Title: Repressing His Gayness

Author: HydrogenPeroxide

Word Count: 2,510

Rating: R

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine! Just JKR's and her various publishers.

Summary: A Potion's accident causes Harry's repressed gayness to rear it's ugly head and demand Prada. Metaphorically speaking.

He had been so careful, so stealthy, so…Slytherin really. He had said all the right things, pretended to get caught staring at Cho's breasts, he'd even moaned her name in the shower when Ron and Seamus were in the stalls next to him. And Neville fucking Longbottom had to screw everything up.

Of course, he couldn't come out and punch Neville for exploding whatever botched job of the Encouragement potion he had concocted. But he could have done at least something manly. Bellowing. He could have settled for bellowing at Neville. But no, no, he, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Badass Seeker, the Hogwarts Champion, he, had to burst into tears and slap Neville Longbottom across the face.

He wanted to die. But, dammit, he couldn't stop crying.

The rest of the class stared at Harry, who was covered in shimmering pink potion, as he hiccupped and cried in earnest. Neville stared at Harry in shock, a bright red handprint on his cheek.

"Mr. Potter, control yourself!" Snape hissed, outraged that something so undignified as sobbing could be happening in his sexless dungeon.

"This is my favorite shirt!" Harry wailed, smearing more potion across his face as he wiped the tears off his cheeks. He glared at Snape with tear-blinded eyes, furious. The potion was thin and already absorbing into his clothes and skin. He wrenched off his cloak and pulled his shirt over his head. "Don't you have something for stains?" he demanded, thrusting his pink-splotched t-shirt in Snape's chest. Snape spluttered and pushed the t-shirt away from himself.

"Um, Harry?" Hermione squeaked, her brown eyes wide. She held a vial filled with the pink potion.

Harry stared intensely at her for a moment before his eyebrows shot up in inspiration. "Dobby!" he shouted.

With a crack Dobby appeared, an enormous skillet clutched in his hands and a look of awe and delight on his face as he stared up at Harry. "Harry Potter, sir!" he squeaked, overjoyed. "Dobby has—"

"Dobby my shirt!" Harry cried. "He ruined it!" Harry glared daggers at Neville who was edging away from him. "It's my favorite shirt, Dobby. Can you fix it?" he pleaded, gently lowering his t-shirt into Dobby's skinny arms. Dobby nodded in earnest and disappeared with a snap. Harry smiled in relief and turned to face the classroom.

"Please, sir, I think Harry needs to go to the hospital wing," Hermione said. "The potion, sir, it must have…" she trailed off, staring at Harry. Apparently, this was enough for Snape, who nodded his head sharply. Hermione and Ron grabbed Harry's arms and marched him out of the classroom, ignoring his protests.

"But Dobby won't know where I am! What if something happens to my shirt?" he said, fretfully.

"It'll be okay, Harry," Hermione said in a soothing voice. Ron looked bracingly at Harry.

"Don't worry, mate. Madam Pomfrey will fix everything."

"I'm fine!" Harry insisted, crossly, struggling. He wrenched his head over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Neville.




Two fuzzy shapes, one brown and one red, loomed above him. He squinted, and someone clumsily put his glasses on for him. "Ron? Hermione?" he asked, blinking. A familiar ceiling looked down on him when he looked around the room. Why was he in the Hospital Wing?

"Harry Potter sir!"

His shirt. His favorite shirt. Potions…Neville…oh, god, he had cried in front of Malfoy. Harry groaned, rolling on his stomach.

Hermione sat on the bed and cleared her throat. "Harry, Professor Snape says that there was nothing dangerous about Neville's potion," she said with forced cheerfulness. "It was just a very strong Encouragement Potion."

"So…you weren't poisoned, mate," Ron said awkwardly. "But you would have been if you had swallowed it."

"Then what happened?" Harry asked, turning back to face them. He wished he hadn't. Hermione had a grimace on her face that she was trying pass off as a smile. Ron was staring determinedly at the water glass on Harry's nightstand.

There was a moment of silence, Ron and Hermione trading uneasy looks with one another. Finally, Hermione took a deep breath and said very quickly, "He said the potion encouraged you to express what you have been repressing." She bit her lip, and looked at Ron pointedly.

He groaned. He could kill Snape. If Snape were to walk through the Hospital Wing doors at this very moment Harry was sure he pull off at least a Crucio. Tomorrow was going to be hell. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself away in the Hospital Wing until everyone he knew had graduated.

"What? Oh, um, do you want to talk about how you're feeling?" he asked, looking at Hermione for approval.

Harry tried to suffocate himself with his pillow.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, tugging the pillow out of his grip. "You can't do that! Tell him Ron."

"Yeah, Harry, you haven't saved the Wizarding World yet," Ron said dryly.

This only prompted more attempts at suffocation, all of which Hermione quashed. Hermione glared at Ron's insensitivity and began lecturing on the importance of self-acceptance. Harry tried to block her out.

He wasn't that…alright he'd come out and think it, gay. He didn't spend hours primping in the mirror. He didn't truly care about clothing, except for that shirt. He had a particular fondness for that shirt. But beyond that he was just like every other guy, except for the small, tiny, completely insignificant matter of him liking men. He hoped Snape wasn't slinking about in his mind somehow. For that matter, he hoped Voldemort didn't know. That's all he needed, his worst enemy knowing his darkest secret.

Hours later, after Madame Pomfrey had bustled Ron and Hermione out of the Hospital Wing so that Harry could rest, Harry was wide awake, imagining what the next day would bring. Would there be something in the Prophet? He could see the headline: Boy Who Lives Loves Men.

And then, just like in the potions classroom, albeit this time not inspired by his need to save his favorite shirt but rather his social life, Harry had a stroke of genius that had him kicking the sheets off of his legs and racing out of the Hospital Wing.


The rumor mill known to others as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was working at top speed on the newest piece of gossip leaked out by none other than Professor Snape: Harry Potter was gay. Oh, Snape didn't say in so many words, but that's what he meant, and everyone who was in that room definitely saw Harry Potter blubber about a t-shirt and slap Neville Longbottom in limp-wrist glory.

The Slytherin Common Room had been in a fair uproar about Potter after Snape had announced the nature of Longbottom's potion. Everyone had something to say about it. Draco overheard two Seventh Years waging bets on Potter's virginity. They'd fallen silent when he'd shot them a look though. It didn't matter that he was a year below them. He was a Malfoy.

"The last thing I want to think about," Draco drawled "is Potter's virgin arse."

Which wasn't entirely true, but they didn't need to know that. It was Blaise who took the reigns of the conversation, steering it to the friendlier waters of an upcoming wedding of a Slytherin who had graduated the previous year. Draco made a mental note to let Blaise use his Nimbus the next time Blaise wanted to impress that Ravenclaw.

Draco stared into the flames, thinking about Potter, especially the side of Potter revealed in Potions. Half-naked Potter was nice. 'He looked kinda cute when he was crying. Vulnerable…dominateable' Draco thought, smirking, enjoying a very brief fantasy of Potter blindfolded and bound in black silk cords.

Milicent began to sing an old Viking love song, and Draco wondered who had been stupid enough to ply her with firewhiskey. Her deep booming voice made him wince.

"I gotta think," he muttered to Blaise before he left the Common Room. Blaise gave him a thoughtful look before nodding, distracting one of the First Years who looked askance at Draco leaving the Common Room after curfew.

For a while he wandered aimlessly through the corridors, thinking about how he wanted to approach Potter. Potter had insisted that there was nothing wrong with him when he'd been dragged to the Hospital Wing, but no one had ever seen Potter act that gay. Draco paused. Would Potter be that gay forever more? Draco frowned. Oh, he'd like vulnerable Potter, but to have to deal with that everyday?

Maybe he'd acted like that because he'd been suppressing it for so long. Draco grinned. At least the Gryffindor was at least somewhat naturally inclined to being submissive.

Decidedly more cheerful he continued walking down the corridor and was brought up short by the sight of Harry Potter pacing in front of a wall.


'I need somewhere to get rid of my gayness…I need somewhere to get rid of my gayness…' Harry glared at the wall. "Dammit I can't have been the only pouf!" he raged, kicking the wall. He had been pacing for ten minutes now. "I need somewhere to hide my gayness, so could you please help me out?"

A cough behind him had him whirling around like a deer in headlights.

"Malfoy!" he gasped, fumbling in his pockets. He paled when he realized he'd left his wand in the Hospital Wing.

"Potter," Malfoy returned, calmly, hands in his pant pockets. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

"Nothing!" Harry said angrily, glaring. When Malfoy did nothing more than raise an incredulous eyebrow Harry flushed.

"It seems to me, Potter, that you are trying to, ahem, 'hide your gayness' so to speak," Malfoy said airily. Because Harry didn't have a wand he settled for crossing his arms in front of his chest and scowling.

"Where are they, my pretty?"

Harry's face blanched as he heard excited footsteps approaching. "Fuck," he whispered, turning on his heel and pacing in front of the wall. 'I need a place to hide from Filch and his cat' he chanted in his head, feeling his palms sweat and anxious waves rolling off of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on nothing else but a safe place from Filch and Mrs. Norris.

A firm grip seized him by the arm and yanked him hard to his right. Harry's eyes snapped open. The room was small, smaller even than his room at the Dursleys. "Um, thanks," he said, roughly, suddenly shy and nervous at how small the room was and how close Draco was to him.

Draco grinned at him. "I figured you were up to something," he said.

An awkward silence hung between the two of them. Harry looked anywhere but at Draco and Draco looked at Harry with wicked amusement.

"So," Draco began, smiling a smile Harry had never seen on him before. It was…predatory, Harry realized with a nervous shudder. "The whole school's talking about what happened today," he said conversationally.

Harry scooted further against the wall. "Drop it, Malfoy," he hissed. He strained his ears to see if Filch was still out there. Sometimes Filch lingered where he thought he might catch an overconfident student; the man's sixth sense for students out of bed was not always dulled by stone and magic.

"Now, now, Potter, no need to get so defensive," Draco said lazily, tapping his wand against his thigh. Harry eyed Draco's wand warily before forcing himself to look Draco in the eye.

"You see, Potter, I think I understand what you need," Draco said. "You don't want to have another outburst like you did today in class, but as the potion revealed, if you don't express…" Draco paused, searching for words. "If you don't express those repressed emotions regularly you'll explode one day."

Harry didn't give any sign of agreement, but he didn't give one of disagreement either.

"And I'll throw you a bone, Potter. I know of at least one House who will be brewing extra-strength Encouragement potions to throw at you. I can see it now. You're at a Quidditch match and some underhanded, sneaky, cheating Slytherin throws one of those potions at you and you burst into tears because your uniform's gotten spoiled and your windswept look has been utterly destroyed."

Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Your choice, Potter," he said.

"What choice?" Harry asked, wary yet willing to explore his options. Perhaps Draco was proposing to throw potions at him in private for his own amusement? Harry grimaced. 'Well, old son, it'll be better than half the school seeing it' he thought. He brightened. Maybe he'd get it all out of his system and then, when he was ambushed by Slytherins, the only repressed feelings that would get expressed would probably be violent, or boring, or lazy. Word would get round, and eventually people would realize that he wasn't gay! He scowled. But Malfoy would know his secret. And he rather thought Ron and Hermione knew. And if he built up a tolerance, there'd be no spectacle for Malfoy.

"What's in it for you?" he asked suddenly.

Draco gave him a pitying look. "The sex, of course."

"What?" Harry squeaked, falling on his arse, his eyes huge as he stared up at Draco. Draco rolled his eyes and squatted in front of the stunned boy.

"Gryffindor you might be, but you," Draco tapped Harry's nose with his wand "are passing fair."

Harry gaped at Draco and crossed his legs tightly together.

"I'm not going to rape you, Potter," Draco drawled. "Unless you discover that's a repressed fantasy that you'd rather not have revealed in front of the entire Wizarding World."

Utterly gobsmacked Harry continued to stare at Draco. After several long moments of open-mouth silence, Harry gave the barest of nods. "I suppose I aught to do something," he said, finally.

"Finally," Draco growled, yanking Harry up by his sweater and crushing their mouths together. Harry fought for dominance, but a combination of his lack of experience and Draco's fierce determination had him yielding in moments. He reached his arms around Draco's neck, and Draco bit his lip. He heard moaning and realized it was own.

Draco pressed him onto the floor, grinding his hips into Harry's. Harry whimpered in pleasure, thrilled and terrified all at once. The cold stone floor made a sharp contrast with his burning skin, and he moaned as Draco bound his wrists above his head in one hand. "Don't stop," he pleaded, knowing he was begging and not caring.

Draco laughed, and Harry could feel the reverberations across his skin. 'When had he taken off his sweater?' he thought distantly. Draco put his mouth to Harry ear and said, "We're just getting started." Harry trembled.


"Let me know if you have any other repressed…facets to your personalities," Draco said rather breathlessly.

Harry laughed. "Um, can you untie me now?"