Title: The Staircase
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Destiel, Superhusbands
Genre: Romance & Humor
Summary: Three pairs of hands joined underneath the table at Hogsmeade, and one old staircase knew that it was going to get quite a lot of use in the near future. Christmas present for Lina (CutestChibitaliaEver).
Dissing of the Claims: I don't own Harry, or Draco, or Dean, or Cas, or Tony, or Steve. THEY BELONG TO EACH OTHER~! (No, but seriously, I they aren't mine.)
A/N: The ninth Christmas present fanfic I'm posting. (I wrote all of my friends these fanfics for Christmas because I'm broke.) This was the second one I wrote, and I sort-of like it, particularly because it was my first time writing Destiel and I somehow managed to do a decent job even though I barely researched the pairing beforehand. It's a talent or something.
At the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was common knowledge that the staircases tended to move, just often enough to annoy the crap out of the sixth- and seventh-years and make the first-years really, truly, and embarrassingly lost.
What wasn't such common knowledge was that there was one staircase that never moved.
It was an old staircase, with no apparent purpose or destination. It wasn't a shortcut or secret passageway to anywhere. In fact, in order to get there, one needed an extensive knowledge of the castle and its assorted nooks, crannies, and legends. Not even Filch knew how to find it, which explains why it was always getting dustier and moldier. The staircase was steep, dangerous – the hand railing had broken off long ago, and the steps were liable to crack – and just plain weird. Someone randomly stumbling upon it would wonder why it even existed.
Well, the answer to that question was simple.
An old, abandoned, purposeless staircase that few knew how to find was a perfect location for lovers sneaking out of their dorms at the dead of night to meet up and, to put it appropriately, enjoy each other's company – especially if those lovers were of a sexuality generally not approved by the general population.
So, it was the best place for Harry Potter to confess to the boy he'd been in love with for the past two years.
"I still don't understand why you're bringing me here at this time of night, Potter," the boy in question complained for the umpteenth time as Harry led him to the staircase. "What do you have to tell me that's so bloody secretive, not to mention taking time away from sleeping hours? I need my beauty sleep, you know."
Harry shot the other boy a glare, trying to shut him up, but to no avail.
"My father will hear about this," he continued, "and he will not be pleased, not at all."
It was lucky they had made it to the staircase at that point, or Harry would have done something he would not have been proud of. Instead, he pushed the other boy against the wall of the staircase, and held him there with such force that the boy was shocked into silence.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, "just shut up, for a minute, and let me say something, okay? Your father doesn't have to hear about this, nobody has to. Just let me talk, and please don't tell anyone, no matter what happens. Got it?"
Draco considered making a snide remark – after all, this was Potter, his rival, and he couldn't just agree to something Potter said, that would be bad form – but something in the way Harry looked, something in his eyes – hope, or desperation, or some combination of the two – something that reflected what Draco himself felt but was so much better at hiding – stopped him.
He nodded, and waited to hear what Harry would say, not even daring to hope that it would be what Draco himself felt.
And Harry … said nothing.
All the time he'd spend planning what he would say, all the time he'd spent practicing, all the time he'd spent thinking and worrying and agonizing over this moment, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who fought Voldemort, the boy who wasn't scared of anything or anyone, was speechless in the face of none other than Draco Malfoy, fifth-year Slytherin.
After a full two minutes of Harry opening and closing his mouth to no avail and getting more and more disgusted with himself by the second, Draco couldn't help it – the snarky remark just came out.
"What is it, Potter," he teased, "cat got your tongue?"
Harry hated him for that, because his sass absolutely was not helping, but … The teasing wasn't hateful, not really. There was an undertone of affection there, as though Draco was just trying to let Harry know that it was okay, he could take as long as he wanted, but Draco did have to entertain himself somehow while he was waiting.
Arrogant bastard, Harry thought, but what he said was, "Draco, I … I …"
"You what?" Draco shot back. "I'm just dying to hear your clearly invaluable insight."
"I … I … I want …" Harry tried again.
"Yes, good, you're getting there," Draco encouraged.
What are you doing? Draco yelled at himself. You're not helping!
Why can't I just say it? Harry berated himself. I'm such a coward!
"Come on," Draco added, "let's hear it."
He raised his eyebrow inquisitively, a gesture somehow infinitely irritating and infinitely sexy at the same time, and that was the last straw.
"I want you to shut up!" Harry shouted, loudly enough that it reverberated throughout the empty (or so he thought) staircase.
And then, before Draco could reply, before he could make some stupid underhanded comment, Harry shut him up.
With his face.
Their lips met for a total of approximately ten seconds, but to Harry, it felt like hours – hours to take in what it felt like to do something he'd wanted to do for so long.
But he'd have to only imagine it from this point forward, Harry thought when Draco pulled away, because it didn't seem like he'd be getting it again.
Draco's expression was the stone-cold face that could have been anything from disgust to unwilling admiration. "Potter," he said, slowly and carefully, "what the hell was that?"
Harry's face fell, like a puppy who has been denied supper for the rest of his life, and Draco realized that this was not the time for teasing, or hating, or messing around, so he finished his sentence.
"And why didn't you do it sooner?"
Somebody smiled, and somebody laughed, and somebody's fingers landed in somebody else's hair, and somebody's arms tightened around somebody else's neck, and somebody was pressing somebody else against a wall in order to press himself closer, and somehow, they were kissing again, only this time, it wasn't nervous and frightened, quick and chaste – it was joyous and triumphant, long and passionate, and it felt right.
"You're going to have to take better care of your lips if you want this to happen again, you know," Draco whispered in between kisses pressed to Harry's neck.
"What, what's wrong with my lips?" Harry asked, trying not to gasp in pleasure.
"They're all dry and chapped. Your standards of personal hygiene leave much to be desired."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize that sort of thing was important to you."
"Well, you should. We are … What are we, now?"
"Boyfriends? Lovers? Fuck-buddies? Enemies with benefits? I don't know."
"I don't know either, but I like the second one."
They continued to banter, because they were a Gryffindor and a Slytherin making out in an abandoned staircase at three o'clock in the morning, and they were boys trying to become men, and they didn't know how to be affectionate without teasing, and they didn't know how to be happy without making fun of it.
"You did choose a great place, though," Draco admitted after a few more minutes.
"I'm surprised you think so," Harry replied. "I didn't know dusty, old staircases were to your taste."
"They aren't, but nobody would ever find us here, so –"
"Wrong," said an extremely displeased (to under-exaggerate) voice of doom.
The two boys slowly pulled apart and turned around to find Castiel, a normally reserved, sixth-year Ravenclaw glaring at them as though they'd just performed all three unforgivable curses at the same time. He looked like an angel of death, and the pair of wings Harry almost thought he could see in the boy's shadow weren't really helping that image.
Behind Castiel, a second boy – the sixth-year Gryffindor and infamous wise guy Dean Winchester – was making his way down the staircase with some difficulty, as he seemed to find Harry and Draco's current predicament hilarious.
Cas turned to glare at Dean, which didn't seem to change his view at all. Seeing it as a lost cause, the pissed-off boy brought his attention back to the fifth-years.
"You two are a disgrace to your houses," he began. "You have no grace, no honor, and no manners, not to mention no common sense. What kind of idiots just start making out – loudly and not very well, I might add – at the bottom of a staircase without checking whether or not the staircase is empty first? Has it ever occurred to you that there might be other people around who don't want to hear you two going at each other like a couple of dogs in heat? You, Potter, you didn't win the Triwizard Tournament by being stupid, so why are you being stupid now? If I was a professor, I would take a thousand points from both of your houses for your complete lack of consideration! Next time, check whether or not the staircase is empty! BECAUSE DEAN AND I DO NOT WANT TO LISTEN TO YOU WHILE WE'RE TRYING TO … TO … to … Dean, what did you call it?"
"Have make-up sex?" the other sixth-year suggested with a surprisingly un-manly giggle.
"HAVE MAKE-UP SEX!" Cas practically roared.
Scared of what Cas might do next, Harry tried to apologize, and Draco fell back on his typical snide, arrogant remarks. Neither method seemed to appease the avenging angel, who was advancing on them as though to give them a good spanking or something.
Luckily for the fifth-years, Dean grabbed Cas from behind and shushed him with a kiss before he could give them any serious injuries. Once Cas was spluttering in a combination of anger and confusion, Dean temporarily gagged him with a huge, calloused hand and grinned amicably at the other two boys.
"Sorry about Cas," he said. "He's just a little worked up. He likes everything to be perfect when we fuck, you know, especially if it's the first time in a while, and hearing you two got him all ticked off. Just try to be more quiet next time, alright? Or actually check, because that was kinda rude."
Harry and Draco nodded their agreement, and Dean turned to scold his lover: "Be nicer to the younger kids, Cas. You don't have to lecture them to scare them off. And besides, it's not like the staircase belongs to us."
"But tonight is our night for it," Cas protested, getting free of the hand. "And they ruined it! They should leave."
"Actually, you ruined it for us," Draco cut in. "Who are you to demand that we leave? And we weren't being that loud! And this staircase was definitely abandoned when we came in! My father will hear about this!"
"If you want to tell your father, go ahead," Dean replied amicably. "Just know that I'll punch him in the face immediately afterward."
Draco gasped. "Do you know who my father is?"
"Lucius Malfoy, the prick to end all pricks? Of course I know who he is. He and his Death Eater buddies killed my parents."
"He was brainwashed! He didn't mean to!"
"He didn't mean to, my ass."
As Dean and Draco argued, an apologetic Cas made his way over to Harry, who was watching the argument with some interest. "Sorry about that," he whispered. "I didn't mean to be so rude. I was just …"
"Ticked off?" Harry supplied.
"That's okay," Harry said. "I guess we should have checked. I get how you feel."
"We should probably stop them from arguing before this gets bad, huh?" Cas asked.
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
And they might have succeeded, too, if another two guys hadn't come in at that exact moment.
"What the hell are all of you doing here?"
All four of them slowly turned to find Tony Stark – another sixth-year, Ravenclaw, equally famous for his intelligence, his ability to get anything into or out of Hogwarts, and his sharp tongue – glaring at them, with Steve Rogers – a fourth-year, Gryffindor, the best Chaser the team had seen in years – right behind him, less angry but equally scary.
"It's our night for the staircase, Stark," Dean shot back, "and Potter and Malfoy are here because they thought this would be a safe place to make out, so the real question is, what are you doing here?"
"That's a load of BS," Tony told him. "It's definitely our night. We get Mondays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and every other Wednesday. That's what we agreed. And this is our Wednesday."
"No, it's our Wednesday!"
"You had it last Wednesday!"
"But you had it two Wednesdays in a row before that!"
"That's because you two were fighting and weren't even using it! That doesn't count."
"It does, too!"
"How about, both of you go away and let us have it?" Draco interjected.
"No way in hell, Malfoy," both Dean and Tony said in unison.
And soon enough, a massive three-way argument was going on, complete with sassy comebacks, threats to each other's families, and general insults.
"Hi, Harry," Steve said, smiling weakly, waving to his fellow Gryffindor.
"Hey, Steve." Harry returned the smile and motioned for him to come sit down next to him.
"So, you and Stark, huh?" Harry asked.
Steve blushed, then looked at the floor and mumbled something, then blushed even harder, then finally turned back to Harry and replied, "Yeah. He's actually a really nice guy, once you get to know him. Just lonely, and unhappy … But I've been trying to fix that … I'm more surprised about you and Malfoy."
Cas snorted. "Oh, come on. The entire school saw that one coming. Didn't you notice how they glared at each other during Quidditch matches?"
Harry found himself blushing this time, so he quickly turned the subject to a different couple. "Well, I had no idea Dean was gay. You must be something to change that around."
Cas grinned confidently. "That's his and my secret."
The two continued talking for a bit, while Steve watched the argument with increasing concern. "Hey, guys?" he finally asked.
"Yeah?" Harry and Cas said.
"Don't you think we should stop them?"
"Yes, but how?" Cas wanted to know. "Once Dean gets into a good argument, it's almost impossible to pull him out."
"Well, I could distract Tony," Steve suggested.
"And I could distract Draco," Harry added, with a little grin as he remembered the events of earlier that night.
"But that will only work for so long," Cas said. "They'll still be arguing about who gets the staircase."
"We could go somewhere else, and discuss it there," Harry said, a sudden idea dawning on him.
"Where do you have in mind?" Steve asked.
"Well, I know how to get from here to Hogsmeade …"
It took Steve's best Angry Commander Voice, a lot of "distracting," even more convincing, a bit of bribery, and a good half hour of walking, but Harry, Steve, and Cas finally managed to get their three annoying lovers to Hogsmeade, with the help of the Marauder's Map.
Once there, they slipped the barmaid enough cash to convince her not to rat them out, bought a round of butterbeer, and commenced debating who would get the staircase when. It was eventually decided that each couple would get it two nights a week, with the exception of Saturdays, when the first couple there would be the lucky winners.
Harry and Draco never got to finish making out that night, but they had a beginning and a promise, and kissed each other goodnight before they headed to their respected dorm rooms, so it was okay. Dean and Cas never got to finish their make-up sex, but at least they had made up, and the way Dean smiled at Cas when nobody else was looking reassured him in a way that no sex ever could, so it was okay. Tony and Steve never even got the staircase at all that night, but Steve knew just what to say to make Tony grin uncontrollably for the rest of the week, so it was okay.
Three pairs of hands joined underneath the table at Hogsmeade, and one old staircase knew that it was going to get quite a lot of use in the near future.