hand he cupped Malfoy's right nipple and slowly kneaded the pink fruit; with the other, he gradually moved to Malfoy's flat lower abdomen and grabbed his erect cock.

Zabini pulled and tugged on Malfoy's cock while using his thick tongue to not squeeze and suck on Malfoy's left nipple. Malfoy's body weakened under the weight of the two men, and he helplessly grabbed Zabini's hair in an attempt to stop Zabini from continuing to tease his crimson-red nipple, which was becoming larger and larger, with his teeth and tongue.

As soon as Zabini's lips left Malfoy's chest, Nott's hand around Malfoy's waist immediately slipped between Malfoy's legs.

Nott walked around behind Malfoy, reaching the spot where Zabini had just been, and jammed his hand on the inside of Malfoy's knee, pushing both of his legs up to his chest, which pretty much exposed the entirety of Malfoy's ass to him.

Nott tapped Zabini's fingers as a sign to get him off Malfoy's body. Then, Nort's long, slender fingers immediately wrapped around Malfoy's cock.

Perhaps it was the coldness that Nott's hands brought, Malfoy's legs trembled and he nearly fell off of Nott.

However, Nott was wrapped around Malfoy's body like a vine. He swooped Malfoy down into the soft couch cushions, swinging his hips as if he wanted to melt his body into Malfoy's, using his cock to stimulate Malfoy's depths.

Picking up on Nott's hostility, Zabini left Malfoy's body. He exhaled and left his position. He left the space for the other two and then moved his knees. Then he picked up the glass of water that sat on the lampstand and took several large gulps.

'Like a player at the end of a Quidditch game.' 
As he watched Zabini gulp down the water, an exclamation suddenly flashed through Harry's mind.
'These three have sex like a game too.'

Just as Harry was thinking this, Zabini suddenly walked over to the table across from the couch and sat down on his butt on the far right side of the couch, closest to Harry. His move startled Harry, causing him to subconsciously duck in the other direction.

But once again, Zabini's voice rang out. "Hey, my turn."

As if it were the end of intermission, Zabini snapped, interrupting Nott, who was almost about to cum, “Come, sit on me," Zabini said in a soft voice, reaching out to pat Malfoy's cheek. He took Malfoy's hand and guided Malfoy to his side, leaving Nott to watch incredulously as it happened.

Malfoy didn't seem to care about Nott's state as he held onto Zabini's shoulders and slid into his arms with his back to Zabini. Zabini was tall, so he practically wrapped his arms around Malfoy from behind. He spread Malfoy's legs into an M shape and slowly placed Malfoy's ass on his cock. With the top half of his cock inserted, both Zabini and Malfoy let out heavy moans.

Harry's eyes widened as he watched Malfoy's ass engulf the massive cock. Harry sat on the floor, his eyes almost level with where the two were entwined together; Malfoy spread his legs and displayed their fusion in front of Harry's eyes, causing Harry to feel a wave of vertigo.

Harry's cock in his hand kept twitching as his mind went blank. Harry rubbed his cock with the palm of his hand, clear liquid oozing from the top of his glans. He was almost about to come.

Malfoy's body shook as he got fucked, making noises that were a mixture of pain and longing. Nott came back to his senses as well and moved to the pair's side; making Harry's surveillance space occupied, and Harry had to keep moving backward to make sure he kept the right distance from them.

"Clang," Harry felt himself hit the foot of the table, which rattled the glasses of water on the table. Harry closed his breath in fear, lest they find out about this - their Gryffindor enemies had been at the scene of  Slytherins' sexual event for over half an hour.

Luckily, both Zabini and Malfoy mistook it for Nott bumping into the table. As one, they turned their attention to Nott, who was frozen in place and didn't look happy.

Nott had one hand covering his cock and one clutching a pillow. When he saw the other two looking at him, he threw the pillow in indignation. The pillow hit Malfoy with pinpoint accuracy; causing him to lose his balance and nearly crushing Zabini's cock.

"What the bloody heck are you doing!" Malfoy yelped in pain, frowning and glaring at Nott; who, in turn, scratched his head and looked a little apologetic as he averted his eyes, responding vaguely, "It's better to put it under your waist...if you want to lie back down on the couch."

His words froze the overlapping two in place, and Zabini couldn't help but feel amused, “Well…Thanks, if that's your way of being 'gentle'." Nott didn't respond to his flirtation, just moved to sit closer to them picked up the pillow that had fallen on the floor, and placed it on the couch.

Malfoy placed the pillow under his ass and lay on his back on the couch, holding up both of his legs and allowing Zabini's cock to slowly enter his canal. As Nott had suggested, this did make it a lot easier for them. Zabini was getting into the swing of things as well, his hands clamping down on Malfoy's waist and moving slowly, eliciting a long moan from Malfoy through his nose.

Watching them copulate, Harry resumed pulling and tugging on his cock, which had softened from the accident. Malfoy's voice was usually shrill, but when he was in bed, that shrill voice sounded extraordinarily melodious. The quivering, soft call rattled Harry's nerves, a soothing sound that had never been heard in Harry's dreams before.

Harry couldn't help but think that such a comforting gasp might be the 'soft' side of Malfoy that he only showed between the three of them. As Harry thought this, an indescribable sadness swept over him once more.

Zabini's movements were relatively gentle and slow as if he was trying to find the " spot " that would make Malfoy feel comfortable. Malfoy matched his movements, slowly swaying his hips to try and make the two of them click. Malfoy moaned softly as his fingers traveled over his own face and finally to his mouth.

Malfoy gently nipped at his finger with his fangs, rocking against Zabini's rhythm while casting his eyes to Nott, who stood idly behind Zabini.

"Theo..." whispered Malfoy, calling Nott's name, hoping to attract his attention. Nott was a little bit confused when he heard his call and poked his head out to look at Malfoy. But Malfoy immediately let out a sharp moan at Zabini's penetration, "Mmmmmmm...fuck ahhhhhhhh...Blaise..."

Malfoy grunted, straining for air; he kept licking his lips trying to ease their dryness, "Come here...Theo...please..." Reaching out in Nott's direction like a helpless child, Malfoy gesturing for Nott to come to his side.

Nott, though hesitant for a moment, eventually walked over. Ignoring Malfoy's hand, Nott walked over to Malfoy's side and asked impatiently, "What?"

Malfoy's chest rose and fell from panting, a light pink color wrapped around his face and body as he opened his mouth slightly and stuck out his tongue, lifting his head to look straight into Nott's eyes and slurring, "I want to suck your cock."

Nott tugged at his semi-erect cock and stood awkwardly by the couch. As if talking to himself, he murmured, "It can't get any worse..." and then, suddenly, he shoved his cock into Malfoy's mouth and let out a low gasp.

Zabini gradually sped up his thrusts and withdrawals, and Malfoy whimpered and began to rhythmically swallow Nott's cock as he wiggled his hips to meet it, "Mmmmmm... that's so houood..." moaned Malfoy, making his words impenetrable.

"Oh...Merlin..." a low moan escaped Zabini as he thrust rapidly, which drew a gasp from Malfoy. Soon, Zabini's muscles grew taut as he quickly pulled his swollen cock out of Malfoy, jerking his cock with his hand as he shot the white cloudy liquid onto Malfoy's belly. They were both breathing heavily as if they had been through a horrific battle.

"That was hot," Nott teased as he watched the two of them. Then he leaned down and imprinted a kiss on Malfoy's lips softly and said, "My turn." The moment his lips left Malfoy's, Malfoy couldn't help but laugh out loud as well. Naturally, he responded softly, "Okay, your turn."

Nott walked around behind Malfoy, reaching the spot where Zabini had just been, and jammed his hand on the inside of Malfoy's knee, pushing both of his legs up to his chest, which pretty much exposed the entirety of Malfoy's ass to him.

The sudden exposure made Malfoy yelp in surprise. Not knowing what unexpected action Nott was going to take, Malfoy could only look up at him, nervously. But Nott just rubbed Malfoy's ass and teased his hole with fingers, then spit into his anus.

With the lubrication of the saliva, Nott smoothly inserted his cock into Malfoy's hole once more. Nott pressed nearly his entire weight into Malfoy. He wiggled his crotch rapidly as he kissed Malfoy, who immediately let out a sharp gasp.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm... wait... wait..." moaned Malfoy between Nott's lips, shoving Nott's shoulders and struggling to move his face to the other side to try and get away from Nott's lips on him, "Stop kissing me like that..." frowned Malfoy uncomfortably, glaring at Nott angrily, "It's like you're trying to suffocate me every time."

Rejected, Nott had no choice but to step backward helplessly. He pulled his cock halfway out and eased both of Malfoy's legs down, resting them naturally on either side of his body, slowing down the pace at which he was fucking Malfoy.

 “Aww…ummm… I didn't mean it like that..."   Malfoy said, his pale face flushing with a mixture of shame and annoyance.  He clamped his legs around Nott's waist and grasped Nott's hand, trying to guide it to the correct position on his hip in an attempt to close the distance that had grown between them, "Just do it the way you normally do..."

"The normal way?"  Nott asked, furrowing his brow as he looked down at the blushing Malfoy in his arms.

“Yes!   Fuck me harder!!   Just like you did 10 minutes ago!!!”  Malfoy burst out, his voice tight with exasperation.  But in the next instant, his irritation evaporated as Nott suddenly swept him up in a powerful embrace, the intensity of the motion stealing the breath from Malfoy's lungs. 

"It was so sudden!"  Malfoy shouted, his voice a breathless gasp as Nott's arms encircled him, pulling their bodies flush together.  The unexpected intensity of the embrace sent a shiver racing down Malfoy's spine, his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage as he struggled to regain his composure.

Nott's movements were fluid and purposeful, guiding Malfoy across the heated spot with effortless grace. The heat of Nott's body seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, the sensation both thrilling and unnerving in its intimacy. Malfoy is completely taken out of his soul by Nott's rhythm.

Malfoy's mouth was wide open as he screamed urgently, his hands grabbing helplessly at Nott's collar. As Nott kept picking up speed, Malfoy's waist hung and quivered; gasping wildly, he gripped his cock in one hand and quickly shoved himself into his fist, as if to gain more pleasure by doing so.

As the motion of Malfoy's fingers sped up consistently, Malfoy's body shuddered uncontrollably, "Uh… Oh... I'm gonna... come..." moaned Malfoy fiercely, as he clenched his legs around Nott's waist, "Deeper...please…Oh, Oh, Oh..."

Watching Malfoy's cock twitch and drip a large pool of white liquid, Nott couldn't hold himself any longer. Almost in the nick of time, Nott pulled his engorged cock out and shot a thick stream of cum onto Malfoy's gradually limp cock.

Nott struggled to catch his breath after the heated sex, his chest heaving and sweat glistening on his brow. He barely noticed Zabini's approach until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Theo, can you tell me a Truth?" Zabini asked, a strange smile playing on his lips.

Nott fixed the other boy with a perplexed stare, wondering why Zabini always seemed to have a knack for interjecting at the most inopportune moments.

"Were you never planning on having a proper chat with Draco about why you raped him?" Zabini's question cut through the tension, turning the once-heated scene into a tableau of stunned silence.

Even Harry Potter, hidden beneath his invisibility cloak and fretting over his ‘ white thick incriminating evidence' he had spilled on the plush carpet, found himself stunned into silence by Zabini's words.

"How come..."    Nott said, regaining his usual composed demeanor as he glanced at Malfoy and cast a quick cleansing spell.    The liquid clinging to Malfoy's skin instantly vanished, leaving him dry and pristine.    "Every time I try to have a serious conversation with him, he pushes me away."

Zabini turned his gaze towards Malfoy, one eyebrow raised as if expecting an answer.    Malfoy quickly looked away, suddenly self-conscious under the scrutiny of his two naked companies.

"In a way, yeah," Malfoy admitted, his voice quieter than usual.    "Talking to him... makes me feel a bit awkward."

"Even though you can fuck with him?"    Zabini prodded, but Malfoy seemed keen to change the subject.    He abruptly shifted his focus to Nott, fixing him with a determined stare.

"Why don't you take off your clothes when you f… have sex?"    Malfoy asked, seeming hesitant to choose the right words.

"What?"    Nott blinked at Malfoy, confusion etched across his features as if he'd been asked to solve an impossible riddle.    He swallowed nervously, his words coming out in a stutter.    "Well, when we first started, you only asked me to take off my trousers..."

Malfoy's brow furrowed, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance flashing in his eyes.  "I'm not talking about this time!" he snapped, his voice rising slightly.    "And what, you'd just strip off right here if I asked you to?”

Nott seemed to grow nervous once more, his hand instinctively grasping at something hanging from his chest. After a long moment of hesitation, he replied softly, "There's no need to undress now, is there?"

"Then let's do it again, and you can take your clothes off!" Malfoy snapped, his anger rising as he stood up, looking as if he might tear Nott's clothes off himself. Zabini quickly intervened, stepping between the two boys and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Easy now, I think you might be the one to regret it if you push this, Draco," Zabini cautioned, his voice calm but firm.

Malfoy's face flushed red with anger, and he spun on his heel to storm off. However, as he took a step, his foot caught on something, and he stumbled, falling unceremoniously onto the plush carpet. 

Lying naked on the carpet was very embarrassing for Malfoy startled and disoriented. But it was only as he lay there that Malfoy noticed a peculiar, shimmering green object stuck to the underside of the lampstand beside the couch.

"Bloody hell! There's some soft, sticky egg thing glowing green over here!" Malfoy exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock and revulsion as he stared at the bizarre object.

Zabini rushed over to investigate, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the peculiar item. 

"Hold on... isn't this... the Chronicle Egg of Aeloria? ” Zabini exclaimed, then he explained, “It's a fossilized elf egg that can record and store events that have taken place in a specific area. Unlike other magical objects that store memories, this can capture what happened even if the owner isn't present,” 

"Muggles have something similar called a monitor, I think. But...” Zabini added and trailed off, his gaze shifting to Nott, who stood awkwardly to the side, his trousers halfway down his legs. "The only family I know that owns this kind of fossil..."

"Blaise!" Nott shouted, his face flushed with embarrassment as he scrambled towards them, only to trip over his trousers. He stumbled forward, accidentally knocking over the nearby lampstand. The lamp's flame caught the edge of the carpet near the doorway, and chaos erupted as the fire began to spread.

Acting quickly, Zabini wrenched open the door and hurled the smoldering rug outside. As soon as the rug landed on the ground, the flames miraculously extinguished, leaving behind only a faint wisp of smoke.

Amidst the commotion, the invisible culprit responsible for tripping Malfoy - none other than Harry Potter - seized the opportunity to escape. Panicking, he gathered up his trousers and fled the scene, leaving the three stunned Slytherins to deal with the aftermath of the bizarre incident.

————————————————

As Hermione had suspected, Hagrid appeared to be keeping a dangerous creature. He gathered the students together mysteriously and led them to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The winter chill permeated the Forbidden Forest, the icy wind whistling through the branches and rustling the leaves. Despite their thick cloaks and scarves, Harry and Ron shivered as the cold air seeped through to their skin.

Hermione's brow furrowed with concern, as she was unsure of what Hagrid had planned. She worried that any dangerous creatures he might be keeping could cause problems, especially under Umbridge's strict control of the school. A half-hearted attempt could result in Hagrid being accused of neglecting his duties.

"Bit more sheltered. Anyway, they prefer the dark." Hagrid explained, only to be abruptly interrupted by Draco's piercing shout, "What likes the dark?" Draco's shrill voice attracted the attention of nearly everyone present. Not only the Slytherins, but also many students from other houses looked worried, their eyes drawn to the wounds on Hagrid's face.

Harry's gaze settled on Malfoy, who looked the same as usual, although he was wearing thinner clothes. Malfoy tried to stick close to Crabbe and Goyle for warmth. Nearby, Nott stood pale-faced, his head bowed in thought. In contrast, Zabini seemed in good spirits, chatting with girls beside a smirking Pansy.

The Slytherins' calm demeanor puzzled Harry. He wondered if they were accustomed to leading a life of luxury and debauchery, or if the previous night's events were part of another perplexing dream. As they ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows grew longer, and the air colder, leaving Harry with an unsettling sense of unease.




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HERE is the version without the mosaic (to protect those who feel uncomfortable seeing explicit images)

https://ao3-rd-3.onrender.com/works/57561760

Chapter Text

6* Peppermint Jasmine tea on the Lips

The Pink Toad's misdeeds and the notorious Slytherin squad's snake-toad power had enabled the reptilian bunch to wreak havoc throughout the school for an extended period. Hagrid and Professor Trelawney were teetering on the brink of being sacked, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a deep sense of concern for their well-being.

As the flickering candlelight cast shadows in the halls of Hogwarts, the other students made their way out of the Great Hall one by one after finishing their dinner. The echoing footsteps served as a reminder that darkness was swiftly approaching. Hermione, determined to make the most of her time, pulled out a stack of papers from her bag, intending to tackle some evening assignments while waiting for Ron to conclude his meal.

As Hermione glanced up from her work, her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted a familiar face at the Slytherin table - Theodore Nott, whom she hadn't laid eyes on in several weeks.

In truth, Hermione had seldom interacted with Theodore since assuming her role as a Gryffindor Prefect. Though she harbored no ill intentions and wasn't actively avoiding him to prevent arousing suspicion, their paths had scarcely crossed since the conclusion of the Care of Magical Creatures class. It was as if Theodore had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of his whereabouts.

However, on one occasion, as Hermione, Harry, and Ron were passing by the library, Hermione was taken aback to discover Theodore there as well. He was seated not far from Malfoy, Goyle, and Crub, but appeared to not incline to engage with them. Hermione found herself fighting the overwhelming urge to approach him and inquire about his prolonged absence, but Harry's evident reluctance to interact with Malfoy compelled her to reluctantly abandon the idea.

Now, as Hermione observed Theodore, she noticed that his face seemed even more gaunt and hollow than it had been during their last encounter. His complexion had taken on a deathly grey hue, and his eyes appeared slightly sunken. Despite his lengthening hair accentuating the sharp angles of his cheeks, his arms, concealed beneath his robes, seemed to have gained some thickness. He clutched a bowl of soup in his hands, and it appeared to be the sole sustenance he intended to consume that evening.

Hermione's ability to pick up on such subtle shifts in behavior was a result of the close friendships she had cultivated with several male friends over the years. She had always been particularly attuned to the moods and emotions of Harry and Ron, the two boys who had become her constant companions since their first year at Hogwarts. Hermione prided herself on being able to read their expressions and body language like an open book, often sensing when something was bothering them even before they were aware of it themselves.

However, in recent weeks, Hermione had found herself increasingly baffled by the behavior of her two best friends. Their moods seemed to fluctuate wildly, often without any apparent reason, and Hermione found herself struggling to keep up with their changing attitudes. She had always been the one to offer a listening ear and a comforting word when they needed it, but lately, it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite get through to them. The more she attempted to unravel the intricacies of their emotions, the more drained and frustrated she felt.

As she sat there, her eyes flicking between Theodore's hunched form and the strained expressions on Harry and Ron's faces, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. The weight of their collective troubles seemed to press down on her, making it difficult to breathe. She longed to reach out to them, to offer some words of comfort or encouragement, but she found herself at a loss for what to say. All she could do was sit there, her heart heavy with worry and her mind racing with unanswered questions, hoping that somehow, she would find a way to help her friends before it was too late.

She couldn't help but notice Harry, who was seated next to her. His head was hanging low, as if he were utterly exhausted, nearly touching the table. Across from her, Ron was eating, but she caught him sneaking glances at her as if he were studying her every move.

"Perhaps my assumption was correct. Just as Luna can see those creatures because of her mother's death..." Hermione murmured under her breath before adding, “Then, maybe…Theodore's mom…”

Upon hearing her words, Ron dramatically rolled his eyes. "Oh... Theodore. I never imagined a Slytherin would be deserving of such an affectionate address from you," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she fixed Ron with a piercing stare, her gaze searching his face as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden within his soul. Ron shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, his eyes darting around the room, desperately seeking an escape from the intensity of her gaze.

"I'm just saying, given the recent conflict after the Quidditch match and the current mood among our housemates, you should be mindful of what you say as a prefect," Ron muttered, his tone defensive yet tinged with a hint of concern.

Hermione's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. She stared at Ron for a moment, processing his unexpected words. "I never knew you were capable of such a witty comeback," she finally managed, a small, incredulous smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Hey~"

A clear, melodic voice suddenly pierced through Hermione's reverie. She whirled around to find Luna standing behind her, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

In her hands, Luna held an array of vibrant origami animals, their delicate forms seeming to come to life under the flickering candlelight of the Great Hall. With a flourish, Luna spread the origami creatures across the table before taking a seat beside Hermione.

"These are decorations for the upcoming Christmas party~" Luna explained, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She drew her wand and whispered an incantation, bringing a blue paper bird to life. It soared gracefully among the floating candles, its wings catching the light and casting a mesmerizing display of shadows on the walls.

Hermione watched the bird's flight, a wistful sigh escaping her lips. "I can't believe Christmas is nearly here again..." she murmured, her mind drifting to the whirlwind of events that had transpired over the past half-year. Being a prefect had been a challenging experience, but it paled in comparison to the trials and tribulations of navigating friendships with two teenage boys.

As of late, Harry had been embroiled in an internal struggle within himself, while Ron, though not fighting with himself, had narrowly avoided serious trouble after fighting with Draco. Even Hermione found herself at a loss as to why she had become increasingly short-tempered, anxious, and preoccupied.

"What about you? How have you been recently?" Luna's gentle voice cut through Hermione's thoughts as if she had read her mind. Hermione realized that Luna was expressing concern for her well-being.

"I... I suppose I'm doing all right," Hermione responded hesitantly. "Why do you ask?"

Luna let out another giggle. "I don't reckon spending every day with two teenage boys can make you feel truly happy," she remarked. Yet, as she met Luna's gaze, she saw no malice or ill intent, only a profound understanding and empathy, and had, in fact, hit the nail on the head.

Then, Luna leaned close to Hermione, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "There's a girls' night in Ravenclaw tomorrow evening," she whispered, her ethereal voice barely audible amidst the chatter in the Great Hall. "Even though it's a Ravenclaw gathering, I think I can invite you to join us. It would be wonderful if you could come." Hermione blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected invitation. Before she could respond, Luna gave her a conspiratorial wink and skipped away, leaving behind a table filled with enchanted origami animals that fluttered and pranced around the wooden surface.

"Hey, Luna! Your animals are still here!" Hermione called out. Luna spun around, her long, blonde hair swishing behind her. She waggled her finger playfully and mouthed, "They're for you," before disappearing into the crowd.

Hermione reached out to touch a particularly lively paper rabbit, but it hopped precariously close to the edge of the table. With a gasp, she quickly drew her wand and cast a spell, watching as the animals gracefully returned to their inanimate paper state. She gathered the delicate creations in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face as she contemplated the idea of attending the girls' night.

The concept of a gathering solely dedicated to girls chatting and having fun was foreign to Hermione. She had never experienced such an event before, having spent most of her time at Hogwarts in the company of her two best friends, Harry and Ron. The thought of engaging in lighthearted conversations and discussing topics that truly piqued her interest with the clever Ravenclaw girls was both exciting and daunting. Perhaps, she mused, it would be a chance to share her own complex thoughts and feelings without the constant distractions of the boys' immature antics.

Ron's voice cut through her musings, his tone laced with concern. "Hey, is what she said true? Are you unhappy being with us?" Hermione turned to face him, taking in his freckled face etched with worry. She pressed her lips together, a small sigh escaping her as she shook her head. "Although sometimes you two do frustrate me," she admitted, her voice gentle but firm, "I don't dislike being with you."

Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So, what did she whisper to you just now?" Hermione's mind raced, searching for a plausible excuse. "Nothing much," she replied breezily, waving her hand in dismissal. "She just told me how to make paper animals." The lie rolled off her tongue easily, and she quickly changed the subject, her decision to attend the girls' night already made.

As Hermione stepped into the small attic at the top of Ravenclaw's dormitory tower, she was greeted by a scene of warmth and camaraderie. The once drab space had been transformed with delicate white pom-poms and fragrant wreaths, the soft blue firelight casting an enchanting glow that perfectly captured the essence of Ravenclaw's elegance and intellect. Girls lounged on plush cushions scattered across the floor, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they indulged in a variety of tasty snacks.

In one corner, a group of girls sat huddled together, their heads bent over a collection of romance novels adorned with some movable illustrations. They giggled and sighed dreamily as they discussed the stories, their eyes alight with excitement. Nearby, younger girls experimented with makeup, their faces a canvas for vibrant colors and glittery embellishments. Despite the occasionally disastrous results, they beamed with pride, clearly satisfied with their artistic endeavors.

For a moment, Hermione felt overwhelmed, unsure of where to begin in this unfamiliar territory. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on a familiar figure – Luna. Perched among a group of girls, Luna's face was adorned with a whimsical painted lion, likely the result of a playful game or challenge. As if sensing Hermione's presence, Luna glanced up, her eyes widening with delight.

Several other girls noticed Hermione as well, their curious gazes fixated on the newcomer. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious under their scrutiny. She had always been the studious prefect, but this kind of attention was both flattering and unnerving.

Luna gracefully navigated the low-ceilinged attic, her lithe form weaving through the clusters of girls until she reached Hermione's side. "Hey, I'm so glad you came!" Luna exclaimed, her voice brimming with genuine warmth. "There are some snacks and drinks in the corner. Do you want to grab some?" Without waiting for a response, Luna gently took Hermione's hand and led her towards the refreshments.

As they made their way through the narrow attic passageway, Luna asked Hermione to wait for her to get food. However, Luna still collided with someone as she went through the passage. "I'm sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you!” Luna apologized profusely, "I just wanted to grab some snacks.”

The two girls, hidden in the shadows, murmured a quick reassurance before Luna continued on her way.

As she came back, Luna looked at Hermione with a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with secrets. "I accidentally interrupted a cute couple," she whispered conspiratorially.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A couple? But..." she began, glancing back at the dark corner where the encounter had taken place.

Luna covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. "They were just snogging," she revealed, pressing a few biscuits into Hermione's hand before tugging her to a more open area of the attic.

Their arrival drew the attention of the other girls, who paused their conversations to observe their movement. Hermione could feel their gazes boring into her, a mixture of curiosity evident in their expressions. She fidgeted nervously, her confidence wavering under the weight of their scrutiny.

"I... feel... maybe... they wouldn't want another house's people at such an event," Hermione mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Growing up as an only child, Hermione had never experienced the camaraderie of sisterhood. Since her arrival at Hogwarts, she had found solace in the company of her two best friends, Harry and Ron, but their friendship had left little room for her to cultivate relationships with other girls.

As the girls continued to stare, Hermione's mind raced with possibilities, each more daunting than the last. What would they think of her? Would they view her as an intruder, a studious Prefect who had no place in their world of laughter and secrets? The thought made her heart sink, a wave of insecurity washing over her. She had always prided herself on her intelligence and strength, but in this moment, surrounded by the curious gazes of her peers, Hermione felt more vulnerable than ever before.

Luna, sensing Hermione's discomfort, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "They're just surprised to see you here. You're always welcome, Hermione." The words were simple, but they carried a weight that Hermione had not expected.

"Perhaps you'd prefer that I accompany you to the tower?" she offered her gentle voice a soothing balm to Hermione's troubled mind.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, bowing her head in gratitude. A wave of shame washed over her, the realization that she had never acted so cowardly before hitting her like a physical blow. She felt a twinge of disappointment in herself, a feeling that was both unfamiliar and unsettling.

As they navigated the darkened corridors, Luna moved with a surprising grace and confidence, her steps quick and sure. She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to find the exact path through the shadows, guiding them effortlessly toward their destination. Before long, they found themselves at the hanging window of the tower, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy confines of the castle.

"Sorry," Hermione said, her voice tinged with apology. "You were meant to be enjoying the party." She paused, her brow furrowing as a thought struck her. "Perhaps a lot of girls don't like me..."

Luna's lips curved into a reassuring smile, "Well... do they? I don't think so," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "You're beautiful and clever, and you're a Gryffindor Prefect. Girls adore you, Hermione."

Hermione felt a rush of warmth at Luna's words, she opened her mouth to respond, but Luna continued, "And I'm so chuffed I can have this private party with you, just you and me.”

Her voice filled with genuine happiness. As they stood there, the moonlight streaming through Luna's blonde hair and scattering across Hermione's face, Hermione found herself captivated by the ethereal beauty before her. 

The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of flowers, a delicate aroma that seemed to emanate from Luna's very being. Hermione breathed deeply, the sweet fragrance calming her nerves and filling her with a sense of peace.

Lost in the moment, Hermione barely registered Luna's face drawing closer to her own. It wasn't until she felt the soft brush of Luna's lips against hers, a minty and refreshing sensation, that reality came crashing back. 

Hermione's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She had just been kissed by a girl.

———————————————————————————

 "Don't tell Ron!" she implored, desperate to extract a promise from her friend. After a week of holding back, the weight of her secret had become too much to bear alone. She needed someone she could confide in, someone who would listen without judgment as she unpacked the confusing tangle of emotions that consumed her thoughts.

Harry blinked,  "Of course," he reassured her, his brow furrowing slightly, his tone gentle yet puzzled. "But... are you really that type of person?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she considered this. "No... I mean, I don't know." She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her robe. "It's just... it felt nice, you know?" Her gaze grew distant, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she lost herself in the memory. “Like peppermint jasmine tea on the lips..." she murmured, almost to herself.

Abruptly, Hermione's eyes snapped back to Harry, a mixture of curiosity and vulnerability reflected in their depths. "Would you like to share your experience?" she asked tentatively, her voice barely concealing a tremor of nervous anticipation.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and he shook his head rapidly. "Me?" he blurted out, his cheeks reddening. "I haven't had one…"

Hermione's eyebrows arched in amusement as she observed Harry's flustered reaction. "I've heard all about it," she revealed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's the talk of Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw?" Harry repeated, his eyes narrowing in confusion. He tilted his head slightly, trying to make sense of Hermione's statement.

Leaning forward, Hermione lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Luna has a well-connected schoolmate who's friends with Cho..." she explained, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Realization dawned on Harry's face, and he felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. "Oh... you mean Cho Chang," he mumbled, suddenly finding his shoelaces incredibly interesting. His mind had initially jumped to thoughts of Draco, and the unexpected association caught him off guard.

Truth be told, Harry had never experienced a real-world kiss with another boy. However, the vivid dreams featuring Draco and those two Slytherin boys had left an indelible mark on his subconscious. The salty scenes played out in his mind like a relentless nightmare, refusing to fade away.

The dreams of kissing Draco had become a recurring theme, each one blending into a fragmented mosaic of intense emotions and unfulfilled desires. The mere thought of acknowledging these dreams aloud filled Harry with a sense of unease, as if speaking them into existence would somehow make them more real, more tangible. He shifted uncomfortably, silently willing the conversation to take a different turn, desperate to keep his innermost thoughts and longings hidden from scrutiny.

"Definitely told the wrong person,” Hermione murmured, observing Harry as he became increasingly lost in thought.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice distant and his eyes unfocused, as if he were struggling to pull himself back to the present moment.

Hermione's brow furrowed with concern, her gaze searching Harry's face for any emotional sign. "I said, I don't want Ron to know about Luna and me..." she repeated, her words measured and cautious. "And are you sure you're all right?"

Shaking himself mentally, Harry attempted to regain his composure. He straightened his posture and forced a smile onto his face, hoping to reassure Hermione. However, the smile felt strained, and his eyes still held a glimmer of confusion and uncertainty, betraying his inner turmoil.

Hermione sighed, a flicker of regret passing over her features. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that, especially after what you went through..." she said, her voice tinged with self-reproach as she shook her head, her gaze dropping to her lap.

The incident Hermione referred to was a vivid and terrifying dream. In the dream, Harry had witnessed Ron's father, Arthur Weasley, being viciously attacked by a giant, venomous snake. The images were not only seared into his mind with haunting clarity, but they had also become a reality. Harry had awoken in a cold sweat, his scar burning, only to learn that the events he had seen in his dream had actually transpired.

The revelation of this dream had sent shockwaves through the halls of Hogwarts, causing an uproar amongst the teachers and sparking a flurry of concern and speculation. The professors had called emergency meetings, debating the implications of Harry's dream and what it could mean for the future of the wizarding world.

Sirius, in particular, had been deeply troubled by the incident. When Harry had confided in him, Sirius's face had gone pale, his eyes widening in alarm. In the days that followed, Sirius's worry for Harry's well-being was palpable in every interaction.

Meanwhile, the tension between Sirius and Snape had reached a boiling point in the wake of Harry's revelation. Their long-standing animosity was fuelled by their differing opinions on how to handle the situation and protect Harry from further distress, even turning into a face-to-face argument with their wands drawn.

Luckily, thanks to St Mungo's Hospital care, Arthur Weasley had made a remarkable recovery and was now back to his jovial self. He was even ready to plan a home party to recover from the loss of the Christmas party.

Hermione and Harry, both having received invitations to the Weasley family's festive potluck, were preparing to make their way to the Weasley residence. More precisely, they were on the verge of heading towards the fireplace within the school grounds, which served as a direct connection to the Floo Network.

Lost in thought, Harry's mind wandered to the earlier conversation with Hermione,  "You could have told me that anytime..." he responded absentmindedly, his voice trailing off as a slightly dazed expression settled upon his face. It was clear that Hermione‘s previous words had failed to fully register in his preoccupied mind.

Hermione, noticing Harry's dizzy demeanor, shook her head and let out a weary sigh. "Never mind, forget all that, Harry," she said, her voice tinged with understanding.

As they continued their journey through the castle, they unexpectedly crossed paths with Draco Malfoy. The sight of the Slytherin boy sent a jolt of embarrassment through Harry's body, his cheeks flushing a deep red as he quickly averted his gaze.

Memories of his recent dreams, the vivid images of stolen kisses and forbidden desires, flooded his mind, causing his heart to race and his palms to grow clammy. Desperate to avoid any interaction with Draco, Harry quickened his pace, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground before him.

However, Draco seemed determined to obstruct their progress, his arms crossed over his chest and his signature smirk playing on his lips.  "Well, well, well, if it isn't Potter and his little mudblood friend," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. His pale blond hair was slicked back, and his grey eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and malice.

Harry felt a surge of irritation course through his body, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Watch your mouth, Malfoy," Harry warned, his voice low and threatening. "Oh, come on, Potter. Don't pretend you're not enjoying this little encounter,"  Draco continued.

The conversation with Hermione was still fresh in his mind, he struggled to control the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overtake him. In a moment of unfiltered exasperation, Harry blurted out, "Get out of the way or I'll kiss you."

The words had barely left his lips when he realized his slip of the tongue, his eyes widening in horror as he mentally cursed himself. He had meant to say "kill you," but the lingering thoughts from their previous discussion had inadvertently twisted his words, revealing a truth he had been trying so desperately to hide. 

Harry's heart raced in his chest as he stood there, frozen in place, waiting for Draco's reaction. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he silently prayed that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Hermione presented a surprised glance, their eyebrows raised in disbelief at Harry's words. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped altogether.

Draco's smirk faltered, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. He stared at Harry, his mouth slightly agape, trying to process the unexpected declaration.  His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to Harry, his voice shaken as he spoke. "What did you just say, Potter?" he asked, his tone laced with a mixture of incredulity and something else that Harry couldn't quite place.

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he struggled to find the right words. He knew that he needed to say something, anything, to diffuse the situation, but his mind was blank. He could feel the weight of Draco's gaze on him, and he knew that he had to act fast before things spiraled out of control.

Draco's initial bewilderment slowly morphed into a mixture of amusement and intrigue. His trademark smirk returned, but this time, it held a hint of something more—a flicker of curiosity and perhaps even a touch of satisfaction. He took a step closer to Harry, his eyes locked on the bespectacled boy's face, searching for any sign of deceit or mockery.

"Well, well, Potter," Draco drawled, his voice laced with a newfound sense of power. "I never thought I'd see the day when the famous Harry Potter would threaten me with a kiss. How... intriguing.”

Harry's heart hammered in his chest, his palms growing clammy as Draco's penetrating gaze seemed to see right through him. He wanted to look away, to break the intense eye contact, but he found himself unable to do so. It was as if Draco's stare had cast a spell, holding him captive in the moment.

Hermione, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of surprise and concern, finally spoke up. "Harry, we should go. We're going to be late." Her voice was insistent, trying to diffuse the tension that hung heavy in the air.

But Draco wasn't ready to let them leave just yet. He took another step forward, closing the distance between himself and Harry until they were mere inches apart. Harry could feel Draco's breath ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"I never pegged you for the type to make empty threats, Potter," Draco murmured, his voice soft and almost seductive. "Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye.”

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He knew he should say something, anything, to break the spell Draco seemed to have cast over him, but words failed him. Instead, he stood there, transfixed, as Draco's hand slowly reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Harry's forehead, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long.

The touch jolted Harry back to reality, and he finally found the strength to take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them. "I... I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," he managed to stammer, his voice sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.

Draco's smirk only widened at Harry's obvious discomfort. "Of course you don't, Potter. But I'll be watching you... closely. Very closely indeed.”

With that, Draco turned on his heel and sauntered away, leaving a flustered Harry and a concerned Hermione in his wake. As they watched his retreating figure, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something had irrevocably shifted between them—and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face the consequences of his unintentional confession.

————————————————————————————————————

Ron was at home, sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his friends to come to his home. His head cradled in his hands as a searing pain pulsed through his skull. The agony was relentless, a constant reminder of the dreams that had been tormenting him for weeks.

The dreams had started with Harry and Draco, however, recently, one particular dream stood out vividly in Ron's mind. 

He had found himself accidentally bursting into the Prefect's bathroom, where Malfoy was in the midst of the bath.   Ron had frozen, his feet seemingly glued to the floor, unable to make a hasty retreat.

As Malfoy turned to face him, Ron's heart raced, knowing there would be an inevitable confrontation. He watched as Malfoy stepped out of the bath, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, water cascading down his lean frame, sliding from his bare thighs to the ground.

Ron's mind raced, conjuring up scenarios of Malfoy's retaliation for their lately clash. He braced himself, waiting for Malfoy to lunge at him, to drag him into the water and hold him under until his lungs burned for air.

But the dream took an unexpected turn.   Instead of the violent outcome Ron had anticipated, Malfoy closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. His hand reached out, fingers wrapping around Ron's neck, his face drew closer to Ron’s with sparking light filling his gray eyes. 

Before Ron could react, Malfoy's lips met his in a searing kiss. Ron's eyes widened in shock, his body going rigid as he tried to process what was happening.

Ron's mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the sudden shift in the dream's narrative.    He found himself responding to the kiss, his own lips moving in tandem with Malfoy's, a wave of confusing emotions crashing over him.

Malfoy's grip on Ron tightened as he pulled him into the water with a sudden, forceful tug. Ron gasped as his body submerged, the warm water enveloping him in its embrace. He found himself pressed against Malfoy's bare chest, their limbs tangled together in a confusing mess of skin and water.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as they remained entangled in the pool, Malfoy's hands roamed over Ron's body, his touch both gentle and demanding. Ron felt himself being guided through the water, his back suddenly pressed against the hard, unforgiving edge of the pool. The coldness of the tiles dug into his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the water and the heat of Malfoy's body against his own.

Ron winced as the tiles pressed uncomfortably into his back, but he had little time to dwell on the discomfort. Malfoy's lips found his once more, demanding and insistent, stealing the breath from his lungs. Ron's hands, almost of their own accord, reached up to tangle in Malfoy's wet hair, pulling him closer, and deepening the kiss.

The world around them faded away, the only reality being the slide of skin against skin, the taste of chlorine on Malfoy's lips, and the pounding of Ron's heart in his chest. He was lost in a haze of sensation, his mind struggling to keep up with the unexpected turn of events.

Malfoy's hands continued their exploration, trailing down Ron's sides, his fingers digging into his pants, and found his erupt. Ron gasped into the kiss, his body arching into Malfoy's touch, craving more despite the confusion that swirled in his mind.

As Malfoy put his ass on Ron, Ron found himself surrendering to the moment, his doubts and reservations melting away in the heat of Malfoy's movement. The tiles continued to press into his back, a grounding presence amidst the chaos of his thoughts and the intensity of the encounter.

Malfoy sat on his cock and bobbed in the water, his blonde hair slicked back, water droplets cascading down his face and body. His piercing grey eyes locked onto Ron's, the intensity of his gaze sent a mixture of confusion and anticipation coursing through his veins.

Unable to bear the weight of Malfoy's stare any longer, Ron reached out and grasped Malfoy's arm, his fingers digging into the slick skin. With a sudden burst of strength, he hauled Malfoy out of the water, the movement lacking any semblance of gentleness. 

Malfoy's body hit the tile floor beside the bath, water pooling around him on the cold, hard surface. Ron stood in the bath, towered over Malfoy, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. And then, he pulled Malfoy's legs apart, left his butt resting on the edge of the tub, and again inserted the penis into his asshole.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. His heart raced within his chest, pounding against his ribcage with a ferocity that left him feeling dizzy. Ron's face contorted, his features twisting into a mixture of confusion, anger, and something else he couldn't quite identify.

When Ron awoke, Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands once mor. He couldn't shake the feeling of Malfoy's body on his, the memory of the dream lingering like a ghostly presence. Unsure of what these dreams meant, and why, of all people, it had to be Draco Malfoy who haunted his subconscious in such an intimate manner.

Ron's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he mentally berated himself for his lack of self-control. The lust that had consumed him in the moment had blinded him, rendering him incapable of saying no to Malfoy's advances. He felt a deep sense of shame wash over him, disgusted by his own weakness.

"But... I am not supposed to have sex with THAT person..." Ron muttered under his breath, his voice laced with regret and self-loathing. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

"Even if you fucked someone you shouldn't have, you're still our dearest brother.” Suddenly, a voice broke through his thoughts, startling him out of his self-deprecating reverie. 

Ron jumped in shock, a scream tearing from his throat as he whirled around to face the source of the voice. His heart raced, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and dread.

There, standing behind him, were the twins, Fred and George, they wore identical wicked grins on their faces. Ron's stomach twisted, a sense of impending doom washing over him.

Fred took a step forward, his grin widening as he eyed Ron like a predator stalking its prey. “Okay, what do we have here?" he drawled, his voice dripping with surprise.

George chimed in, his tone equally taunting. "Our dear little brother, caught in a compromising situation."

Ron's face paled, his mouth going dry as he had no idea what they knew. He stumbled back, his hands raised in a defensive gesture. "I... I am not going to tell you anything,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. 

He knew that the twins were relentless when it came to extracting information, and the thought of confessing his thoughts.

Fred and George exchanged a knowing look, their grins widening as they took a step closer to their cornered brother. 

"We are going to make you tell!" they declared in unison.

Chapter Text

7* Everyone is welcome to the Weasleys' party

Hermione and Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, their arrival at the Weasleys' house announced by the whoosh of green flames and the soft thud of their feet hitting the floor. They brushed the soot and ash from their clothes, their eyes adjusting to the dimly lit living room.

"That's weird. Why can't we see anyone at home?" Hermione mused, her brows furrowed in confusion as she surveyed the empty room. The usual bustling energy of the Weasley household was conspicuously absent, replaced by a silence that hung heavy in the air.

Harry shrugged, patting the dust off his body as he made his way towards the stairs. "Maybe they're out shopping?" he suggested, his tone uncertain.

As they ascended the stairs, their footsteps creaking on the worn wooden steps, some muffled voices drifted down from above. The closer they got, the more unmistakable the laughter of the Weasley twins grew with each step.

"Our dear brother has really grown up," one of the twins said.

"Tell us, who was the lucky girl? Or was it a boy?" the other chimed in.

"You know, we're very tight-lipped," the first twin responded.

"Come on ~ brothers should share the little happiness that comes with growing up..." the second twin urged, a hint of glee in his tone.

Harry and Hermione approached the door, and the twins' voices were filled with a mixture of joy and mischief as if they had stumbled upon a juicy secret that they couldn't wait to unravel.

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a flustered and angry Ron. "Sod off! You two stalker freak twins!" he shouted, his face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. He slammed the door shut with a resounding bang, the force of it rattling the frame.

Ron spun around, ready to make a hasty retreat, but froze in place when he saw Harry and Hermione standing in the doorway. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open in a mixture of surprise and horror.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's going on, Ron?" she asked.

Ron's face turned an even deeper shade of red, his eyes darting between his two best friends. "N-nothing!" he stammered, his voice cracking with nervousness. "Just the twins being their usual annoying selves."

Soon after, the cheeky twins followed Ron and appeared in the doorway. They stood shoulder to shoulder, identical grins plastered across their freckled faces as they surveyed the scene before them.

Fred was the first to break the silence, his voice dripping with barely contained amusement. "Hey, Harry and Hermione! I think you two have just arrived," he drawled, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Behind Ron's back, the twins exchanged an exaggerated look, their eyebrows raised and their mouths quirked into knowing smirks. It was as if they were silently communicating, and it was clear that they were thoroughly enjoying the awkward situation their younger brother had found himself in.

Hermione huffed, her arms crossing over her chest as she fixed the twins with a stern look. "That's right, we just reached the stairs a second ago," she confirmed.

Ron, however, turned to Hermione, his eyes flashing with a mixture of unease and frustration. 

"That's enough, Hermione... don't talk to those two busybodies," he growled, his breath escaping through his nose in a sharp exhale. He reached out, his hand pushing impatiently at Hermione's shoulder as if trying to steer her away from the twins. "And you too, Harry. People like them are dangerous," he added, his voice high and urgent.

Fred, overhearing Ron's comment, spread his hands wide in a gesture of mock offense. He turned to his twin, his face contorting into an exaggerated expression of hurt. "George, it's sad. I think our little brother is a bisexual twins discriminator," he lamented, his voice dripping with feigned sorrow.

George nodded solemnly, his hand coming up to his chest in a dramatic display of heartbreak. "And here we thought we were just looking out for our dear little brother," he sighed, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

Ron's face reddened, his frustration mounting as he glared at the twins. "Looking out for me? More like trying to make my life a living hell!" 

Hermione and Harry exchanged a confused look, their eyes darting between the three Weasley brothers as they tried to make sense of the situation. The tension in the air was palpable, and it was clear that something had transpired before their arrival that had left Ron on edge.

"Ron, what's going on?" Harry asked, his brows furrowed in concern as he took a step closer to his friend.

But Ron merely shook his head, his jaw clenching as he avoided Harry's gaze. "Nothing, it's nothing," he muttered, his words unconvincing even to his own ears.

The twins, however, were not about to let the matter drop. "Oh, but it's not nothing, is it, Ronniekins?" Fred crooned, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Bloody hell, Fred!" Ron shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway as his face turned a deep shade of crimson. His anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves as he glared at his two brothers. "If you keep up this conversation, I'm going to tell Mum about all the 'memory camera' stuff you've been doing, sneaking around with Dad's tools!" he threatened.

Despite his best efforts, Ron's threats fell on deaf ears. The twins merely grinned, their eyes sparkling with mischief as they watched their younger brother squirm. They knew that Ron's threats were empty and that he would never actually follow through on them.

Realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Ron suddenly turned on his heel and stormed off towards the kitchen. His footsteps pounded against the wooden floorboards as he fled, desperate to put some distance between himself and his insufferable brothers.

Harry and Hermione quickly hurried after Ron, exchanging worried glances as they followed him down the stairs, even though they had no idea what was happening.

At the potluck, Arthur Weasley looked a bit tired and worn, the lines on his face more pronounced than usual. Despite his weariness, he managed to compose himself, putting on a warm smile as he greeted their house guests.

"Harry, Hermione, we hope you have a good day. You need to know you are always welcome at the Weasleys' party," he said, raising his glass in a toast. However, instead of his usual fire whisky, the glass was filled with apple juice - a clear indication that Molly had put her foot down and wouldn't allow him to indulge.

The dinner party was a resounding success, with laughter and chatter filling the air. The food was delicious, the apple juice refreshing, and both Harry and Hermione found themselves thoroughly enjoying the evening.

However, there was one notable absence at the gathering - Percy Weasley. Despite the jovial atmosphere, no one seemed eager to bring up Percy's absence, a palpable tension underlying the festivities. It wasn't until nearly the end of dinner that Bill finally broached the subject.

"Percy told me he's been busy with work," Bill said carefully, his eyes darting between his parents, gauging their reactions.

Molly, however, seemed determined to ignore the comment, busying herself with clearing the table and tidying up the room.

"But he told Dad it was because George and I made him mad," Fred interjected, exchanging a furtive glance with George. George, in turn, rolled his eyes, picking up his knife and fork and shaping them into a big X.

Noticing the twins' behavior, Charlie swiftly poked George in the thigh with his fork under the table, a silent warning to keep quiet.

"Go help Mum with the dishes," Arthur instructed, having noticed his sons' secret exchanges but choosing not to comment further.

With a bit of grumbling and shuffling, the boys began to rise from their seats one by one, making their way to the kitchen to start cleaning up the house, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as they fell into the familiar routine of post-dinner chores.

As the atmosphere in the room shifted, Ginny, the youngest sister, deftly changed the subject. She walked over to the Christmas tree and gently unwrapped a worn, slightly damaged teddy bear. "This is the same bear I had when I was in first year," she murmured.

Molly, catching on to her daughter's words, paused in her cleaning, the mop still in her hand. She looked at Ginny, her voice gentle yet firm. "We had a lot of expenses at the hospital this year, so we're keeping everything simple. We won't have a new bear or a new Christmas tree," her tone leaving no room for argument.

Ginny, realizing that her comment about the bear had been misinterpreted, felt a twinge of frustration. She discreetly rolled her eyes, a small sigh escaping her lips. "I know..." she said, her voice trailing off as she placed the bear back under the tree.

Across the room, Fred grabbed a plate and padded over to Ron, who was diligently wiping the table. "Hi, Ronnie," Fred greeted his younger brother, a mischievous glint in his eye.

However, Ron, not in the mood to engage with the twins, quickly moved to the other side of the table, putting some distance between himself and his brothers. Fred and George exchanged a look, their faces breaking into identical snorts of laughter at Ron's obvious avoidance.

Arthur, observing the scene, felt a surge of anger at his son’s behavior. "Fred, George, that's enough! Stop causing trouble！” His voice was stern, his brow furrowed as he tried to maintain order in the already tense household.

George, not one to be easily intimidated, muttered under his breath to his brothers, "Dad looks like he went to the hospital and buried gunpowder in his body." 

Charlie, overhearing the comment, quickly replied, "That mustn't be heard by Mum..." He shot George a warning glance.

However, Fred immediately broke into a wicked grin and whispered to Charlie, "Percy said he never wants to come back to this awful family. That's what really mustn't be heard by Mum," he revealed, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Unfortunately, Molly had walked by and overheard Fred's words. She froze, the cake slipping from her hand and crumbling to the floor. "What did he say?" she asked, her voice sharp as a knife. Her face paled, and her eyes widened with a mix of shock and hurt.

Charlie, realizing the gravity of the situation, slowly twisted his head to look at their mother. His mouth fell open, his expression a mix of apprehension and resignation. He knew that a storm was brewing, and he braced himself for the inevitable fallout——run away.

Molly's hands trembled, her fingers curling into fists as rage coursed through her veins. The room seemed to vibrate with the force of her anger, and the other family members instinctively took a step back, knowing that her temper was not to be trifled with.

She reached for a Howler, her movements sharp and precise, and started yelling, "Percy Weasley! If you don't have any feelings for this family, you should never come home! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME at the Weasley house parties!" Her voice was shrill, echoing through the house and causing even the ghoul in the attic to fall silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, Molly's anger finally subsided, giving way to a deep sense of despair. She slumped down on the sofa, her shoulders sagging as she asked dejectedly, "Am I really a failure as a mother?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her bottom lip quivered as she struggled to hold back her emotions.

George, sensing his mother's distress, quickly moved to sit beside her on the sofa. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and said soothingly, "No, Mum. It's just that Percy has his own ideas." His voice was gentle, and he looked at his mother with a mix of sympathy and understanding.

However, Molly was not to be comforted so easily. "I hate his ideas!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with emotion. 

She let out a long, shuddering sigh, her body trembling with the effort to hold back her tears. After a moment, she turned to the twins, her eyes narrowing. "Out of my sight, both of you," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their faces falling at their mother's command. They had been planning to play games in the lounge, hoping to lighten the mood and bring some much-needed levity to the situation. 

"But Mum, we were going to-" Fred began, his voice tentative.

"I said out!" Molly snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. She pointed towards the stairs, her hand shaking slightly.

Arthur suddenly appeared in the doorway, "Come with me, you two," he said firmly, and gestured for the twins to follow him, his eyes meeting theirs in a silent command.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their usual mischievous grins replaced by a look of apprehension. They slowly rose from their seats, their movements hesitant as if they were walking towards their own execution. As they made their way towards their father, they cast one last worried glance at their mother, who sat hunched on the sofa, her face buried in her hands.

The twins followed Arthur as he trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the situation. The silence between them was thick with tension, and the twins could feel their father's anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Once they reached the landing, Arthur turned to face them, his arms crossed over his chest. "What exactly did you say to Percy that made him refuse to attend the party?" he asked, his voice low and measured. The twins shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting around the room as they tried to come up with a plausible excuse.

"Well, you see, Dad..." Fred began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. George jumped in, trying to cover for his brother. "It's not what you think, we just..." he stammered.

At that moment, Bill appeared at the top of the stairs, having overheard the conversation. He quickly assessed the situation and realised that the twins were in trouble. Without hesitation, he stumped over to Arthur, a look of concern on his face.

"Dad, I think there's a leak in the kitchen," he said, his voice urgent. "Mum needs your help right away." Arthur looked at Bill, his brow furrowed in confusion. He glanced back at the twins, who were now looking at their older brother with a mix of relief and gratitude.

With a sigh, Arthur turned and headed back down the stairs, muttering under his breath about the endless list of things that needed to be fixed in the house. As soon as he was out of earshot, Bill rounded on the twins, his expression serious.

"What did you two say to Dad?" he asked, his voice low and demanding. 

"We didn't say anything!" The twins responded in unison, "And what can we say? We can't help Percy coming out of the closet, can we?" Fred added. He raised his eyebrows, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Bill immediately put his finger to his lips, "Shh... Don't ever bring it up at home again," he warned, glancing around nervously, as if afraid that someone might overhear their conversation.

The twins seemed unfazed by Bill's warning, and they continued to air their grievances. "I'm starting to feel a bit suffocated by our family now," George confessed, his shoulders slumping and mouth shriveling.

"That's right," Fred chimed in, nodding his head in agreement. "In the past, I've always thought that feeling was because there was too much dust in the house." He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something bad.

Bill listened to the twins' complaints, his expression a mix of understanding and exasperation. He knew that the family dynamics could be stifling at times, but he also understood the importance of keeping certain things within the confines of their home. Now, maybe the thing was the leaking tap that he had just broken.

——————————————————————————

Back in their bedroom, George plopped down on the bed, a look of amusement playing across his features as he glanced over at Fred. "Very good, Fred," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You managed to piss off two brothers and dad and mom…at the family dinner."

Fred merely shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the chaos he had caused. He watched as George reached over to the bedside table and picked up a small bottle containing a shimmering potion. With a casual toss, George handed the bottle to Fred, who caught it deftly in his hands.

Deflating slightly, Fred shook the bottle, his eyes fixated on the silver glow that bobbed and swirled within the glass confines. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before his expression suddenly shifted, returning to his usual carefree demeanor as if nothing had happened.

"That Percy one is none of my business," Fred said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He wasn't planning on attending our get-together in the first place. 'George and Fred pissed me off...' was just his way of making Mum and Dad less upset."

George nodded in agreement, his own expression mirroring his twin's nonchalance. "I'd be more surprised that Ron would be this confused about sexual matters, though," he mused, pushing himself up from the bed and making his way over to the table where they had been tinkering with a new invention.

The twins had started inventing all sorts of interesting gadgets a long time ago. However, ever since they left Hogwarts a few weeks ago and began working in their magic shop, their business had been booming. This led to the fact that their new product development work had to be done at home during the night. Although Molly had scolded them several times for burning holes through the floor of their home due to misguided operations, their family remained very supportive of their new endeavors. The only exception was when they had misplaced Arthur's prized Muggle collection.

Nevertheless, what now sat in front of George was one of Arthur's treasured collectibles - a Muggle camera that had lost its ability to take photographs. Muggle cameras were common collectibles because Muggles, who didn't know how to record their memories with magic, could only optically print images on photographic paper.

However, Muggle cameras were also highly inspirational for inventions in magical sessions. In the past, people used Pensieves to view their memories, but Pensieves were not easy to acquire. Even in the whole of Hogwarts, only Dumbledore owned one. As a result, journalists in the wizarding world had begun to mimic the Muggle technique by creating similar little boxes to record memories.

Despite this, there were still some issues with the magical cameras. They required film to operate, and there was no way to view one's past memories at will, like with a Pensieve. So, George was the first to suggest that he wanted to create a "world-shattering magic camera" - a magical camera that could view memories.

As they settled in to continue their work, the twins fell into an easy rhythm, their hands moving deftly as they assembled the various components of their latest creation.

Fred's eyebrows shot up, a look of intrigue crossing his face. "So I was wondering about the 'not supposed to' people Ron was talking about..."

George, always quick to pick up on his twin's train of thought, interjected with his own theory. "The odds are that there are only three categories of 'not supposed to' people in a normal person's sexual fantasies: family members, best friends, and enemies." He ticked off each category on his fingers.

Fred reached down and plucked a small pair of scissors from the floor. He settled back in his chair, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness as he fixed George with an intense stare. "Thank Merlin, I just hope it's not us he's fantasizing about," he said, his voice low and grave.

George grimaced, his face contorting into an expression of disgust. "Blimey, your thoughts make me sick," he retorted, shaking his head as if to banish the unwelcome images from his mind. "Could it be Harry or Hermione? After all, what enemy could our daft brother have?"

Fred's eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint appearing in their depths as he threaded his fingers through the handles of the pliers and began to idly turn the scissors over and over. "Speaking of enemies..." he said, his voice trailing off suggestively. "That little bastard who pisses himself..."

Recognition dawned on George's face, and he immediately understood who Fred was referring to. "Malfoy?" he grunted, his head bent over his work as he continued to tinker with the gadget in front of him. "I do remember him wetting himself because of the Dementor."

Fred let out a bark of laughter, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he echoed George's words. "Indeed! That time on the train, the way that bloke screamed and crashed into our compartment shivering was very impressive indeed! In fact, that look was rather more endearing than his recent strutting rank-and-file look."

The twins dissolved into fits of laughter, their shoulders shaking as they reveled in the embarrassing memory of their family's long-time rival. The sound of their mirth filled the room, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the soft clanking of their tools.

As their laughter subsided, a sudden silence fell over the room. The twins exchanged a meaningful look, their eyes locking as unspoken thoughts passed between them. The atmosphere shifted, the earlier levity replaced by a sense of contemplation and unease.

Fred broke the silence even more quickly. "Speaking of that... just shortly after the Quidditch match, I did have a dream with that little bastard in it," he said, pausing for a moment before continuing, "In this dream, he actually pissed himself."

George remained silent, still holding a glass lens in his hand. The sun's rays glinted through it, casting a strange blue light. After a moment of silence, George asked, "Maybe … there's more to the dream?"

"Well... I fucked him in the arse... literally," Fred admitted. "But so did you."

George set the lens down and looked at Fred thoughtfully. He pulled the chair he had set aside closer to Fred and gestured for him to sit down. George then sat on the edge of the bed as well.

"It can't be that this dream took place in Dad's old garage..." said George, rubbing his chin like a detective about to solve a crime.

Fred's eyes widened in surprise as he exclaimed, “No way! We had the same dream?"

George, on the other hand, remained composed, his expression thoughtful as he rested his chin on his hand and crossed his legs. He reached for the hourglass-shaped glass vessel beside him, shaking it gently before tucking it into a sleek black metal box with a satisfied nod.

"There, fixed," George announced, handing Fred the modified camera to examine. "Dad's collection of Muggle cameras came in handy," he continued, a hint of pride in his voice as he watched his twin inspect their creation.

Fred's eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned the camera over in his hands, a grin spreading across his face. "So... do you want to try out our new invention?" he asked, his tone eager and playful. "After all, we'll never have to run into Dumbledore's office to look at memories with spring water again!"

George chuckled, nodding in agreement as he turned around and pulled out a tube of memory vials. With careful precision, he extracted the silvery strands of memories and deposited them into the vials, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Together, the twins slipped the memory bottle into the cylindrical recess in the center of the modified lens. As the camera began to gurgle and whir, the images gradually flickered to life on the display at the back of the device.

"Oh! Goodness! We did it! There's a picture!" Fred clenched his fist in excitement, his face splitting into a wide grin as he hammered George's shoulder. 

‘·····························································’

The camera screen reveals George cautiously exploring the confines of Arthur's old garage, his eyes darting from one corner to another as he searches for something specific. With practiced stealth, he rummages through his father's toolbox, his hands carefully shifting the contents within. A sudden glint catches his eye, and he notices a wooden box tucked away under the table, housing some of the twins' early inventions. George's gaze locks onto a particular device, the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick', a remnant of their failed experiments during their fourth year at Hogwarts.

Surprise flickers across George's face as he reaches for the device, but his attention is abruptly diverted by a piercing scream emanating from the warehouse. Without hesitation, George yanks the door open and rushes inside, only to find Fred restraining a familiar figure—the little blond git, Malfoy—against Arthur's old van.

Malfoy kept struggling, cursing the Weasleys' ancestors but was immediately bound behind his back by a binding spell from Fred. It appeared that Malfoy didn't have his wand with him, and he was powerless against Fred, who was a head taller than him.

Fred turns to George, and with animated gestures, he begins to recount the events that led to Malfoy's capture, “So I dreamt about I was standing in the doorway of the garage, and I heard some rustling sound coming from inside.  I thought it might be another one of those pesky mice, So, I grabbed some sticky boards, ready to take care of the problem," Fred begins, his hands moving as if to set the scene, mimicking the action of picking up the boards, “But when I opened the door, this little tosser was standing right next to Dad's car, looking like he was up to no good. So, I didn't waste a second and marched right over there and got him under control. "

On the screen— like he heard out-screen Fred's explanation— George's eyes widen and say, “Wow, Fred! Looks like you caught a little mouse," Watching himself deliver the line on the screen, George's smile grows even wider. He turns to Fred, who stands beside him and gives him a knowing look——which means "You don't need to explain, mate. I get it," 

The scene unfolded, revealing Fred's swift actions as he grabbed Malfoy's hands, which were already secured behind his back by the spell. With a flick of his wrist, Fred conjured a leather chain out of thin air and deftly attached Malfoy's hands to a nearby iron frame, ensuring his captive had no means of escape.

Leaning in close, Fred draped his arm around Malfoy's neck, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Come now, little mouse," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Why don't you tell us what sort of evil thoughts brought you scurrying into our humble abode?"

Malfoy's face flushed a deep shade of red as he struggled against his restraints. "That's not what I had planned!" he retorted loudly, his voice laced with indignation. "Let me go!"

George, never one to miss out on the fun, sauntered over to join his twin. Leaning against the boot of the van, he surveyed Malfoy's predicament with a smirk. "And why should we take orders from you?" he asked, his tone laced with amusement. "In case you hadn't noticed, this is our home."

Malfoy's eyes darted between the two Weasleys, a look of panic settling over his features. "It was a mistake!" he blurted out, his voice rising in pitch. "An accident! I swear!"

The twins exchanged a knowing glance, their grins widening. "Well, well, well," Fred said, circling to Malfoy's other side. "Looks like our little intruder has some explaining to do."

"Better start talking," George chimed in, leaning in closer. "Unless you want us to resort to more... persuasive methods."

Malfoy's shoulders slumped, his bravado deflating like a punctured balloon. He cast a helpless glance around the garage but found no means of escape. With a deep sigh, he lowered his gaze, looking thoroughly chagrined. "I don't really... have any plans," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Weasley twins exchanged a knowing look, their eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and excitement. In a swift motion, George reached into his pocket and pulled out the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick', holding it up for Fred to see. Fred's eyes widened at the sight of their old invention, a grin spreading across his face as he realized the potential for its new purpose.

"George, you're a bloody genius!" Fred exclaimed, his voice filled with glee. "Who would've thought our failed work would find a new lease on life?"

George twirled the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick' between his fingers, a smug expression on his face. "Well, of course, dear brother," he replied, his tone dripping with mock modesty. "You and I are the smartest genius twins on the planet. When I was tinkering with the ‘Elecshockie finger', I never imagined the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick' would prove so useful."

Malfoy, still tied to the iron frame, couldn't help but overhear the twins' conversation. His brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance as he listened to their banter. “Hey, would you two stop going on about 'bong bongs' or whatever nonsense you're spouting?" he snapped, his voice laced with irritation. "What the bloody hell is that disgusting thing anyway?"

The twins turned their attention back to Malfoy, their grins widening at his obvious discomfort. Fred sauntered over to him, holding the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick' aloft like a prized possession. "Oh, this little beauty?" he asked, his voice dripping with false innocence. "Just a little something we cooked up in our spare time. But don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Malfoy… You'll find out soon enough."

George moved to Malfoy's other side, his eyes glinting with barely contained glee. "Yes, we've got quite the treat in store for you," he added, his voice low and menacing. "And trust me, you're going to love every minute of it."

However, the peculiar contraption that Malfoy referred to did have a disgusting look. The Weasley twins, during their fourth year at Hogwarts, had initially set out to create a finger sleeve that could be worn over one's digits. Their grand plan was to disguise these sleeves as a person's real fingers, allowing them to be used as a clever prop to deliver a shocking surprise when unsuspecting victims were caught off guard.

Unfortunately, for reasons unknown, the finger sleeves underwent a bizarre transformation after the twins attempted to enchant them with an electrocution spell. The rubber material ballooned outward, forming unsightly bubbles and morphing into a grotesquely misshapen object reminiscent of a giant's finger. Consequently, the electrical current failed to pass through the thickened outer layer, resulting in a mere feeble vibration. Faced with this disastrous outcome, the Weasley twins had no choice but to discard their failed creation, never imagining it would somehow find its way into their father's warehouse.

George, with a mischievous glint in his eye, decided to demonstrate the contraption's functionality. "Truth be told, it's a bit tricky to put into words," he admitted, sliding his finger into the device's groove. With a click, the machine whirred to life, emitting a soft humming sound as it expelled a gentle puff of air. Seizing the opportunity, George slipped his hand under Malfoy's shirt and began tickling him mercilessly. Malfoy squirmed and writhed, desperate to escape the relentless assault on his sensitive skin. A burst of laughter escaped his lips as he gasped, "Stop! Please! It tickles!"

Fred, unable to contain his amusement, joined in the laughter. "Behold, the mighty power of the 'Bong Bong Tickle Stick'!" he declared triumphantly.

As the tickling persisted, Malfoy's resolve began to crumble. "Okay, okay! Seriously, stop!" he pleaded, his face flushed and his expression growing increasingly uncomfortable. "I need to pee……"

The twins exchanged a gleeful look, delighted by the opportunity to further torment their long-time adversary. "Oh, go right ahead," Fred taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's not like we haven't seen you soil your trousers before," George chimed in, barely containing his laughter.

Malfoy's face turned an even deeper shade of red as he struggled against his bonds. "I'm not joking around!" he insisted, his voice strained with urgency. "Let me go!"

Fred scoffed, unimpressed by Malfoy's demands. "Or what? You'll run off and tell your father?" he mocked. "Perhaps you'd like us to remove your trousers for you?"

The Weasley twins reveled in Malfoy's discomfort, eager to seize this chance to give the usually arrogant and entitled Slytherin a taste of his own medicine.

“Hey, Fred, take a gander at this," George called out, a note of intrigue in his voice as he gestured towards Malfoy.

With deft fingers, George unfastened a few buttons at the bottom of Malfoy's shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his waist for Fred to examine.

Upon closer inspection, the twins noticed a series of peculiar marks adorning Malfoy's skin, clearly the result of someone's fingers pinching and grasping at the delicate flesh. It was evident that these marks were not the handiwork of George alone, but rather the remnants of a previous encounter. The twins exchanged a thoughtful glance, their right hands simultaneously rising to stroke their chins in contemplation. Malfoy, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, instinctively attempted to retreat, but the unyielding presence of the iron frame behind him left him with nowhere to escape.

Stepping forward in unison, the twins proceeded to divest Malfoy of his remaining clothing, leaving him exposed and vulnerable before their scrutinizing gazes. As they studied the array of marks scattered across his body, Malfoy's complexion underwent a dramatic transformation, transitioning from a deep red to a rich purple before finally settling on a sickly blue hue. Under his breath, he muttered a string of curses, his words laced with equal parts frustration and humiliation. "Those two bloody wankers," he hissed. "Unrestrained bastards, the lot of them!"

George, unable to contain his amazement, let out a low whistle. "I must say, this is quite impressive," he remarked, his eyes widening in surprise. " Little Malfoy always finds new ways to impress us," Fred added, a hint of satire coloring his tone.

“So you have sex with boys?’”George asked, looking down into Malfoy's face as if to ask him what he had for breakfast that day. However, Malfoy immediately turned his head away from George. Then, Fred emerged from the other side of him, his eyes fixed intently on Malfoy.  With a curious tilt of his head, he pressed further, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and genuine inquiry.  "So, are you gay? And the slut kind?”

Malfoy, his face flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment, lashed out in response.  "What's it to you two?" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the garage.  Despite his outburst, he notably didn't deny the accusation.

As Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably, attempting to shield himself behind the metal frame, Fred approached him with a casual air.  "Well, it's not entirely irrelevant," he drawled, a mischievous glint in his eye.  "As your seniors in this particular field, we have a certain obligation to teach you the importance of being 'safe,' if you catch my drift."

George, who had been observing the exchange with a smirk, chimed in.  "Absolutely, dear brother," he agreed, nodding sagely.  "It's our duty to ensure that our young Malfoy here is well-informed and prepared for any...  extracurricular activities he might engage in. Think of it as a public service, Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes widened in a mixture of horror and indignation.  "I don't need any bloody lessons from you two!" he spat, his voice laced with venom.  "Just let me go."

Fred and George exchanged a knowing look, their grins widening.  "Oh, I don't think so," George replied, shaking his head as a realization struck him. "You know, George, we were so young when we invented this thing that we never even considered its full potential." He turned his gaze to his twin brother, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Fred reached out and squeezed Malfoy's dick, causing the blonde boy to let out a strangled yelp of surprise. Malfoy tried to twist and turn his legs to avoid Fred's fingers, but George swiftly moved in and grabbed hold of his legs, effectively immobilizing him.

"Lesson one," George declared, "If a bad kid misbehaves, they need to face the consequences."

 Fred nodded in agreement. “Barging into other people's homes is a big no-no."

The twins spoke in perfect unison, their voices harmonizing together seamlessly. Malfoy looked up at the two brothers who towered over him, a hint of trepidation in his eyes as he realized the predicament he had gotten himself into.

"Lesson two, don't lie. Especially when other people are trying to help you," Fred said sternly, his eyes locked on Malfoy's face.

With a flourish, Fred produced a long, elegant quill seemingly out of thin air. He circled to Malfoy's right side, standing so close that Malfoy could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Slowly, deliberately, Fred began to trace the tip of the quill across Malfoy's waist, the soft feather leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

On the other side, George crouched down, his movements mirroring his twin's. He placed a comforting hand on Malfoy's thigh, his touch gentle yet firm. With his other hand, he fiddled with the pulsating toy, which swelling and growing larger in George's palm, emitting peculiar noises that sent shivers down Malfoy's spine. Each throb, each unfamiliar sound, only served to heighten Malfoy's anxiety, his nerves fraying with every passing moment.

Fred's quill continued its journey, gliding over the tapestry of bruises and marks that adorned Malfoy's porcelain skin. He meticulously examined each blemish, his eyes narrowing as he took in the extent of the damage. When he reached the back of Malfoy's neck, Fred paused, his quill hovering over a set of distinct bite marks that stood out against the smooth, unblemished flesh.

"Now, I want to know who left these marks," Fred said, his voice filled with curious. "Especially these bite marks on the back of your neck." He tapped the quill against the offending marks, emphasizing his point.

Malfoy's brows knitted together, confusion etched across his delicate features. "I... I don't know," he stammered.

Fred's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, his expression a mixture of incredulity and frustration. "Are you in a relationship with a dozen people? You can't even remember who bit you?" he pressed, his tone growing more insistent with each word.

Malfoy's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his eyes darting away from Fred's intense gaze. Malfoy's expression was a complex tapestry of emotions, a mixture of apprehension, reluctance, and a hint of resignation. 

In truth, he knew exactly who had left those tell-tale bite marks on his skin. It was none other than Theodore, that crazy puppy who had a penchant for leaving his mark on Malfoy's body.

It was precisely because of Theodore's habit of branding him with love bites that Malfoy had taken to avoiding bringing him to the Unreal Space after that day. Malfoy detested the feeling of losing control, of having his body marked without his explicit consent.

But the current situation was a whole new level of uncontrollable for Malfoy. He was acutely aware that, under normal circumstances, when he truly wished to end any actions taking place within the confines of Unreal Space – and not as part of some twisted game – he could easily do so with a simple wandless spell.

However, this shared room with the twins was different. It wasn't set up to allow for such an easy escape. Malfoy had inadvertently brushed against the “ Rat bones mechanism" tucked away in the corner of the room when he had been on his way to the bathroom. In an instant, he found himself pulled into this alternate space, trapped with no discernible way out. He had searched high and low, desperate for an exit, but to no avail.

For Malfoy, this was the epitome of chaos, a complete and utter loss of control over his own fate.

The twins, however, were blissfully unaware of Malfoy's inner turmoil. They didn't seem overly skeptical about the scene unfolding before them. If anything, they appeared intrigued, their eyes alight with a curious gleam as they watched Malfoy squirm under their relentless questioning.

George's fingers swirled around Malfoy's thigh. The toy attached to his fingers emitted a slight electric sensation, causing Malfoy's face to contort against the painful and ticklish stimulation. Fred, on the other hand, gave up teasing him with the quill and moved a folding stool to sit on the sidelines, kneading Malfoy's bum with both hands.

"This reminds me of when Mum used to make us help with the dough..." George mused, a nostalgic smile playing at the corners of his lips as he continued to fiddle with Malfoy’s ass cheeks in his hand.

"Yeah, you need some balls to do this, sometimes, sticks too,” Fred quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced over at his twin.

 "Bad joke, Fred," he chided, his tone a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, determined to continue the impromptu lesson he had started.

George picked up the toy, examining it closely as he spoke. "Lesson three," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "always use the proper lubricant, every single time." He emphasized the last three words, underlining their importance.

Fred nodded, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the room. With a shrug, he pushed himself to his feet and began to rummage through their father's workbench, his hands deftly sorting through the various tools and trinkets.

"I don't think there's going to be any lube here," Fred called over his shoulder, but then, his movements stilled, and he slowly turned around, a small, red tin box clutched in his hand. It was old, the paint slightly chipped, but there was a certain charm to its vintage appearance.

"But don't rule out the possibility that our father would have needed to use glycerine for skin care..." Fred said, a hint of amusement coloring his tone as he held up the tin box for George to see.

Malfoy, who had been watching the exchange with growing unease, let out an indignant noise at Fred's suggestion.  "I don't want that dirty stuff used on me!" he snapped. 

Fred and George exchanged a look, their eyebrows raised in silent communication. George took a purposeful step towards Malfoy until he was standing directly in front of the blond Slytherin boy. He slowly raised his hand and gently cupped Malfoy's pointed chin, tilting his pale face upwards so their eyes met.

"Listen carefully, Malfoy," George said, his voice calm and even, belying the implied threat in his words. "It would be all too easy for me to take this little toy here directly up your ass.” He nodded towards the small, brightly colored toy his twin Fred was casually tossing from hand to hand.

Fred smirked and leaned in, balancing the toy on the tip of his index finger right in front of Draco's face.  With a quick flick, he thumped the toy several times, making it bounce and Vibrate. Then, he thumped the toy against Malfoy's cheeks several times in rapid succession, causing the Slytherin to flinch reflexively at each impact.

Under the twins' combined onslaught, Draco's superior sneer slid off his face, replaced by an expression of apprehension mixed with barely concealed fear. He swallowed hard, suddenly losing his nerve in the face of Fred and George's ominous expressions and words.

Fred carefully applied a generous amount of slick glycerin to the smooth surface of the toy. He positioned it against Malfoy's lower back and began to work the vibrating tool in slow, deliberate circles, gradually moving down towards his tense glutes and upper thighs.

As Fred expertly manipulated the toy against his hip, Malfoy felt the tension drain out of his body. His stiff posture softened and he slumped forward, muscles going lax. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the pleasant sensations spread, turning his legs to jelly. Soon, his entire body from his shoulders down to his feet was limp and pliant under Fred's ministrations.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he noticed a new, intriguing feeling. The textured nubs and bumps covering the toy’s head created delightful pressure points as they rolled over his crack and dug into his hole. They seemed to find all the right spots, sending intense stimulation into the depth of his body.

Mild electric tingles radiated out from the toy, the buzzing pulses worked over Malfoy's ass while Fred pumped the toy up and down and across his flexing intestinal tract. Draco gasped and squirmed as the combination of sensations sent pleasurable shivers racing along his nerves, rendering him boneless under the Weasley twin's touch.

His legs trembled uncontrollably, making it nearly impossible for him to maintain a normal standing position. Draco's knees buckled slightly as he struggled to keep his balance with his hands tied behind.

A strange, unfamiliar sensation swept over Draco's entire being. It felt as if something was gushing out of him, a force he couldn't quite comprehend or control. His heart raced, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead as panic began to set in.

"Stop it! Pull it out!" Malfoy shrieked, his voice filled with a mixture of shock and disbelief. His eyes widened in horror as he processed the situation unfolding before him. "I can't believe it! You... you will have such an interest..."

Draco's words trailed off, his mind reeling from the realization of what was happening. His penis took on a semi-erect state and some prostate fluid began to ooze from the tip. His face paled, and his lips quivered as he tried to come to terms with the unexpected turn of events.

George, leaning casually against an old van nearby, adjusted an old belt he had found somewhere. His expression remained neutral, almost bored, as he spoke flatly, “You don't believe this? We've always been interested in pretty boys."

His words carried a hint of sarcasm as if he found the entire situation rather amusing. 

George deftly wrapped the adjusted leash around Malfoy's neck, carefully positioning it to resemble a snug leather collar. As he secured the makeshift collar, George's fingers brushed against Draco's skin, causing the blond to flinch slightly at the unexpected contact.

Immediately after, George continued, his voice dripping with a mixture of contempt and satisfaction, "Of course, you DESERVE this special lesson because you're such a bastard."

Draco's eyes darted around nervously, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the true nature of his predicament. Fred, who had been observing the scene, stood up as well. As he took in the sight of the collar George had crafted, a helpless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't help but appreciate his brother's unique fetish, even if it was at Malfoy's expense.

With a swift motion, Fred clamped down on Draco's chin, forcing him to tilt his head upward. He then gently rotated Malfoy's cheek, ensuring that the blond was facing him directly. Draco's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide with apprehension as he found himself face-to-face with Fred.

Malfoy, overcome by nervousness, immediately closed his eyes and pursed his lips tightly. His body tensed, bracing himself for whatever was to come. Fred, amused by Draco's reaction, smiled reassuringly and said, "Don't worry, I'm not interested in kissing you."

Suddenly, the ropes that had been tightly clamped around Malfoy's hands were released. Caught off guard, Draco stumbled forward, falling into Fred's arms. The toy that had been stuck in his bum clattered to the floor—— George had undone the clasp of the ropes.

"Come here," George commanded. With a swift motion, he tossed the toy aside, sending it clattering across the floor. In the same fluid movement, he jammed the back of Malfoy's neck, forcefully pinning him against the old car. The sudden impact caused Malfoy to gasp, his breath momentarily knocked out of him.

As Malfoy's face pressed against the dusty surface of the car, he couldn't help but inhale the musty smell of the aged vehicle. The particles tickled his nose and throat, causing him to cough and sputter, his eyes watering from the unwelcome intrusion.

George, however, pulled down his pants and held his penis out in front of Malfoy. With one hand, he pulled Malfoy closer to him, their bodies now mere inches apart. His grip was firm, leaving no room for escape. "Now," George murmured, his hot breath tickling Malfoy's ear, "you're going to PAY ME OFF."

"No, I'm not going to suck your cock!" Malfoy protested frantically, his voice rising in pitch as panic set in. He shook his head vigorously. "Besides, I didn't do anything to your dad's car! "

Just then, Fred's lazy drawl sounded from behind Malfoy, making him freeze. "According to Weasley house rules, lying children get spanked, oh~" Fred singsonged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. "What!" Malfoy shouted, his voice cracking with panic. He frantically tried to wrench himself free from George's grasp, his feet scrabbling on the dusty ground as he attempted to make a break for it. But George's hands were too quick, grabbing him firmly by the wrists and yanking him back.

Malfoy barely had a moment to register what was happening before Fred's palm landed on his hip with a resounding smack. Malfoy yelped, his face flushing with indignation.

"Stop it, you two perverted monsters! You bloody arseholes! You're off your rockers!" Malfoy spat, his words coming out in a furious jumble as he struggled against George's iron grip.

Fred raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's outburst. "Such language," he tutted disapprovingly. "Looks like someone needs a lesson in manners." With that, he delivered five or six more sharp slaps to Malfoy's hip in rapid succession.

Under his iron grip, blood oozed from Malfoy's snow-white bum, red as a ripe peach. Malfoy could only whimper pathetically as the stinging pain radiated through his bottom. He squirmed helplessly, but George's hands held him fast, giving him no chance of escape.

George rolled his eyes at Malfoy's pitiful display. “Will you stop whinging?" he asked imperturbably, giving Malfoy a little kneading on his lips, wiping his drool, and putting his cock to Malfoy's mouth again. “If you've got a mouth on you, might as well put it to good use, yeah?"

Malfoy's eyes flew open at the implication, his stomach twisting with dread. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He was trapped, completely at the mercy of these two sadistic Weasleys, and there seemed to be no escape in sight.

‘Okay...’ said Malfoy, raising his eyes to George's with a pitiful look and begging, ’I'll do it... stop spanking me...’

George gave Fred a look and Fred immediately let go of Malfoy's bum. Malfoy immediately squatted down, took hold of George's cock, and began sucking him off.

Malfoy worked hard to service George, surreptitiously watching his reaction, fearing the ‘humiliating punishment’ that would befall him again. Fred, on the other hand, sat down on his arse behind Malfoy and wrapped an arm around Malfoy's waist.

Malfoy let out a surprised ‘Unh!’ sound and then noticed that Fred was ready to thrust his cock into his arse. Malfoy gave up resisting and naturally switched from squatting to a sitting position so that Fred's cock could enter his canal more smoothly.

Fred had just laid a picnic mat on the floor so that he could sit on it with Malfoy in his arms. But soon he realized that the cold of the garage floor was making him lose his desire. He stopped thrusting and slapped Malfoy's arse, signaling him off his cock.

"It's too cold on the ground. Open the boot," Fred said, gesturing to the boot of the old van.

George quickly cottoned on what his twin wanted to do. He handed Fred the lead that was hanging around Malfoy's pale neck. Turning around, George deftly opened the rear passenger door and lowered the back seat, then unlatched the boot, thus providing them with a relatively spacious platform.

Once George had carefully laid out a red and white chequered picnic blanket in the boot, Fred firmly guided a hesitant Malfoy towards it. Malfoy tentatively and timidly glanced up at Fred from under his white-blond fringe, his grey eyes wide and uncertain. Fred cocked his head to the side and signaled with a jerk of his chin for the slender boy to lie down on the blanket. 

Unsure of what exactly the mischievous twins had planned, Malfoy was a little abrasive and reluctant to climb into the cramped boot of the old. However, the Weasley twins weren't particularly patient in waiting for him to mentally prepare himself.

With an exasperated sigh, Fred reached out and undid the lead holding Malfoy in place. He turned to where his father's old worn leather jacket was hanging haphazardly on a cluttered shelf. Rummaging in the pockets, Fred pulled out a flowery biker bandana and deftly tied it tightly over Malfoy's fearful eyes, blindfolding him.

Losing his vision so suddenly, Malfoy instantly became panicked, his slender hands groping around blindly, trying desperately to find something solid to hold onto. Quickly, he grabbed onto George's arm in a vice-like grip, his knuckles turning white.

“Yep, hold on to me," George said with a cheeky grin. In one smooth motion, he picked Malfoy's slight frame up and unceremoniously tossed him onto the platform of the boot. George then jerked his hand out of Malfoy's desperate grasp and took a step back to stand behind the boot next to Fred, leaving Malfoy alone and sightless.

"Don't..." the blindfolded Malfoy sat helplessly on his knees, his usually arrogant voice taking on a pleading, sobbing tone. "Please don't leave me... At least hold the..." His voice trailed off uncertainly as Malfoy was lost in the oppressive darkness behind the bandana, hoping to confirm that the twins wouldn't callously abandon him alone and vulnerable in this unknown place.

"Hold what?" George asked with a wicked grin, exchanging an amused glance with Fred. He watched as Malfoy fumbled frantically for the lead that had fallen to the side of the boot, but he wanted to force the privileged pure-blood to declare his subservience.

As he had deviously hoped, Malfoy's seeking fingers finally found and grabbed onto the lead that had pooled on the blanket beside him. "At least... at least hold the lead..." Malfoy begged softly, his aristocratic face flaming with humiliation beneath the flowery bandana.

"All right," George acquiesced, reaching into the boot to tie Malfoy's slender wrist tightly with the lead before making his next degrading request, ”Lie down on your back, butt toward us.“

George exchanged a knowing glance with Fred, who immediately caught on. "Now, let's play a little guessing game, shall we? A contest!" Fred declared with a mischievous grin. "If you guess correctly, we'll let you go..." He paused for a moment, relishing the sight of Malfoy nervously swallowing his fear. "But if you guess wrong, we'll leave you here, alone and starkers, until the rats nibble you down to the bone."

Malfoy's legs shook in terror, and he looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. He knew all too well the sorts of humiliating tricks the twins were capable of; there was no chance they'd ever come up with a question he could actually answer correctly.

"That's enough, stop your blubbering," a voice that sounded like George's commanded. Malfoy felt a pair of hands roughly grab his legs, forcing them apart from their tightly closed position. Malfoy let out a startled yelp, his body trembling as he freaked out.

Draco Malfoy felt an icy shock shoot through his body as the crisp air hit his exposed butt, which had been unceremoniously dragged out of the van by those incorrigible Weasley twins. They held his thrashing legs in a vice-like grip, immobilizing him.

“What are you going to do…" Despite his feeble attempts to resist, Malfoy could only whimper helplessly as Fred and George pulled and tugged at his limbs, positioning him as they desired. But his quickly crumbled into pathetic whimpers when he realized how helpless he was in this humiliating position, naked, face-up with his pale buttocks aimed skyward. 

"Oh… nothing to worry… we're only just getting started with you, Malfoy," Fred taunted gleefully, clearly relishing the chance to take the little pure-blood bully down a peg or two. George nodded in eager agreement, he wasn't about to pass up this golden opportunity to give Malfoy a taste of his own medicine.

Malfoy's stomach dropped as the sickening realization of what the twins had in store finally registered. The "contest" Fred had alluded to earlier was starting to sound more and more ominous.

"Now then, you pompous prat, let's see how good you are at guessing games," George announced with an evil grin. Immediately after that, a hot thing was pressed against his asshole. Without waiting for him to react, the thing plunged into him.

"Can you guess...which one of us is fucking your posh little behind?"The twins' gleeful voices rang out in unison from somewhere behind him, their words conveying a rather less-than-beautiful melody.

Malfoy furrowed his brow, momentarily perplexed by the unexpected query. A finger traced along Malfoy's spine, sending shivers through his body. Those fiery impacts on the buttock sent a shiver down his spine, prompting him to clutch the checkered picnic mat beneath him with trembling hands, his knuckles turning white.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the Weasley twins launched into a synchronized countdown, "Five, four, three, two..." 

Malfoy's heart raced as the numbers dwindled and the piston sped up, a rising panic gripping his chest. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his lungs straining for air, and beads of sweat formed on his chest dyed into pink.

In a last-ditch attempt to halt the impending disaster, Malfoy cried out, his voice cracking with desperation, "George! George Weasley!" His plea hung in the air, a futile lifeline cast into a sea of impending chaos. 

"Wrong answer, It's me, Fred, haha” Fred chuckled, his tone laced with wicked amusement. Malfoy's stomach sank, a wave of despair washing over him. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself for what was to come.

"All right, one more chance. Best two out of three," George chimed in, his voice coming from Malfoy's other side. Sense of Fred‘s presence disappeared, leaving Malfoy's inside tingling in its absence. But the reprieve was short-lived as another hot insert made contact with his body.

Malfoy took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He reached up, his fingers wrapping around the cold chains encircling his neck. He focused on the sensation of the genitals wiggling inside him, trying to discern any subtle differences from before. The size, the girth, the curvature, the way it moved - he analyzed every detail, desperate to get it right this time.

"It's different... This time it's different," Malfoy cried out, hope and desperation mingling in his voice. "George, this time it has to be!"

"Spot on, Malfoy!" George confirmed a hint of surprise in his tone.

But Malfoy's relief was short-lived. For the final round, a brand new one that didn't belong to either of the twins brushed against his anal. Malfoy felt the cock enter his bowels, a little cooler than George's cock, but a hair smaller than Fred's.

Malfoy's heart nearly stopped, confusion and terror gripping him. There couldn't possibly be anyone else in the room with them, so who was the one now tormenting him?

Panic seized Malfoy, the unknown feeling sending his mind reeling. He tugged frantically at the restraints binding his wrists, his breathing rapid and shallow. Tears began to stream down his face, dampening the blindfold. 

"I don't know... Please... I'm sorry," he whimpered, his voice breaking. The twins' countdown ended, and Malfoy still hadn't provided an answer, his fear rendering him speechless.

Then, someone ripped off the blindfold covering his eyes, his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light. Malfoy blinked rapidly as the blindfold was yanked away, tears still clung to his lashes, blurring his vision. As his surroundings came into focus, he first noticed the twins' expressions, a mixture of helplessness and something he couldn't quite discern.

His gaze then fell upon the toy in George's hand, which had ceased its incessant bubbling and vibrating. It appeared to have been tampered with, its settings altered. Malfoy's stomach churned, unsure of what new torments the twins had in store for him.

"Stop acting so pathetic, Malfoy," George admonished, his voice tinged with a weariness that surprised Malfoy. "I'm losing interest in these pranks." Despite his words, George's actions contradicted his statement. With deft fingers, he swiftly removed the modified toy and replaced it with his own erection.

Malfoy's eyes widened, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he watched George's movements. Malfoy's tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, his breath coming in short, anxious gasps.

Fred, who had been observing the exchange silently, stepped forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Don't worry, Malfoy," he purred, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "We've got plenty more tricks up our sleeves. "

As George approached, tucking his penis in again,  Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever fresh hell the twins had concocted. George groaned and the battered old van creaked in time with his forceful movements. Sweat beaded on George's furrowed brow as he swung his hip determinedly, ignoring Malfoy's increasingly agitated state.

"Ahhhhhh…Stop, Stop, STOP AT ONCE!" Malfoy wailed, his bound hands clenched so tightly that his nails gouged painful crescents into his palms.

Malfoy's face had turned an alarming shade of crimson and he seemed utterly lost to himself, shaking his head back and forth in an endless, frantic motion. His bare toes curled and flexed spasmodically against the cracked vinyl mat. "Something is strange! Terribly amiss! " Malfoy shrieked, his tones edged with panic as he scrabbled weakly at George's forearm with his restrained fingers, trying to get the redhead's attention.

George barely registered Malfoy's protestations, too engrossed in his wicked ministrations to heed the Slytherin's warnings. He continued his relentless erotic onslaught until Malfoy convulsed violently, wracked by shudders like a man possessed. Then, as suddenly as it began, Malfoy fell still and silent, collapsing bonelessly against the threadbare upholstery like a marionette with its strings cut, as if the unholy magics animating him had finally fled his spent and satiated form.

But soon, Fred noticed a small puddle of liquid pooling in the depression on Malfoy‘s abdomen and belly button. With piqued curiosity, he dipped his finger into the substance, lifting it up to his eyes to observe it more closely. As he studied the glistening drop on his fingertip, Fred's eyes widened in amazement and he marveled aloud, "Blimey, what've we got here? male ejaculation？！”

Malfoy didn’t listen to him, slumped against the mat, utterly depleted of strength and willpower. He raised his head weakly, pale eyes darting between the identical faces of the Weasley twins looming over him. "Please..." Malfoy croaked, his voice cracking with desperation, "Can't you just...let me go..."

George shook his head, an unsympathetic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry mate, you hadn't quite answered the question correctly," George replied evenly, taking a step back from Malfoy's prone form and gesturing for Fred to take his place.

Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably, his lower lip trembling, cheeks flushing with humiliation as he stammered, "I...I really must get out of here..." he pleaded, blinking rapidly as tears began to well up and spill down his flushed cheeks. 

His voice wavered and cracked with emotion, a mixture of shyness at his predicament and mounting anxiety."I told you right from the start...I really need to pee..."

Fred smirked and gave the leash a firm tug, jerking Malfoy closer to him so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"And we told you right from the start," he reminded the quivering boy, his tone laced with wicked amusement, "If you needed to take a leak that badly, you're welcome to just do it right here and now."

With that, Fred slipped a finger into his hole. After adjusting it slightly, he aimed his cock at his hole, swung his hips, and began to fuck his ass.

“No......,” Malfoy sobbed, letting out a low whimper as Fred fucked him.

His bladder began to spasm and his urine flowed out uncontrollably, slashing across his stomach to pool in a puddle on the picnic mat, “I'm so sorry...” and embarrassed and embarrassed, Malfoy turned red and tried to shield his face with his hands, but inexorably, his hands were under Fred's control as well.

It wasn't until Fred and George finally spilled their cum all over his face and chest that the 'watery' sex finally ended.

“It's time to finish.” George said, “Yes, we're satisfied.” Fred responded.

_______________________________________________________

There was a flash of white light and the image on the camera disappeared. Fred and George stood in their room, holding the camera and looking at each other.

"That was a bloody brilliant dream... First time I've ever watched my own shag from the sidelines," George remarked.

"Too right, first time I've spectated yours as well," Fred responded.

"There's something special about recording your own sexual experiences. Definitely an untapped market for wizards," George said with a raised eyebrow, sensing a new business opportunity.  

"It was just a dream though..." Fred emphasized, eyeing George.

"No, it wasn't. This contraption only records memories, not fantasies. So..." George insisted, confident he knew his invention inside and out.

"But this can't be something that actually happened..." Fred countered.

"Magic or witchcraft could be involved, but my device only captures real memories," George maintained, taking the camera from Fred.

"Our device, you mean," Fred corrected. "And maybe our brilliant invention has developed new functions we aren't aware of yet. Like how the 'electric shock fake finger' turned into the 'bonbon tickle stick'."

"George! Fred! Your mum's been hollering for you for five minutes!" Arthur's voice came through the door. 

Angrily, he pushed open the door to find his twin sons - one sitting at his desk flipping through an old magazine, the other nestled under the covers looking freshly woken from a nap.

"Fred's having a kip, Dad," George explained, setting down the magazine.

"It's only eight o'clock! Much too early for bed! Go help your mum with the cake!" 

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Dad. The doctor said you need to keep a cheery disposition," Fred said, rubbing his eyes as he got up from bed. He slowly made his way downstairs with his brother.

Arthur glanced at the magazine George had placed on the table. The cover featured a sexy blonde woman, her bare back draped with long, straight hair. Her green dress with fish scale trim hugged the curves of her beautiful bum.

"Oi! What kind of rubbish are they reading?!" he exclaimed, snatched up the magazine, and tossed it in the rubbish bin.

Chapter Text

8*Harry was determined to come out on top

In the bustling Weasley household, bickering among the siblings was a familiar occurrence. The lively exchanges and heated debates were as much a part of their daily lives as the laughter and love they shared. But now the twins, Fred and George, were particularly intrigued by their younger brother Ron's recent troubles.

George, with a serious expression on his face, firmly said,

“I’m telling you, Freddie,” his brow furrowed in concentration as he tinkered with his latest invention, "this machine is designed to record reality, not some overactive imagination."

Fred leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "But what if it's not just a dream? What if it's something more... sinister?"

George set down his tools and turned to face his twin. "You think this has something to do with Malfoy’s trick?” His eyes widened as a thought struck him. "You don't think Ron's dream is reality, do you? And our twisted fantasy?"

George shook his head, a disgusted expression on his face. "Who gets back at their enemies by 'shagging himselves' like that? I mean, Malfoy's a right foul git, but he's not completely mental."

The twins fell into a heated debate, their voices rising and falling as they argued back and forth. George gesticulated wildly, nearly knocking over his precious invention in the process. Fred paced the room, his hands running through his hair as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Look," Fred finally said, his tone serious, "we need to get to the bottom of this... for Ron's sake…or whatever…”

George nodded in agreement. "oh wise one, so, how do you propose we do that?"

A mischievous grin spread across Fred's face. "Simple. We get Harry to do a little reconnaissance for us. With the Marauder's Map."

"Brilliant!" George exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Harry can keep an eye on Malfoy, see if he's up to anything suspicious."

Fred clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Exactly. And if Malfoy is behind this, we'll make sure he regrets ever messing with our little brother."

The twins shared a determined look, their earlier disagreement forgotten in the face of their newfound purpose. "Right then," George said, rubbing his hands together, "let's go find Harry and fill him in on Operation: Ferret Face."

Fred chuckled, shaking his head at his brother's antics. "You really need to work on your codenames, mate."

As the twins set off to find Harry, their steps full of purpose, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of unraveling this mystery. The game was on, and the Weasley twins were determined to start a new mischief.

Harry sat across from Ron in the cozy living room of the Weasley home, a chessboard laid out between them. Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, but after suffering his third defeat in a row, he leaned back with a sigh of frustration.

"I give up, Ron," Harry said, running a hand through his messy black hair. "I can't seem to focus today. My memories and dreams are all jumbled up, and my brain feels like it's been hit by a Bludger."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, the twins came bounding into the room, their faces alight with mischief and purpose.

"Harry, mate, come with us," Fred said, grabbing Harry by the arm and hauling him to his feet. "We need your help with something."

"And bring the Marauder's Map," George added, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We want to check on a certain Slytherin's whereabouts."

Harry hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the worn piece of parchment. He tapped it with his wand, muttering the familiar phrase: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly, the map came to life, ink spreading across the surface like a spider's web. The twins huddled around it, their eyes scanning the intricate lines and labels.

"There he is!" Fred exclaimed, pointing to a small dot labeled "Draco Malfoy" in Diagon Alley. "Mischief managed," he said with a grin, tapping the map once more and watching as it went blank.

The twins turned their attention back to Harry, their expressions growing more serious. "What's going on with your memories and dreams, Harry?" George asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I've been practicing Occlumency with Snape. He thinks Voldemort might be trying to invade my mind, manipulating my thoughts and emotions."

Fred and George exchanged a meaningful look before Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, green egg. He pressed it into Harry's palm, his eyes alight with determination.

"We've got an idea, Harry. Next time you see Malfoy, slip this into his bag. It might give us a clue about what he's up to."

Harry studied the egg curiously, turning it over in his hands. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. "Did you two make this?" he asked, looking up at the twins with a raised eyebrow.

George grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Nah, Mate. We nicked it."

————————————————————

Draco was on the brink of insanity, his heart nearly stopping as he obsessively replayed his daring bluff from the past few days.

He repeatedly chewed over the words he had spoken, unable to fathom that he had actually addressed Harry Potter in such a manner.

It was true that he had attempted this sort of toe-curling teasing before, but his targets had been Theodore and Neville, and even then, only amid virtual.

Harry Potter said, “Get out of the way or I'll kiss you." 

The scene played on a relentless loop in Draco's mind, like a piece of chewing gum lodged in his throat, suffocating his thoughts. He felt as though his brain was starved of oxygen, desperately crying out for relief.

In an attempt to banish these intrusive thoughts, Draco paced restlessly around his room. He resolved to focus on practicing the spells assigned for today's class, immersing himself in his homework until the night had completely enveloped the room. Realizing the late hour, he reluctantly tore himself away from his studies to take a shower and prepare for bed.

Draco emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair clinging to his forehead.  With a flick of his wand, he transformed the appearance of his dormitory into a replica of his bedroom at home.  The familiar surroundings brought a sense of comfort, and he let out a contented sigh as he surveyed the room. For a moment, he could almost imagine he was back at Malfoy Manor, free from the pressures and expectations that weighed heavily upon him at school.

The school strictly prohibited the installation of functional fireplaces after an unfortunate incident in which a student accidentally set an entire room ablaze.  Fortunately, this illusory space satisfied Draco's craving for a fireplace, allowing him to bask in its warmth after his bath—undoubtedly one of his favorite perks of being a Slytherin prefect.

Draco approached his cabinet, his eyes scanning the collection of perfumes.  His gaze landed on the nearly empty orange bottle that Cedric had given him.

Draco had developed a habit of using that particular perfume to help him sleep each night.  The scent had become a source of comfort, a reminder of happier times spent with Cedric.  But as he reached for the bottle, a pang of sadness and regret washed over him.  The memories of their brief but intense relationship flooded his mind, and he felt a lump form in his throat.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the bottle, before decisively tossing it into the rubbish bin.  The act felt like a form of closure, or perhaps a way to reconcile with himself.  As the bottle clattered against the bottom of the bin, Draco felt a sense of release.  

Instead, Draco selected a woody-scented perfume, hoping that the natural aroma would help him to sleep. However, despite his efforts, sleep eluded him. He lay in bed for what felt like an eternity, his mind still racing with thoughts of Harry Potter and the consequences of his actions.

————————————————————

Unable to bear the restlessness any longer, Draco sat up, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace. He stared blankly into the mesmerizing glow, his thoughts consumed by the events of the past few days and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Draco carefully selected a woody-scented perfume from his collection, hoping that the natural, earthy aroma would help keep him alert and prevent him from succumbing to sleep. However, despite his best efforts, he found himself lying awake for an extended period, his mind racing with thoughts that refused to be silenced.

Frustrated and restless, he sat up in bed, his eyes drawn to the fireplace. To his amazement, the flames suddenly flickered to life, casting a warm, dancing glow throughout the room.

"Come out, Harry Potter," Draco said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to dissipate into the air, lacking the necessary volume to carry across the space. Sighing, he realized he needed to be more assertive. Taking a deep breath, he raised his voice and repeated the command with greater conviction.

Answering his call, Harry Potter emerged from the fireplace, stepping away from the flames with an ethereal grace. The firelight enveloped him, creating the illusion that his entire body was radiating a soft, otherworldly glow.

Draco rose from the bed with a fluid grace, his movements purposeful and deliberate. He strutted towards Harry, his steps measured and confident, closing the distance between them with each stride. As he approached, Draco extended his arm, reaching out to place his hand on Harry's shoulder. His slender fingers gripped the fabric of Harry's robes firmly, the warmth of his touch seeping through the material.

Their eyes locked, and Draco found himself staring directly into Harry's mesmerizing peacock-blue pupils. The flickering firelight danced within them, casting playful shadows that added depth and intensity to their already striking color. Draco felt as though he could lose himself in those eyes, drawn in by their magnetic pull.

"Potter," Draco whispered, his voice low and filled with a mixture of anticipation. "What are you doing here?"

Harry swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Draco's face and the hands on his shoulders. "I... I don't know," he stammered. "I just …felt like I needed to be here."

“Yes, you did,” Draco said, noticing a whirlwind of emotions swirling in Harry's eyes, a mixture of confusion and panic. 

Draco took a deliberate step back, his hands still firmly grasping Harry's shoulders as he guided him towards the bed. Harry stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the sudden movement, feeling as though he was being yanked by the neck as they reached the edge of Draco's bed.

The bed is crafted from the finest walnut wood, its rich, warm hues and intricate carvings exuded an air of luxury and refinement. As they approached, Harry noticed that the bed seemed to be saturated with Draco's distinctive scent—a captivating blend of woody notes that perfectly complemented the bed's natural aroma.

Draco's hands slowly slid from Harry's shoulders, trailing up his neck until they came to rest on either side of his face. Harry swallowed hard, his pulse quickening at the intimate contact. He could feel Draco's breath, hot and heavy against his skin, as the blond pulled him closer.

With a sudden, forceful tug, Draco brought Harry down onto the bed. Draco landed on his back with a soft thud and faced Harry, while Harry's hands were on either side of Draco's head, supporting his own weight. The silken sheets beneath Draco were cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from Draco's body beneath him.

Harry's heart raced, a mixture of anticipation and nerves coursing through his veins. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Draco's intense gaze, those piercing grey eyes seeming to bore into his very soul. The air between them crackled with an electric tension, the weight of unspoken desires and long-suppressed emotions threatening to overwhelm them both.

Draco's hands remained firmly wrapped around Harry's neck, his thumbs gently caressing the sensitive skin just below his jawline. The touch sent shivers down Harry's spine, igniting a fire within him that he had never known existed. He found himself arching into Draco's touch, craving more of the intoxicating sensation.

As they lay there, chest to chest, their bodies pressed tightly together, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn of events. He had never imagined that he would find himself in this position, trapped with Draco Malfoy, his once-rival holding him captive in the most tantalizing way possible.

Draco's breathing grew more labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to maintain control. His eyes roamed over Harry's face, drinking in every detail as if trying to memorize this moment forever. Gazed at Harry, Draco's heart raced as his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and trepidation. For the first time, he was going to make kissing sexual. Inevitably, he tensed up and leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Harry's lips.

It was a moment he had dreamed of countless times, a fantasy that had haunted his nights and consumed his waking thoughts. And now, here he was, mere inches away from making that dream a reality.

With a surge of courage, Draco closed the remaining distance between them, pressing his lips to Harry's in a soft, tentative kiss.  It was a gentle touch at first, a whisper of skin against skin as if he were afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Harry's eyes fluttered closed, his body initially tensing at the unexpected contact. But as Draco's lips moved against his own, a wave of warmth and desire washed over him.

Like ice cubes being dropped into boiling water, Harry's brain was filled with the noise of melting ice cubes cracking. Harry felt himself melt into the kiss and was about to burst. Harry responded to Draco's kiss, entwining his tongue with his. Harry couldn't help but kiss Draco's neck, greedily breathing in his warm, woody scent.

Then, Harry thrust his knee between Draco's legs and forcefully spread his legs apart. Draco didn't resist, just obediently spread his legs and allowed Harry to press his hot erection against his pubic bone. The sizzling contact caused Harry to involuntarily wiggle his hips. The swollen, burning heat between Harry's legs kept rubbing against Draco's bulge, and all Draco could do was wrap his legs around Harry's waist.

As Harry's kiss dropped on, Draco’s body went crazy, and the world around them seemed to fade away. An intoxicating rush of pleasure traveled through Draco’s body, leaving him almost overwhelmed. The crackling of the fire, and the rustling of the sheets beneath them, all became distant echoes, drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the soft sighs that escaped his lips.

Harry's hands slid down Draco's head, along the sides of his neck, and over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his body as if committing them to memory. Harry's tousled hair brushed against Draco's ear, the soft strands tickling the sensitive skin with a slight tickling sensation that sent shivers through Draco's body, creating pleasure coursing through his veins. 

Emboldened by Harry's response, Draco grew more passionate, his action becoming more urgent and demanding.  He nipped at Harry's Earlobes, eliciting a gasp of surprise and desire from the dark-haired boy. Draco’s hands came up to tangle in 's hair, pulling him closer, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between their bodies.

The rosy flush that had begun to creep up Draco's cheeks now spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of his nightgown. The delicate silk fabric clung to his skin, accentuating the heat that radiated from his body.

As Harry's gaze traveled along the path of the blush, Draco's breath hitched in his throat. He parted his lips, attempting to speak, but only a subdued murmur escaped him. The sound was barely audible, a faint whisper that hung in the air between them. 

There was a vulnerability in Draco's expression, a fear that seemed to grip him. It was as if he believed that any sound, any word spoken too loudly, might shatter the delicate balance of their encounter and drive Harry away. His fingers trembled slightly as they rested against Harry's chest, a silent plea for him to stay.

As the soft, muffled murmur that escaped Draco's lips reached Harry's ears, he felt his nerves come alive, like a live wire crackling with electricity. Harry's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. 

In a sudden, decisive movement, Harry straightened his posture. He exuded an air of determined aggression,  tugged at the garment, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the expanse of his toned chest and abdomen.

Draco's eyes were half-lidded, as he gazed at Harry's exposed torso. His gaze languidly traveled from Harry's chest, taking in the defined contours and the way the firelight cast flickering shadows across his skin. Draco's attention drifted lower, settling on Harry's abdomen, where the beginnings of muscle definition hinted at the physical changes that adolescence had brought.

Compared to his peers, Harry's physique already possessed a more sculpted appearance. The lines and planes of his developing muscles were accentuated by the warm glow of the flames, creating an enticing interplay of light and shadow across his skin. 

Unable to resist the temptation, Draco reached out, his slender fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over Harry's side. Draco's fingers traced delicate patterns across the exposed skin of his neck and collarbone. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent as if he was worshipping every inch of Harry's being. His hands roamed over Harry's back, his fingers digging into the lean muscles, desperate to anchor himself to something solid, something real. 

A longing stirred within Draco, an overwhelming desire to wrap his arms around Harry's waist, to feel the solid presence of his body against his own. He yearned to pull Harry closer, to eliminate any remaining distance between them and lose himself in the intimacy of their embrace.

However, before Draco could fulfill his desire, Harry's quick reflexes kicked in. With lightning speed, Harry's hand shot out, grasping both of Draco's wrists in a firm grip. In one swift motion, he raised Draco's arms above his head, pinning them in place. "Unh!" Draco let out a surprised gasp escaping his lips, as he found himself suddenly restrained.

Despite Draco's halfhearted attempt to free himself, Harry maintained his hold, his fingers tightening around Draco's wrists. The action sent a thrill through Draco's body, a mixture of excitement and surrender washing over him. He stared up at Harry, his chest heaving with each rapid breath, as he waited to see what would happen next.

Harry's eyes bore into Draco's, his grip remained unwavering, a silent assertion of his dominance, while Draco's body trembled with anticipation, secretly reveling in the sensation of being at Harry's mercy.

In a bold move, Harry reached out and placed his hands on Draco's arms, his fingers gently brushing against the soft fabric of Draco's shirt, and unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly, he began to slide his fingers down the length of Draco's arms, armpits, and flanks, his touch light and deliberate. As his fingertips reached Draco's armpits, he paused for a moment, his gaze locked with Draco’s, and then he yanked Draco's pajama pants.

Harry closed the remaining distance between them, his hands finding their way to Draco's waist. He pulled Draco closer, their bodies pressed against each other as he captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss. 

It was a battle for dominance, a clash of wills and desires, and Harry was determined to come out on top.

Draco's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He hadn't expected Harry to be so direct and forward in his actions. A faint blush crept up Draco's cheeks, and he averted his gaze for a brief moment as if trying to compose himself.

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Draco asked, his voice wavering slightly despite his efforts to maintain a cool demeanor.

Harry leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Draco's ear as he whispered, "Taking control, Malfoy. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Draco swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He seemed to be struggling to maintain his usual image of confidence and superiority. With a soft cough, he attempted to regain his composure and moved back, breaking free from Harry's embrace.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter," Draco said, his voice regaining its familiar condescending tone. He quickly smoothed out his hair, ensuring that every strand was perfectly in place. "But if you insist on playing these games, then perhaps we should change positions."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Change positions?"

Draco met Harry's gaze, his grey eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and desire. Draco's lips landed between Harry's pectoral muscles and abdominal furrows, leaving feather-light pecks.  Each kiss was precise and deliberate, like a bird meticulously pecking at a single grain of wheat, savoring every morsel.

With a fluid motion, Draco reached for Harry’s pants and pulled them down, casually flinging them aside. His eyes met Harry's, sharp and intense as if silently declaring his dominance over the space they shared. 

A smug grin tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth as he slowly lowered his head, his blond hair falling forward to frame his chiseled features. He paused for a moment, hovering just inches away from Harry's erection, his breath hot against Harry's skin, ready to claim what he believed to be rightfully his.

Through the fabric of Harry's underwear, he rubbed his face against Harry's sex organ, and lightly contained the tip of Harry's glans. Draco lifted his gaze, trying to observe Harry's face, curious to gauge his reaction to the sensual onslaught so far.   He watched Harry intently, taking in every nuance of his expression and body language.

Harry's cheeks were flushed a deep pink, his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones as he kept his eyes screwed tightly shut, sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as if trying to block out the intensity of the sensations. 

He took Harry's cock out of his underwear and examined it for a few moments in silence, ultimately choosing not to swallow the stiff rod, but instead sticking out his tongue and delicately licking it from the root to the tip. His lips finally left the red tip of the shaft with a lustful ‘boop’ sound.

Harry shivered and kept taking deep breaths to suppress his impending eruption of desire. His hands were clenched into fists, one hand gripping the sheet and the other gripping Draco's hand, his arms bursting with bruises from the exertion.

A thrill raced down Draco's spine at the sight of Harry coming undone beneath him.   He was the one reducing the usual calm, collected Golden boy to a quivering, panting mess.  Draco felt a surge of heady satisfaction and pride that his touches, his lips, and his skillful seduction had such a profound effect on the great Harry Potter.

"Look at you," Draco murmured, trailing a finger down Harry's sternum. "Practically melting for me already.    I've barely even started with you yet."

Draco smirked, smugness radiating from every pore.    He was going to enjoy this, taking Harry apart piece by piece.  And he was just getting started. Draco lowered his mouth back to Harry's overheated skin, determined to drive him wild.

Harry's eyelids fluttered open, revealing slivers of his striking emerald green eyes that peeked out from under heavy lids. "Draco..." he breathed, his normal voice becoming even lower and more gravelly.

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name on Harry's lips. He gazed down at the dark-haired man, taking in the sight of his sleep-mussed hair and the intensity smoldering in those green depths as they watched him intently. Harry had clearly opened his eyes for some time, observing Draco's every move.

A flush crept up Draco's pale neck as he realized Harry had caught him staring. Feeling uncharacteristically under that penetrating gaze, Draco made to pull away.

But as he attempted to put some distance between them, Harry's fingers gripping his wrist tightened their hold, refusing to let him go. "Don't," Harry whispered, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, and his voice rough with an undercurrent of need,“Come here. Sit on me.”

The heat of his skin seemed to burn against Draco's cooler flesh where they touched. No more words passed between them, but the message in Harry's grip was clear. Unable and unwilling to resist the unspoken command, Draco let himself be tugged forward. His body moved of its own accord and allowed himself to be tugged forward, closing the distance between them.

Harry moved closer, positioning himself between Draco's legs. With a gentle pull from Harry, Draco found himself sitting on top of Harry's belly, his legs forcibly opened over.  It was a little awkward, Draco could feel the warmth radiating off the other man, his body molding itself to the hard thing beneath him. 

Stumbling for a moment, Draco wiggled his hips a little awkwardly, feeling the sizzling heat radiating from the firm rod against his tailbone, almost sliding into him.

——————————————————————

Draco's breathing turned ragged as anticipation thrummed through his veins.  He was at a loss, every nerve ending in his body was alive, attuned to Harry's every movement.  He watched as Harry's gaze raked over him, taking in every inch of his form with an intensity that made Draco shiver.

Right now, he was about to have sex with Harry Potter. Despite his preparation, the sudden intensity of Harry's stare caught him off guard, causing his body to tense up. His muscles stiffened, and his legs trembled uncontrollably, betraying his growing anxiety.

In an attempt to calm his nerves and regain some semblance of composure, Draco raised his hand to his arse. With two fingers, he gently stamped in his hole, loosening it slightly, hoping that the action would help his body relax and feel more at ease with the situation.

As Harry began to move, his gaze remained fixed on Draco, boring into him like a searing flame. The intensity of Harry's stare was overwhelming, and Draco felt as though his head might explode from the mounting pressure. It was as if a kettle within him was on the verge of boiling over, the steam threatening to burst forth at any moment.

Harry's gaze seemed to scorch Draco's skin, causing a prickly sensation that made him squirm with discomfort. Where Harry's fingers made contact with Draco's body, the skin felt as though it was glowing, radiating an intense heat that threatened to leave it parched and cracked.

Unable to bear the weight of Harry's stare any longer, Draco spoke up, his voice laced with a hint of sheepishness, "Let me turn around..." Harry, although still maintaining his intense gaze, acknowledged Draco's request and loosened his grip on Draco's thigh, allowing him to shift his position.

As Draco turned his back to Harry, no longer subjected to the scorching intensity of Harry's gaze, Draco's mood began to settle. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with air as he sought to center himself. 

With a newfound sense of determination, Draco reached behind him, his hand finding Harry's firm arousal. He adjusted his position with Harry's movements, aligning his hole with Harry's cock. And then, slowly sat on it.

Draco and Harry's bodies aligned perfectly, their movements synchronized as they came together in a passionate embrace. There was no resistance or awkwardness - they fit together seamlessly as if they were made for each other.

The intensity of the sensations coursing through Draco's body was electric, causing him to tremble uncontrollably from head to toe. It felt as if bolts of lightning were surging through his veins, igniting every nerve ending with a fierce, exhilarating energy.

Draco's legs grew weak, threatening to give out under the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure. Desperately seeking stability, he reached out and grasped Harry's muscular thighs, his fingers digging into the firm flesh as he clung on for dear life. Harry's skin was warm and slightly damp with sweat under his palms.

As wave after wave of blissful ecstasy crashed over him, Draco felt as if he might drown in the sheer intensity of it all. His mind raced, seeking some means of escape, yearning for a brief respite to catch his breath and regain his bearings. But there was no relief to be found - he was utterly consumed by the rapturous sensations that held him captive.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he surrendered himself completely to the exquisite pleasure that engulfed him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and colors burst behind his eyelids as he teetered on the brink of absolute euphoria, lost to everything but Harry and the incredible feeling of their joined bodies moving as one.

Harry's strong hands gripped Draco's shoulders, forcefully pushing him down onto the bed. Caught off guard by the sudden shift in position, Draco found himself lying face down, his body pressed into the soft mattress.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise as he instinctively reached out, his fingers frantically grasping at the sheets beneath him. The fabric bunched in his fists as he tried to anchor himself, his mind reeling from the unexpected change in dynamic.

Before Draco could fully process what was happening, he felt Harry's fingers close around the back of his neck. Harry's grip was firm, his thumb and forefinger applying a steady pressure that sent a shiver down Draco's spine. 

As Harry's hips swayed, his cock growled like a monster inside Draco's body. Draco felt his brain begin to tingle, his breathing became difficult, and his skin became more and more sensitive. The sensation was both thrilling and unnerving, a tangible reminder of Harry's dominance and control.

"Turn around," Harry commanded, his voice low and authoritative. The words hung heavy in the air between them, leaving no room for argument or defiance.

Draco's heart raced as he registered the unmistakable note of power in Harry's tone. A mix of anticipation and trepidation swirled within him, his body torn between the desire to submit and an instinctive urge to resist.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Draco began to shift his body, the sheets rustling softly as he turned to face Harry.

As he settled onto his back, Draco's gaze lifted to meet Harry's, his breath hitching in his throat at the intensity he saw reflected in those emerald eyes. There was a hunger there, a raw, undeniable need that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through Draco's veins.

The air between them crackled with tension, Draco swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he waited with bated breath to see what Harry would do next. Even though Draco hadn't touched his cock yet, his cock was already standing erect and pestled against the small of his back. His skin prickled with goosebumps as he lay there, exposed and vulnerable, completely.

Draco's hand trembled slightly as he reached out, his fingers tentatively grazing the side of Harry's neck. The gentle touch was an unspoken invitation, a silent plea for Harry to close the distance between them and capture his lips in a kiss. Draco's eyes flickered to Harry's mouth, his own lips parting slightly in anticipation.

Draco's hand trembled slightly as he reached out, his fingers tentatively grazing the side of Harry's neck. The gentle touch was an unspoken invitation, a silent plea for Harry to close the distance between them and capture his lips in a kiss. Draco's eyes flickered to Harry's mouth, his lips parting slightly in anticipation. They getting closer and closer, finally melt into a deep kiss.

Emboldened by the intimate moment, Draco let his hand trail down Harry's neck, coming to rest on his broad chest. He could feel the steady thrum of Harry's heartbeat beneath his palm, the rhythmic pulsing a reassuring presence in the charged atmosphere.

But the tender moment was short-lived. Without warning, Harry's hand shot out, his fingers slipping up from Draco's flank to his underbelly and then wrapping around Draco's cock in an iron grip. With a sharp motion, he swatted Draco's cock away from his belly, and swung his back, letting his hardness sink deep into Draco's body.

Before Draco could groaned aloud, Harry's hand closed around his throat, the pressure sudden and intense. Draco's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his chest as Harry's fingers dug into the delicate skin of his neck.

Panic surged through Draco's body as he struggled to draw in air, his lungs burning with the effort. His hands scrabbled at Harry's wrist, desperately trying to pry away the unyielding fingers that were cutting off his oxygen supply.

For some unknown reason, Draco felt his cock rise and ache. He had to reach down and handle the passionate masher to ease the feeling. As he moved his hand faster and faster, the sensation of ejaculation swept through Draco's entire body.

Immediately afterward, Draco felt an orgasm sweep over him like a tidal wave, followed by an intense choking sensation. Their bodies were still intimately connected as they rode the waves of their shared ecstasy. 

Harry's chest heaved as he gasped for air, his lungs burning with the effort to keep up with the intense physical exertion. Despite the exertion, his hips never ceased their rhythmic motion, driving into Draco with a relentless, unwavering pace that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through both their bodies.

Just when Draco thought he might pass out from the lack of air, Harry's grip loosened. Draco gasped, his chest heaving as he gulped in deep, ragged breaths. His throat felt raw and bruised, the skin tender from the brutal pressure of Harry's fingers.

The room was filled with the sounds of their labored breathing and the soft rustle of sheets, Draco could feel the searing heat between them gradually subsiding, the initial scorching intensity giving way to a warm, comforting glow. However, even as the temperature cooled, the aftershocks of their climax continued to ripple through his body, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm involuntarily.

Draco's fingers remained tightly entwined in the sheets, gripping the fabric like a lifeline as he rode out the residual waves of pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the sensations that still danced along his nerve endings, savoring every last flicker of bliss.

As Harry's movements began to slow, Draco let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to relax into the mattress. He could feel the weight of Harry's body pressing down on him, the warm puffs of Harry's breath tickling the back of his neck as they both struggled to catch their breath.

Draco feels the searing heat gradually subsiding, the initial scorching intensity giving way to a comforting glow. However, even as the temperature cooled, the aftershocks of their climax continued to ripple through his body, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm involuntarily.

Draco's fingers remained tightly entwined in the sheets, gripping the fabric like a lifeline as he rode out the residual waves of pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the sensations that still danced along his nerve endings, savoring every last flicker of bliss as Harry ejaculated semen on his stomach and rubbed his dick against his own softened dick.

As he lay there, panting and shaking, Draco's mind reeled with a jumble of conflicting emotions. The line between pain and pleasure had been blurred, leaving him feeling disoriented and unsettled. He didn't even feel like Harry had shot above his belly but inside his body.

As Harry's movements began to slow, Draco let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to relax into the mattress. He could feel the weight of Harry's body pressing down on him, the warm puffs of Harry's breath tickling the back of his neck as they both struggled to catch their breath.

A sense of calm gradually settled over them, the frenzied urgency of their coupling giving way to a deep, sated contentment. Draco turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Harry's face out of the corner of his eye. Harry's expression was soft, and noticed Draco was looking at him, Harry dropped a kiss on his lips.

————————————————————————————

After a moment's respite, Draco turned to face Harry, his eyes narrowing as he spoke, "Disappear, Harry Potter."

Harry blinked, confusion etched across his features, his green eyes searching Draco's face for any hint of understanding. "What?"

"I said you can disappear," Draco repeated, his tone growing more impatient.

Harry glanced around the room, his brow furrowed with the sudden change in Draco's attitude. He slowly stood up, his naked body exposed, and asked hesitantly, "I need my trousers. Where have you put them?"

Draco rolled his eyes, exasperation evident in his voice. "You're just an illusion. You don't need trousers! You can disappear as much as you want..."

Harry's eyes widened, and he took a step forward, his voice firm,"What? I'm not an illusion. I'm Harry Potter."

"...What the bloody hell are you talking about? "Draco's mouth fell open, and he stared at Harry in disbelief, his mind reeling as he struggled to comprehend the situation. "This is an imaginary space. You're just an illusion that I've conjured up."

Harry shook his head, his expression growing more perplexed. "I'm an illusion? No... I'm a real person... there's no way for me to just disappear..."

Realisation dawned on Draco's face, and he stumbled backwards, his legs suddenly feeling weak. His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief. "You mean...? You're the real Harry Potter?" He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes wide with panic. "NO. This can't be happening. I need to end this spell."

With a wave of his wand, the enchanted space vanished, but to Draco's shock, Harry Potter remained standing before him. Draco's eyes widened, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to comprehend the truth.

Harry, seeing the panic and confusion in Draco's expression, opened his mouth to explain, but then hesitated. Harry attempted to move himself closer to the fireplace, in order to pick up the invisibility cloak that had fallen on the floor.

He looked down, biting his lip nervously before speaking softly, "And... you were the one who invited me to do... that..."

Draco's composure shattered, his face contorting with a mix of anger and desperation. "Then why the hell did you accept my invitation!!!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. Unable to face Harry any longer, Draco turned away abruptly, his shoulders shaking, "Just get out!” he shouted out, and wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to hold together the pieces of his broken composure.

As Draco stood there, his back turned to Harry, his mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The fact that he had just had sex with the real Harry Potter, the very person he had convinced himself was nothing more than an illusion, was almost too much to process. 

Chapter Text

9* Snape knows everything

As the sun rose over the castle, a house-elf quietly entered Snape's quarters, delivering a letter bearing the regal coat of arms of the House of Malfoy. With a gentle touch, Snape traced the embossed symbol before carefully slicing open the envelope with a silver letter opener. He stood by his bed, his dark eyes scanning the contents of the letter in silence. After a moment of contemplation, he waved his wand, and the letter burst into flames, its ashes drifting to the floor. 

Snape then turned his attention to preparing for his morning classes, even his mind still lingering on the words he had just read.

As he strode through the corridors, Snape heard a voice calling out to him. "Professor Snape!" He turned to see Blaise Zabini approaching, a look of uncertainty on his face. "What can I do for you?" Snape asked, his tone cold and disinterested.

Zabini shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting away momentarily. "Draco's not feeling well today and wants to take the day off," he explained. 

Snape hadn't intended to inquire about the reason for Draco's absence, but he suddenly recalled the letter from Mrs Malfoy earlier that morning, expressing concern about her son's well-being. Ultimately, he decided to ask more questions.

"Tell me the reason for his absence," Snape demanded. Zabini looked confused, stammering slightly. "Er... probably just nightmares or something..."

Snape raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr Zabini, do you think nightmares can be a reason for skiving off lessons?" He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, "Tell Mr Malfoy that I require a sick note from the hospital wing, or he will be marked as absent."

Zabini nodded, looking helpless. "All right..." he mumbled, turning to leave. Suddenly, Snape remembered another pressing matter and called out to him. "Mr Zabini..." he trailed off, his voice softening slightly. "Do you know why Mr Nott hasn't attended lessons all week?"

Zabini looked back, surprise etched on his face. "No, Professor, I don't," he replied. Snape studied Zabini's reaction, sensing the sincerity in his words. "Very well. Off you go to class," he said curtly, dismissing the student with a wave of his hand.

As the day wore on, Snape found himself rushing from one lesson to another, barely having a moment to catch his breath. The morning was filled with teaching the lower years, while the afternoon saw him tutoring the upper-year students for their upcoming O.W.L. exams. 

Just as he thought he might have a chance to grab a quick supper, a message arrived from Dumbledore, requesting his presence in the Headmaster's office. With a sigh of resignation, Snape made his way to the meeting, his mind still preoccupied with the mysterious absences of both Draco and Nott.

As Snape concluded his discussion with Dumbledore, he hurried through the throng of students preparing for their break, his mind focused on his next task: teaching Harry Occlumency, the very topic Dumbledore had just approached him about. Suddenly, a delirious-looking man bumped into him, catching Snape off guard.

To his surprise, the disoriented individual was none other than Harry himself. 

Snape quickly regained his composure and alerted Harry to his presence, instructing him to follow him to the Occlumency lesson. As they made their way to the classroom, Snape couldn't help but notice the dark circles under Harry's eyes and his highly strung demeanor, as if he had been up all night wrestling with his thoughts.

During the lesson, Harry struggled to maintain his concentration, his mind clearly elsewhere. Snape frowned, his displeasure evident on his face as he observed Harry's lack of focus. Determined to uncover the root of the problem, Snape attempted to invade Harry's consciousness, only to be met with a wall of stubborn resistance.

As Snape delved deeper into Harry's mind, he noticed a peculiar mixture of dream-like fragments, most of which were scattered and incomplete. However, amidst the broken memories, certain fragments stood out with startling clarity. To Snape's surprise, these vivid images revealed a dreamlike night Harry had spent with Draco. The unexpected revelation caused Snape to abruptly pause the Legilimency spell, his eyes widening in shock.

Harry's face flushed a deep shade of red, a mixture of exhaustion from his intense efforts to defend his mind and the realization that Snape had witnessed something deeply private and intimate. His heart raced as he grappled with the fact that his most closely guarded secret had been exposed.

Snape, having seen everything, remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed upon Harry as Harry squirmed under Snape's intense scrutiny.

Unable to bear the weight of Snape's gaze any longer, Harry's composure crumbled. "I've been dreaming! Dreaming about stuff like this! I don't know what's wrong with me!" he cried out, Harry's hands clenched into fists as he fought against the overwhelming desire to deny the events of the previous night, to convince himself that it had all been nothing more than a figment of his shattered dreams.

In that moment, faced with the undeniable truth of what Snape had witnessed in his mind, Harry found himself desperately clinging to the notion that everything that had transpired between him and Draco had been nothing more than a dream. It was a last-ditch effort to protect himself from the reality of his own feelings and the potential consequences of his actions.

Snape maintained his inscrutable expression as he continued to observe Harry, his dark eyes betraying none of his inner thoughts. 

"Your mind is in a state of chaos, Potter. It's no wonder you're struggling to control your thoughts and emotions," Snape finally spoke, his voice low and measured. He regarded Harry with an uncertain look, as if trying to gauge the extent of the turmoil within the boy's mind.

Harry, his thoughts jumbled and incoherent, struggled to find the words to express himself. "I don't know what's happening to me, Professor. I can't make sense of any of this,” the confusion and fear in his eyes were evident as he looked up at Snape, desperate for some kind of guidance or understanding.

Snape, however, merely shook his head. "You think too much and it eats away at you," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone suggesting that he intended to pretend he hadn't seen anything in Harry's memories. 

Harry, his body trembling and drenched in sweat, felt as though he might collapse at any moment. "Professor...please keep my secret," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. 

Snape regarded Harry for a long moment, then he spoke, his voice low and solemn. "I'm not that wicked," he assured.

With that, Snape turned to leave, his black robes billowing behind him as he strode towards the door. His mind was swimming with thoughts about what he had witnessed in Harry's memories, the implications of the young wizard's relationship with Draco, and the potential consequences that could arise from such a secret.

As he reached the threshold, Snape paused, glancing back at Harry over his shoulder. The young wizard stood there, his shoulders slumped and his face a mask of exhaustion and confusion. For a fleeting instant, Snape felt a twinge of something almost like sympathy for the boy, a recognition of the weight that Harry carried upon his young shoulders.

But then the moment passed, and Snape's expression hardened once more. With a curt nod, he swept out of the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and the echoes of the secrets that had been uncovered.

——————————————————————————————-

Early the next morning, Harry stumbled after Hermione and Ron, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and his mind still grappling with the events of the previous night. It was as if his very soul had been left behind, struggling to catch up with his physical form.

Harry's night had been plagued by restless thoughts and haunting visions, the intimate images of himself and Draco replaying in his mind like a never-ending loop. But it wasn't just the memories that kept him awake; it was the meaningful look Snape had given him after witnessing those private moments, a look that held unreadable meaning in those icy eyes. 

The uncertainty of what Snape might do with this knowledge filled Harry with a sense of dread that gnawed at his insides.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely registered the sudden impact as someone bumped into him. "Hey, Scarhead, watch where you're going," Draco's voice cut through the fog of Harry's mind like a bolt of lightning.

In an instant, Harry's senses were on high alert, his nerves buzzing with a frantic energy that felt like a tiny person running laps inside his skull. He spun around, his gaze locking onto Draco's face as the blond turned to look at him, with a pointing motions to his palm. It was only then that Harry noticed the small slip of paper Draco had pressed into his palm.

With a quick motion, Harry shoved the note deep into his pocket, his heart pounding as he prayed that Hermione and Ron hadn't noticed the exchange. Thankfully, his friends were too busy complaining about Draco's behavior to pay attention to the subtle interaction.

Throughout breakfast, Harry could feel the weight of the note burning a hole in his pocket, his curiosity and apprehension growing with each passing minute. As soon as he finished his meal, he made a hasty excuse about needing to study and slipped away to the library, desperate to read the message in private.

With trembling hands, Harry unfolded the small piece of paper, his eyes scanning the brief message scrawled in Draco's elegant script. It contained only a time - six o'clock that evening - and a classroom number. 

Harry's mind raced as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the cryptic note, his thoughts torn between the possibility of another prank and the desperate need for answers.

In the end, his curiosity won out.

 Harry found himself standing outside the designated classroom at the appointed time, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed open the door.

As Harry entered the room, he found Draco already there, waiting for him. The blond straightened up, his hands fidgeting nervously as he began to explain, his voice hesitant and uncertain. "That day... I invited you because... I thought it was all in my dream," Draco said, his eyes darting around the room, unable to meet Harry's gaze. "I mean, let me put it another way."

Draco took a deep breath, his cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink as he continued. "I've had dreams before, you see. Dreams where we were... intimate. So, at that time, I thought you were just a figment of my imagination, a hallucination conjured up by my subconscious..."

Harry's mind reeled as he tried to process Draco's words, his brow furrowed in confusion. "So, you're telling me... you've dreamt about doing those things with me before?" he asked slowly, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

"Erm..." Draco mumbled, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he struggled to find the right words. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Suddenly, Harry's confusion gave way to anger, his voice rising as he confronted Draco. "So, what exactly are you playing at?" he demanded, his tone sharp and accusing. "Nott is your boyfriend, but we did something like that! What sort of bloke do you take me for? I'm not like you Slytherins!"

Draco's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open in disbelief. "What the bloody hell! Nott? Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with incredulity as he tried to make sense of Harry's accusation.

"I saw you with Nott... and Zabini..." Harry pressed on, swallowing hard as the memories of the threesome he had witnessed threatened to overwhelm him.

Draco's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open in horror. "What? How did you even see that?" he demanded, his voice trembling slightly.

"I... I've sort of developed this ability recently," Harry stammered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he quickly tried to change the subject. "So he's not your boyfriend, then? Or your fiancé or whatever?"

Draco looked as if he might explode, his eyes rolling up to the sky in exasperation. "Merlin's beard, what the hell are we even talking about? He hasn't spoken to me in nearly half a year. Why on earth would there be such a ridiculous rumour?"

Harry fumbled for words, his gaze darting nervously around the room as he struggled to explain himself. "It's not a rumour, exactly..." he mumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It's more of a feeling I had..."

"Well, your feelings are clearly rubbish!" Draco practically shouted, his face flushing with anger as he stamped his foot in frustration.

A wave of guilt washed over Harry, and he squirmed uncomfortably under Draco's piercing gaze. "So... I'm the one who's supposed to take responsibility, then?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain.

Draco folded his arms tightly across his chest, his displeasure evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why are you acting like some sort of blushing virgin all of a sudden?"

Harry's heart thundered in his chest, his mind whirling as he struggled to make sense of everything that had transpired between them. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his brows knitting together in confusion, his eyes searching Draco's face for answers.

Draco let out a sigh, a hint of exasperation coloring his tone. "Is this your first time... you know... doing something like this?"

Harry's cheeks burned, and he quickly looked away, unable to meet Draco's gaze. "...... Yes, it is," he admitted, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

For the second time, Draco felt as if he might shatter into a million pieces. He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to maintain his composure.

"If you enjoyed what happened last time," Draco said, his entire body flushing a shade of red that rivaled Harry's, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke, "we could... you know... keep doing it. In secret, of course."

Harry's head snapped up, his eyes wide and disbelieving as the meaning of Draco's words slowly sank in. "You mean... we'd be secret lovers?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

"Call it whatever you like," Draco replied, his tone carefully nonchalant despite the way his heart pounded frantically in his chest, his palms growing damp with nervousness. "The point is, I don't want anyone else to know about this."

Suddenly, the memory of Snape's eyes flashed through Harry's mind, and he felt a surge of panic rising in his throat. "But..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

"But what?" Draco snapped, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You're not planning on telling your mudblood friends and those weasels, are you?”

“Hey! Don't call them that!" Harry retorted, his voice sharp with angry. "And how could you even think I'd tell them about something like this?"

"Well..." Draco said, averting his eyes as a hint of embarrassment crept into his voice. "It doesn't really matter what I call them, anyway."

The tension between them was palpable, the unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air as they stood there, staring at each other in silence. 

"Well, I'm off to take a shower," Draco announced, turning to leave. Suddenly, he felt Harry's hand wrap around his wrist, causing him to freeze in place.

Draco's words began to tumble out, his usual composure crumbling under Harry's touch. "I... I... I... I wasn't expecting… today... I was just going to have a normal shower… I didn't mean that..."

Harry held onto Draco's hand nervously, standing there at a loss for words, as if he didn't quite understand his own actions neither.

After a moment of stammering, Harry finally managed to voice the question that had been stuck in his throat. "I meant to ask... do we need some sort of secret code word? You know, to arrange our meetings?"

Flustered, Draco pulled his hand away from Harry's grasp, his cheeks burning as he fumbled in his pocket. He retrieved a small slip of paper and thrust it into Harry's hand, his movements clumsy and uncertain.

"Like this," Draco said, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "I'll let you know where and when. And you can contact me the same way..."

Harry unfolded the slip of paper, his eyes scanning the date and location written in Draco's elegant handwriting. As he watched the blond walk away, a sense of calm washed over him, and he couldn't help but smile as a realization struck him.

Actually, with the Marauder's Map, Harry could easily keep track of Draco's whereabouts. But there was something undeniably charming about the way they were passing notes back and forth, a sense of excitement and anticipation that m

Without thinking, Harry brought the slip of paper to his nose, inhaling deeply. 

Sure enough, the faint scent of Draco's room still clung to the parchment.

——————————————————————————————

Draco tossed and turned in his bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the day's events. Suddenly, a knock on the door startled him, and he froze, unsure of how to react, especially if it was Harry.

"Who's there?" Draco called out, his voice tense.

"It's me, Zabini," came the reply, and Draco felt a mixture of disappointment and relief wash over him.

With a wave of his wand, Draco opened the door and leaned back on his bed, eyeing Blaise with a disgruntled expression. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Blaise tossed a note onto Draco's face, smirking. "Is that any way to treat the guy who covered for you with Snape so you could take the day off?"

Draco sat up, frowning as he examined the note. "What's this? Why did the Professor mark me absent?"

Blaise sighed. "Snape wouldn't let you skip class. He said nightmares weren't a valid excuse."

Deflated and irritated, Draco slumped back on his bed. Blaise continued, "He also asked if I knew why Nott had been absent for so long."

At the mention of Nott's name, Draco's thoughts drifted back to Harry's misunderstanding, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes in disbelief. "Potter and his wild imagination," Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "As if I'd ever be involved with Nott."

Suddenly, Draco sat up, a thought occurring to him. "Blaise, about that spell you mentioned earlier..."

Blaise cocked his head, puzzled. Draco elaborated, "The one involving illusory space."

Blaise's eyes widened in realization, glancing at the rat bones in the corner of the room. Draco pressed on, "Is there any way to break that spell? How would someone else invade that imaginary space and see what's happening inside?"

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Blaise's mouth. "Why do you ask?"

"Can't you just tell me? I don't have the energy to sift through piles of information," Draco groaned, rolling his eyes.

Blaise shook his head. "I don't think there's a way to crack it," he said, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Unless the person is already inside the space."

With those cryptic words, Blaise fled the room, leaving Draco even more perplexed. Despite his confusion, Blaise's words had sparked a realization in Draco's mind.

Sleep eluded Draco as he lay in bed, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The thought of future secret meetings with Harry filled him with anticipation, but the need to keep their relationship hidden weighed heavily on his mind.

Moreover, Blaise's behavior and apparent knowledge of the situation troubled Draco. Combined with Harry’s knowing of his delusions involving Blaise and Theodore, a disturbing thought began to take shape in Draco's mind.

"What if I'm the only one who doesn't know the truth about all of this?" Draco wondered, his stomach churning at the possibility.

Shaking his head, Draco pulled the covers over his head, desperate to banish the thought from his mind. "Stop thinking about it. I need sleep," he muttered to himself, rummaging through his bedside table for a sleeping potion, hoping it would provide an escape from his worries.

Chapter Text

10* Draco knows nothing

Snape had been exceptionally preoccupied lately, acutely aware of Dumbledore's keen observation of his activities. He could sense the headmaster's attempts to gauge his loyalty, just as he knew the same scrutiny was being applied from the Dark Lord. For Snape, this constant probing and suspicion was nothing out of the ordinary; it had become a part of his daily life.

However, this heightened level of vigilance had effectively confined Snape to Hogwarts. He barely had a moment to spare, not even Apparition to the town for supplies. As a result, he found himself running low on crucial potion ingredients before he could remember to replenish them.

Seizing this opportunity, Snape requested an afternoon off from Dumbledore, planning to go Diagon Alley on Friday when the crowds would be thinner. He anticipated the brief respite from the suffocating atmosphere of the castle, a chance to breathe freely without the weight of watchful eyes upon him.

But before that, he had one more stop to make: the Malfoy Manor. Today, his intention was to visit Narcissa sole; there would be no other people involved. Snape's brow furrowed as he knew that this meeting would be crucial, and he steeled himself for whatever revelations or requests Narcissa might present to him.

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After his meeting with Narcissa at the Malfoy residence, Snape hastily made his way to London. Despite having left the house, he could still detect the lingering scent of the Malfoys' distinctive perfume clinging to his robes, causing him a slight discomfort. 

With a quick cleansing spell, he rid himself of the aroma and entered a flower and plant shop. His eyes darted around the shop, meticulously scanning the shelves for the specific ingredients he required. Snape's movements were swift and purposeful, driven by a sense of urgency to complete his errands and return to the sanctuary of his potions lab.

When he finished the shop's selection, and planed to leave, Snape encountered a familiar face: Arthur Weasley, who appeared to be shopping for a Christmas tree. Arthur's brows were knitted together as he carefully inspected each tree, his hand occasionally reaching out to test the firmness of the branches. 

"You seem to have recovered well," Snape remarked, approaching Arthur with a stiff greeting.

Arthur glanced at Snape, a hint of surprise flickering across his features before he regained his characteristic gentle expression. "Thanks to the hospital's excellent healing arts," he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's a pity neither of us had the energy to put up a Christmas tree on the day itself," Arthur continued, a touch of absentmindedness in his voice. "I had promised Molly I would replace our old one this year." As he examined the trees, Arthur asked, "How's your feud with Sirius going?" 

"I've never had an issue with him," Snape responded, his tone raw, as if the near-duel between him and Sirius in front of Harry had never occurred. 

After a lengthy pause, Snape continued slowly, "At least not as severe as your conflict with Malfoy." 

Arthur visibly shuddered at the mention of the name, his mild-mannered demeanor instantly evaporating. He shot Snape a displeased look, his lips pressing together in a thin line, while Snape's expression remained unchanged, a mask of indifference firmly in place.

The atmosphere grew tense, and although Arthur hadn't intended to argue with Snape, the mere mention of Malfoy's name had swept away his composure. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a physical manifestation of the anger and frustration that coursed through him.

Suddenly, Snape glanced behind Arthur as if he had noticed something. "Your family is back," he said, his voice low. "I hope you don't cross paths with Lucius Malfoy today." With that, Snape turned and swept away, his black, bat-like robes billowing behind him, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.

"Oh Merlin! Dad! Was that Professor Snape?" Charlie's excited voice snapped Arthur back to reality. He turned to face his second son, Charlie, and his wife, Molly. 

"I haven't seen Professor Snape's grumpy face in ages!" Charlie exclaimed. Despite the once-annoying teacher's demeanor, seeing Snape brought back fond memories of Charlie's youth at Hogwarts.

Molly, who had been busy purchasing decorations and food, approached them. "Honey, did he say anything to you?" she asked, her brow furrowed. She shifted the bags in her arms, her eyes searching Arthur's face for any hint of what had transpired between him and Snape.

"Oh... nothing, just pleasantries," Arthur replied, attempting to change the subject. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from Molly's probing gaze. Fortunately, Molly's attention was drawn to the note taped to a nearby Christmas tree, which had their home address written on it.

"No way! You're going to order this crooked-necked Christmas tree for 55 rupees?" Molly nearly shouted, her eyes wide with disbelief. She gestured wildly at the tree, her face flushed with frustration. "No, dear. I did say we needed a new Christmas tree, but definitely not this one."

As Molly continued to express her disapproval, Arthur felt a growing sense of unease. His palms grew sweaty as he struggled to maintain his composure, not wanting to let his own frustrations show in front of his family.

“Well,” Arthur interrupted Molly as if he didn't want to argue with her, his voice strained with the effort to keep it level. “You always have a lot better opinions.’” The words came out more sharply than he intended, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his tone.

Molly's eyes flashed with anger at this comment, her cheeks burning a deep red. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could utter a word, Arthur quickly interjected, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Please clam down….This is not a good place for arguing.” Arthur’s shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched. 

Charlie, sensing the tension between his parents, quickly interjected. "Hey, I will help you pick out the tree, Mum? I'm sure we can find one that's just right for us." He stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Molly's arm, his eyes pleading with her to let him help.

Molly smiled at her son, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Charlie. That would be lovely." She patted his hand, her eyes shining with pride and affection.

Arthur, seeing an opportunity to escape the awkward situation, cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "you and Charlie can get the Christmas tree. I'll go and get some motor oil." He stepped back, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his jacket as he prepared to make his exit.

As he made his way down Tumble Alley, Arthur found himself almost holding his breath, his chest tight with unspoken frustration. He struggled to keep his emotions in check, not wanting to let his anger get the better of him. The sounds of the bustling street faded into the background as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, desperate to put some distance between himself and the argument with Molly.

He knew that these minor frictions were a normal part of marriage, but as a man and a father, he felt he couldn't show his anger in front of his children. He clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur tried to push the negative thoughts from his mind. He knew that he and Molly would work through this, just as they always did. For now, he would focus on finding the perfect motor oil to add to his collection, and trust that everything would work out in the end.

As Arthur walked away from his family, he noticed a house elf selling lighters on the side of the road. In a moment of rebellion against Molly, who had always disapproved of him smoking in front of the children, he purchased a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the elf.

With a tap on the bottom of the cigarette case, Arthur extracted a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He fumbled with the lighter, trying to ignite the end of the cigarette, but to no avail. His frustration grew with each failed attempt.

Suddenly, a flame danced past, lighting the cigarette. "Muggle contraptions —— always so useless,"Lucius's trailing voice sounded beside Arthur, as Arthur's eyes narrowed glared at Lucius with undisguised hostility.

"Where's your entourage wife?" Lucius asked condescendingly, pocketing his wand and adjusting the turquoise ring on his finger with a graceful motion. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have retorted, demanding that Lucius take back his words, but today, he remained silent.

Noticing Arthur's lack of response, Lucius glanced at him and continued in a nonchalant tone, "Perhaps -- a good husband needs some relaxation time -- am I right?"

Ignoring Lucius, Arthur pressed his cigarette against the nearby wall, slipped the lighter into his pocket, and attempted to leave. However, Lucius's walking stick swiftly blocked his path.

"Fuck off," Arthur growled, his voice low and menacing. "Don't mess with me."

Lucius appeared momentarily stunned by Arthur's words, but he quickly recovered, sneering, "What? Did you have a bad Christmas party at your house?"

Arthur fixed his gaze on Lucius, twisting the cigarette between his fingers. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice nearly a snarl.

"I heard you had a son who didn't come home this year... the name escapes me, but I know he's working for the Ministry now..." Lucius's words hung in the air, a thinly veiled threat.

 "What do you know? Tell me!" Arthur's anger flared as he demanded, his voice echoing in the narrow alley.

"Haven't you learned that information comes at a price?" Lucius scoffed, casting a sideways glance of disgust. 

With a moment's hesitation, Arthur produced a lapel clip adorned with silver trim and dark green stones. Suddenly, Lucius's eyes widened, and the hair at his temples trembling. 

"When did you take it?" he hissed, realization dawning on his face. "So that time... that's what you were after..." His fingers tightening around his scepter,  expression morphing from shock to realization and finally, bitter disappointment. 

Arthur held up the gleaming gem, his voice steady. "I know the other stone is with your son. I'm sure you understand what I can do with this mother stone." 

Lucius's jaw clenched, a storm of emotions raging within him. The stones belonged to the Malfoys, and he knew their power well. The mother stone allowed for a mental link with the son stone user, sharing the effects of spells cast upon them. 

If the mother-stone wearer was cursed, the child-stone wearer would bear some of the burden. But if the child-stone took on too much, it would shatter, and the mother-stone would become the new child-stone, dividing into new sub-stones.

Lucius also knew when Arthur had stolen his stone, even that is secret they both need to kept closely guarded. 

Lucius hesitated, his jaw clenching as a storm of emotions raged within him. "But you must not forget," he said quietly, "that conversely, I can do the same."

Arthur's eyes widened, his hand trembling slightly. "That would require the son stone to shatter! Then your son would…." He can't finish that thought, his one hand fumbling with his wand behind his back, the other gripping the gem lapel clip tightly.

Lucius turned away, his voice even. "If that is the case, I suggest you hide it well, perhaps in that run-down garage of yours. To keep your family safe."

"You're a father too, Lucius!" Arthur shouted at his back, his voice filled with disbelief and anger.

Lucius paused, the weight of Arthur's words hanging in the air. Slowly, he turned his head, his sharp profile cutting through the dimly lit alley. "Then I am also a better father than you," he said, his tone calm and provocative. With that, he strode away, his footsteps rhythmic and his back straight. The scent of his sunken-woody aftershave lingered as the last strands of his blond hair disappeared around the corner.

Arthur sagged against the wall, reaching for the cigarette butt he had pressed there earlier. Taking a hard drag, he grumbled, "Damn! Forget the doctor warned me!" He poked the nearly spent cigarette back into the wall, frustration etched on his face as he contemplated the dangerous game they were playing.

————————————————————————————————————

Draco stood in the doorway of his dormitory, his body swaying slightly as he clung to the frame for support. His silk pyjamas hung messily on his lean frame, wrinkled and damp with sweat. 

"Why am I not allowed to go to my own home for the weekend?" Draco asked, his words slurring together as he fought to keep his eyes open. He looked at Professor Snape, who had unexpectedly arrived at the ungodly hour of five in the morning, with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

Snape's piercing gaze swept over Draco's disheveled appearance, taking in every detail. "Your mother's arrangement," he replied, his tone flat and unsympathetic.

Ignoring Draco's visible unwillingness, Snape stepped into the room, his nostrils flaring as he caught a whiff of the heavy, cloying scent that permeated the air. "Why did you use so many hypnotic fragrances?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Draco's head lolled to the side as he let out a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. "I don't sleep well..." he mumbled, his body swaying dangerously as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

Despite his exhaustion, Draco managed to muster up a weak complaint. "And you're marking me absent from school because I don't have a hospital certificate," he grumbled, his words barely audible.

Seeing Draco's legs give way, Snape quickly closed the distance between them and caught the young man before he could collapse. With surprising gentleness, he scooped Draco up and carried him back to the bed, his movements precise and efficient. "That's because you did miss class, and I couldn't be so obvious as to cover up your problems," Snape said, his voice serious and almost cold.

"I thought it was obvious enough..." Draco slurred, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to stay awake. He gazed up at Snape with glassy, unfocused eyes, as if he were under the influence of a powerful drug.

Snape turned his attention to the bedside table, reaching for the hypnotic aroma that sat there. "Don't... don't throw it away… Theo made for me when I first started living in a multi-occupancy dormitory and couldn't sleep... It works exceptionally well...” Draco's weak, pleading voice stopped him in his tracks.

 “It is the last one. “Draco murmured, wihch make Snape hesitated. After a moment of contemplation, he silently placed on the bedside table. 

"Don't use those harmful methods to help you sleep in the future," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Draco mumbled a vague acknowledgment and burrowed deeper under the covers, his eyes finally drifting shut as exhaustion claimed him. Snape stood by the bed, sighing softly as he watched him breathing even out.

Draco, exhausted and defenceless, succumbed to sleep under Snape's gaze. The professor stood at the edge of the bed, his dark eyes fixed on the young man's sleeping form.

Seeing Draco's sleeping form, Snape methodically rolled up the cuff of his own sleeve. Then, with deft fingers, he reached out and carefully lifted the edge of Draco's silk pyjamas. 

Moving with quick precision, Snape's eyes narrowed as he examined the exposed skin. Upon identifying the raw, red marks encircling Draco's slender wrists, he took several rapid steps back, and gaze darted shrewdly around the room. 

It took mere moments before Snape's keen eyes landed on the macabre rat-bone devices sitting ominously in the corner. 

Snape's breath caught in his throat, a gasp nearly escaping his lips. But he quickly regained his composure, crossed the room and gathered the devices.

As he turned back towards the bed, Snape scooped up the incense, and secreted everything away into the inner pockets of his billowing black robes. 

With one final glance at the slumbering young man, Snape turned and exited the room, his mind already formulating a plan to ensure Draco received the support and care he so desperately needed.

——————————————————————————————————

When Lucius returned home, he found Narcissa meticulously wiping an exquisite crystal goblet with her handkerchief.

 The goblet was a true work of art, its delicate stem adorned with intricate patterns that caught the light and cast mesmerizing reflections on the polished surface. The crystal was so clear and flawless that it seemed to be crafted from the purest ice, frozen in time. Lucius knew it was one of her favorite pieces.

Quietly, he entered the room, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. "Snape was here?" he asked, his voice tinged.

Narcissa looked up, her expression one of mild surprise. "Yes, he was here," her tone even and measured.

"Did you instruct him to tell Draco not to come home lately?" Lucius pressed, his eyes searching his wife's face for any hint of emotion.

Narcissa nodded, her voice calm and assured. "I told him. Don't worry.”

For a moment, Lucius hesitated, spinning around as a flicker of anxiety crossed his features. However, he quickly regained his composure and strode towards the fireplace, picking up the handkerchief he had placed there to wipe his hands.

"The missing gem... the one you looked for so long last time," he finally spoke, his words hanging heavily in the air.

"You found it?" Narcissa asked faintly, setting down the crystal goblet in her hand.

"Didn't find it. Probably won't get it back," Lucius replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'm going to retrieve the one on Draco as well. Just so you know."

Narcissa nodded, her expression unchanging. She walked over to Lucius and poured him a cup of tea herself, a gesture that wasn't common between them. Lucius glanced up at her, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"I'm planning a trip back to my mother's house next week," Narcissa said, her voice even. "A few childhood relatives are coming over. I have to go to that tea party."

"Okay," Lucius replied coldly, his attention already drifting elsewhere. "Also... I have some thoughts about Draco … as he's staying in school..."

Narcissa met Lucius' gaze, her eyes conveying a silent question, seeking his opinion on the matter at hand.

Lucius, understanding her unspoken query, continued, "The Goyle and Crabbe children aren't living with him now, are they?" His brow furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening with concern. "I'm worried that what's coming will affect him..."

Narcissa nodded, her expression softening. "Of course, he's my son too, Lucius. I want to do everything I can to protect him, just as much as you do." Her words carried a gentle reassurance, a reminder of their shared love for their child.

Lucius glanced at Narcissa, a fleeting moment of vulnerability in his eyes before he quickly looked away. "Thank you for everything you've done for the Malfoys," he said, his voice low and sincere.

A smile graced Narcissa's lips,  "I'm just helping my husband and taking care of my son,” she replied, her words filled with strength.

Lucius stepped away from the fireplace, the warmth of the flames seeming to have thawed his cold demeanor slightly. He turned towards the stairs, intending to retreat to his study. Narcissa watched him ascend, her eyes following his movements until he disappeared from view. She handed the untouched cup of black tea to the house-elf beside her before her gaze returned to the crystal goblet on the mantle, its beauty marred by a dusting of ash from the burning wood.

Narcissa's delicate features twisted into a frown as she carefully wiped away the offending dirt, her displeasure evident. The house-elves, sensing her discontent, scurried to her side, ready to assist in the cleaning. However, Narcissa dismissed them with a wave of her hand, sending them out of the living room.

Suddenly, a loud clunk echoed from Lucius' room upstairs, followed by the grating sound of scales scraping against the old wooden floor. The house-elves shivered, their eyes wide with fear, while Narcissa's head snapped up, concern etched on her face.

"Master... we..." the house-elves whispered, their voices trembling.

Narcissa's expression hardened, her soft silhouette reflected in the crystal glass vanishing in an instant. She lowered her face, her voice cold and commanding as she ordered, "In five minutes, bring all the servants to gather in the laundry room on the ground floor. I have something to announce."

Dabi, the oldest house-elf, showed a flicker of unease. "Master..." she began, but Narcissa's steely gaze silenced her.

"Why don't you do as I say?" Narcissa demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. Dabi, resentment and worry mingling on her face, left without another word.

Once all the house-elves were gathered in the laundry room, Narcissa turned and pulled a large basket of clothes from a bamboo container, spreading them out on the floor.

"Choose your clothes. From today, you are free," she declared, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The house-elves exchanged confused glances, none daring to move. Narcissa pointed to the youngest male elf. "You, I order you to take these blue trousers."

The skinny elf stepped forward, his body trembling as he picked up the trousers with shaky hands.

"There, now you're free," Narcissa announced, her voice unwavering.

One by one, the elves took a piece of clothing until only three remained, including Dabi.

Ravih, an elderly male elf with wrinkles stretching down to his stomach, spoke up. "Master, with all due respect, I have been working for the Malfoys for over a hundred years. I was here before you entered the house, and I am not going anywhere."

Dabi grabbed the hand of the other female elf, her voice trembling. "Yes... this boy and I have taken care of you since you married here, and the young master... Dabi is just a useless old aged house-elf... I don't need any freedom... this is my home..."

Tears streamed down Dabi's wrinkled face as she mumbled about watching the young master grow up.

But Narcissa remained unforgiving. She rummaged through a locker, pulling out a red waistcoat with a golden texture for Ravih and two dresses for the other elves.

"No... Master, these are the dresses you were going to wear to the clan party... Dabi can't take Master's important clothes," Dabi protested, her voice quivering.

"Now take them and leave my house. You are no longer my property," Narcissa said, turning on her heel and leaving the laundry room without a backward glance.

In the dimly lit room, the few remaining house-elves stood, their grey skin blending into the darkness, melting into the shadows of their newfound freedom.

Chapter Text

11* Submerge in a pot of melted chocolate 

As the sun set, the Slytherin boys scattered across the Quidditch pitch, their practice ending in the early winter dusk.

Draco, told by Snape that he couldn't go home for the weekend yesterday, walked onto the pitch feeling down. He didn't want to practice in the cold, but he had to join his teammates. The chilly air made his hands and feet numb, causing him to drop the Quaffle more than usual.

During practice, Draco couldn't ignore the growing unease within him. Rumors spread among the 28 purebloods about changing power in Slytherin house.

The constant power struggles annoyed him, and he grew tired of the petty politics. He tried to focus on the drills, but his mind kept drifting to the possible effects of these rumors.

His secret relationship with Harry Potter only added to his worries. The idea of gossip-lovers exposing their private affairs made his stomach twist with anxiety. Draco's heart pounded as he imagined the scandal if anyone discovered their hidden meetings and stolen moments.

As the team headed to the showers, their laughter and chatter filling the pitch, Draco sought a quiet spot to be alone. He sat on a bench, shoulders slumped, and sipped water to calm his nerves. With trembling hands, he took out a small note for Harry. He stared at the folded parchment, turning it over in his shaky fingers.

This secret way of communicating was meant to keep their meetings private, but Harry hadn't replied in three days, leaving Draco anxious and worried. He bit his lip, frowning as he thought about why Harry was silent. Had he grown suspectful of their secret relationship? Or had something stopped him from responding?

After showering and sitting on the bench, Draco's thoughts turned to the details of their relationship. He felt his cheeks warm, unsure if it was from the lingering heat of the shower room or his own changing feelings. He closed his eyes, envisioning Harry's face, the way his eyes shone when they were alone, and the gentle touch of his lips on Draco's skin.

Draco's heart pounded as he thought about what to do next. The uncertainty ate at him, adding to the burden of the secrets he kept. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the blond strands in frustration.

Sighing heavily, Draco folded the note and put it back in his pocket. He stood up, his legs shaking as he walked towards the exit, his mind still reeling with the possibilities of what Harry's silence could mean. His heart raced, and his palms grew sweaty as he tried to push away the nagging doubts that crept into his thoughts.

Suddenly, a small blue firework appeared in the sky near the shower room's exit, bursting into a localized rainstorm that soaked Draco from head to toe, just after he had finished showering. The cold water startled him, causing him to gasp as it cascaded over his body, drenching his clothes and hair.

"Hahahahahahaha," Draco heard the Weasley twins laughing as he turned around to see them looking at him, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Fred and George's laughter echoed off the walls, making Draco's cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

Draco's eyes narrowed as he glared at the twins, his jaw clenching as he tried to maintain his composure. He brushed the wet hair out of his face with a shaky hand, droplets of water falling from his fingertips. "Very funny, Weasleys," Draco sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He could feel the water seeping through his clothes, making them cling uncomfortably to his skin.

Fred, or perhaps it was George, stepped forward, still chuckling. "Aw, come on, Malfoy. It's just a little water. No need to get your knickers in a twist." The twin's grin widened, clearly enjoying Draco's discomfort.

Draco's fists clenched at his sides, the urge to retaliate rising within him. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smiles off their faces, but he knew that engaging with the twins would only lead to more trouble. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that bubbled up inside him.

Suddenly, a familiar voice reached Draco's ears. It was Harry Potter. Harry came jogging towards them, his face etched with concern as he took in Draco's drenched state. 

"What's going on here?" Harry asked, his brows furrowed. He stepped closer to Draco, reaching out a hand as if to offer comfort, but quickly pulled it back, remembering their secret.

Draco felt a sudden warmth spreading through his chest at Harry's presence, a stark contrast to the chilling water that clung to his skin. He opened his mouth to respond, but Fred beat him to it.

"Just having a bit of fun, Harry," Fred said with a grin, though his eyes held a glimmer of mischief. He casually tossed a small firework from one hand to the other. "Malfoy here looked like he could use a little cooling off."

George nodded in agreement, he draped an arm around Fred's shoulders, presenting a united front. "Yeah, we thought we'd help him out, you know, in the spirit of inter-house unity and all that." His tone was light, like making a joke.

Harry shook his head, trying to suppress a smile at the twins' antics. "Alright you two, that's enough 'inter-house unity' for one day," he said, making air quotes with his fingers. "I think Malfoy's had quite enough of your unique brand of friendship."

He stepped between the twins and Draco, hoping to diffuse the situation before it could escalate further. "Fred, George, don't you have some new products to test out or something? I heard a rumor that Zonko's is looking for some fresh talent." Harry raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

The twins exchanged a glance, seeming to communicate silently for a moment. "Well, now that you mention it..." Fred began.

"We do have some important business to attend to," George finished, stowing the firework in his pocket.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the Weasley twins exchanged a knowing look. "Catch you later, Harry," they chimed in unison before they mounted their brooms in perfect synchronization and took off, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the now quiet corridor. 

Harry let out a breath, then turned back to Draco. "You alright, Malfoy?" he asked, looking him over with a hint of concern. "They didn't get you too bad, did they?"

He offered Draco a small, tentative smile. "For what it's worth, I don't think this hair would suit you anyway. Clashes horribly with the green and silver."

Draco watched as Harry stood up for him, a mix of gratitude and surprise swirling within him, especially in front of his Gryffindor friends.

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry said, turning to Draco and offering him a towel. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Draco's as he handed over the soft, fluffy fabric.  "Let's get you dried off."

Draco hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his desire to accept Harry's help. But as he looked into those eyes, filled with genuine concern, he found himself finally chose to reaching out and taking the towel with a nod of thanks. His fingers lingered on Harry's for a brief moment, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

Draco began to dry himself off, the towel absorbing the excess water from his hair and clothes. He couldn't help but steal glances at Harry, who stood nearby, his presence a comforting reassurance. Draco's heart raced as he tried to find the right words to express his gratitude.

"Thanks, Potter," Draco mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He lowered his gaze, focusing on the task of drying his face. "You didn't have to do that."

Harry shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's no problem, Malfoy. Those two can be a handful sometimes."

As they stood there, an awkward silence settled between them. Then, Harry placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

The gesture both comforting and intimate. Draco could feel the warmth of Harry's touch, even through his soaked clothes. His breath caught in his throat as he looked up, meeting Harry's gaze.

Harry leaned in closer, his voice low and meant only for Draco's ears. "I'm sorry I haven't responded to your note yet. I've been meaning to, but things have been a bit crazy lately." 

Draco's heart skipped a beat at Harry's words, relief washing over him. The weight of uncertainty lifted from his shoulders, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It's okay," Draco whispered back, his voice trembling slightly. 

Harry returned the smile, "Let's find somewhere private to talk, okay?" His thumb gently caressed Draco's shoulder.

Draco nodded, his heart racing at the prospect of being alone with Harry. "Like where?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

"Maybe your room?" Harry suggested, "You live alone now, right?"

Draco's cheeks flushed at the implication, but he couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through him at the thought of having Harry in his private space. He nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, that could work."

_______________________________________________

Back in his room, Draco hesitantly handed the damp towel back to Harry, his fingers brushing against the Gryffindor's warm hand. Harry's eyes softened as he noticed a few stray droplets of water clinging to Draco's left sideburns. Without thinking, he reached out and gently rubbed the towel against the blond's pale skin, murmuring, "There's still some water here."

Draco's heart raced at the unexpected intimacy, a rush of confusion flooding through him. Mere weeks ago, they had been at each other's throats, trading insults and hexes with the ferocity of mortal enemies. Now, here they were, caught in a moment so tender and ambiguous that it left Draco reeling. The Harry before him seemed even more surreal than the one who had appeared in his hallucinations.

Desperate to regain some sense of normalcy, Draco fell back on his usual bravado. 

He swept Harry off his feet, a smirk playing on his lips as he half-mockingly drawled, "Careful, Potter. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying this."He cocked an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm, even as his heart hammered against his ribs.

To his surprise, Harry didn't rise to the bait, didn't respond with the expected barb or quip. Instead, he cocked his head to the side, his vivid eyes wide behind his round glasses. "Maybe I am," he replied earnestly, "Is that so hard to believe?”

Draco scratched at his half-dried hair, frustration and confusion warring within him. He tugged at his collar, uncomfortably aware of the damp fabric clinging to his skin. "I need to change," he muttered, "being wet like this is bloody miserable."

Harry, however, seemed lost in his own world, his gaze unfocused and distant. Draco waved a hand in front of his face, annoyance seeping into his voice as he snapped, "Hello? Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm listening to the voice inside my own mind," Harry murmured, his words barely audible.

"What?" Draco stared at him, baffled by the cryptic response, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"I can help you," Harry said, his voice stronger now, filled with a strange mix of determination and nervousness.

"Help me with what?" Draco asked, his tone wary.

"Taking off clothes."

Draco's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink at the bold suggestion. "Why would I need your help?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes in an attempt to mask the sudden flutter in his stomach. "I have my own hands and feet, you know."

Harry shrugged, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I thought rich young masters always had help getting dressed and undressed."

Memories of his childhood flooded Draco's mind - a kind-faced maid helping him button up his pajamas, tucking him into bed with a gentle smile. "I did have a maid who helped me when I was little..." The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. 

Instantly, he regretted the admission, hating himself for revealing such a personal, intimate detail,a unsuitable wistful note. He smacked a hand over his mouth, his thoughts scattered and incoherent as he tried to make sense of the strange turn their conversation had taken, of the way Harry's presence seemed to strip away his defenses, leaving him raw and exposed.

Harry's heart raced as he took another step closer to Draco as he asked, "Perhaps I can also assist you with that?" His emerald eyes searched Draco's face, convey the depth of his longing.

Draco stood perfectly still, his breath hitching as he allowed Harry to close the distance between them. His usually guarded grey eyes softened, a silent invitation for Harry to proceed. Harry's fingers gently threaded through Draco's damp hair, carefully wiping away the glistening droplets that clung to the silky strands.

A small, involuntary shiver ran down Draco's spine at the intimate contact, and he couldn't suppress the breathy chuckle that escaped his lips. "That tickles!" He instinctively tried to duck away from Harry's touch.

But Harry was quick to react, his seeker reflexes kicking in as he gently but firmly grasped Draco's wrist, pulling him back. "Not drying your hair properly will give you a headache," he murmured, his voice low and laced with concern. 

His thumb absently traced small circles on the delicate skin of Draco's wrist, wrapped his arms around the slender boy, enveloping him in a warm embrace. He pulled Draco flush against his chest, his heart pounding wildly as he savored the feeling of Draco's body melting into his own.

Gently, Harry brought his fingers to Draco's chin, tilting his face upwards until their eyes locked.  When Draco remained still, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, Harry closed the remaining distance and captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of devotion into the kiss.

Harry's thoughts scattered, his mind going blissfully blank as instinct took over. He felt himself sinking into the depths of this moment, the sensation akin to being submerged in a pot of melted chocolate. 

The complex flavors of the imagined confection danced on his tongue – the slight bitterness of the cocoa beans intermingling with the creamy of the cocoa butter. These contrasting tastes mirrored the warring emotions within him, an inexplicable mix of unease and undeniable attraction that left his mind reeling and his body yearning for more.

As they stood pressed together, Draco's skin, initially cool from the chilly water, slowly warmed, his pale complexion taking on a faint pink hue that seemed to radiate a soft heat. The icy exterior melted away, revealing a vulnerability that Harry had never witnessed before. Draco's frame molded perfectly against Harry’s chest, like two puzzle pieces falling into place.

The kiss lingered, stealing the breath from Draco's lungs. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped his slightly parted lips as they finally broke apart. Harry's heart raced, pounding against his ribcage as if trying to break free and close the small distance between them once more. His fingers itched to trace the delicate lines of Draco's face, to memorize every curve and angle.

Harry's fingers went slack, the washcloth slipping from his grasp and fluttering forgotten to the floor. His mind consumed with a singular purpose, he continued forward. 

Undressing Draco’s clothes, Harry's hands eagerly encircled his body, fingers tracing over the smooth skin, searching for the waistband of training pants that bound his prize. Clumsy with anticipation, he fumbled at the knots, frustration mounting as they refused to yield.

Sensing Harry's growing agitation, Draco turned and gracefully sank to his knees before him. Glancing up through pale lashes, a small, triumphant smile played across his lips as deft fingers worked to unfasten Harry’s belt. Task complete, Draco leaned in close, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, stormy grey eyes fixed intently on Harry's stunned face.

Harry looked on in mute fascination, barely registering  the oozing liquidalready welling from his stick as Draco bent forward and touched his tongue to the pearls of sap. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Harry sank his fingers into silky blond hair, relishing the feel of the fine strands sliding across his skin.  

Draco's eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment before snapping back open, gaze now sharpened and boring into Harry's own. Harry gasped, suddenly hyperaware of his askew glasses and the blood roaring in his ears, drowning out all else. 

Draco's nimble hands continued to work on himself, unraveling the waistband of training pants that had eluded Harry and stabilizing Harry's erection with his mouth, trying to move back and forth. 

Heat pooled low in Harry's abdomen as he watched the blond kneeling before him, face flushed and hair mussed. Slowly, teasingly, Draco slipped a hand into the back of his trousers, long fingers questing and probing.

A shimmering strand of silver stretched from Harry’s glans penis to Draco's mouth as his tongue darted out, sweeping languidly over the surface. 

Harry watched, transfixed, as Draco's soft pink tongue caught the glistening thread, drawing it past his parted lips. Harry swallowed hard, his throat working as he tried to dislodge the lump that had suddenly formed there.

Sliding trembling hands up to grasp Draco's shoulders, Harry urged him to his feet before firmly pushing him down to lay prone on the bed. 

"Get on the bed," Harry ordered, voice rough with want. "Now."

Draco's hands remained occupied, fumbling with the secret place behind him, as he slowly lifted his gaze to meet Harry's, a slight frown creasing his brow, “Just wait …… Can't you see I'm still getting ready?"

"I can help, you know," Harry said, attempting a casual shrug despite the tension thrumming through his body.

Draco's eyes flashed to Harry's face, a flicker of doubt passing over his features. With a soft huff, Draco turned to the bed, his fingers still clumsily grappling with his half-undone trousers. Puting his two slender fingers together, he began to worry at the small hole, jabbing his finger into the hole with a single-minded determination.  

A sharp gasp escaped Draco's lips as a sudden jolt  ran through him, his body shuddering in response. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew his hand, falling forgotten to the bed. 

"There," Draco said, his voice slightly breathless. "Done with that." He glanced back at Harry, his eyes dropping to meat stick held loosely in the other boy's grasp.Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously and a flicker of apprehension dancing in his eyes.

Harry held up his erection, the tip glinting in the dim light. “Are you ready?" he asked, plunging himself into the depths of Draco. 

Draco glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes wide with desire. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he let out a shaky, anxious gasp.

“It’s so warm inside you," Harry remarked, moved his hip, as the stifling heat of the room enveloped them.

Draco gripped the bed sheet with trembling hands, his body shivering despite the oppressive heat. Harry’s body inched closer, gingerly placed his hands on Draco's waist, adjusting their position to offer comfort and support. Draco leaned into Harry's touch, his body trembling slightly as he drew in shaky breaths.

"Let's hurry up ," Draco urged gently. Heard that, Harry's emerald eyes shining behind his glasses as he quickened his movements inside Draco. 

Draco's elbows buckled beneath him, no longer able to support his weight. He collapsed heavily onto the bed with a dull thud, his lithe body going limp against the mattress, platinum blond hair splayed across the pillow. Some heated moan of comfort escaped his lips with his body arched.

Harry looked down at Draco's prone form, reaching out a tentative hand, he brushed a few strands of damp hair off Draco's forehead.

 "Here, let's get you turned over," he suggested, his tone urged. His brain operates on the edge of chaos at seeing the normally proud Slytherin so helpless and lustful.

Seen Draco managed a  nod, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, Harry slid his hands underneath Draco's shoulders, ready to assist him in rolling over. 

“Umm…Wait…….” Feeling the departure of the heat inside him, Draco grunted in comfort. “Don't pull it out,” Saying that, Draco shifted position to let Harry's erection lodged painfully against his inner thigh, and the movement sent shudders through his body.

With considerable effort, Draco managed to roll onto his back. He lay there, staring up at Harry with wide, humid eyes, his chest heaving.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Harry sighed, "Whew, it's really hot here." Reaching down, he gently tried to adjust his pennis poking into Draco's sensitive place between the two legs. At Harry's touch, Draco let out another sharp gasp, his body tensing, and releasing himself.

——————————————————————————————————

Harry sat at the dining room table, his fingers idly playing with the smooth, cool surface of the green  egg hidden beneath the tablecloth. His mind wandered, pondering the surprising turn his relationship with Draco had taken over the past ten days. Had it really been three or four times now that they had been intimate? The thought sent a shiver down his spine and a blush to his cheeks.

He remembered the day he had accidentally left the egg nestled in the lush foliage of a potted plant in Draco's room. Concealed beneath his invisibility cloak, Harry had been attempting to hide the egg when Draco's voice had startled him. Draco was calling out his name, demanding that he reveal himself. Confused and caught off guard, Harry had assumed that somehow Draco had seen through the cloak. With a racing heart and trembling hands, he had emerged from his hiding place.

It was only later that Harry realized the truth - Draco had believed he was the Harry of his daily fantasies, a figment of his imagination come to life. In that moment of misunderstanding, they had become entangled in a passionate encounter, one that neither had expected but both had secretly desired.

Now, Harry found himself lost in a sea of emotions. Confusion, desire, and a hint of fear swirled within him. In a blur of passion and uncertainty, he and Draco embarked on a secret relationship, one that left Harry reeling with a mix of excitement and confusion.

Now, as he sat at the table, the weight of their connection hung heavy on his mind. He felt lost, unsure of how to navigate this new dynamic with Draco. The words he needed to express his feelings seemed just out of reach, leaving him grappling with the complexities of their relationship.

As Harry reminisced about his intimate moments with Draco, he realized that Draco's face in those instances was vastly different from the bad boy persona he usually projected. 

Harry had always held a clear understanding of 'good' and 'bad', with Gryffindor representing 'good' and Slytherin epitomizing 'bad'. It had always been that way, and he believed it should remain so.

However, when he found himself fighting alongside Draco and agianst the twins, his firm grasp on the concepts of 'good' and 'bad' began to waver. Unfamiliar emotions surged through him, originating from the depths of his heart and extending to the tips of his fingers. Harry sensed that something within him was undergoing a profound transformation.

As he watched Hermione and Ron playfully scuffling around the long table, Harry caught a glimpse of Draco's gaze through the gap between his friends. He turned his head to lock eyes with Draco, who quickly averted his gaze nervously to the side, a gesture that Harry found endearing and kitten-like. The sight elicited a small chuckle from Harry, a reaction he had not anticipated.

"Harry! Tell me that Ron did something very wrong this time!" Hermione shouted, her voice quavering with anger as she clenched her fists tightly at her sides, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of her grip.

Caught off guard by the sudden outburst, Harry hurried back to the scene, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a way to diffuse the tension between his best friends. He took a deep breath, ready to intervene and offer his perspective on the situation, hoping to find a way to resolve the conflict peacefully.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sudden burst of blue light erupted above Ron and Hermione's heads, causing them to jump back in surprise. In an instant, a shower of droplets rained down upon them, momentarily stunning the arguing pair into silence. Harry stood there, his eyes wide with surprise, as he watched the water trickle down their faces and onto their robes, their expressions shifting from anger to confusion.

Ron spluttered and wiped the water from his face, his ears turning a bright shade of red as he glared at the source of the interruption. Hermione, on the other hand, stood perfectly still, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, seemingly trying to regain her composure.

"You're welcome, mate! We thought we'd help cool them off a bit," Fred and George chimed in unison, their mischievous grins widening as they made a hasty retreat from the hall, narrowly escaping their brother's furious bellows. The twins exchanged a triumphant look, their eyes sparkling with the thrill of their successful prank.

Without waiting for a response, the twins turned on their heels and sprinted away, their laughter echoing through the courtyard as they made their escape. They didn't stop running until they reached the school's square fountain, where they collapsed against the stone edge, clutching their sides as they gasped for breath between fits of laughter.

"I guess I was right! Malfoy's dreams didn't just involve you and me. Harry and Ron were caught fish, too," George snickered at his brother, nudging him playfully with his elbow.

"Well, you've won the gamble," Fred shrugged, a hint of surprise still evident in his voice. He had been more taken aback by Harry's change in attitude towards Malfoy, but he couldn't deny the truth in George's words. Harry's demeanor had indeed shifted, and while Fred couldn't quite put his finger on the reason behind it, he knew that something significant had changed within his friend.

Chapter Text

Dear readers,

I believe you have noticed that this story hasn't been updated for a year. I must inform you that the original version of "Prisoner's Dilemma" will no longer be updated.

The creative process often takes unexpected turns. What started as a planned 3,000-word short story kept expanding during the writing process, eventually evolving into a story far more extensive than anticipated. As the plot developed, I found that the initial narrative framework could no longer support the depth and breadth the story required.

During this time, I've been facing two main challenges: firstly, my dissatisfaction with much of the earlier content; secondly, various challenges in real life. This led to a long-term creative block that I found difficult to break through. However, during the nearly year-long hiatus, the idea of "remaking" has constantly lingered in my mind.

After careful consideration, I've decided to launch a remade version of "Prisoner's Dilemma". The new version will be narrated from Theodore Nott's perspective, hoping to offer readers a different viewpoint of the same timeline, discovering a whole new dimension of the story.

So! If you'd like to continue following this story, welcome to find me here:

[new version link]

https://ao3-rd-3.onrender.com/works/68855781/chapters/178362256

Of course, this original version will always remain here~

Looking forward to meeting you all in the new story!