Title: What Happens in the Cloakroom… Part 1
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco, Hermione
Rating: R
Length/Word Count: Series, 1,084 words
Warnings/Content: blow jobs, frottage, hand jobs
Summary: He was going to murder Seamus. Murder him or possibly buy him the finest bottle of firewhisky he could find, Harry wasn’t sure which.
Notes: torino10154 prompted me with a well-loved cliche last night when my inspiration well ran dry and this is the result. It was only supposed to be a ficlet, but somehow grew into something that couldn't be finished in a day. At least one more part coming, perhaps two. Unbeta'd so please forgive and point out any typos or errors I might have missed. Thanks! <3
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.


What Happens in the Cloakroom…
Part 1

Dim light spilled into the cloakroom as Harry tumbled inside with a fistful of his companion’s robes. The ruckus of the party faded to a dull roar as the door snicked shut behind them, but Harry wasn’t paying any attention as he was soon shoved up against said door, a thigh jammed between his two with the unmistakable pressure of a cock rutting against his leg. Lips slid down down his neck and he tangled his fingers into impossibly-soft blond hair, closed his eyes and rocked his hips, finally finding enough friction to temper the ache burning low in his belly.

He was going to murder Seamus. Murder him or possibly buy him the finest bottle of firewhisky he could find, Harry wasn’t sure which. Harry hadn’t set out to drink that night, though goodness known he’d wanted to as it was the most boring Yule Ball the Ministry had put on yet. But Harry had to work early in the morning, and hangover potion or no hangover potion, he just wasn’t as sharp as he liked after a night on the sauce. So he’d stuck with the Ministry’s Holiday Punch, and the only thing that explained why his head was swimming, why his gaze had followed Malfoy from the moment he’d arrived until he’d asked Harry to dance--as a joke, Harry had been sure--why his hands hand been unable to stop roaming over Malfoy’s back, why with just the slightest hint of Malfoy’s breath on his cheek made his knees weak and his cock rock hard in under five seconds--the only rational explanation for all of these things was that someone had spiked the punch. And that someone most definitely was Seamus Finnigan, evil purveyor of spirits and someone Harry was definitely going to hex.

Or possibly get down on his knees and thank, as Malfoy was currently heading toward that position, his fingers ripping open Harry’s flies, his grey eyes gleaming in the darkened room.

“Oh fuck me,” Harry whispered without realising it. His cock sprang free, the head brushing against Malfoy’s pink lips, before Malfoy’s tongue snaked out and he gave Harry a teasing lick.

“Maybe later,” Malfoy said. He turned his head, rubbing Harry’s cock against his cheek, catching the crown on the corner of his lips. “First, I want to gag on your cock.”

Seamus--a whole case of top-shelf for you, was Harry’s last coherent thought before he lost himself in Malfoy’s mouth.

~

“Good Morning Harry,” Hermione said absently as he joined her on the lift. Her head was stuck in an open file, but she finally looked up at him as the car swung back and begin to rise. She opened her mouth, closed it, peered at him, then smiled.

“Something on your mind?”

“You look different.”

“Bad different or just...?”

“No no no, good different.” She studied him again, cocking her head to one side.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit creepy?”

“You look good, Harry,” Hermione said as if Harry hadn’t spoken at all. “Rested. But something...” She shook her head, then buried herself in her notes once more.

“Amazing, isn’t it? I got completely pissed last night.” Harry had set out a hangover potion on his nightstand before he’d passed out the night before, but when he woke, he’d felt right as rain--none of the normal ill-effects from too much drink. Just a fluke; it was too bad he wasn’t always so lucky.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and he half expected an admonishment for his language, but she paused mid-word and her brows knit together again. “I thought you only had the punch? Did you drink after? Ron was looking for you--you disappeared half-way through.”

“The punch was spiked, had to be. Seamus did it, yeah? Surely you noticed.”

Hermione shook her head and a small smile came to her lips. “No, he tried, but I vanished his flask before he had the chance. He wasn’t exactly pleased with me, but some of us needed to work in the morning.”

Harry was just imagining how ‘not-pleased’ Seamus probably still was, when his brain did a double-take and he grabbed Hermione’s arm, causing her file of parchment to spill onto the floor.

“Wait--the punch wasn’t spiked?”

“Harry--yes, that’s what I said.” She slipped out his grip and Accio’d her parchment back to its rightful place with a frown. “Honestly, if it had been, you’d be a right terror this morning. Hangover potions never really work for you, not really. I wonder if it’s some kind of interaction with your magic and if you had one more tailor-made, it would work better, rather than just the generic--it would be a fascinating study--in the abstract.”

Hermione nattered on, but Harry didn’t hear a word of it. He’d been so sure...there was no other reason for completely losing himself--not with Draco Malfoy of all Wizards.

If he was being truthful with himself, Harry hadn’t been altogether indifferent to Malfoy’s charms a few years on from school. He’d grown into his features, where once his face was too sharp, and his body too thin, his skin almost sickly pale--especially in 6th year--now he was nicely angular, still thin but obviously strong and his skin while still just a shade off of white, had a healthy glow about it. Especially when his face was flush with exertion and his mouth open and panting, his skin all slick with sweat and his cock hard but velvety smooth and it fit so well within Harry’s curled fingers.

“Not that I want to spend my free time helping you find a better way to get drunk without consequences, of course, but I do wonder--oh Harry, it’s your floor.” She nudged him with an elbow and he smiled sheepishly in apology. She tutted, but gave him a gentle shove through the open doors.

“Next time, just change the subject. I don’t particularly enjoy prattling on to myself.”

“Uh huh.” Harry nodded, though they both knew her words weren’t true. He gave her a little wave as the lift doors closed, but then his brain was back to Draco Malfoy once more.

As if it ever really left, an evil voice inside Harry’s mind whispered, sounding suspiciously like the wanker himself.



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