Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and her associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Warnings: Object insertion, exhibition, voyeurism, humiliation, "eighth-year" fic.
Summary: Harry was anticipating a reaction. That wasn't the problem. He just didn't anticipate Draco's reaction coming in front of the entire Great Hall.
Author's Notes: This is the fifth fic in a series I call the "Eighth Year Professors" series, and follows, in order, "Kinesthetic Learners," "Lessons Returned," "Speaking Lessons," and "Teacher by Example." Read those stories first, or this won't make much sense. Also, I apologize in advance for the cliffhanger at the end of this story; the sixth (and last) should be along shortly.
Harry walked aware of the eyes on him. He did his essays aware of the eyes on him, and laughed with Ron and Hermione aware of the eyes on him, and went back to the Gryffindor Tower from meals aware of eyes on him.
They made his heart pound faster and his cheeks color more than Hermione's lectures on the importance of NEWTS did. Yeah, NEWTS were important, and if he didn't pay attention and pass enough of them, then he might not emerge from his "eighth" year able to get a job as an Auror. Harry could recite Hermione's lectures in his sleep, if he ever wanted to close his eyes and do such a thing.
But those eyes, Draco Malfoy's eyes, and the way that he walked past Harry with nothing now but a silent sneer, and the expression he wore after serving his detention with McGonagall for "wanking" in class, were the center of Harry's universe right now.
He would have enough attention to spare for NEWTS in a little while, he told himself. After all, something had to explode soon. Either Malfoy would become disgusted and reel away from him, or he would come close enough to start the next step in their game.
Harry just had to be patient.
A web of thick strands shot out of the alcove on the second floor corridor that Harry'd taken to passing last week on his way to breakfast. Harry sighed and went with it gladly as it covered his arm and back and tugged at him. Malfoy had taken the hint and the ambush place, finally.
The web stuck him to the back of the alcove, and Malfoy stepped around in front of him. Harry's tongue promptly stuck to the dry roof of his mouth, and he couldn't move it even to moisten his lips.
Perhaps Malfoy hadn't waited because he was a coward, as Harry assumed, but because it had taken him some time to find the perfect revenge.
"Ah," Malfoy said, and his breath ruffled the hair along Harry's cheek. Harry turned his head before he thought about it, leaning into the tiny touch. Malfoy smiled at him, his teeth gleaming like the jaws of a trap. "Yes. I'm going to touch you this time. Though probably not as firmly as you wish me to."
"You wish," Harry said, but his voice had gone all hoarse and yearning, and when Malfoy knelt in front of him, he spread his legs.
Malfoy let his hand rest on Harry's ankle for a moment, and they locked eyes. Harry hissed, drawing in humid breaths, and his legs shook. Malfoy laughed, a sound of genuine amusement, and murmured, "I could pretend to suck you the way you did me, once, and leave you here for a teacher to find. But I would say we've gone beyond that now."
"After you made me come in front of Slughorn, yeah," Harry whispered.
"What? No self-congratulations for the way you made me come in front of McGonagall?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows and tsked, urging Harry's ankles further and further apart with small taps. Harry went with it, letting his weight sag so Malfoy's magic web had to support him, and bit his teeth on a cry as Malfoy reached up and dragged his trousers down, although he did it so delicately that his fingers never really touched Harry's skin. "Then we are in the middle of something serious, aren't we?"
Harry waited for something, some further touch, some further word, but Malfoy said nothing. When Harry could finally force his eyes open and look, Malfoy was staring at his groin. Harry was half-hard and getting more so the longer Malfoy watched him.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked, wincing as his voice broke in, frog-like, on Malfoy's contemplation. "You've seen it before."
Malfoy met his eyes and whispered, "But never this close." And he stuck his tongue out and gave the air near Harry a little quick lick, after all.
Harry rolled his hips and braced his legs further apart, thrusting quickly towards Malfoy's mouth. But Malfoy was faster still, and scrambled backwards with a little sharp laugh, his panting breath filling the alcove with noise.
"Just a moment, Potter," he said. "Wouldn't want you to miss breakfast, after all." He reached into his robe pocket and took out a small vial of what looked like a mist-colored potion and his wand.
Harry tensed again, this time with an anticipation that he would have been half-shamed to confess. They hadn't tried putting each other under the influence of a potion before, just spells. Which might not be that much different, given what they tended to use them for, Harry had to admit. But he tensed anyway, and Malfoy's fingers opening the vial and dipping into the potion didn't make him change his mind. It could just be something that was applied on the skin, after all.
But then Malfoy slid his fingers further back, and whispered, "Spread," and Harry realized the truth and where it was meant to go.
Oh, God, Harry thought, his head rolling like his hips and then drooping as Malfoy cast a quiet Cleaning Charm on his arse. Oh, God. He's going to do it. He's going there. He's going...
Malfoy's oiled fingers slid into him, and Harry bit his lip. It wasn't so much the touch as the fact that it was Malfoy doing it, and Harry's head was full of Malfoy whispering to him in Potions and touching him during Quidditch and sitting there gape-mouthed as Harry wanked in Transfiguration. He tried to buck forwards, but Malfoy seemed to have cast another spell without Harry noticing it, one that kept his hips still.
"Shhh," Malfoy murmured. "You would ruin it, and I don't want you to. Almost done." He pulled his fingers back, and Harry moaned.
"You are a noisy one," Malfoy said, and glanced up at him, his eyes shining like nails. "I never pictured how much in my fantasies of you."
"Let me go and I'll show you how noisy," Harry said, and thrust his arse back down towards Malfoy's fingers. He was perfectly willing to say fuck the game at this point, with Malfoy in front of him and in the perfect position for any of a number of sins.
For a moment, Malfoy's face lengthened, and his fingers curled in a way that Harry thought meant he would thrust them back inside. Then he exhaled, shook his head, and said, "I planned too long and hard for this." He glanced at Harry, smiled as he twitched, and then lifted his wand and cast a complicated-sounding spell.
Harry blinked as the air near Malfoy's oiled fingers clouded and then seemed to spawn a wand. A wand that was the twin of Malfoy's own hawthorn one, except that it was significantly shorter. Malfoy held it up in front of Harry.
"Can you guess where this is going to go?" he whispered.
Harry spread his legs and squirmed. A shadow of uncertainty flowed away from Malfoy's eyes at that. Lots of planning or not, Harry reckoned he was still a bit nervous about how Harry would receive this.
"That's it," Malfoy whispered, and slid the wand inside him. Harry closed his eyes and stood there, because he could do nothing else. "No one can remove this but me, by the way, since it's a copy of my wand. There'll be consequences if anyone tries. And it's going to be moving." Gently, he pulled Harry's trousers back up, and then dissipated the web, so that Harry staggered and nearly fell. "Get moving yourself. They'll be expecting you in the Great Hall."
"You-want me to go there?" Harry's voice was faint as he struggled to fasten his trousers again, his mouth and mind seeming to work on different levels, and on a different level altogether than his body, which was focused on the wand shifting inside him. "In front of everybody?"
Malfoy, who'd been standing again, paused. "Why, yes," he said gently. "Unless you're too scared to do it."
Heat surged through Harry, and united all the different parts of him again. Malfoy's head was at about the level of his chest. He leaned closer and watched Malfoy's eyes flicker to his lips, seemingly unable to help himself, before he shook his head and glanced quickly back up at Harry again.
"You wish," Harry hissed again, and Malfoy's eyelids fluttered.
Malfoy literally had to wrench himself out of the alcove, Harry thought, turning away with a gasp that seemed to spin him into the opposing wall. When he straightened and walked away, he was the one who moved as stiffly as though a wand had penetrated him. Harry smiled and started to take a step out himself.
Then the wand thrust.
Harry staggered and caught at a projecting stone, his head bowed as the wand moved, in and out in a complex, irregular rhythm that his legs seemed to echo. When it stopped, he felt so achingly good that he nearly reached down and brought himself off right there. But he held his hand high at the last minute, clenched his fingers, and shook his head.
If it was as simple as all that, it wouldn't follow the rules of the game. And they'd come (ha) to the part where they were cooperating, not just ambushing each other and forcing each other into orgasms. Harry wanted to keep that up, not end it prematurely and leave Malfoy wondering what the hell had happened.
Harry smiled dimly as he managed to stand again. A few weeks ago, a few months ago, nothing would have pleased him more. The wonder then would have been that he saw himself in cooperation with Malfoy, instead of competition.
But things had changed, and he truly did not want them to change back. Not when they were circling closer and closer to the end of the game, and this might even be the last move before checkmate.
The thought of Ron's horrified expression if he ever knew that Harry was using chess terms in this context kept him snickering all the way to breakfast.
Harry got to sit on his bench, take a bite of toast and the fresh peaches that the house-elves had decided to serve this morning, and even sip at his pumpkin juice before the wand began thrusting again.
Harry's sight blurred, and he closed his eyes, letting his head hang over the edge of the table. It didn't actually help, just sharpened his focus on the sensations burning through him, made him want to be pinned and fucked. He hissed and arched his neck, thinking it might feel even better if he shoved back in the direction of the thrusting-
"Harry? Are you okay?"
And that brought his position back in a rush that made his cheeks burn and sting and made him sit upright. Hermione. He was there in front of his friends, and this time, there was no potion to distract Hermione from what she would probably think was him feeling ill. He just had to endure it.
Until he could leave the Great Hall, or Malfoy had enough of the game and removed the enchantment on the wand, or it made him come.
Harry honestly wasn't sure which end he would prefer in this case, although he knew which one he would have wanted if he was alone.
He glanced across at the Slytherin table before he answered Hermione. Malfoy gave him a direct, neutral glance back before he turned to his food with what looked like honest hunger. Well, when he wasn't in fear for his parents' lives, the bastard could be a good actor.
"I woke up this morning and didn't feel that well," Harry told Hermione. Then he grinned and snagged another piece of toast, eating it fast, before the wand could start again. "But it doesn't prevent me from eating!"
Hermione looked caught between the desire to ask more questions and the desire to turn away so flying pieces of toast didn't hit her in the face. Harry opened his mouth and wriggled his tongue at her, and Hermione hissed in disgust and became involved in a conversation with Ginny.
"Are you really all right, mate?" Ron studied him, then studied Malfoy. "I saw where you were looking, and you weren't on time for breakfast. Did he put some sort of curse on you?"
Is it a curse when it feels so good? Harry thought, his head spinning dizzily. He shook it for Ron's benefit. "No. He told me something that-well, it clarified why he was acting weird around me a few days ago. And you know that McGonagall wants us to have a truce and get past the old rivalries. I thiiink-"
He drew the word out despite himself, because he was sure the wand had hit his prostate, from the jolt of utter pleasure that ran through him. Harry bowed his head and writhed his hips in place in a fast little dance, trying to avoid giving Ron any idea of what was going on.
He had thought that at least part of Malfoy's gape-mouthed idiocy in McGonagall's class, when Harry cast the spell that would let Malfoy see him naked and then wanked in front of him, was exaggeration. Now he knew it wasn't. This wasn't the same sensation, but damn, if he'd made Malfoy feel a tenth as good as Malfoy was making him feel-
"I knew it!" Hermione said in his ear. "You are sick!" And she cast a spell that seemed to sizzle in Harry's stomach and dance on his skin. He knew it was a diagnostic spell, and one that she'd used before when he got sick on their "camping trip" last year, but it had never felt like that before. Harry gasped and wondered why.
Oh. Interactions. Malfoy must have put some spells on the wand to make it move and also to make sure it wouldn't come out for anyone's touch but his. The diagnostic charm is interacting with that.
Hermione stared at him. So did Ron. Harry sat up and shook his head. "If I was going to be sick, how could I eat, Hermione?" he asked, and reached for the bowl of blueberries in front of him.
The wand began to thrust, and thrust, and thrust, and thrust. Harry's head spun, and he put it in his hands and leaned against the table. He didn't think he groaned. He didn't think he had the breath for it. The drag and slide of the wand-at one time, he had thought this would just hurt horribly all the time and be like having your guts pulled out of you, but now he was experiencing it, and-
Hermione cast another spell, but Harry didn't hear which one. It was pretty bloody difficult to concentrate on anything but the wand inside him at this point, and the way it drilled the pleasure into him. He was gasping, mouth hanging open, and his breaths were getting more and more rapid-
"There's some kind of outside influence on him, Ron!" Hermione rose to her feet and aimed her wand at Harry. "I don't know what, maybe a charm, maybe a curse-"
Now everyone was staring at him. But Harry managed to raise his head and look at Malfoy. Malfoy smiled at him, and his hand dipped down beneath the table, probably to touch his wand.
The wand inside Harry seemed to freeze, and then began to vibrate. Harry felt his mouth fall open, and just knew that he looked incredibly stupid to the people staring at him. By now, even the professors were paying attention, thanks to Hermione's announcement. McGonagall started to stand up.
Harry's eyes darted back to Malfoy. He knew his face asked the question that raced through his blood and printed itself on his brain right now: You're not going to give up? You're going to make me go through with this?
Malfoy smiled, and smiled, and one hand spun a little as though encouraging Harry to go on, give it up.
Then Hermione cast another spell that seemed to race down Harry's spine and settle on his arse. A moment later, Harry felt a tug that seemed to center on the copy wand, and then his back arched.
Malfoy had promised consequences if someone else tried to remove the wand, even though Hermione didn't know that was what she was doing.
Harry's mouth opened, but nothing came out. His body shivered and jerked with pleasure, and his orgasm burst from him with a force that made him lose his grip on the edge of the table. He would have fallen and banged his head, except Hermione grabbed him and shrieked for help. Her fingers were strange, cool things pressing against his burning skin.
Harry caught his breath and tried to open his mouth to say he was fine and he didn't know what had happened. It was the only thing that might convince them he was recovered from the orgasm.
Instead, though, pleasure took him and shook him. Harry cried out loud and thrust forwards, rubbing himself against the table. He didn't understand what was happening, he insisted loudly in the privacy of his own head, he didn't and it was silly to expect him to-
He saw Malfoy's eyes, somewhere, bright and distant, through the pounding, roaring blood-tide in his head.
Oh. Oh. The-the bastard's consequence was ensuring Harry would start coming so fiercely if someone tried to remove the wand that they probably wouldn't be able to take it out at all.
Hermione rocked his shoulder back and forth, but Harry couldn't pay attention to her because he was coming again, and it made the muscles in his groin coil to the point of snapping and his teeth almost bite through his tongue. Oh, God, he wanted to crawl under the table and die, and he wanted everyone to go away so he could do this for the rest of his life, and even the pressure of the table against his chest and the bench against his arse felt good-
Again. It tossed him high this time, and Harry caught sight of McGonagall's cramped, concerned face nearby, and the way she aimed her wand at him. She didn't know what was going on, or at least he didn't think she did, and he was torn between gratitude that she probably wouldn't find out and embarrass him to death and-well, gratitude that she wouldn't find out, so he could keep experiencing this.
He thought he heard Malfoy's voice in his ears for a moment, whispering in a mental voice like the one he had used when he cast that spell on Harry in Potions. Just one more time, Potter, once more. Can you hold on through that?
Harry thought he felt an invisible caressing hand in his hair. He turned his head in its direction and opened his mouth. He didn't know, even then, if he was going to speak or suck a finger down.
And then there it was, making a wail of ecstasy and completion break from his mouth, and Harry felt so good that he slammed his hands down on the table and rubbed himself against the wood and moaned, and he was sure that the people around him were red-faced at having to deal with that, but really, he couldn't help himself.
Then he dropped, at last, into the unconsciousness he thought the spells and the intense pleasure, on top of no food this morning, had always been urging him towards.
Harry opened his eyes and turned his head, absolutely sure that that would be Malfoy, and also sure that Malfoy would have contrived some circumstances for them to speak alone, even if Harry was under lock and key.
No, he was only under the guardianship of the hospital wing, and by the soft light of the torches glowing on the walls, it was late at night, too. Malfoy sat on a chair beside Harry's bed, under the shimmer of a charm that made him look like a ghost, with his edges blurred and softened and his hair shining like a halo. Harry stretched a hand towards him, and Malfoy hesitated a moment before he clasped it.
"I made you pass out because of pleasure right in the Great Hall," Malfoy said, his voice bearing equally ghostly tinges of pride and awe. "And I think half of those who rescued you know what happened and won't admit it. Especially since I dissolved the wand when I was done with you."
Harry laughed. It was a thin sound, and he blinked. If he ever wanted to use Malfoy's curse to induce multiple orgasms in the future, he would have to remember the price it exacted.
Malfoy seemed to know what he was thinking, and cocked his head. "What you felt wouldn't have been nearly so fierce except that Granger was really pulling on the wand," he said, and Harry could have pretended there was a hint of apology in his tone, but he knew there wasn't and he didn't want to.
"I want you to make me come like that again," Harry said, his voice a hiss that he saw made Malfoy arch his neck. So the little prick liked Parseltongue, did he? Or something that sounded like it. Harry would have to remember that. "Is this the last stage of the game? For real?"
Malfoy tore his hand abruptly from Harry's and glanced towards the back of the hospital wing. When he listened, Harry thought he could hear Madam Pomfrey bustling around in there.
Harry experienced a moment of fierce, reeling dread. What would happen if they could never be open, and Harry could never find an explanation that would satisfy his friends for what had happened today?
Then he shook that notion away. Right now, he didn't care. He cared that he wanted to fuck Malfoy, and Malfoy wanted to fuck him, and together they would find a way to make that happen.
"Listen to me," he hissed. "I want it to be the last stage of the game. Or what you did to me today will match what I do to you."
Malfoy's eyes dilated. "And that's supposed to make me give this up?" he hissed. "Really?"
Harry leaned near him, and let the warmth of his breath fill the space between them. Once again, Malfoy looked at his lips.
"If we're together willingly," Harry whispered, "then what I'll do to you will make what you did to me today look small."
Malfoy gasped at him. Then he nodded and turned to run from the hospital wing just as Madam Pomfrey made her appearance. She was too busy trying to talk to Harry without blushing to notice the door slamming.
Harry leaned back on his pillow, shut his eyes, and grinned. No doubt he would feel a lot more embarrassed in the morning, when he had to look his best friends and the other people who had watched him come in the eye.
But for now, he let the aftershocks of pleasure past play through his body, and the shocks of pleasure to come through his brain.