Harry Potter was far from the scrawny, malnourished boy he had been for years. Oh no, he was not.

Somehow - miraculously - over the past summer of usual neglect, followed almost at once by the never ending feeding fest that Mrs. Weasley inevitably demanded (for once now at the Burrow, for now everyone seemed to have moved into the rather dank and conspicuous Grimmauld Place), Harry had filled out. He hadn't done anything particular to gain his muscled physique, and yet, that was exactly what he had.

He was tall, gorgeous, and his muscles were well defined. His hair was suddenly easy to control, and fell in luscious waves halfway down his back, and thankfully he'd discovered a handy little spell to do away with his glasses. (A/N: Eyesightus Repairus, if you're interested. It hasn't worked yet, but I'm determined it will, and this is fiction anyway, so what I say goes.)

In short, he was nothing short of a god.

Girls fell down at his feet, worshipping his body. Once, even McGonagall had been seen to fawn all over him, hands sliding over his chest in a way that he could only call 'horrifying'.

So horrifying, in fact, that he was one hundred and thirty five point six nine six two three seven eight percent sure that she was the reason he was currently doing something no one would have expected him of.

To be fair - it was a magnificent sight, and it was hardly Harry's fault he was hard.

After a rather gruelling Quidditch match - which he had one, obviously - the rest of Gryffindor Quidditch team had returned to their tower to celebrate. They left Harry alone for reasons known only unto themselves, but he had to admit, he was rather glad they had.

With a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and water dripping deliciously down his body, following each and every curve of his body and... (A/N: Sorry. Distracted by my own fic. Wow. I'll be in my bunk. He sure is a hunk, isn't he?)

Well, whatever. He was hiding rather spectacularly - if he did say so himself - behind the wall, with just enough space to be able to see Malfoy properly.

Which was good, because if he could only just see Malfoy, then the blonde Adonis could hardly see Harry's tenting towel, and know that he'd caused Harry's throbbing manhood to come to the fore.

And really, how could Harry not be completely turned on by what he was seeing?

Malfoy was still mostly dressed, green Quidditch robes open and hinting at the delicious body beneath.

It was his hands that caught Harry's attention, though - what they were doing anyway.

They were wrapped around his icon of masculinity as if that was where they belonged, using long twisting strokes that made it impossible for Harry to do anything but reach for his cock. He started following Malfoy's rhythm, stroking, twisting, squeezing at the same time, though with considerably more abandon.

Malfoy scooped more cream out of the little pot in front of him, and kept rubbing and stroking, as if he wanted to make the object in his hands gleam and shine whenever it was visible between his legs.

Harry thought nothing looked more perfect between Malfoy's legs than the beautiful thing he was so rapturously stroking - expect maybe, perhaps, Harry's own - and he started tugging at his cock harder.

Oh, if only Malfoy was there to tug his cock for him - if only this was a mutual thing, and Harry wasn't really being a disgusting pervert.

Malfoy made a noise of content, face slightly flushed, and then it was all over for Harry.

With a strangled moan, a long, drawn out "Draaaaaaaaco..." he came, hot, hard and fast, watching as jet after jet of his own come landed all over the changing room benches.

Idly, he thanked whatever it was that prompted him to erect a silencing charm around himself, for he was sure he must have done. Malfoy hadn't looked up, after all. He searched for his wand to clean up the mess, and started pulling his clothes on, hoping to slip out before Malfoy noticed he was there. It wouldn't be good to be found out as having wanked whilst Malfoy was doing that, after all.

He had nearly made it when a voice in his ear caught his attention.

"Really, Potter, if you wanted a show you should have just asked," Malfoy said, still clutching his broom in one hand, and the broom polish in the other. He was a lot closer than Harry remembered him being, but that always seemed to happen in stories, so he didn't think too much about it. "Maybe next time I'll show you the real thing."

***
It was some hours later that a very flushed Harry Potter returned to the Gryffindor common room, lips cherry read from kissing and other tongue related activities.

Overall, he was glad that McGonagall's stroking of his chest was so horrific. Otherwise, he'd liking never have discovered just how solid both of Draco's brooms could feel in his hand. And it was definitely Draco now. Five years of calling him Malfoy in his head meant nothing next to two spectacular blow jobs, a hand job and a jolly good rogering on the pleasantly warm and soft tiled floor of the Quidditch Changing room. Who knew they'd be so comfortable? It was wonderful!

Harry grinned at Ron and Hermione as he plonked himself down gracefully next to them. Can one plonk down gracefully? It was so difficult to know these things.

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked him, bringing her rather flat nose out of her latest book. Well... if she would insist on slamming the things so much...

"Oh... you know... thought my broom needed a polish," Harry said casually. "Turns out it needed a bloody good one, I've been doing it wrong for years."

"Yeah, I used to do it wrong, too," Ron enthused, next to him. "Madam Hooch gave me a right bollocking, and made me study how to do it properly, of all things. Still, reckon I've got it now. It's all in the twist of the wrist, right mate?"

Twist of the wrist, indeed.

***

A/N: Rather like my The Perils of Reading Utter Tosh, this was written in a short time frame. Exactly 28 minutes. Written for headgirl91, because she's the best Panda in the land, and understands my desire to come up with something better than the aforementioned Perils.

I also was to credit the last scene to her, as she was somewhat upset that, having given me the prompt, she already knew the ending, and she really does love a good twist at the end. Pun absolutely intended, and one hundred percent hers!

Let me know what you think!