25 February 2008 @ 10:44 pm
A Vengeance So Sweet; or When Harry Met Draco and Ended Their WarGames (1/3)  
Title: A Vengeance So Sweet; or When Harry Met Draco and Ended Their WarGames
Author: Lilith ([info]lilithilien)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Cast your mind back to 1997 and to a little film called Addicted To Love, in which Meg Ryan was no perky girl-next-door but a kohl-eyed hellion bent on revenge, with Matthew Broderick as her mostly willing accomplice. The situation was just begging to be rewritten with Harry and Draco in mind.
Rating/warnings: NC-17. Warnings for ridiculously naïve!Harry (is that canon?), drag!Draco, musical!Krum, and disloyal!Ginny. Also irresponsible abuse of firewhisky, mild swearing, and liberties taken with the Malfoy family tree. And smut, of course!
Length: 27K words
Disclaimer: With apologies and sincere homage to Robert Gordon, whose plot I've blatantly stolen, to Griffin Dunne, who brought it to the screen, and to J.K. Rowling, who I'm sure wants nothing to do with what I've done to her characters.
Note: Endless thanks to [info]sarcastic_jo, my inspiration, cheering squad, and beta reader, who helped me through every word. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Harry Potter had the perfect life. He had a perfect little cottage where he lived with his perfect girlfriend. His two best friends in the whole wide world lived next door, and his girlfriend's parents, who were very fond of Harry, lived just a few steps beyond that. This was perfectly fine at the moment, but for some time Harry had been looking for the perfect time to propose. He looked forward to their perfect wedding and to raising a family. He thought three children would be the perfect number, and Ginny, of course agreed.

Yes, life was perfect. Until that day that a perfectly harmless owl arrived carrying a perfectly harmless looking letter, and Harry's perfect world was shattered.

"I don't believe it! The Ministry wants me to come to London to lead a Quidditch camp for kids."

Harry knew it was an extraordinary honour to be chosen. Ginny coached the local team and this was just the kind of job that she was perfect for. Still, he could think of only one thing to say. "They want you to go to London?"

"For two months! Isn't this incredible! This is what I've wanted to do for my entire life! I can't believe they picked me!"

Harry almost reminded her that she'd wanted to be with him for her entire life, but he had learned a few things from Hermione over the years. Instead he said, "Of course they'd pick you, love. You're the best. Haven't I always said that?" She beamed at him, and he felt emboldened enough to say, "But London ..."

"I know!" she gushed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I've only really been there for school supplies and to get the train to Hogwarts. It'll be amazing to actually live there." Something in Harry's face must've given away his trepidation, for she squeezed his hand. "Come with me, Harry! We'd have so much fun -- they've got museums, the theatre, fancy restaurants ..."

Harry considered it for all of a second, then shook his head. "You know I can't just take off like that. I have to work." Harry manufactured Spectrescopes, a handy device he'd invented that now no magical home could do without. With contracts through all the major wizarding outfitters he was kept perfectly busy. Of course, he was his own boss and could easily have taken a holiday. The truth was that he really didn't want to go to London. He had everything he wanted right here.

Ginny lifted both his hands and kissed his knuckles. "I want this, but you know I love you. If you tell me not to go, I won't."

Harry knew what the perfect boyfriend was supposed to say. The perfect boyfriend would tell Ginny that he was proud of her and that he supported her and that she should go and have a brilliant time. But Harry realised that he wasn't the perfect boyfriend.

"Don't go."


The little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole was quiet without Ginny. Too quiet, especially after Ron and Hermione left to spend the summer in Australia with her parents. Not that Harry moped, not at all! This was the perfect time to take care of all the chores that needed doing. Cleaning gutters, mulching the garden, oiling squeaky door hinges -- true, magic made these tasks easier, but they still had to be done. Harry beavered away, all the while imagining how pleased Ginny would be when she got home.

That day was approaching fast now. Before she'd left Hermione had given him a Muggle calendar to count down the days. A row of six collie pups stared at him each night when he drew a big "X" across another lonely day.

Two weeks ... ten days ... five days ... two ...

The day before Ginny's return was very busy. Blooming flower boxes needed to be hung from every window, a welcome home dinner needed to be cooked, and an engagement ring needed to be selected. Yes, Harry had decided on the perfect moment to ask Ginny to be his wife. He would get down on his knee as soon as she stepped through the Floo, and when she saw the exquisitely cut emerald he was sure she would say yes.

Harry returned from Bath with said emerald, which the saleslady assured him was very rare and would certainly please the most discerning young lady, to find an officious-looking Ministry owl perched on his front gate. She cooed reproachfully at him, put out that he hadn't been there to receive her earlier, before handing over a rolled scroll covered in Ginny's familiar handwriting. Certain that it was just an update on her arrival time, Harry unfurled it eagerly.

Dear Harry,

This is the most difficult thing I've ever done, to tell you I'm not coming home. I'm just now finding out what life is all about and I can't go back to how we were before. Believe me, I never planned for this to happen. You're my best friend but I'm not in love with you like I once was. You deserve better than this ...

He didn't bother reading the rest of the letter. With only the clothes on his back and the velvet ringbox in his pocket, Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley.


Harry had avoided Diagon for nearly a decade. London's magical quarter no longer held the appeal it had when he was a child, when there were amazements around every corner. Years of war had jaded him; the paparazzi hounding him afterwards had sent him into hiding. Now he was yesterday's news, and he was fine with that. But whilst trying to needle Ginny's whereabouts out of the young receptionist at the Department of Magical Games and Sport, he felt a fleeting regret that the name Harry Potter didn't hold the clout it once did.

Still, the receptionist told him that the Quidditch camp was at Kew Gardens, in a section of the sprawling park marked "closed for repairs" and charmed with any number of enchantments to thwart curious Muggles. Harry Apparated there immediately, eager to see Ginny's breathtaking smile and her familiar ponytail bouncing as she ran into his arms. He couldn't wait to see her eyes sparkle when she saw him. He'd tell her how much he'd missed her and she'd admit she missed him too. She'd say the letter was a mistake and ask if they could go home now. Harry would Apparate them directly to their cottage and welcome his girlfriend -- nay, his fiancé! -- back in the best way he knew how.

But this perfect reunion was not to be. Oh, Harry saw Ginny's breathtaking smile, all right, and her eyes sparkling with happiness. He even saw her ponytail bounce gleefully as she raced across the pitch. But it wasn't into his arms she ran, but into … Merlin's underpants, was that Viktor Krum?

The last Harry had heard of Krum was when the Bulgarian Seeker's retirement from Quidditch made international news. He'd decided to pursue his love of music instead -- apparently he was a quite notable performer in his home country. The British press was stunned, as were Ron, Ginny, and Harry. Only Hermione seemed unsurprised by his decision. She'd said little about it, though, at least around Ron; Viktor Krum was still a bit of a sore spot.

Harry could well understand why. He felt more than a little tetchy himself as he watched the man's bulging biceps wrap around the woman he loved. This was wrong, all wrong! Musicians weren't supposed to have bulging biceps! They weren't supposed to have broad barrel chests and a profile that Rodin could have chiselled from solid marble! Most of all, they weren't supposed to be touching Ginny, his Ginny, in such a familiar way.

"This is just a misunderstanding," he assured himself. "He probably just got here, he's just happy to see a friendly face." A very friendly face it turned out to be, as they engaged in what was -- to Harry -- a gut-clenchingly passionate kiss. "He's done it now," Harry thought. "Ginny hates public displays of affection. She doesn't even like kissing that much! She'll put him in his place … any minute now …" But a minute passed, and another, and still Ginny showed no signs of struggling. In fact, it was Viktor who pulled back from the kiss first. He didn't step away, however. In fact, he moved even closer, and with a crack loud as a gunshot Disapparated them both.

Harry stared shell-shocked at the place where they had been. Wild explanations darted through his mind: Polyjuice, Imperius, Love Potions … Something evil was to blame. This was not his Ginny.

His suspicions grew tenfold when he saw a sight that chilled him to the bone. A man was standing just opposite him, about the same distance from the now-departed couple as he had been, wearing what looked like -- Merlin, it couldn't be? -- black Death Eater robes! His face was obscured by a dark hood as well as a disillusionment charm. And as soon as he saw Harry had noticed him, he Disapparated away.

Now Harry had no doubt -- Ginny was in trouble. He had to save her!


"But you don't understand. The camp's over now -- she won't be back there. You have to tell me where she's staying."

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't give out that information to the public." Ludo Bagman's receptionist looked barely twenty, too young to remember much of anything about the war. But she was standing up to Harry with such resolve that he almost wished they'd had her on their side back then. "I can have one of our owls deliver a message. That's the best I can do."

"That's not enough!" Harry bellowed, regretting his raised voice but not seeing any other option. "Miss Weasley is in danger!"

The door behind the receptionist suddenly swung open. "What in the name of Nodens is going on out …" Bagman had aged since Harry had last seen him, and he hadn't aged well. As wide as he was tall, his porcine physique was an argument for exercise if Harry had ever seen one. But his face, pudgy as it might be, lit up in recognition. "Why, Harry Potter? Is that you?"

"It is, Mr. Bagman."

"Ludo, please. I say, I almost didn't recognise you. Violetta, this is the famous Harry Potter." Bagman noticed Harry's anxiousness then, for he asked, "Is there something we can help you with?"

"It's actually rather urgent. I'm trying to find Ginny Weasley, she was coaching at the Quidditch summer camp …"

"Ah, yes. We were very fortunate to have Miss Weasley with us this year. Charming girl, really charming. Violetta, will you please give her contact information to Harry?"

"Right away, Mr. Bagman."

"Oh, no, that guesthouse won't be much use," Bagman said, looking over the girl's shoulder. "She'll be with Viktor Krum or I'll be the centrefold in next month's Playwitch." He gave Harry a conspiratorial wink, a quite disturbing sight not only for what it seemed to imply. "Seems our Miss Weasley has turned her charms on Krum, you know. If only she could entice him to return to Quidditch, eh? What do you think, Harry? Think England might make a comeback?"

"Um, yes, sir, probably, sir."

"Ah, but sadly, I think those two lovebirds have more on their mind than Quidditch. It's refreshing to see young people so enamoured with each other. Speaking of which, what about you, Harry? Have you found yourself a lucky lady yet?" He nodded toward his receptionist. "I don't think our lovely Violetta's spoken for ..."

Harry's stomach did that annoying twisting thing again, making it impossible to stammer out an answer. Fortunately at that moment, the blushing girl handed him a silver card embossed with the Department's logo and, under it, the address of a flat on the Isle of Dogs. "Thank you," Harry said to the girl, and then to Bagman.

"Anything I can do to help, Harry. Don't be a stranger."

Harry hurried from the office. He needed to find the visitor's exit, but to get there he had to make his way through the crush of Ministry employees in line for the Floos. After so long in Ottery St. Catchpole, with only occasional visits to Bath's sedate wizarding quarter, it was disconcerting to be in such a crowd. The magical energy would once have been exhilarating, but now it felt like a million strangers scratching in his head. He longed for Ginny's energy that was like a balm to his savaged nerves. Theirs had never been a passionate affair, and for that he was grateful. Harry had gotten his fill of passion during the war, thanks very much. Now a good day was when Molly made treacle tarts and a romantic evening was when Ginny read to him in bed.

"… enamoured with each other …"

Bagman's words invaded Harry's thoughts, destroying any chance he had of calming himself. He must be wrong -- Ginny couldn't be enamoured with Krum! Even if by some unfathomable twist of fate she was attracted to him, she would never make her infatuation known. Ginny wasn't like that.

But that kiss …

"Are you all right, dear?"

A passing witch touched his arm; it was only then that Harry realised that he was sweating and breathing heavily.

"Yes, fine … just need to …"

But he wasn't fine. The voices around him were rising and he could almost make out their words. They were all talking about the two lovebirds. About Ginny's charms. About that kiss. He was going to drown in the voices if he didn't get away.

Luckily the kind witch's hand kept him steady. "You're going to the visitor's entrance, aren't you? It's this way."

Harry gratefully let her help him to the lift. Back on the Muggle side street he cast a quick glance around, but he hardly saw a thing. At the moment he wasn't terribly bothered about who might notice him Apparate away.


Viktor Krum's flat, like most wizarding homes in London, was warded against Muggle eyes. To them, the buzzers were simply misnumbered; despite there being a button for the fourth floor, everyone knew there were only three stories in the old factory. But when Harry touched the tip of his wand to the buzzer, a heavily accented voice crackled over the intercom.

"Whoever you are, come back later. We are busy."

Harry thought he heard laughter over the static and grimly pushed the buzzer again.

"Did you not hear me? I am making love to my woman. Go away now."

Harry almost fell over. "My woman." Ginny! He had to get up there -- had to stop this!

From the street, he looked up at the lights gleaming from the top floor's windows. Had he his broom and invisibility cloak, he could have flown up for a peek, but without them, his only choice was going in through the front door.

Or was it?

Across the street rose another factory, much like the one that Krum inhabited, but still in its ungentrified state. Broken windows gaped from the front, inviting Harry up for an unobstructed view. If not for fear of splinching himself on whatever lay inside, Harry would have Apparated up directly. Instead, he played it safe, Alohomora-ing his way through the steel door and ascending a curved staircase with not a few broken steps. Plastic bottles and empty tins betrayed a history of squatters, and a faint trace of magical energy tickled his consciousness as he got to the fourth floor, but at the moment the building only housed an abundance of rats and spiders.

The top floor was sectioned off into what once must have been offices. The largest one ran nearly the length of the building and was crowded with debris and old machines. From here Harry had a clear view of Krum's flat. Shapes moving there (and he was not going to think about what they might be doing to move so), but they were too far away, too indistinct. He needed to see Ginny's face; that was the only way he could figure out what harm had come to her.

His fingers brushed against the box in his pocket. Of course! The engagement ring … with just a few modifications, he could turn it into a workable Spectrescope. The stone would make a perfect reflective surface, once he smoothed out its facets, and with the band elongated into a curved barrel he could make the scope …

Harry set to work. After fiddling with it for quite some time -- the materials were different than what he was used to -- he held an object that looked like a cross between an old-fashioned Muggle telescope and a French horn. It looked very much like his normal Spectrescopes, except instead of the copper he favoured, this one was made of pure white gold.

He sat the instrument on the floor and, with a tap of his wand, activated the device. Suddenly from the bell of the horn sprang a life-sized image of Ginny (and Viktor, unfortunately). There was only one problem: they were bright green.

It took Harry several attempts to transform the stone. By the time he'd figured out that the emerald wouldn't shift cleanly into rock quartz, but that he could transform it to peridot and then to citrine and finally to the clear crystal, Ginny and Viktor had finished what they had been doing ("Napping," Harry's brain stubbornly insisted) and were attacking the kitchen like rabid hyenas. Harry transfigured a stack of telephone books into a comfortable chair (one that looked remarkably like his favourite chair at home), then settled in to watch.

"Hi, Gin," he said. It wasn't hard to pretend the woman was sitting beside him instead of a street away. She smiled back at him, a bold, happy smile. He thought how beautiful she looked with her hair loose like that, her gold-coloured wrap setting off the highlights in her auburn tresses. "You look good. The, um, the Quidditch camp suits you." She laughed back at him, surprised no doubt by his boldness. She reached out her hand and Harry leaned into her touch. He gasped in surprise when his fingers grasped nothing but empty air, when the spot where he should be was filled with another body …

A startling crack brought him flying to his feet. Harry whirled around, wand drawn, scanning the dark office doors for the intruder. From one stepped a shadow, the same hooded figure he'd seen at Kew Gardens.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The figure didn't answer, but took another step closer. Harry forced his hand steady, though his palm gripping the wand was streaked with sweat. It had been ages since he'd encountered a Death Eater but the adrenaline rampaging his body made it feel like only yesterday.

"Answer me, dammit, or I swear I'll …"

A hand -- wandless, Harry noted -- swept up and pushed the hood back. The shock of white hair nearly blinded him as a snarl disparaged his threat. "Or you'll what, Potter?

"Malfoy? What the fuck are you doing here?"

The Slytherin didn't answer; he just stepped closer, noting the moving image of Ginny and Viktor with a sneer. "Voyeur much?"

Harry didn't answer, and he didn't drop his wand. It didn't deter Malfoy, who simply rolled his eyes. "Oh for the love of Myrddin, put that thing away before you injure yourself."

Harry shook his head. "Tell me what you're doing here. I saw you following me."

"Following you?" Draco snorted, a derisive sound that transported Harry back to their school days. "Hardly. Although it may be hard for this fact to penetrate the gravitational field of your massive ego, Potter, it's not all about you." He gestured toward the Spectrescope image, scowling as Ginny perched lovingly on Viktor's knee. "That slapper stole my fiancé and I'm out for revenge."

"Your fiancé? Viktor? But he's a … he." Oh. Oh. Harry shuddered violently as certain things he'd never wanted to know about Malfoy took up residence in his brain. He forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "You leave Ginny alone. It's not her fault, it's that caveman's -- he's bewitched her somehow." The other man was staring at his fingernails now, feigning boredom. It was such a Malfoy thing to do that Harry nearly hexed him just on principle. "Leave her alone," he repeated.

Malfoy yawned dramatically. "Right, well, this really has been lovely, Potter, but I think it's time to call it a night. Tomorrow will be busy, busy, busy. I'll be taking this room," he said, motioning towards the door he'd come out of. "I sleep naked and armed, so if you so much as touch the door I'll shrink your willy to the size of a billywig." He cast his eye down Harry's body, a look so leering that Harry would have felt undressed had Draco not followed it up with, "Although that's probably an improvement where you're concerned. Good night, Potter."

And with that, he disappeared into the black. Harry stood there staring in disbelief, his wand still rigid in his hand. He was already unbelievably annoyed with the git, and he'd been here less than five minutes. It was almost enough to make him forget about the two bodies cuddling across the street.


Harry awoke the next morning chilled to the bone, his neck stiff from sleeping in his chair. The Spectrescope image was the first thing that greeted him, and Ginny's quiet slumber almost made him forget his discomfort. "G'morning, Gin," he whispered, quiet so he wouldn't wake her.

Krum wasn't so considerate, though. Not five minutes had passed before he destroyed their private moment, barging in with a tray covered in food. "Oh, you stupid, stupid man," Harry muttered. If there was one thing Ginny hated, it was eating first thing in the morning. She liked to wake up slowly, maybe have some coffee, and only later start thinking about food. That smile she was wearing now, she was just being polite because Viktor had put in so much effort. Harry would gladly have put in that much effort to get her to smile at him like that.

Even more than eating in the morning, Ginny hated to be fed. Harry had tried it exactly once, holding out a grape for her to take from his fingers. Ginny had stared at him in disgust. "I've been feeding myself for years now, Harry." So he could feel the tension build as Viktor lifted a strawberry to her lips. "This is it," he said, leaning forward. "Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."

But Ginny … she didn't push him back. She didn't look askance at the fruit. She didn't even frown. She … she licked her lips seductively, inviting Krum to bring the fruit to her mouth. He smeared the red fruit across her slick lips, a trail of glistening red juice darkening Ginny's lips as the tip nudged them apart.

It was simultaneously the most erotic and the most disturbing thing that Harry had ever witnessed.

He sprang from his chair, spewing curse words and kicking aged office equipment. A sharp pain lanced his foot, he wondered if he might even have broken a toe, but he didn't care. It didn't hurt half as much as what he'd just seen. It didn't hurt half as much as Ginny must be hurting. Harry had been subject to the Imperius Curse. He knew how horrible it was, that compulsion to do things you hated. That must be what Ginny was going through. The evidence was right in front of his eyes. The public displays of affection, eating breakfast, being fed! This wasn't the woman he'd grown up with, the woman he wanted to take as his wife. There was something sinister at work here and Harry just had to figure out what it was.

Needing to catalogue evidence, he limped back to his chair and forced himself to watch the rest of their breakfast in bed. Fortunately nothing more intimate followed -- Viktor looked like he was giving it a good go, but Ginny held him at bay. "That's it, Gin," praised Harry. "You can resist, I know you can." Eventually they got out of bed and dressed, Krum in formal afternoon wear and Ginny in the silvery-blue sundress that Harry had always liked. They kissed long and lovingly (Harry all the while urging Ginny to be strong) before Apparating out of sight.

With its target gone, the Spectrescope image flickered off, leaving the room feeling empty. Harry indulged a single sigh before plotting his next step: to uncover what Krum wanted. What could have driven him to cast an Unforgivable on an innocent girl? Harry was tempted to enlist Hermione's help, he could easily firecall her in Melbourne, but he didn't think he could stand her pity. The Diagon Library was the next best thing.

"No," protested his stomach with a growl, "food is the best thing." He'd not eaten since arriving in London the day before. No wonder he was feeling cranky.

Not to mention that Draco Fucking Malfoy was sleeping just behind that door.

For a short while, Harry had managed to forget the Slytherin. Now as he glared at the door where Malfoy had disappeared last night, Harry was surprised that his outburst hadn't woken the man. He'd either cast a Silencing Spell or was an exceptionally hard sleeper. Neither would have surprised Harry in the least. Pampered prat probably never rose before noon.

What was he doing here anyway? It was far too convenient to be a coincidence, and if there was anybody who Harry would suspect of foul play, it was Malfoy. It'd been sheer luck that kept him from following his father to Azkaban -- that, and Harry's testimony concerning Dumbledore's death. That was the last they'd seen of each other, and Harry had wished to keep it that way. If Malfoy was behind this attack on Ginny, so help him …

His stomach rumbled again, demanding that it, not Malfoy, be the centre of attention. Harry briefly considered re-transfiguring the Spectrescope so he could take it with him, but changed his mind when he remembered all his tiny adjustments to get it working properly. He warded it instead, blocking anyone but himself from being able to use it. That gave him a small sense of satisfaction on this otherwise very annoying day, a little something to relish as he Apparated to Diagon.

A few hours later, he'd turned up quite a lot on Viktor Krum. For years he'd been the star of the Sofia Symphonic Orkester and made a name for himself quite independent of Quidditch. He'd arrived in Britain for a month of performances at the behest of the Royal Wizardry Orchestra. That was almost three years ago, and he hadn't left since.

For a time, there was a bit of scandal associated with Krum's name. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy wasn't involved -- not directly. Amidst rising fears of terrorism, the Muggle Prime Minister had been pressuring the Minister for Magic to repatriate witches and wizards from non-EU countries. It was one of those political kerfluffles that most of the magical community ignored, but Krum's high profile made him a target. For months there was talk of deportation, which Krum protested vigorously. And then, as suddenly as the news started, it disappeared.

That was around the same time that Krum had had the misfortune to run into one of the RWO's benefactors: Draco Malfoy. Early photographs showed the two of them shaking hands. Later photographs were more intimate, even lewd: Malfoy and Krum lip-locked at a benefit dinner, bodies griding together at a charity dance, hands groping behinds on countless red carpets. Before long, The Daily Prophet was announcing the Krum-Malfoy engagement -- and there was no more mention of deportation. Harry wondered how many palms were greased with Galleons to make the problem disappear.

Still, there was nothing dark, nothing evil about Krum, not that Harry could see. Of course, it could well be Malfoy's doing. But casting an Imperius on Ginny to get her to steal away Viktor -- "not that Ginny had done that," Harry reminded himself -- didn't make a lot of sense, even for someone like Malfoy.

Harry was still puzzling this out hours later when he returned, arms full of groceries and head full of questions, to the flat. He drew his wand as he climbed the stairs, but he needn't have bothered. Malfoy was paying no attention. At the bend of the stairs from the floor below, Harry looked up and caught an unexpected glimpse of his profile. He was very surprised to see the blond's face lined with concentration, his shoulders hunched over. His face was oddly bare, wearing a fragile expression that Harry had never before seen him wear. Keeping his wand steady -- for anything that could touch Malfoy so was sure to be dangerous -- Harry climbed another floor.

And then he was furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Malfoy's entire body jerked once as if he'd been shocked, then quickly recovered. He sneered as if Harry was no more than a tuft of lint on his robes. "What does it look like I'm doing? I thought your little toy could be put to better use than watching Girl Weasley."

"But ... it was warded ..." He'd spelled the Spectrescope to react to no magic but his own. Draco, however, simply scoffed.

"You didn't think a Padlock Charm would keep me out, did you?" Reading the answer on Harry's face, Malfoy's eyes widened with a malicious glint. "Oh, sweet Nimue, you did! Who've you been warding against all these years, garden gnomes?"

"No," Harry replied coldly, "just people who respect other people's property."

"That's rich, Potter, seeing as your girlfriend there certainly has no respect for my property -- namely my boyfriend."

Harry huffed a little breath through his nose. "Krum is your property now, is he?" He glanced at the Spectrescope image where the former Seeker was sliding his arms around Ginny. At first glad that their actions proved his point, his smugness quickly evaporated and left him feeling thoroughly miserable.

He glanced over at Malfoy, who was glaring at the image. Harry recalled what he said about revenge. "Don't you dare even think of harming Ginny, Malfoy," he warned again.

The Slytherin shot him a withering look. "Would I stoop so low, Potter? Believe me, my sights are set much higher than your ginger beauty there."

A retort raced to the tip of his tongue, but Harry froze when he realised that he was about to insist that Ginny was indeed worth Malfoy's ire. Merlin but he hated the turned-around feeling he always got around the man. It was exactly like being back in school, when a single word from his nemesis felt like the twist of a knife. A decade wasn't enough to wipe that away.

But Malfoy didn't seem bothered. He was studying the Spectrescope with interest. "So what is this thing anyway? It's quite the flash toy."

"It's a Spectrescope." He watched to see if Draco registered his invention; when he didn't, Harry added, "It helps you find whatever it is you're looking for. It can be tuned to people if they're in the immediate area, but it's mostly for household chores, really. Like if you've lost a sock."

Somehow Malfoy managed to lift his eyebrow while squinting at Harry. It made him look constipated. "Our house-elves would flay themselves if they lost a sock."

"Well, it's not for you, then, is it?" Harry answered uncharitably. He still wasn't happy that Malfoy had managed to get it working. It wasn't difficult -- one of its selling points was that it could be used by anybody in a wizarding family -- but that didn't mean that this one, made from the ring he'd imagined on Ginny's finger, should be defiled by Malfoy. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I told you already. Revenge. Something your holier-than-thou attitude probably cannot fathom."

"Whatever." Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. "Why do you have to do it here? There's a whole wide world out there just waiting for your schemes. Why don't you take your revenge out there?"

"Because," Draco said, smiling in a way that made Harry shiver, "this is the best place to hear what's going on."

He waved his wand and suddenly voices were added to the Spectrescope image. Ginny's blush made sense now, for Harry could clearly hear Krum saying he wanted to make love to her until she screamed. Harry stared in horror; Vox spells were highly illegal, and even overhearing them would make him an accomplice in the Wizengamot's eyes. He waved his own wand and silenced the voices.

"You're spying on them?"

Malfoy looked incredulous, and then burst out laughing. "Pot-kettle away, Potter. Of course, if it's our Hero doing it, it's fine, right? Hesperus, you are such a hypocrite!"

"I'm not spying, Malfoy. I'm just ... watching." The excuse sounded lame to his own ears. In Malfoy's, he knew it would be ludicrous. "I just want to be with her," he tried to explain.

"Oh, well then, that's completely different," Malfoy assured him. His sarcastic tone grated Harry's nerves worse than the harsh scratch of Dolores Umbridge's quill.

"Listen, Malfoy, I know what you're going through. I know you want him back so badly that your guts are twisted. But it doesn't justify invading their priva- ... What?"

Malfoy was laughing as uproariously as if Harry had suddenly donned a chicken suit and was pecking through the office. "Oh, Potter," he gasped out, "that's funny. You're doing this because you think you can win her back ... from Viktor ..." He dissolved into hysterics again.

"Ginny and I are in love."

That sent Malfoy into another uncontrollable round of giggles. "Yeah, yeah, I can see that. Other than her banging my boyfriend, you two are the perfect couple."

"This ... this is just temporary. We're soul mates!" Harry insisted.

Malfoy wheezed so hard Harry was sure he would hyperventilate; Harry resolved to do nothing to save him. At last Malfoy recovered enough to say, "That is without a doubt the most pathetic thing I've ever heard. And since I lived with Pansy, that's saying a lot."

"Well, what's your evil plan then? How are you going to get Krum back?"

Shaking his head as if Harry was an idiot child, Malfoy said, "Oh, Potter, you don't get it, do you? I don't want him back. I want to destroy him."

Harry sneered at his unwelcome houseguest. "And you call me pathetic?"

Malfoy gave him a measured look. "That's the least of what I call you, Potter. But I'm saying this for your own good. The only way Girl Weasley is coming back to you is if he fucks her across her cute little Nimbus and it flies out of control. Otherwise, you're S.O.L."

The image of Ginny bent over her broom for Krum made Harry's blood boil. He had two choices: a quick Unforgivable on Malfoy or getting the hell out of there. He took a second to seriously consider where he might hide the body before Apparating back to Diagon.


Harry stumbled back after consuming far too much alcohol. The flat was quiet and the Spectrescope was off; for a moment he thought Malfoy had gone. But then he saw him sitting in the dark, lit by the reflection of dusky streetlamps. The man had transfigured his own seat; nothing like Harry's tattered easy chair (which had been shoved into the corner to make room), this was a wide two-seater of mottled dragon hide, tanned until it was soft as butter. Malfoy looked unusually small with his knees drawn up against his chest, his arms hugged around his legs. His eyes were closed and his pointed chin fit perfectly in the "V" between his knees. He looked every bit as miserable as Harry had felt watching the image of Viktor and Ginny.

For just an instant Harry almost felt sorry for him. Then he realised that Malfoy must be listening to their conversation. He would have been outraged, but it seemed too much bother. Instead he settled into his own chair and sipped the firewhisky he'd brought back for the long night ahead.

Malfoy opened a drowsy eye and without a second thought Harry held the bottle out to him. The man hesitated for just an instant, probably weighing up the likelihood of being poisoned, before taking a deep swallow.

"Are you listening?" Draco nodded. Against his mind's silent protests, Harry said, "I want to hear."

"You shouldn't, Potter. It's wrong," replied Malfoy with infuriating condescension.

"C'mon, Malfoy, I need to hear them."

"Beg me."

Harry's hatred for the man grew exponentially, tempered only by his need to hear what was happening across the way. From the look on the Slytherin's face, Harry didn't think he could bear to actually see it. He gritted his teeth and said in as flat a tone as he could muster, "Please, Malfoy, I'm begging you."

Malfoy's nostrils flared as he waved his wand. Immediately the sound of exuberant lovemaking filled the air.

"He's killing her!" Harry cried out when Ginny screamed.

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed, more resigned than horrified. "And she's loving every minute of it."

"That's not her!" insisted Harry. "Ginny never makes that kind of noise. She says it's undignified."

Harry froze, horrified by what he'd just revealed. To his surprise, the other man seemed not to care. "You know what they say about converts. They've been going at it like Knockturn whores for the past hour."

The past hour? Feeling faint, Harry reached for the bottle of whisky. "That's enough. Shut it off."

To his surprise, Malfoy did. But as silence echoed through the building, Harry was sure he could still hear those horrific sounds. "You're such a masochist," he accused, as much to fill the vacuum as anything else.

Malfoy snorted. "You're the one begged to hear."

Harry had no answer to that, so instead he said, "You can't go through with this." In the pub he'd thought up all kinds of arguments against Malfoy's revenge. He mightn't remember any of them now, but he still knew it was a bad idea. "We both need to just go home. If they don't come back to us, then I guess they were never ours to begin with."

Malfoy stared as if Harry had been drinking undiluted bubotuber pus. "You really were raised by Muggles, weren't you, Potter? Have you never heard of magic? It's this funny little thing that lets you do things -- in this case, destroy that ball-bag Krum."

"You can't kill him!" Harry blurted out. "I mean, I know we're not friends or anything, but I still don't want to see you in Azkaban. Krum's not worth it."

Malfoy's expression was utterly unreadable as he studied Harry. When he finally spoke, Harry braced for a snarky comment. Instead, the Slytherin said, "I won't kill him. I want his dignity, and I wish him ill, but I want him to live out his long, lonely existence knowing that he made a terrible mistake. And the Girl Weasley ... well, don't you want to be there when she falls?"

Harry took a deep breath as he weighed his two possible futures. Should he return home and wait for Ginny to come to her senses or follow Malfoy down this warped path? "I don't know ..."

Sensing Harry's hesitation, Draco cast another Vox spell. The air suddenly burst into the sounds of sex. "He's rich and powerful and he's hung like a Centaur," yelled Malfoy above the din. "How can you compete with that?"

Harry waved his wand but the sound didn't diminish. Damn Malfoy and his illegal spell. "Shut it off," he growled.

But Malfoy just laughed. If anything, the volume increased, although it could have just been the throes of passion. "C'mon, Potter. Don't you want to even the odds?"

His fury split evenly between Malfoy and Krum, Harry grabbed his booze and stormed into one of the empty offices. He slammed the door and cast the strongest silencing spell he knew, and then reinforced the ward to keep Malfoy out. Even so, he could still hear muffled cries breaking through.

Harry knew he would rather do anything but help the Slytherin with his evil plot. He should go home and wait until Ginny decided she'd had enough of this fling. It was sure to happen soon. There was no way his Ginny could be satisfied with this kind of life.

But then her feral climax leaked through his wards, and he knew his mind was already made up.


A thin trickle of amber covered the bottom of the bottle, not enough to wet a goldfish's lips. The rest of the whisky lay in the stomach of one Harry Potter. It wasn't the first morning he'd woken like this, and he was afraid it wouldn't be his last. Before he'd ended up sharing an abandoned office building with the insufferable Malfoy heir, Harry's previous bouts of binge drinking could be counted on a single hand. Now he spent most evenings with Ogden's and Jack Daniel's.

When he finally awoke, his head splitting and his tongue furred, it was already well past noon. Malfoy was gone, thank Merlin, but his puce loveseat sprawled across the front office. As had become his habit, Harry's wand shoved it to the other side and brought his ragged lounger to the centre before he started up the Spectrescope. Viktor Krum appeared, wearing an old-fashioned wizard's undershirt and his bare knees straddled a cello. Hands that had once captured the world's most evasive snitches now graced its wooden bones. Krum had always transcended skill on the Quidditch pitch; now Harry recognised the same artistry with both feet planted firmly on the ground. With violent slices of his bow he evoked a passion like Harry had never seen. For a moment he forgot why he watched, simply appreciating the performance. Only after he found himself wishing for the sounds did his memory came flooding back.

With it came a curious realisation: Ginny wasn't in the scene, only Krum. This wasn't how the Spectrescope was supposed to work -- it should only have reacted to his wishes, his desires of what to see. And Krum was definitely not his desire. For some reason, after a week of sharing the images, the device had started blending Malfoy's magic with his.

This thought pummelled Harry's head, driving him to shut off the image. He stumbled to the corner where he'd dumped his last grocery run. Instead of the bags he'd left them in, the tins had been neatly organised, and the cheap tea he'd bought transformed into gourmet Assam. Shaking his head at the peculiarities of his new flatmate, Harry fixed himself a mug … and admitted that Malfoy might have a point.

Glancing over, he noticed that the door to Malfoy's room was ajar. Harry remembered the Slytherin's threat from the first night, but his curiosity was too great; he poked his head through the crack. Unlike his own room, which looked like its occupant might be camping out, this was like a luxury hotel. A huge canopied bed filled most of this one-time office, with a plush Persian rug covering the splintered wood floor. An antique writing desk was squeezed into one corner, an ample wardrobe into another.

On the bed was a small stack of boxes with Twilfit and Tatting's gold embossing. To his shock, several more boxes suddenly appeared before Harry's eyes. Malfoy was shopping! Harry opened the top box to find a lavish robe in deepest indigo. Buttons of lapis lazuli set off the dark cloth, the thick streaks of gold bringing the blue stone to life. It was one of the finest robes that Harry had ever seen, and he couldn't resist touching it. When his fingers brushed the almost-black velvet trim, he noticed a piece of paper tucked inside. An invoice signed by Mr. Twilfit himself, noting that two hundred Galleons had been deducted from Mr. Viktor Krum's account for this purchase. Harry winced to think how much this ever-growing pile of robes was going to cost.

Boxes were still piling up when a stack of books sprouted beside the desk. Like a weed out of control it stretched from the floor to above Harry's waist; a second stack appeared when the first was in danger of toppling. Apparently the Slytherin was clearing the shelves at Flourish & Botts. Harry noted that a frightening number of the books dealt with curses; his conscience pinged as he wondered what Malfoy intended to do besides clean out Krum's savings. Bags from Madam Primpernelle's were next, including an expensive hair restorative that proclaimed itself the most potent on the market, followed by a top-of-the-line pewter cauldron and a plethora of potions supplies.

Harry watched fascinated as the room filled with purchases. Extravagances that he could not have indulged in in an entire lifetime were a single day's shopping for Malfoy. And at the rate they were accumulating, there was no way the man had spent more than a few seconds selecting them. Whether it reflected carelessness or practiced expertise, Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't deny his macabre curiosity.

The writing desk soon overflowed with supplies from Scribbulus, from exquisite peacock quills and fine handcrafted parchments to the rarest blood-tinted inks. One piece of writing paper slipped from the pile, and a self-inking quill began to write:

Get out of my room, Potter!
And go to yours, there's something for you there. -- D.M.

Embarrassed at being caught out (and how had Malfoy known anyway?), Harry retreated to his own room. There was no desk here, nothing in the room other than the small camp bed, but on the floor were two items that hadn't been there earlier. One was a large stoppered vial from Slug & Jiggers, the apothecary's own trademark hangover potion. Eyes widening, Harry popped off the lid and swallowed down the steaming concoction. Immediately the teeth gnawing the front of his brain disappeared, leaving him feeling not only relief, but better than he had in a long time.

Harry turned to the second package. Wrapped in gold paper with a crimson ribbon, it was only a little larger than a magazine, but it was solid and quite heavy. His heart sped up when he saw the stamp of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Without hesitation, he tore through the wrapping to find a framed painting of a Quidditch pitch on which was one lone Seeker, dressed in Gryffindor colours, and a sparkling Snitch that blazed like a jewel. Like a magical portrait, the figure was moving, but in this scene the background changed as the Snitch avoided the Seeker's hands.

Drawn to the Snitch as irresistibly as if he was in the painting, Harry's finger traced the golden light. It darted away, nearly colliding with the Seeker, who lunged fruitlessly toward it. Escaping, it flew higher still, into the clouds, the Seeker following in its wake. Through layers of white they rose together until the green fields of the pitch disappeared. Harry felt their thrill as they burst above the clouds. He'd rarely flown this high; the few times he had, he'd been too focused on the elusive Snitch to enjoy it. Now, as the Golden Snitch bounced on the tufts of white cotton wool with the fearless Seeker skimming through the mist, Harry took in the beauty of his surroundings.

Trying again to touch the Snitch sent it even higher, so high that a passing aeroplane almost careened into it. The Seeker swerved and met the Snitch on the other side, making another desperate reach for it. Harry's touch foiled it; the gleaming jewel shot straight up this time with the plucky Seeker right behind. Harry gasped at the view from this height. Aeroplanes flew beneath him like koi in a shallow pool, and a dense blanket of clouds hugged the planet -- yes, it was the planet, Harry realised, for from here he could just begin to see the slightest curve at the edges.

It was then that the vertigo hit. Although the Seeker was still swooping merrily after the Snitch, Harry had to look away until his stomach calmed. The figures in the painting must have sensed the change, for when he looked back up they were descending. He let them go, watching as they wove their way through the field of planes, through the pillowy clouds, back towards the welcoming pitch that rushed up to greet them. The Snitch seemed to hang in the air for just a moment, uncertain which way to go, and it was just long enough for the Gryffindor Seeker to pluck it from the sky. Grinning wide, Harry could almost hear the stands erupt into cheers.

But louder than that was the pop of an Apparition into the building. Harry ran out to meet him. "Malfoy!" he exclaimed, full of surprising good feeling for the man.

This momentary fondness was crushed when Malfoy retorted, "Not now, Potter. I'm busy." He stormed into his room and slammed the door, only to peek his head out a moment later. "And you're not to get soused tonight, Potter. We've got a mission."

Stunned, Harry just nodded. And though he couldn't explain why, the thought of accompanying Malfoy on a mission gave him nearly the same sense of vertigo that he'd felt watching the Seeker fly fifty thousand feet above the earth. This time, he resolved not to tear his eyes away.


Malfoy emerged just after eight, joining Harry who was sitting miserably before the empty image of Krum's flat. "Have they left yet?"

"Yeah, with their bags," Harry answered miserably. "Do you know where they're going?"

"Paris. Viktor thinks it's the most romantic place on earth." Malfoy's scornful tone warned Harry against asking if Krum had ever taken him there. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose. You haven't said what we're doing." Harry studied Malfoy's all black attire; the high turtleneck and tight trousers giving him a lean stovepipe look that was surprisingly striking. "I didn't know you'd seen Mission Impossible."

Malfoy looked confused for half a second, then covered it with a scowl. "I assure you, Potter, this mission is entirely possible. I'm sure Viktor hasn't thought to change his wards."

"You're going to break in?"

"Of course."

Harry was about to protest, but then he thought of Krum holding Ginny's hand as they strolled alon the Champs d'Elysée stilled his tongue. "So what's the plan?"

Malfoy smirked, obviously pleased that Harry wasn't putting up a fight. "You'll see once we get there." He held out his arm, rolling his eyes when Harry hesitated. "Obviously we'll have to Side-Along. You can't expect him to have opened his wards to his lover's ex."

Unfortunately, the git was right. Harry was just glad he only had to touch Malfoy for a few short seconds. Krum's flat was bigger than he'd expected, and Harry started to explore, pleased that it didn't seem to reflect Ginny's tastes. "Not like I know her tastes anymore," he admitted ruefully.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was uncorking two bottles of wine; Harry rightly suspected that they were the most expensive in Krum's collection. Without even bothering with glasses Draco handed a bottle to Harry.

"So what are we doing here?"

"Ruining that bastard's life" came the cheery reply, Malfoy's bottle clinking against his. "Cheers!"

Both men drank deeply and then Malfoy began emptying his pockets and enlarging the contents. Harry watched eagerly, holding up the tub of hair restorer from Madam Primpernelle's. "What's this for?"

"Male pattern baldness," said Malfoy gleefully. "Viktor's deepest fear, and for good reason. I've seen his uncles -- it's not pretty. So he uses this stuff religiously."

"Did you put something in it?"

Draco groaned. "Of course I put something in it. What do you think we're doing here, getting decorating tips?" He waved his wand toward a stack of parchment. "Give me a hand with these, will you, Potter?"

Harry caught a glimpse of the top one. "'My darling Viktor,'" he read aloud, "'the robes are just divine, I'll be wearing them (and nothing under) when we next meet, love from your adoring Clarissa' … what the hell is this?"

"Just a little salt to rub in the wound," Malfoy replied cheerily. "There are receipts too. Hide them around the flat -- inside books or in his briefcase, anywhere he might keep something he doesn't want his girlfriend to see."

Harry thumbed through the parchments. Most referred to clandestine meetings, some were perfumed -- he recognised the fragrances from Madam Primpernelle's packages -- and all were signed with different names and ever more revealing endearments.. Malfoy was already busy shoving some into the corners of the bookcase, his chin set in a determined line, and a certain look in his eye …

It struck Harry then that, whatever the man might say, this desire for vengeance wasn't just about Malfoy's ego. He'd been genuinely hurt by Krum's betrayal. Now he was dealing with it in the only way he knew how. Talk about an impossible mission: there was no way Harry could squeeze such complexities into the shallow box he'd created for the Slytherin all those years ago. Ron would certainly disown him for even considering that Draco Malfoy might have a heart. Still, the long, measured drink he took as he tucked a perfumed note into a book of Bulgarian sonnets suggested that there was something beating in there, even if it was broken.

Still reeling from this revelation, Harry stumbled into Viktor's bedroom. He'd seen it on the Spectrescope, of course, but here, amidst the ripe scent of lovemaking (and the sounds he swore still echoed in his head), the pain was that much more acute. Still, Harry's denial ran deep -- it always had where women were concerned -- and he desperately wanted to believe that Ginny was under a spell. Three Revelaspells (and two-thirds of the wine bottle) later, he was still unconvinced that she wasn't, despite finding no evidence of errant magic.

While hiding parchments in Krum's wardrobe, Harry came across the tuxedo that he wore for performances. Ginny had always liked a man in tails, this Harry knew; after the War he'd frequently been expected to don his penguin dress and smile uncomfortably as people expressed their gratitude. Those events were high on the list of things that drove Harry to his haven in Ottery St. Catchpole, but Ginny had always enjoyed them. What if she missed them more than she had?

Yanking his jumper off, Harry pulled on the pleated tuxedo shirt, the jacket over the top. He could wear this costume, if that's what it took to please Ginny. Sure the buttons on the neck always choked him and he felt like an idiot with tails dragging the backs of his knees and he never could get that bowtie right -- still couldn't, he thought as his inebriated fingers fumbled with the ribbon -- but surely a little discomfort was a small price to pay. If it would please Ginny …


In the mirror's reflection she shimmered, a mirage for his parched throat. She wore that pale blue sundress he loved. Her hair fell loose, skimming the freckles on her shoulders that Harry had kissed so many times. Her smile … granted, its playful curve was one that Harry had seen flashed more frequently in Krum's company than he could remember personally, but nonetheless, it was his Ginny. Definitely his Ginny.

Until it wasn't.

"Here, let me …"

And suddenly it was Malfoy wearing Ginny's silk dress, Malfoy's long thin fingers deftly tying knot around Harry's neck, Malfoy's palms smoothing the creases from Harry's lapels. But when Harry closed his eyes and crushed the soft fabric between his fingers, releasing the scent of Ginny's body and a quiet gasp that could well have been her voice, it was easy to believe it was her in his arms. The soft lips that pressed against his could have been hers as well, if he forgot that Ginny had never been this tall, had never pushed her tongue so insistently into his mouth. It tasted good, though, that kiss, rich with the taste of wine and want, and Harry did not resist as his body was manoeuvred towards the bed.

The bed. Soft cotton sheets with an infinity of thread-counts, all laden with the inimitable smell of Ginny; with the flowery scent of her shampoo, tickling his nose even as hot breath ghosted across his ear and made him shiver; with the heavy body lying over him, pressing him into the mattress, consuming him in a cocoon of sensuality. Harry's hands grasped her silky sundress, savouring how the slick fabric slid over the skin underneath. He pulled that body closer, desperate for its warmth and its sheer presence, ignoring all physical evidence that this could not be his Ginny. Eyes squeezed tightly closed, he nuzzled the strap of her sundress, kissing the skin underneath, dragging the smooth edge of his teeth over the rosy flesh he remembered punctuated with freckles.

So busy picturing how Ginny might have looked through his ministrations, Harry was surprised to discover that the throaty background moans perfectly matched the motions of his hips. He thrust up as his hands pulled the curved bottom closer, the sheer fabric less a barrier than an invitation to ravage the skin underneath. Another groan, ripe with desire, and his mouth was attacked once more with deep kisses. "Ginny," he whispered against those wine-seasoned lips, uncertain whether he spoke to her or simply entreated Malfoy not to break this spell that they were surely under.

"Shhhh…" The long hiss interrupted the kisses. For an instant Harry feared he had indeed broken the spell, but his worries fled as skilled fingers worked the zipper of his trousers. In no time at all he was naked from the waist down and a wide palm was wrapped around his hardening width. Harry surrendered to the sensations prickling through him. A moist hand's firm strokes kept him from considering what might happen next; a curious tongue exploring his foreskin kept him from questioning how this could feel both utterly new and comfortably familiar at the same time. Harry sank his fingers into the silky hair, shorter than Ginny's but so close in weight he could pretend it gleamed red.

As that talented tongue launched into things Harry had never imagined a tongue could do, however, it was clear that his girlfriend was far away. Ginny's blow jobs were like furtive forays through a dodgy neighbourhood, necessary inconveniences on the way to somewhere else. This, though, this was akin to a stretch at a four-star resort, where his cock was a destination in itself. Devout attention was paid to every proffered amenity, from the slit weeping thick salty tears to the thick base that had never felt lips stretch full around them. Harry nearly wept himself when his shaft was fully enveloped, the heat and pressure and pure indescribable joy of it sending shock waves of bliss down his thighs. Tempted to lunge deeper into that ecstasy, he was held in place by a warning grip on his balls, sharp nails pinching his sensitive skin when he tried to move. The pain yanked him back from the brink of climax, its unexpected bite reminding him that his gentle attempts to push Ginny towards what he especially enjoyed weren't only unwelcome but unnecessary. This mouth knew exactly what he would enjoy; it also knew how to tease, slowing down when Harry wanted it to move faster, then sucking harder than Harry thought he could bear until his starving lungs gasped for air.

And then there were the fingers …

Ginny's fingers encircled Harry's erection from the beginning of a blow job to the very end, her fist ensuring that she didn't suck him too far into her mouth. Since that wasn't an issue here, two hands were freed for other endeavours. One attached itself to his balls, fondling the sack like a purse of priceless coins. The other explored lower, between Harry's sweaty legs, down into completely new -- completely virgin -- territory. "What are you …" he started to ask, his voice filled with fear despite himself, but his breath was stolen away again by that almost-but-not-quite-painful suction. When it relented his hips relaxed, and the finger that massaged his entrance slid into his damp hole easily as a cup fits a saucer. It didn't go far, just enough that Harry could feel its presence -- just enough that he found himself soon bearing down on it, wanting to feel more. Another one slipped in -- Merlin but this was dirty -- and it was impossible to imagine this was Ginny's finger, but Harry didn't care anymore. He just wanted more, more of that deliciously talented mouth that took him so deep, more of that burning stretch that made him feel so full, more of those undulations against his balls that pushed him closer and closer to the edge …

"Oh fuck Merlin gonna come …" Harry braced for the mouth to pull away, for a hand to grip his cock and pump his seed into the cold air. When that didn't happen, he tried to squirm away, only to find himself pinned between probing fingers and sinful lips. His half-hearted struggle ratcheted up his pleasure and when next that wet tongue slid down his flesh he exploded like the fireworks on Bonfire Night. It was an entirely different feeling, climaxing into the heart of that warm cavern, and the thought that his seed was being swallowed down made Harry feel like he could come for days. At last, though, his shudders stilled and Malfoy withdrew, leaving him feeling both boneless and bereft.

Not to mention apprehensive. Harry tensed as the long body stretched on top of him again.

"I can't …"


It was the same thing Malfoy had said before, and Harry relaxed, knowing that he'd done well to trust him then. He couldn't argue in any case, for his mouth was plundered, the tongue salty with semen winding with his own, diving into every unexplored contour of his mouth. Hips ground into his at the same time; now the silk skirt felt almost oppressive against his hypersensitive skin, but Malfoy was rutting against him like an animal in heat, and Harry had no intention of stopping him. Couldn't stop him in any case, for he was still incapacitated from the best blow job of his life.

But he did open his eyes to see the other man's face, pale and unfreckled, streaked with sweat that Harry craved to lick. His eyes were screwed tightly closed; Harry wondered if he was thinking of Krum at that moment, and buried an annoying pang of jealousy. "Draco," he whispered, calling him back.

At the whispered sound, Malfoy froze and then quaked frantically. Fluid ran down the crease of Harry's hip; a word -- his name -- ghosted over his ear. And then it was over. The man unceremoniously rolled over and dragged the duvet over the ruined dress.

Harry rolled in the other direction, too sated for panic but too confused to know what to say. "A moment of weakness," he told himself, "that's all it was. A moment meaning nothing."

With his face buried in the pillow pungent with Ginny's scent he murmured good night to his girlfriend. He was already drifting off when he heard what he could nearly believe was her reply.


Onward to part 2