The large clock that hung suspended above Madam Pince's desk in the middle of the library ticked softly as pages turned and quills scratched in a symphony of calm study.
Harry couldn't really enjoy it, though. He sat in a secluded part of the great library, staring down at his Transfiguration text, fingers gripping his messy hair and leg bobbing up and down with frustration. There were rolls of parchments scattered around him, some marked with ideas, some with silly doodles featuring hippogriffs that looked more like winged Dachshunds with beaks and chicken feet. He had about one paragraph of his two-foot essay done, and it was due tomorrow, and he had more work waiting for him up in Gryffindor Tower and he wanted to cry.
He wasn't actually going to cry, mind, but it was really tempting.
"Merlin," he muttered and ran his hands over his face, hair now standing on end, little canals mapping through his jet-black locks where his fingers had carded.
Half an hour went by where his thoughts about essays gradually morphed into thoughts about Muggle streetlights and a dull throb settled behind his eyes. Harry had just about had it when he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, resigning himself to be distracted a little bit more by his ex-girlfriend, but still friend, Ginny, who was walking toward him with a smile on her face.
"Gin," he said, sighing. "What's up?"
She sat atop the table, sitting her bum on a couple of his more important parchments—which he was a tad annoyed about—and ruffled his hair a bit, mussing it even more. "Just checking up on you." She glanced down at the paragraph. "How's it going?"
Harry looked down at his parchment. "Not really at all, actually."
"Sorry, luv," she said. "I was going to come see if you wanted to take a break and head out to the lake with the gang."
"I don't think I can. It's just… you know, if I go out in the sun and start having fun, I won't be able to make myself come back here and write this fucking—gah. This Transfiguration paper."
"We understand. Just don't kill yourself over it, all right?"
"Yeah, we'll see how I feel about that in an hour or so."
Ginny smirked. "See you at dinner, then?"
"Yeah. See you."
And then she was gone. Harry stood and reorganized his papers, flattening them and Evanesco'ing those doodles (well, he might've saved one or two) and muttering about certain bums that really had no business sitting on his notes. He let out an indistinct growl when he realized his quill was bent, and accidentally knocked over his inkbottle.
"On top of our game, today, aren't we, Potter?"
Harry snapped to attention at the sneering voice a few paces away. Malfoy leant against a bookcase, eyes glittering with malice and white-blond hair infuriatingly impeccable. He was wearing black slacks and a white oxford, even though it was the weekend. What the fuck was that about—why did he always look so ridiculously pretty? "Go away, Malfoy," Harry muttered and sat down at his desk, quickly siphoning the ink from the dark wood and putting it back in the little ceramic pot. He saw the other boy shift in his peripheral vision, and leaned back in his seat resigning himself to more distraction.
"Make me, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes and dipped his quill in, determined to start his first body paragraph. Was it his anger that was helping? It certainly hadn't been helping before.
"Oy! I'm talking to you!"
"No. You're talking at me. And shut up, by the way—this is a library." Harry scribbled down his first bit of explanation for Wardrollop's sand t0 glass transfiguration theory.
"Didn't stop you from talking to your 'girlfriend,'" Malfoy hissed, putting a disgusting emphasis on 'girl', his pink lips curving around the half-word somehow lasciviously. If there were someone who could make anything grossly sexual, it would be Malfoy.
Harry just stared at him for a moment. "Well, you aren't my girlfriend, are you."
Harry looked up, at this. Malfoy looked… blank.
"Why do you insist on bothering me all the time, Malfoy?"
Malfoy folded his arms in a huff. "Why do you insist on breathing, Potter? It's such a waste."
"Blow me," Harry snarled, and looked away, resolving not to rise to that utter prat's bait anymore. Instead he finished his next point in his paragraph. Suddenly there were four inches on his parchment. He smirked. Huh.
Malfoy gave him the two-fingered salute and flounced away into another corner of the same section, Harry staring after him, his eyes lingering on the spot where he disappeared for perhaps a moment longer than he should have, wondering…
Well, what's a moment more of procrastination when you're doomed anyhow?
The essay seemed to be moving at a snail's pace again. Pity—Harry'd been on a roll for a moment. It seemed like hours reading and rereading the text, wondering how he would relate their past assignment to this one and how the hell he'd manage seven more paragraphs of the same-ish length to make this a passable essay when he realized he'd doodled on his parchments again.
This time, it was a pair of eyes.
Harry stood and, feeling the throb of a monstrous headache, headed off to the loo to wash up and get a stretch in—get whatever was making his brain hurt out of his system.
The water felt heavenly on his face, and he took care to move about to get the blood flowing after he dried his face, but he still felt miserable.
Sitting down at the desk felt like a trial, but he sat up when he noticed a scrap of blue-tinted parchment atop his sketch.
Relax. And try to keep quiet.
Harry had time to reread it only once more before he felt something flit across the bottoms of his denims and graze over his exposed ankles. He jumped, hands gripping at the edge of the table to push himself away, but the touch came back, seizing his lower calves in a firm but gentle grip and keeping him still. Harry sat, frozen.
A hand rested on the top of his knee, covering it in a comforting gesture. The note said to relax…
Fuck if he was going to relax, there was a complete stranger under his desk, and they had him by the legs, and his most valued parts were below the desk as well!
The fingers rubbed soothingly at his knee and Harry found himself relaxing under the nice feeling, although his mind still raced.
Who could it be? He hadn't seen anyone around for a little while…
Suddenly the other hand slid up his shin and mirrored its partner, rubbing lightly against his legs until Harry just gave up and slumped back in his chair.
Suddenly the hands grabbed his chair legs and yanked them forward, causing him to let out a loud squeak. One hand rested atop his leg—a little higher than the knee, and squeezed. He couldn't help himself, he let out another squeak because—damn it—that tickled!
Who the fuck was under his table?
He heard the person snigger lightly and slide their hands up his thighs and rest in the crook of his hips.
And those same hands spelled his bum to the chair. He could feel it. He wriggled and wiggled, but somehow he couldn't remove himself from the chair. Delicate fingers worked at the zip of his trousers, causing Harry to shudder. This was how he was supposed to relax? Some anonymous person was going to molest his prick in the library and he was supposed to RELAX? The person, though, backed away and began to rub circles on his underthighs, resting their cheek against his knee. Goosebumps erupted up his legs and continued up his spine until they reached his hair, making him shudder again, and his fingers to twitch against the table in their vice-like grip.
"What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.
"Shh…" the stranger breathed, and slid their hands up his thighs again.
Harry groaned silently and dropped his head back, clapping a hand over his forehead and taking in a gulp of air.
This was insane.
Apparently, the flitting fingers didn't agree, because they slipped up between his thighs again and up to the top of his denims, popping the bronze button open with care and then moving on to the zipper.
Harry's heart was beating so fast he swore he would have a heart attack any moment, now, but he just couldn't find his voice.
The word is 'No', Harry, an inner-voice hissed snarkily.
All that came out was: "Guh…"
The hands finally worked his zipper open and pulled his trousers below his hips, exposing his striped cotton pants to the world. Or, er, under-the-desk-world.
It was longer than a moment before Harry realized the hands had stopped their journey into his knickers.
The person let out a shaky breath, apparently stunned.
Harry was slightly confused. Only slightly, because he might've been halfway-to-hard, already.
And the hands were back to business with renewed vigour. One slipped up and down the length of him while the other teased at his waistband, drawing feather-light touches where his skin met the blue fabric. Harry's stomach twitched with each pass of a soft finger, as did other parts of his anatomy that were already quite happily soaking up the attention of another's hand.
"Oh," he murmured again, and at that, those fingers hooked inside his pants and pulled them away, exposing Harry's prick to the warm, stuffy air of the library.
The mystery person's breath hitched, and then a hand wrapped snugly around his girth and began to stroke in earnest.
Harry moaned quietly and his hands fell from their grip on the table to dangle at his side only to scrabble for purchase at his chair when he felt hot, moist breath against the head of his cock. His prick was already hot and heavy with blood but, Merlin, he really wanted that mouth to—
Just then, a tongue swiped shyly at his slit, licking away the sizeable drop of pre-come that had leaked out from all the excitement.
"Fuck!" Harry whispered harshly.
Then a pair of lips joined that tongue, slipping over his head and laving at it like a lolly, paying particular attention to the sensitive underside, one hand gripping him around the base of his cock while the other caressed his hip, stroking softly with a finger.
How the hell could someone do that all at once? It seemed like hands were everywhere, there was so much sensation!
He could not believe that this was happening!
The lips left his cock for a moment, but were back at the base, mouthing and kissing and licking their way up the shaft to dip the tip of a tongue into his slit again, eliciting another undignified gurgle from Harry's lips.
Harry was trying desperately to thrust upward, to push his cock past those wonderful lips again, but he was reminded suddenly that he was pretty much glued to his seat. Instead, his hips twitched and his legs tensed until those lips took mercy and slipped over the head again, sucking him into their mouth. It was then that the mystery person began bobbing their head over his prick, and Harry was having quite a time trying not to cry out for mercy.
Their tongue slipped side to side over the underside of his cock while they worked it deeper into their mouth with each thrust.
Harry slapped his right hand onto the top of the desk, jostling his inkbottle again, which sloshed a bit over his fingers as he reached under the desk and gripped onto the person's hair with his left, fingers sliding over soft hair.
Brilliantly soft, short hair.
His mystery under-desk friend seemed to realize this at the same moment that Harry did, for they choked a bit and slid back. But Harry didn't have time, in a second he was coming like he'd never done before, pushing those lips back over his cock and slipping his right hand under the desk as well, to slip into the short locks on the other side.
The boy—for Harry was almost positive it was a boy, now—gagged a bit but took it all, clumsily swallowing all of Harry's come as Harry gradually sagged lower and lower in his chair, a complete puddle of relaxation.
He sighed shakily, blushing for what had just happened, but not minding as much as he thought he would. His head was clear as crystal, now.
Harry heard the quiet, wet pop when the boy's lips left his cock, and heavy breathing as he whispered a charm, releasing Harry's bum from the chair at last.
Harry lifted his hips lazily as the boy pulled his pants up over his spent prick and covered them up with his trousers, taking care to zip him and button him up properly.
There was a moment of contented silence as Harry collected himself, but it was short-lived. A finger tapped impatiently at his knee.
"Er, sorry," Harry mumbled, blushing, "I'll go for a moment. Uhm. Thanks."
A hand gripped his knee in a light squeeze, and the boy rested his cheek against Harry's thigh for a tiny moment before pushing at him to leave.
Harry was touched by the strange gesture, but left for the loo again.
There was a spring in his step, this time, though.
It took two hours for Harry to start up his essay again and finish it with a satisfactory conclusion, as his head was so clear and all his worries seemed to have flown away with the spectacular blowjob he'd received earlier that afternoon. The thought made him blush crimson, but he didn't regret it. After all, he would be turning in a spectacular essay to McGonagall tomorrow. And he finally knew why he'd broken up with Ginny a year ago.
Harry allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle as he shuffled through all the scraps of parchment scattered across the desk, banishing those which were now useless and organizing the rest to put in his knapsack.
When he was all packed, Harry stood for a moment, arms akimbo, looking about the library. It really was a stunning place, with its high ceilings and long, beautiful windows that lit up the dusty space. There was such an ethereal quality to the place.
Shaking his head, Harry decided to re-shelve the Transfiguration text he'd taken out for his essay instead of contemplating where his brilliantly good mood had come from.
Of course, Harry had obviously spoken too soon, because Draco Malfoy was sitting against the windowsill at the end of the aisle, nose buried in a book in a scary, Hermione-like way.
He looked sad.
The book was a novel, by the looks of it.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to the Organic Transfiguration section, plopping the book onto the re-shelving cart.
At that, Mafloy looked up. There was a flicker of something in his expression before he was sneering at Harry, slandering his dishevelled appearance.
"You look ghastly, Potter. More so than I last saw you. What happened? Finally realized how useless you are?"
Surprisingly, Harry found a giggle bubble out of him from his chest. He smiled widely at Malfoy. "Not even close."
"Failed at Potions again?"
"Can't see why that would bother me after all these years—I'd say I'm pretty desensitized to Snape's hatred of all things Potter."
"What, then? Did your owl die?"
Harry sighed, dropping his bag to the floor. "What did I do to make you want to attack me every time you see me?"
"You were born, Potter. It's quite simple."
Harry shrugged helplessly, trying to fight the anger that was simmering in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not trying to annoy you—you're the one always picking fights!"
"Oh, go away, will you?"
"No—this isn't YOUR library, YOUR designated area."
Malfoy slammed the book down on the sill and hopped down, striding down the aisle. "I'm not dealing with you, Potter. Not in the mood."
Malfoy was ten paces away when something caught Harry's notice. His heart sped up like he'd ran a marathon in seconds and suddenly he was calling after the Slytherin. "Malfoy. Malfoy!" The other boy didn't turn. Harry jogged to catch up with him and just as his fingers caught the cuff of Malfoy's sleeve, he heard the words, "Draco, wait," leave his lips.
The other boy snapped around so fast Harry was momentarily taken aback and almost ran smack into him. Malfoy huffed and folded his arms. "What?" he asked quietly.
"I… I wasn't expecting you to take me up on it."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
"When I told you to… it wasn't an order, you know."
"I've no clue what you're on about."
"Draco—" The Slytherin frowned a little at that. "—there's ink in your hair."
All colour drained from the other boy's face as Harry looked on, feeling a little light-headed himself.
"I spilled ink on my right hand again when… And now. Well, now it's in your hair." Harry scratched the back of his head, cheeks flaming, as Malfoy stood stock-still.
Slowly the other boy wrapped his arms about himself and looked away, and Harry stared down into his face, not knowing what to do.
"What… Why did you—do that? For me?" he finally asked.
Malfoy looked up at him, with the most devastated expression Harry'd ever seen, and walked away.
"Oh, no you don't!" Harry growled, and followed Draco until just whipped around again, rage replacing the earlier expression of hurt.
"Why the fuck would I do that is right!" he hissed, fist clenched at his sides. "Why can't I stand you, you ask? Why can't I even look at you without wanting to die? Why do you think, Harry? Put two and two together."
Harry was confused. "You hate me. You always said you hated me."
"It's easier than being rejected again. Wouldn't you agree?" Malfoy muttered sullenly.
"I'm sorry, but…" God, this was weird apologizing to Malfoy. "I don't understand."
"I bloody like you, you fucking git," he said, and again his face fell as he looked at Harry.
Malfoy sighed exasperatedly. "This is ridiculous. I've had enough. It's been a long day and I just want to go back to my dormitory, crawl under my duvet and die. Is that agreeable with you, O Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Wait, Malfoy. Hold on. This is… just a lot to take in. I mean, I've just today figured out that I'm gay so I'm already overwhelmed as it is. And then I find it was you who—"
Harry snorted. "Frankly? Well, I've never come so hard in my life. And you were obviously a very talented boy with a beautiful mouth. And now everything makes much more sense… Quite an epiphany, really."
"Oh," Malfoy said, quietly.
"I owe you, big time."
Malfoy frowned. "No, you don't."
"What? Why not? It's only fair."
"It's not about fairness." He blushed, biting his lip. "I don't want anything out of your warped sense of tit for tat."
Harry snickered, walking toward Malfoy until the Slytherin was backed up against a bookshelf. "What if I want to 'pay you back'?"
Malfoy's breath hitched as he looked into Harry's eyes, seeing the mischievousness in the bottle green irises. He was silent for a while, the pink still high on his cheekbones. Harry smiled, blushing as well, his confidence wearing off as the seconds ticked by. Finally, Malfoy said, in a whisper of a breath, "You might… you might have to pay interest. Since I've had to wait so long."
Harry huffed good-naturedly. "It's been—what—three hours?"
"I've been waiting a lot longer than that, Harry."
Harry was struck with the sadness in those words. If he'd known that the hatred was… really…
Oh, Malfoy was such a girl.
"Name your price, then, Draco," Harry said, finally.
Mal—Draco smiled shyly. "Would you… Circe, I'm such a twit." He worked his expression into a stern frown. "You owe me a kiss, Potter."
"I think I can manage that."
Draco looked over Harry's shoulder and spotter a secluded corner where a small stained-glass window lit up the dust motes around the Alchemy section. Harry followed the other boy's gaze and, without looking, found Draco's hand, curling his fingers around the slender palm. He led the Slytherin out of sight and into the little alcove, pushing him lightly against the shelves and leaning in, looking at the boy who no longer wore a sneer on his face.
He was actually quite pretty without the frown and pursed lips.
Harry kept a hold of Draco's hand while he cupped his jaw with his left, sweeping his thumb against the boy's soft, stubble-free skin. Draco's eyes fluttered closed as he tilted into the touch, and Harry found himself leaning in not for the kill, but for Draco's cheek. His lips brushed against Draco's skin, and he felt the other boy's pulse jump under his fingers. Draco squeezed Harry's hand tightly, and Harry decided it couldn't—shouldn't wait any longer. He tilted Draco toward him and met the other's lips in a simple kiss, finding the Slytherin's lips just as soft and wonderful as they'd been on other parts of his anatomy. Draco sighed, lips parting to let the puff of air out, and Harry couldn't help himself. He darted his tongue out to meet Draco's bottom lip, eliciting another skip of Draco's rapid pulse. Draco welcomed the intrusion readily, leaning up into the kiss as Harry's lips overlapped his, and then his tongue met Harry's slick and wet and more wonderful than any girl's had ever been. Harry groaned softly, finally understanding.
Draco whose hands had been relatively limp, wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and brought him close, flush against him as their tongues entwined in the sunny alcove in the Hogwarts library. Harry did the same, and soon they were wrapped around one another like it was the most natural thing they'd ever done, and both were reluctant to let go.
When they came up for air, Draco whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Shh. Best not bring it up now. We'll sort it later."
Draco sniggered. "Later?"
Harry looked down at him, seeing the dazed happiness that was probably reflected in his own eyes in Draco's rosy face. "Well, of course. That was only interest, right? You've a much bigger reward in the future."
Draco gulped. "Right."
Harry looked at his watch. "I have to go, but I'll owl you. We'll talk about this tomorrow, alright?"
"I need a bite to eat and then I'm going straight to bed," Harry groaned. They walked from the library in silence until they reached the Entrance Hall. Harry turned to Draco, smiling slightly. "We'll talk."
Draco seemed to roll his eyes at himself before saying. "You promise?"
Harry laughed. "I promise." He leaned in and placed a quick peck on Draco's lips, making the Slytherin blush again. "Merlin, you blush like a bride."
Draco smacked him half-heartedly on the arm and shooed him away, heading toward the dungeons.
With that, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, a smile on his face and a spring in his step, and headed to the Great Hall.
What a day.