Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
"What's going on in here?" said a cool voice from the door.
In the process of removing his red and gold boxers, the three girls merely looked up with negligible alarm. Millicent spoke up first. "We were just playing with Golden Boy here, Draco," she said with a mixture of petulance and irritation in her voice. Malfoy slowly strode into and stopped at the foot of the bed. Harry felt his cheeks blaze at the impassive assessment of half-naked body was receiving from those steely grey eyes, and more than a little self-conscious about his knobbly knees.
"Enjoying yourself, Potter?"
Merlin knew he wasn't. Terrified, more like. "No!" he replied hastily, in a voice a little louder than he had intended. "No," he reiterated more softly. "Malfoy, please get me out of here," he pleaded, actually pleading to his school arch nemesis, and indicatively tugged at the silk bindings on his wrists. The three witches hadn't tied up his ankles, possibly so he could make a fool of himself by flailing his legs wildly and eliciting mocking laughs from them.
Malfoy did nothing but raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Harry gazed earnestly into his face with hope and desperation written all over his own countenance, wanting to convey to him his fears with his mere eyes. He didn't enjoy being tied up like this so helplessly and facing the possibility of being molested by these girls, the two of whom he thought were quite unattractive, to say the least, and even more discomfiting, he suspected one of the two on his left of having a sixth finger; Harry shivered in disgust at the thought of that hand touching him all over. Then, to his immense surprise, Malfoy slowly climbed onto the emerald-quilt bed, all the while keeping eye contact with Harry, whose breath had been taken away. Malfoy fluttered down slowly and softly on top of him, looking down at him with a soft smirk curving his shell-pink lips whilst the three girls looked on jealously but silently. Harry's breath came back with furious haste, and his pulse shot upwards as his heart banged against his ribcage; he instantly knew Malfoy could feel this.
"Don't you want to play with them?" Malfoy asked sweetly.
Never had Harry been as aware of Malfoy as he was then. Up so close, Harry could smell him, really smell, behind the light, pleasant cologne he wore, and this scented mixture was proving dangerous to Harry's already weakened resolve at an astonishing rate. The completely smooth alabaster skin, the individual lines of his grey irises, Malfoy's ears – he was now privy to every single detail afforded to him by Malfoy's closeness, ever more compounding the state of surrealism in which Harry swam.
Barely able of composing an answer to his question and not wishing to offend the girls, knowing perfectly well that there was a chance Malfoy wouldn't save him from them but leave him at their mercy, he replied, "No," in a cautious whisper, shaking his head minutely, and didn't dare look at their three observers.
"And if I free you, what do I gain exactly?" asked Malfoy silkily, seeming vastly unperturbed by their compromising positions and the three pairs of greedy eyes watching them with disturbing avidity. Harry reasoned he shouldn't expect Malfoy to be anything but wanton anyway, and so this scene was probably quite familiar to him, hence his casualness. "What have you got to offer me that I don't have?"
Bloody Slytherin through and through. Malfoy was so close to him, he could feel the warm air exhaling from his upturned nose as he spoke; this wasn't helping his pulse rate at the moment. He looked earnestly into those silvery marbles, trying to decide what to say.
He thought about the first thing that came to mind, the one thing that Malfoy never had against him: a victory. "The Snitch," he blurted out. "I- I'll throw the next match against Gryffindor and Slytherin so you can catch the Snitch, I'll just fool around on my broomsss..." The last word was hissed through his clenched teeth as Malfoy had shifted slightly on top of him, creating unnecessary friction down there. Harry couldn't believe he was actually offering to throw a match. He wasn't thinking straight at the moment, was the only excuse available to him currently. His words were decided by desperation and, surprisingly, Malfoy's piercing eyes that were so close to his, reminding him of Lucius Malfoy's more intense gaze back in the book shop in his second year. At the present, all he could see was Malfoy's facial plane, and he would dearly like to say that he wished Malfoy would back up, but it wouldn't be entirely true.
Malfoy's eyebrow rose even further, almost melding into his hairline of the same colour. He appeared to be considering his words, and then, with a tall smirk, he said, "Alright, Potter. Sounds like a fair deal." The girls huffed crossly and folded their arms. "I release you and you give me the Snitch," he summarised, sound most satisfied.
Harry nodded fervently, hoping Oliver would forgive him one day for this treacherous sin wherever he was. Malfoy fluidly lifted himself from Harry with his elbows and crawled off the bed, leaving the bulge Harry marginally erect penis exposed for all to see, which Harry was somewhat surprised to see. If Malfoy had felt it while he had been on top of him breathing down at him, he had didn't shown it. Harry shut his eyes in mortification, his ears turning a violent red that would rival Ron's. He blindly heard a few giggly snickers bubbling from the girls hovering above him, and he tentatively opened his eyes to see Malfoy eyeing Daphne Greengrass meaningfully. Her immoderate giggles evaporated instantly as she pouted but obliged and held out her wand over the silk bindings. She mumbled a spell and Harry immediately felt the materials loosen their grip on his wrists mercifully.
Needless of further motivation, Harry triumphantly jumped up and undid the bindings off his wrists and hastily threw on his clothes, not spared the humiliation of dressing in front of four people watching him, but he didn't care – he was free and only that mattered.
"Of course you're not getting out of here so easily, you do know that, right?" Malfoy drawled loftily. Harry looked up at him with a half astonished, half blank look. Malfoy went on, "No, no. You are going to have to spend the rest of the evening with me. I need an excuse to ward off some... unfavourable proposals at the party down there."
Harry straightened up sharply, alarmed, shoes forgotten. "What do you mean?" he asked in a constricted voice.
Malfoy appeared to allow himself and the girls a moment's silence as though so he could fully absorb the inanity of the question. "I mean," he said tersely after the brief silence, "that you are going to be my 'date' for the evening." He grimaced at this. "I'm not particularly in the mood to make out with anybody tonight."
Harry thought Malfoy certainly wasn't looking cocky about this but actually practical, which could only mean he was genuinely used to getting these 'proposals.' But he was a boy; Harry failed to understand. It didn't make sense… unless Malfoy was gay. Did that even matter now? But if he did this, it would damage his own reputation and have people thinking he was gay or something, which he most certainly was not. Harry's eyes travelled over his three female assailants, and he quite decidedly answered, "Okay," and tied his shoelaces, but not before noticing Malfoy nodding as his lips crawled up his face in a content smirk. Harry then straightened up and followed Malfoy out awkwardly, passing by the girls without a single word. What could he say? 'Bye?' 'See you?' They nearly raped him! Merlin, he was a virgin but he was panicked about being raped by three girls. Shouldn't he be taking any and all opportunity for a shag?
Malfoy dragged Harry into his bathroom and snapped the door. "What the-!" began Harry, but Malfoy shushed him softly and brandished his wand. Harry couldn't quite help the reflexive action of his hand delving for his own wand, which was now trained on Malfoy point blank between his eyes. Malfoy sighed, looking unimpressed, clearly conveying that that was quite unnecessary. "I'm going to put Glamours on you, Potter. Do you feel that that is offensive, pun intended?" Malfoy asked smoothly.
Harry flushed. He hastily put his wand away again and cleared his throat. The situation was decidedly disconcerting: he was in the Slytherin dungeons, isolated in Malfoy's bathroom, and with Malfoy holding a wand in his hand (and Harry didn't doubt he could cast an Unforgivable without much difficulty). His instincts screamed when Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it straight at his face. He was breaking into a sweat, but he should calm down; Malfoy wouldn't curse him right inside Hogwarts, would he? That thought didn't go a long way to pacify him with a Slytherin wand in his face.
He tensed as Malfoy began chanting spells, each one coming with a new sensation, colour, and apparent change in his features.
"There you go," Malfoy declared after the onslaught ended, finally. Harry released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Malfoy directed him to a mirror on the wall above a basin with silver serpentine taps, and he stared at himself in the mirror to take in his new features: his eyebrows and hair were straw blond – a shade darker than Malfoy's white blond hair; his eyes, his most distinguishing feature and, consequently, the one needed to be attended to most importantly, had been changed from emerald to a piercing, deep, drawing blue, so much like his mentor, Dumbledore's, but so different in so many ways despite the very narrow ranges in their shade; his complexion, which had been a nice, light tan was lightened to almost the pale pallor of Malfoy himself, but of course Harry, as he would have expected, he wasn't beautified with that unknown special something that gave Malfoy's pale skin an ethereal, unprecedented, irreproducible, distinct quality about it; and lastly, his lips were made pouty, narrower, more plump, and generally bigger.
He decided he liked his new self. Very much so. Malfoy stood behind him. For some reason Harry thought Malfoy looked like the precursor of his new looks. Before he thought of even comparing them and potentially dealing irreversible damage to his confidence in his heterosexuality, he turned from the mirror and steeled himself. "I'm ready," he said. Malfoy nodded and led him outside the door, whereupon they crossed the room, now cleared of the girls, and out to the where the party was.