Author's Note: This fic actually has quite a lot of backstory! I was trolling Livejournal and saw a gorgeous picture of Draco cradling a white bird on alaanafair's journal. I think the title was Mr. February, but I have no idea where it came from. Then heathenursidae made a comment that Draco would "pet him and pat him and call him George" which is what gave me the idea to write a crackfic and also provided the title for this fic, even though there are no "wascally wabbits" therein. The story sort of evolved out of the crack stage and even spawned the most adorable picture of Draco holding "Harry" drawn by redrahl. I wish allowed links because that artwork is SO CUTE. I love her a billionty. Anyway, if you are a Harry Draco fan and haven't joined Livejournal, you should do it just to see the artwork. Utterly brilliant.


Draco traipsed carelessly through the Forbidden Forest because he was a Malfoy and if a Malfoy felt like traipsing then he would traipse and anyone who had a problem with that could... Well, no one would have a problem with it because Draco was quite alone at the moment. And looking for illegal potions ingredients always put him in a traipsing mood. He even though about humming a happy tune, but sometimes that attracted irritating creatures like fairies and mentally-challenged songbirds.

As if called by the wayward thought, a small feathered shape hurtled through the air, narrowly missed Draco's face, spun into the air in an unspectacular loop, and then plummeted straight down to tangle in Draco's hair with an excessive amount of chirping and flapping, possibly exacerbated by Draco's girlish screams as he fought to bat the creature out of his hair. After all, it was in his hair.

The tiny creature was at last knocked to the forest floor where it lay still, either unconscious or too tired to lift a feather. Draco readied his wand in case the bird recovered and decided to attack again, although it did not look very terrifying lying in a heap of ruffled white feathers. After watching it warily for several heartbeats, Draco poked it with his wand tip. It did not move.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He was of half a mind to leave the stupid creature to be eaten by some fanged denizen of the Forest, but he pictured the frowny look his mother's face acquired whenever she prattled on about "compassion" and "mercy" and tripe like that. For some reason, he also pictured the frowny look Potter's face acquired whenever he caught Draco doing something particularly heinous--sort of a daily event, certainly--and it nearly made him dust off his hands and walk away. Then he pictured the frowny look changing to one of astonishment when he learned that he, Draco Malfoy, had singlehandedly saved the life of a precious little helpless forest creature.

Wrinkling his nose, Draco bent down and picked up the bird by one wing. It did not erupt into a flurry of flapping, but instead dangled limply. Draco frowned, wondering if he had killed the precious little helpless forest creature. Potter's frowny face loomed in his vision and Draco put away his wand and cradled the bird in both hands. He pressed an ear against the tiny white chest and felt a staccato heartbeat with something akin to relief as Potter's disapproving visage disappeared.

"Poor little birdy," he said aloud and then made his own frowny face because it sounded faker than Pansy trying to convince Blaise that she hadn't sucked off that nerdy Ravenclaw sixth year under the Quidditch stands last Tuesday. He tried again using the wheedling tone he turned on his mother whenever he wanted something particularly expensive. "Poor little helpless birdy. Don't worry, Draco is here. I will take you back to the dorm with me. I will pet you and pat you and feed you ridiculously costly food and I will call you..." He paused and tried to think of a suitable name for something with a brain the size of a shriveled pea. He smirked. "I will call you Harry."


Draco carried the tiny bird back to the Slytherin dungeon, cradling it in the sleeve of his robe to avoid ridicule. It would be amusing to be lauded as a hero to the other Houses, but his fellow Slytherins would think was crazier than Goyle when he accidentally ate his own sock thinking it was a discarded pastry.

The common room was nearly empty when Draco slithered through. He countered the curious stares of several second year Slytherins with a quelling glare of superiority and they quickly returned to their studies. Draco sneered. The people that stupid hat allowed into Slytherin these days. It was disgraceful. He doubted that lot would even make proper minions one day. He proceeded straight to his dorm where he climbed onto his bed and yanked the curtains shut, even though none of his dorm mates were present. He cast a Silencing Charm and placed his feathered charge on his pillow before stretching out on the bed to stare at it.

"All right, bird. I mean Harry. Wake up, now." Draco prodded the avian creature with his index finger and then sighed and stroked the pale feathers of its tiny head. After a few moments the animal twitched and opened its eyes. It exploded into sudden motion, fluttering into the air with a startled chirp. Draco watched in amazement as it bounced off the canopy, careened into the curtain, and spun back to the bed to lie in a crumpled heap.

Draco snatched the bird before it could take flight again. "Stop it!" he ordered. "You need to calm down. For one thing, you're the worst flyer I've ever seen."

The bird struggled in his hand and gave an angry-sounding chirp. Draco scowled. "Protest all you like, but it's true. In your defense, you might be injured, eh? No hold still so I can check."

It seemed to understand, because it stopped fighting to free itself. Draco loosened his grip slightly, not trusting its placidity. "I named you Harry, by the way, because you seem to be fairly stupid. I'm glad to see you were properly named."

Draco yelped and released the creature. "Ouch! You ungrateful pest! That hurt." He massaged his hand where the bird had pecked him. The white animal did not try to fly, but walked a short distance away to peer at Draco with head cocked. "Peck me again and I'll toss you back in the forest. I'm sure you'll be a tasty treat for a wolf or fox."

Harry the Bird turned his back on Draco, rather disdainfully, it seemed.

"Stupid bird," Draco muttered.


"Come here, Harry. I want to see if your wing is broken," Draco said to his annoying new pet. The white bird had waddled away from him to the farthest corner of the bed. It seemed to be ignoring him. Draco reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out something wrapped in paper. "I have chocolate," he added in a wheedling tone and peeled away a strip of the wrapping to expose the chocolately goodness.

The bird turned around and cocked a head at him. Draco broke off a piece and stretched out his hand toward the bird. He was not sure if birds ate chocolate, but the animal took a tentative step forward. Perhaps it was just hungry. He did not recall his owl ever eating sweets. Of course, Draco had a tendency to hoard his treats like a starving wolf guarding a fresh kill.

"Come on. It's tasty. Very expensive, of course. Imported from Sweden."

The bird hopped across the green bedding and took a tentative peck at the chocolate. Draco restrained his urge to snatch the creature and instead placed his other hand, palm upraised, on the blanket.

"I won't hurt you," he promised and thought he might even have meant it. The bird took another peck at the sweet and then hopped lightly into Draco's palm. He nearly crowed with triumph. "Good Harry," he said happily.

Harry nibbled at the chocolate while Draco carefully examined his wings. The bird made a frantic chirp and flapped madly when his right wing was stretched to full span.

"All right, you're injured. Don't make it worse. I don't think it's broken." Draco felt the small bones tentatively, just to be safe. "I don't feel any breaks. You must have sprained it. No wonder you can't fly for shite." Harry pecked his palm lightly as if in reprimand. Draco grinned.

"Well, you obviously will not be flying for a while. You should rest. I suppose I should find out what sort of bird you are so that I can feed you properly. Do you want to come to the library with me?"

Harry fluttered up to Draco's shoulder and he frowned at the bird. "I said no flying. Mind you, I am only keeping you until you are well enough to go back to the forest."

The bird chirped and Draco ran a finger over the soft white breast. He could barely feel the tiny claws clamped onto his shoulder. Such a small bird was vastly different from his huge owl. He stroked it once more. "I guess you aren't that bad," he admitted.

He flung his bedcovers aside and headed for the library.


As luck would have it, Draco ran straight into Granger and the Weasel in the library. Of course, the bushy-haired Gryffindor seldom left the library, so it was seldom possible to avoid her presence on any random trip there. Apparently Potter had escaped the need to study, most likely by hobnobbing with Dumbledore, heroically destroying some wayward evil, or granting an interview to the Daily Prophet.

All eyes fixed on Draco and he preened for a moment under the attention. Luna Lovegood drifted over to peer at the bird. Normally Draco avoided the insane Ravenclaw like the plague, but at the moment her odd eyes were lit up with admiration so he refrained from mentioning that her wardrobe resembled the cast off rags worn by house-elves. "Do you have a new pet, Draco?"

"Not really. It's just a poor defenseless woodland creature I rescued from certain death. I named him Harry because he's quite stupid, very lucky, and should be dead."

The bird chirped and Draco thought it sounded a bit annoyed. He patted its head to shush it. "Come along, Harry." He smirked at Potter's little minions. Granger had one claw attached to the Weasel's arm and was hissing in his ear, no doubt talking the glaring redhead out of doing something stupid, like hexing Draco. Harry made a forlorn cooing sound and Draco patted his head again. "Don't be afraid of the Gryffindors, Harry. They act like rabid dogs, but they won't actually eat you."

He breezed by the gaping Gryffindors and into the forest of bookshelves. An hour later, Harry was asleep on Draco's shoulder with his head tucked under a wing, but he awakened when Draco sat back with a sigh. "There. I think I found what you are, Harry. A Peace Dove. Pure white with a black beak and black feet. And beady black eyes, of course."

Harry hopped down onto the book and tipped his head as if studying the photo of the identical white bird. The avian creature in the picture flapped its wings and opened its beak soundlessly. Harry chirped.

"It's just a picture, you dolt. Don't worry; you can join your own kind as soon as you are well. Did you know you are a magical bird? Apparently your song can induce feelings of peace and goodwill in humans." Draco snorted. "Potter should send you to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You can sing and the Dark Lord will turn benevolent and good."

The thought gave Draco a round or two of guffawing chuckles, but Harry seemed less than amused. He chirped forlornly until Draco picked him up and deposited him back to his shoulder perch.

"No, Harry, I won't let the Chosen One send you to the Dark Lord. The freak would probably feed you to his giant snake." Draco frowned at the thought and gave the bird a gentle squeeze. "I'll protect you, Harry. At least I know what you eat now. Let's go to the kitchen and get you some nice berries. And no more chocolate. Apparently it's bad for birds."

Harry gave a forlorn coo and Draco relented as he exited the library. "Well… maybe a tiny bit. You do seem to enjoy it."


Draco grabbed a nearly empty box of raspberry crèmes from its hiding place at the bottom of his trunk. He stuffed one of the sweets into his mouth and tucked the other two into a corner of the trunk with a mental note to eat them before they became stale. Harry watched curiously from his perch on Draco's shoulder as he set the box in the center of his bed.

Draco had skipped dinner in the Great Hall after sneaking to the kitchen to procure some berries and nuts for his bird. The house elves had supplied him with a selection of sandwiches, so he had eaten one before returning to the Slytherin common room to go through his trunk.

"All right, Harry. This should do, although it's a bit plebian at the moment." Draco tapped the box with his wand and Transfigured the thin wood into fine mahogany. The shiny paper interior was quickly turned into green velvet and tucked back into the box.

Draco lifted the newly remodeled item and set it next to his pillow before gripping the white bird and setting him gently in the box. "There. Your new bed. You should like it since it smells like chocolate."

Harry chirped, but made no move to settle into his new home. Draco sighed and began to disrobe. "I'll buy you a fancy cage tomorrow, all right? Just sleep there for one night like a good bird."

He carefully folded his clothes and put them into the hamper for collection by the house-elves before crawling beneath the covers. He never wore pyjamas at Hogwarts, preferring the rebellion of wearing only boxers to bed. His parents would consider it uncouth if he attempted it at home. Draco settled his head into the pillow and shivered slightly until his body warmed the cold sheets. He could have cast a Warming Charm but it was hardly worth the effort most of the time.

Harry cooed and Draco stared at the bird, who had fluffed himself into a white ball-like shape. Draco pursed his lips. "Are you trying to tell me you are cold? How can you possibly be cold? You live in the frigid forest."

The bird turned in a stiff half-circle until he faced away from Draco, an obvious sign of disdain. "They don't make blankets for birds," Draco said sharply. Harry made a barely audible sound that was most likely bird-speak for sarcasm.

He reached out and snatched the ball of feathers. "Oh all right. But if I crush you to death in the night, remember it's your fault entirely." He placed the bird near his pillow and was surprised when Harry snuggled into the hollow of his throat. "I guess you really were cold," he admitted. He yawned and stroked his fingers lightly over the soft feathers.

"Goodnight, Harry," he murmured.

A soft coo answered him and he drifted off to sleep.


Draco woke to the feel of a warm body pressed tightly against his back. An arm crossed his ribs and his buttocks were nestled in the curve of someone's groin.

"Blaise, didn't I tell you not to crawl into my bed? I'm not interested," he said sleepily. A gasp sounded near his ear and the arm withdrew, but Draco snatched the wrist before Blaise could escape. "Wait, you're warm. You can stay a while."

He dragged the arm back and tucked it against his chest before snuggling more firmly against the—for Merlin's sake—naked body wrapped around his. Blaise was a cocky bastard, that was certain. Draco thought he had given up and turned his attention to Pansy, but perhaps he had found out about the Ravenclaw. Draco smirked drowsily.

His eyes snapped open suddenly. "Where's Harry?" he demanded.

"Um… he's fine," a husky voice whispered. "In his box."

Draco relaxed again. "Oh good. I knew he would like his box once he got used to it. Silly bird."

He tried to drift back to sleep, but the knowledge that a naked body was pressed quite intimately to his made it difficult to slumber, especially when it was rather obvious that his bed partner was awake. The coiled tension was obvious with every breath. Draco sighed.

"Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful," Draco decided. "Consider it your punishment for creeping into my bed uninvited, Zabini." He twined his fingers with Blaise's and guided the hand downward to slip beneath his pants. His prick was less than erect, but it was Blaise's job to fix that. Draco wrapped both their hands around his cock and then let go. Blaise's warm hand stayed where it was as though frozen.

Draco made a huffing sound. "Honestly, Blaise, you came to me. Either get busy or get lost."

He fully expected Blaise to huff off with a snarl, but Zabini surprised him by stroking tentatively. He must really be desperate for sex, Draco thought. Pansy must have cut him off completely. He nearly chuckled aloud, but it turned into a gasp when a long, firm stroke covered his length from base to tip.

"Oh," he said. "That's nice, Blaise." He almost added, You must have been practicing, but he did not want the boy to stop, so he restrained himself. The delicious strokes became longer and stronger and Draco shut his eyes tightly to enjoy every sensation.

"Yes, yes, oh that's good," he murmured and then shivered delightfully as his orgasm rushed through him, spilling liquid over the hand that held him. He almost purred in satisfaction, but restrained the urge as he fumbled beneath his pillow for his wand. No sense in swelling Blaise's already overstuffed ego.

Draco cast a nearly soundless Cleaning Charm and smirked at the hard length nestled against his arse cheeks. "Forget it, Blaise. I already told you you'll never fuck me. Feel free to go take care of yourself elsewhere."

Blaise's hand withdrew and Draco tugged his pants back up. The warm body moved away and Draco felt a momentary stab of guilt. It wasn't Blaise's fault he was an oversexed cur with unrequited lust for Draco. "Ah… and thanks. Goodnight, Blaise."

Soft lips pressed beneath his ear in a gentle kiss. "Goodnight, Draco," a voice whispered. The warmth left his side and Draco's eyes snapped open in surprise. Blaise never kissed anyone. Never, ever. Something was wrong. Draco rolled over to see the dark shape next to the bed flip the hood of Draco's dressing gown over his head.

"Hey, that's mine," he protested as he sat up. The curtains parted and Draco caught the flash of a pale hand in the moonlight as the boy departed.

A pale hand. Holy fuck, it wasn't Blaise! Draco bolted from the bed and stuck his head through the curtains to see the door shut. "Goddamn it!" he snarled. "Come on, Harry, we have a sneaky pervert to catch!" He reached into the box next to his pillow, but his hand encountered only empty air.

Harry was gone.


Draco glared at the large woman in the portrait. "Let me in," he snarled without preamble.

She sniffed, obviously looking down at his Slytherin attire. "Password," she said.

"I don't know the bloody password because I am not a bloody Gryffindor," Draco growled. "I need to speak to Potter and his bloody minions now!"

"No admittance without the password," she said in a singsong tone with a rather malicious grin.

Draco sent a Banging Charm against the portrait. The Fat Lady shrieked. "Stop that! You'll ruin my paint!"

"Then let me in!" Draco bellowed when the thunder had died away. There was no response, so he leveled his wand and let fly another. The reverberations gonged through the hallway loudly. The woman in the portrait fled with a scream. After two more Charms, the portrait swung open to reveal a hole with a sleepy-looking Gryffindor therein. The child rubbed at his eyes. Draco assumed it was a first or second year; he did not care which as he pushed past.

"Hey! What you doin'? You know it's four in the mornin'?"

"I need to see Potter. Which way to his room?"

"You ain't supposed to be in 'ere!"

Draco reached out and snatched the boy up by his collar until he nearly dangled on tiptoes. "Listen, you, I'm in no bloody mood for this. Where. Is. Potter?"

The boy threw out an arm and pointed. Draco tossed him against the wall and stalked up the indicated stairs. He was in a fine snit. He had searched the Slytherin dungeons in a near-naked state, searching for whoever had stolen his dressing gown and his pet. None of the Slytherin boys had seemed to be the culprit, which left Weasley and Granger as the people most likely to have concocted the plot. His skin crawled horribly at the thought of Weasley in his bed. If it had been, he would simply have to murder the git. And then take fifty thousand baths.

The door to the Gryffindor dorm room slammed open with an impressive bang, startling all the residents from slumber. Each of the bedcurtains was wide open. Draco sneered. Stupid, trusting Gryffindors could not even understand the meaning of privacy.

Potter looked somewhat alert with his horrific mass of hair sticking out in all directions; he already had his wand in hand, but Weasley gaped at Draco like a landed trout as he stalked forward to brandish his hawthorn wand beneath the freckled nose.

"WHERE IS MY BIRD?" Draco demanded.

Weasley's mouth widened further and his eyes goggled. "Wha—?" he asked intelligently.

"Don't play stupid with me, Weasley, even though I realize it is your natural condition. Just tell me where my bird is and you might live another day."

Potter's voice cut through Draco's haze of rage. "He doesn't have your bird, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes flicked to the bloody Chosen One. He apparently preferred to sleep in the same outfit as Draco—or less. It was hard to tell with the covers bunched around his midsection, but his torso was bare and corded with a surprising number of muscles. The scrawny git had been hiding that under his ridiculous oversized clothing?

"I'm getting McGonagall," Weasley muttered and bypassed Draco like a shot. Longbottom and the other two Gryffindor residents followed, leaving Potter to his fate. So much for Gryffindor courage. Idiots.

Draco walked to Potter's bed, steadfastly ignoring the holly wand held with casual menace. Draco strove for the same attitude and kept his eyes fixed on Potter's. He wondered if the prat could even see him without his glasses; his specs were still on the bedside table.

Draco rested one knee on the bed and leaned over until Potter's wand tip rested against his sternum. "Where is Harry?" he demanded though clenched teeth.

Potter's wand fell away and a hand reached up to twist into the collar of Draco's shirt. "I'm right here, Draco," he murmured and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Draco's eyes widened impossibly and he forgot to breathe, which would have been difficult, anyway, with Potter's lips drinking the air from his lungs. Potter's tongue flicked against his lips for a moment. What the hell was Potter playing at?

Draco's pulse raced as Potter's soft lips nibbled at his. It figured the bloody Savior would even kiss fabulously and then it clicked—whoever had been in Draco's bed had talked. Potter knew Draco liked boys. The bastard!

He pushed himself away from Potter so violently that he nearly tripped and fell on his arse. His eyes stared into emerald for a moment and then the door flew open once more.

"Mr. Malfoy!" McGongall yelled. "What is the meaning of this? Twenty points from Slytherin for forcing your way into the Gryffindor dormitories and threatening the residents! Leave here at once!"

With one baleful glare at Potter, Draco left.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't want to sit down, Potter. I want to know what happened to my bird."

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

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

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

"The theft, you mean," Draco retorted with a glare.

"It wasn't quite what you think."

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

"The truth is, I'm an unregistered Animagus," Potter blurted.

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

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

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

"You're not wearing clothes?" Draco asked mildly.

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

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

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

"What are you doing?" Potter asked with obvious alarm.

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

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

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

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

"And you let me think you were Blaise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd let you fuck me," he said and went out.


Draco barely caught more than a glimpse of Potter over the next two days. He was somewhat puzzled by the Gryffindor's behavior. He seldom appeared for meals and he studiously avoided Draco's gaze in their shared classes. Draco wondered if Potter regretted their last encounter and decided it was likely. So much for Gryffindor bravery, he thought derisively.

Still, Draco felt strangely complacent. It might have been due to the fact that he had wanked to the memory of Potter at least eight times in the past two days, but it was more likely due to the knowledge that things were not finished between them. Potter could deny it all he wanted, but Draco knew it was only a matter of time.

Draco sat in what was unofficially called the Slytherin Courtyard watching Pansy shriek at Blaise while Crabbe and Goyle played gobstones. He had grown bored with Pansy's pathetic denials of culpability and Blaise's angry sneers. A flicker of white caught Draco's attention and he caught his breath when a tiny white bird fluttered from the sky and landed on his shoulder.

Harry chirped loudly and Draco unconsciously reached up to stroke the soft feathers of his breast. Animagus or not, the Gryffindor was a terribly cute bird. Draco held out his hand and Harry hopped onto his palm. He noticed a piece of parchment wrapped around the bird's leg and carefully removed it.

He smoothed the message out with two fingers and read it. Want to skive off History of Magic? He lifted a brow at the bird, which cocked his head in that endearing manner and cooed. Draco suppressed a grin and got to his feet.

"I have a headache," Draco announced breezily to Crabbe and Goyle as he placed Harry back on his shoulder. "I'm going to go lie down. Don't look for me in class."

He walked briskly to the Slytherin dorm and cast several Locking Charms that would take a professor to unlock. His wand hand shook slightly when he realized what he was doing. He had just locked himself in with Harry Potter.

That fact was less alarming when he was suddenly knocked backward onto his bed with an armful of naked Gryffindor. Potter's lips fastened onto his eagerly and Draco surrendered to Potter's amazing kissing ability. They snogged for long minutes and Draco felt Potter's hands slide over his bare chest with some surprise. He had not even noticed Potter unbuttoning his shirt. Black hair tickled his cheek as the Gryffindor kissed a path down Draco's throat to nibble at his collarbone.

"You keep surprising me, Malfoy," Potter murmured. "Two days and not a word in the Daily Prophet." Potter's lips continued their downward journey. "Nor have your friends tormented me more than usual." A hot, wet tongue flicked into Draco's navel. "What gives?"

"Potter," Draco said even though his voice was less steady than he would have chosen, "You constantly underestimate me."

The dark head rose and emerald eyes held Draco's gaze. "I'm serious. The Boy Who Lived is a gay Animagus. Surely you could have put that information to some use?"

Draco's hand slipped into Potter's too-thick hair and then yanked sharply. Potter winced, but said nothing when Draco replied, "You obviously have no concept of the nature of power, Potter. How am I supposed to blackmail you if I run to the papers and tell tales all over school? I'm not quite as stupid as you Gryffindors believe."

"I never thought you were stupid, Draco," Potter said earnestly.

Draco scowled and pulled Potter's hair again. "Stop doing that."

"Ow. Stop doing what?"

"Stop making me like you."

"You like me when I have feathers."

"That's because you don't speak."

"I'll stop speaking, then." Potter returned his mouth to Draco's navel… and then blissfully lower. His deft fingers removed the trousers as quickly as he had unbuttoned the shirt, making Draco wonder if he had lied about losing his wand when he transformed. "Um… what do I do now?"

"Merlin, Potter, you're doing quite well on your own," Draco admitted, groaning as Potter's hand caressed his erection.

"You said you'd let me… I've… um, never done it before," Potter admitted and blushed.

Draco felt a rush fueled by the light strokes of Potter's hand. He found his voice with difficulty. "I'll… oh, Merlin!" The last word was wrenched from him by the feel of Potter's tongue sliding over his cock with a delicious wet-hot pressure. He would never admit to Potter that his only experiences had been fumbling hand jobs with Blaise. He had not even allowed Blaise to suck him off, because he knew Zabini would expect him to reciprocate. He had, however, studied copious amounts of porn and felt confident enough to guide Potter through the process. If he could only think for a moment.

He tugged at Potter's hair again and found he rather liked having his hand wrapped in the impossible softness. "Stop, Potter. You have to stop or I'll come."

"Isn't that the point?" the Gryffindor purred and licked the head of Draco's cock. Draco shivered and pulled his hair again sharply.

"Yes, but not yet. Now pay attention."

Draco guided Potter through the various steps of lubrication, finger insertion, stretching, and nearly came seventeen times as Potter fumbled through the process. By the time Potter's cock actually hovered over Draco's aching opening he was drenched with sweat and throbbing with need. Potter's gentle intensity was erotic beyond belief.

"Okay, now," Draco said and bit his lip. Potter's eyes fixed on his and Draco forced himself to stare into the green orbs. He was glad he had when they grew round and filled with something like awe as Potter slowly filled Draco, binding them together in a moment that neither would ever forget.

"Draco," Potter said in a tone Draco had never heard before. His hand slid out of Potter's dark hair and caressed the edge of his jaw. Potter leaned in to his touch and Draco's thumb brushed across Potter's lips. Funny how he had never thought of Potter as beautiful before. Attractive, yes, and hot sometimes, but now the Gryffindor seemed like perfection.

"Harry," he replied. The answering kiss left him breathless.

They moved together then, Harry's strokes tentative at first until Draco lifted his hips to meet each thrust and pull Harry deeper. It was unpleasant and awkward and slippery and altogether glorious.

"I can't…! Oh Merlin, Draco, you're so…" Harry cried out and tensed sharply over him. Draco felt the Gryffindor quiver beneath his hands and let his own orgasm come in a blissful rush. Harry sagged over him like a deflated balloon and Draco's hand skated through the damp hair at Potter's nape. He felt strangely content.

Harry's head rose after a time and he looked at Draco with a dark brow cocked. "What do you mean blackmail?"

A surprised chuckle escaped Draco. "A bit late to ask about that, don't you think?"

"I was distracted," Harry said with a blush. Draco restrained himself from caressing his face again, barely.

"Since you're finally asking, I want my bird back."

Harry blinked at him. "What? But I can't—"

"Not all the time, of course. I can probably assist you with your silly inability to transform with your personal effects. Not that I have a problem with the nakedness portion…"

"You'd help me?" Harry had less restraint than Draco, obviously, because his fingers skirted the edge of Draco's jaw and drew circular patterns near his ear. It was damned diverting.

"Of course, Potter. For a price."

A smiled curved Harry's lips. "What sort of price?"

"I'll think of something," Draco said and dragged his pet Animagus into a kiss.