Harry touched down in a deserted backstreet seemingly untouched by the snow that has cloaked the rest of the city. Less than an hour ago the street had been crawling with trucks, this being one of the busiest alleys in London. Breathing deep, he can still smell a hint of diesel in the air. Lined with warehouses, the street catered to some of the finest stores in town. Every entrance alarmed with the most sophisticated of muggle technology.
He and Dudley had spent many nights over the summer cataloguing the comings and goings of the security team that monitored the warehouses. Because Black Knight Security had an unblemished reputation, no would be burglar dared attempt to break in.
The contents of the warehouses were of no concern to them; it was only the seclusion of the street they both desired. For Harry the cameras had not been a problem, - a little flick of the wrist usually did the trick. His invisibility cloak had never worked so hard in its life over those warm nights and early misty mornings.
Beyond the warehouses lay both their salvations; a plethora of some of the hottest clubs in the muggle world. It is here that two boys, both stifled by their own inner demons, on the cusp of manhood, bonded. Both had been forced into a corner by adults who believed they were the answer to all their past failings. Their own peers turned to them for guidance, for leadership, when they themselves struggled for inner peace.
Together they could escape what was expected, because together they gave each other a reason to go forward when life had become increasingly bleak. They had never been lovers... in Harry's opinion they were beyond such titles. Cousins- obviously, brothers- definitely, friends... always, even in death. They were kindred. If Voldemort thought destroying Dudley would hurt him, then he had been correct. But he'd also made the biggest mistake of his life taking Dudley from him. Being guilty of his parent's death was one thing; Harry had been too young to truly miss them. But Dudley was something else entirely. He'd kill for Dudley, which was Tom Riddles fatal mistake. Before, Harry only wished to avoid a confrontation with the man, now he would seek him out and punish him accordingly.
Transfiguring his rain soaked robes into something more suitable, Harry shrunk his broom and stowed it behind a loose brick at the far end of the alley. Slipping through an imposing iron gate, he followed the narrow path ahead. It led to the side entrance of the 'Rainbow Express', a sleazy dance club that never failed to reek of frenzied desperation. It had always been Harry and Dudley's first stop of the night. This horrid night would be no exception.
In a shadowed corner to his right, Harry could just make out the silhouette of two men fucking against the brick wall. Their grunts of completion punching the air and causing him to quicken his steps. He too needed a hard fuck with a stranger, anything to smother the grief for a little while.
As Harry rounded the corner, he was immediately spotted.
"Ron!"
Harry grinned, acknowledging the greeting of Teddy, one of the clubs bouncers. He'd chosen the name for himself he guessed as a tribute to his friend, a man he adored. In the beginning it had just felt like he was playing a part and a different name from 'Harry' was important so that he could separate his two worlds, yet still be familiar so as not to be caught out.
"We haven't seen you round 'ere for weeks. Thought you'd ditched us for creamier pastures mate?"
Harry pushed past some of the patrons lining up outside, slapping Teddy across those wide shoulders before clutching onto one rippling bicep. He whispered low into the man's ear.
"Now would I leave you like that Teddy?" He licked thoroughly across the shell of the ear before him, leaning back, innocence like thick molasses shining in his eyes.
The man chuckled huskily, one enormous hand sliding over the small of his back to squeeze his rump through the figure hugging silk.
"Gorgeous as always," Teddy breathed over his throat.
Harry batted his lashes coquettishly, black mascara accentuating the shape, the green of his eyes. A little kohl smudged underneath completed the sultry look. He could practically see the big man melt under his attention. There was a reason Dudley and he had always been swept through every queue. A spot of fellatio, a quick grope, maybe a kiss if they were lucky... meant doors opened all over town for the both of them.
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While his mum served out her homemade pie for dessert, Ron kept a close eye on Draco's movements. Not that he was actually moving, unless you counted rolling his eyes every time he caught a certain redhead eyeballing him across the table. If he wasn't sure Weasley was as straight as they come, then he'd have sworn that the boy had a thing for him. Draco preened at the thought, his hand sliding through his hair to flick over his shoulder, freezing when he realised he was being watched by the youngest of the brood.
Taking a moment to compose his features, he casually let his gaze drift in her direction. Draco coolly assessed her through his lashes, putting on quite the show.
Ginny sighed, raising an eyebrow at his pitiful masquerade. With a final shake of her luscious mane, she turned away from him and started a conversation with Charlie instead.
How dare she ignore him?
Draco wanted to stomp his feet, whine about being so easily dismissed, but he didn't. Instead, he gripped the corners of his chair and thought up as many brutal scenarios as he could involving the slow demise of the Weasley's until he'd repressed his murderous impulses.
Ron watched the exchange with quiet amusement. His sister was the master manipulator.
"You have no hope in besting her Malfoy!"
Draco's head whipped up to glare at him, his rage instantly flaring to life again.
Ron stared back at him, - evenly,- just itching for the Slytherin to give him an excuse to clobber him one.
As if he'd expected such conduct, Draco thrilled in giving him nothing to bite with. Ginny wasn't the only person who had a talent for giving someone the cold shoulder and unlike her, he just knew Ron would be furious about being left out. Draco preferred to transfer his attention to that of the pie on his plate. He attacked the soft pastry crust with the tip of his knife, a clean cut that spilled the sweet cherries from within, tainting the blade with its blood red pulp. He continued to hack away until he was panting, sweat trickling down his right temple. Only then, did he stop to admire his work.
Mrs. Weasley took one look at the mutilated pie on his plate and promptly denied him any bid for freedom. He would be helping her tonight with the cleaning up.
Ron bit his lip, disappointed at Draco's retreat, but highly amused at his mother's non-compliance. He was entirely too smug about the whole thing. Boy though, he did love his mum something awful at that moment. His actions just might get him kicked in the arse, but he couldn't help himself.
Molly, in her extreme generosity, allowed Ron to leave the dinner table when he asked politely. His behaviour had been deplorable, but yet another minute in both their companies would have been intolerable all-round, and most certainly the end of her sweet nature. Young Malfoy had much to learn about being a part of a large family. He would stay behind.
Ron immediately retreated up the stairs. To ask why she was punishing Malfoy after making such an effort to include him in their home, was to surely revoke her permission.
Ron had quite enough of the blond Slytherin for one day, so the mystery of why he wasn't being punished would have to remain just that... a mystery.
Draco held his tongue as he was asked politely, but in a voice that brooked no argument, to help with the dishes. Instead of hexing her, he snarled towards the ceiling, somewhere up there laid Ron, the prime suspect in his undoing. He was too exhausted to fight, but not to stomp his feet as he crossed over to the kitchen. He'd never washed a dish in his life! It could be entertaining and if he broke a few plates along the way, well so be it. The Weasley's could always afford more, right? Draco grinned to himself.
Ron bypassed his bedroom and went straight to his fortress of solitude; he had more thinking to do. Draco would be the reason, the subject in the pages of his diary, the friggin' symphony playing relentlessly in his head.
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Harry kept one eye on the drink at his elbow and the other on the mirror over the bar. Behind him, spread out like some sumptuous banquet just waiting for his perusal, was the dance floor. He liked to pick and choose from a distance without being watched. Besides, who could resist the elegant curve of his neck, the lingering length of Quidditch toned muscles, not to mention his supremely fabulous arse over all that black silk. He was in a word, divine.
It was seconds later that he clasped eyes on him, the one who would be fucking him blind two minutes from now. What a breath-taking specimen he was, not unlike a certain redheaded friend he so badly desired. His features were different of course, his lips thinner but he could close his eyes and pretend as long as the guy kept his mouth shut. There was nothing worse then a substitute lover who had to babble on so during sex. That was Harry's one stipulation, either keep quiet or move on.
Downing the last of his drink, he touched up his flawless makeup with a wave of his long fingers. Pushing off from the stool, he made his way over to the unsuspecting hunk of man flesh. Harry prowled, wetting his shiny red lips with his tongue. Oh yeah, he was perfection.
Mr. You- Are- So- Going- To- Want- To- Ride- My- Thick- Cock had spotted his arrival, and blushed accordingly. Harry grinned, flashing him white teeth. Oh, the boy was shy, how simply delicious.
Harry sashayed across the floor, rubbing his thigh against one man, fingers sliding across the arse of another, smoky eyes never leaving his prey.
Finally, he was standing in front of the redhead. Harry was more than pleased to note that the man was even more appealing on closer inspection. His physique resembled Ron's, right down to what promised to be an impressive dick.
He trickled his fingers down the man's chest, curling his fist into the waistband, stroking warm responsive skin with a thumb before tugging him sharply. The man slammed into his chest and Harry just clung, attaching his lips to this stranger's mouth and then devouring him on contact. He had no intention of drawing this out, he wanted to be fucked and he wanted it now!
Fortunately the man agreed with him, if the feverish groping was anything to go by. Oh yeah, he was big, really big. Harry opened his eyes and promptly groaned, dropping his head on the man's chest.
No, not the groan of the sated, but the pained groan of being caught by one infuriating Gryffindor who was at this moment hovering behind his would be lovers shoulder. Seamus, who is quite spectacular when it comes to entrances, stood with his arms crossed, glaring holes into Harry's forehead... like he needed another scar.
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Ron threw himself face down onto his makeshift bed, a string of curses muffled into the pillow. Breathing deep, inhaling musky particles that almost had him in a coughing fit; he flopped over and stared hard at the peeked ceiling as his eyes watered. Reaching out blindly, his fingers skimmed over the spines of his journals till he reached the one he wanted. Pulling it out, he let the book fall open across his stomach.
Inside was written every venomous word that had ever dripped from that mouth. It was his book, reserved for Malfoy only. The pages contained every encounter he'd had with the Slytherin from their initial confrontation on the Hogwarts Express that first year up until today. Ron would painstakingly recreate every argument onto the pages within.
His last entry had been just as detailed, although Ron hadn't quite believed the words. It was too incredible for him, for anyone to wrap their head around. Malfoy a muggle, a mudblood... it was impossible. Even if it was so, Draco was not excused for past behaviour, for being a right bastard all these years.
With a pen in his hand and his latest words fresh in his mind, Ron transcribed the evening down to the smallest of details. Every nuance discussed, argued and altered then rewritten till it was out of his head and all in words where he could forget it existed. Purging the venom from his system was necessary; the book his therapy. He could breathe once more when it was completed.
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Harry mouthed 'go away' over his shoulder at Seamus. To the Irishman's credit he didn't even blink in his glaring match and Harry would have sworn the boy would have at least gawked at his fetching attire. Hell, it wasn't everyday you saw Harry Potter in a silk slip and makeup for goodness sake. Wasn't he at least a little shocked?
Choosing to ignore the Gryffindor, Harry insinuated one knee in between his dancing partner's legs. Taking the lead for a moment, he spun him in the opposite direction... except that turned out to be far worse as headmaster Albus Dumbledore was standing there calmly watching him. He should be mortified, he wasn't.
"Harry?" Seamus crackled from over his shoulder.
There was confusion and a smattering of real fear in the stranger's watery blue eyes, those eyes that darted from his, then back to Seamus. It was the fear that clinched it for Harry, it was over.
Disentangling his arms, Harry recoiled. Blowing a final kiss, he swept past Seamus and headed out the back entrance. Brushing the curtain aside, Harry stalked through the throng of naked males writhing together in the private room.
A tersely muttered "Alohomora" and he could breathe again. Freezing air hit Harry's bare arms, forming goose bumps over his skin. He shivered, realising he was not alone.
"Well you've found me; let's go back to Hogwarts shall we."
Without waiting for a reply from the two, he marched through the gates into the alley. Saying goodbye to this other life, he shook off the remnants of the spell that had transfigured his clothing. He had known for a long time now that this hedonist life could not last. He'd just wanted to ignore the ticking clock a little longer.
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Draco sat cross-legged on a bed, his bed, well technically not his, but used by him until such a time that he no longer would be forced to live in this poor excuse for a house. A bed, in a room that again was not his but borrowed and shared by another.
He resisted the urge to explore his room again, for anyone who entered would come to the conclusion that he found such a Weasley worthy of further inspection, which he of course did not. Not that he was around to stop him from said exploring anyhow. Still, he would not think of him. He had other distractions to pass the time.
Draco scowled at his wrinkled fingers. Unfortunately, washing dishes hadn't been as deplorable as he'd presumed it would be. Menial tasks, such as were given to a number of house elves sequestered in a kitchen he'd never even stepped a foot in. The Weasleys had no such house elf to speak of and a kitchen right out in the open for anyone to see, quite disgusting. It was obvious he was to be their indentured servant. How perfect that must be for all of them, a Malfoy soiling his hands on their filth. Salazar knows how many demeaning chores they had lined up for him. And yet after all that had happened, he had not broken a single dish. He'd fix that the next time he was instructed to be their friggin' maid.
Draco blew across his fingers, scrutinising their poor condition one last time before stretching out on the bed and glaring at the ceiling. Where the hell was he?
"You can't avoid the inevitable forever Weasley!" he whispered harshly. Hurt that Ron was hiding from him.
Tired of waiting, Draco slipped out the bedroom door and into the shadowed hallway. He could hear giggling interspersed with whispers from the twin's room, which lay directly opposite. He took a step, crossing the narrow space between their doors. He almost pressed his ear to the door before him, to eavesdrop, but thought better of it. Draco remembered all too well the pranks the two had got up to at Hogwarts and suspected their door was rigged with some beastly spell to repel nosey siblings from doing just that.
Sneering, he turned his back on them and silently made his way down the stairs. On the landing, he ducked down and watched through the banisters as Mr. Weasley worked at the table.
Mother would have been horrified if Father had used their dining table in such a fashion. Not that father would have dared tinker with anything, least of all an object of the muggle persuasion. Draco wasn't exactly sure it was muggle in origin, but considering he'd never seen anything of the like he presumed it was invented by them. He'd been brought up with a vast knowledge of many things, but this by far eluded him. Weasley's did have an unhealthy infatuation with anything those puny minds had ever conceived, so he was convinced it was a Muggle contraption.
Arthur glanced up, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a shadow. Hiding a grin, he fetched two slices of bread from the pantry and proceeded to feed them into the two gaping mouths of the silvery thing on the table.
Leaning back so as not to be incinerated, Arthur tentatively reached his hand forward and carefully pressed the lever downwards till it remained in that position and the bread had disappeared within its belly.
Draco was transfixed; a metal creature that ate bread, not exactly frightening, unless its diet consisted of other bloodier delicacies. It certainly wasn't moving. If not a creature where had the bread gone to then and why? Was it some implement for bread to travel places? Perhaps not just bread, but all small objects could be transferred in this manner. Maybe there are larger versions so that muggles can move from place to place as well.
Just then there was a loud 'pop' and something sprung out of the same hole that the bread had previously disappeared into. Draco gasped; registering his mistake he slammed the palm of his hand over his mouth. Knowing he was too late, as surely he'd been heard.
"Come down here Draco, I can show you how it works. It won't bite, promise." Arthur grinned good-naturedly, beckoning the boy forward.
Draco remained where he was, suspended between wanting to know more and being repulsed by that same need. Father would have held him under Imperio for showing even the slightest interest in something a muggle had created. But then the man who he believed to be his father was nothing of the sort. Did he want to know more about their world? Was he ready to embrace what he had always been told was less than worthless? They were his kind and that very fact scared the hell out of him.
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As Ron neared his own room, he heard his father's voice downstairs. This could be the perfect opportunity for him to wheedle more information on Malfoy. Why he was here sounded like a fair enough inquiry. Resolute, he moved past his door and headed for the ground floor.
Rounding the corner, Ron lurched back just in time. The landing was already preoccupied by the source of all evil. He hid and listened, growing intensely more jealous with every second that his father tried unsuccessfully to coerce the blond into his domain. He could have told his father it was a lost cause, Malfoy was not about to be swayed.
Daring to look, he wished he had kept his curiosity to himself. Even in profile he could see it, the naked hunger for knowledge. To touch and know what had been forbidden his whole life. Ron could see how he fought with himself for the right, the emotions flickering across his features evidence enough of the battle within.
Not wanting to look like a pathetic soul for getting all resentful because Daddy's attention was with the spawn of the devil rather than on him, Ron retreated back to his room to sulk.
Once back in his room, Ron released the breath he'd been holding. Standing in the middle of the room for a second before coming to his senses, he quickly surveyed the room, keeping a close eye out for anything out of place. Satisfied, he stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers.
At the creak of the door moving, he turned over to face the wall. He could sense Malfoy staring at him but made out that he was asleep rather than be provoked into yet another shouting match.
Ron couldn't help the tiny smile that transformed his dark mood. His father had failed to get to Malfoy, just as he'd suspected.
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Harry sat slumped forward, warming his frozen fingers with the heat of flames in the grate. He was back at Hogwarts, under close guard lest he feel the need to wander again.
Dumbledore had not lectured him, which didn't surprise the Gryffindor. It was his way. Harry knew the old man was biding his time till he came to him instead. Well, this was one time he would be waiting for a jolly a long time. Harry had no intention of speaking to him ever on the subject; it was no concern of his.
Seamus, the only other Gryffindor awake at this time of night, was pacing while he ranted at Harry.
Harry had tuned him out and was instead poking at a log in the fireplace, sending a torrent of sparks up the chimney.
"What do you think you were doing Harry? You left me there to deal with him and do you realise the police turned up after you left? Bloody narrow escape I tell you. And what was with your outfit, you were dressed like a girl. Is this like a kink? You into makeup, Potter? When you decide to come out, you really come out. Don't you?
Harry sighed. "Do shut up Seamus!"
The Irishman swallowed thickly, spluttering on his rage. "Excuse me?"
Harry abruptly stood up and whirled on the boy, his temper matching that of his companion.
"How did you know where to find me, Seamus? Hmm, tell me this?
The boy faltered, struggling for appropriate words.
"Spare me your lies. You placed a tracking spell on me, didn't you?"
Seamus looked indignant, even though he was very guilty.
Harry got up into his face.
"What gave you the idea that you had the right?" He blew hot air onto Seamus' face, his eyes wild.
"You left me there, took my wand so I couldn't follow." Seamus huffed back at him.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Exactly!"
Their eyes locked for an infinite amount of time, silence, the crackling of the fire the only ripple through the tension. It was Harry that spoke first, breaching whatever hush had fallen over the two of them.
"It wasn't about you. I was mourning the loss of my friend. It wasn't about you. You weren't invited." It was a low voice, deadly quiet.
Seamus turned his head to gaze at the fire.
"I thought you had left me stranded there so you could go after Voldemort. I was scared, okay. Am I allowed to worry about you?"
Harry didn't have an answer for that. Defeated, Harry flopped back down on the couch. Seamus followed suit and sat down beside him.
"What about the dress, the makeup?"
Harry didn't answer immediately.
"You didn't like?" He eventually whispered.
Seamus considered his answer so as to least offend Harry.
"Not dislike, just different I guess." He mumbled the last part, unsure of what to say here.
Harry shifted to face him, anger plainly there for anyone to read.
"So in other words you think I'm a freak. Like I care what you think. The clothes, the makeup, there all a part of me, you don't understand and you never will."
Seamus growled, tired of being painted as the villain.
"You're right, I don't understand and I'm pretty darn sure I don't want to. I'm not saying you're a freak but you have to admit that it's kinda friggin' weird wanting to dress like a girl."
Harry shrank back away from Seamus, not at all certain he wanted to remain seated next to such a narrow-minded male. A man he once called friend.
Seamus reached for him, but Harry was too quick as he got to his feet.
"So you weren't in the least bit interested, back there in the club?"
Seamus hesitated before shaking his head.
Harry wasn't convinced. Drawing out his wand from his robes, he promptly murmured the incantation, the same one he'd used many times.
Before Seamus could intervene, Harry had changed back into his alter ego.
The Irishman scrambled off the couch, eyes frantically darting to the stairs that led to the Gryffindor dorms.
"Stop it Harry, anyone could come down and see you like this." He was thoroughly shocked that the celebrated Gryffindor would dare tarnish his reputation.
Harry shrugged, licking at his now bright red lips.
Seamus raised his arms out in front of him, palms up as if to ward him off.
"Stop, Harry! Come on, you don't have to do this to prove some kind of a point. I get it; you like dressing up as a women, nothing to be ashamed about."
Harry narrowed his gaze, pushing the desire to just tear Seamus' bloody eyes out for being so damn patronizing. Instead, he turned his performance up a notch, just to see what the boy would do if cornered.
"Don't come any closer." Seamus croaked, his eyes immediately focussing on the almost hypnotic sway of thighs being lovingly caressed in soft midnight folds of silk...
Harry prowled closer.
Harry ignored the plea.
Running out of space to manoeuvre, especially as Harry was bearing down on him at an alarming rate, he panicked and promptly tripped, landing on his arse.
Harry smirked, crouching down to Seamus level.
Seamus let out a thoroughly unmanly squeak and tried to get away on his hands and knees. Harry, in a much better position, soon had him immobile with just one hand splayed across his chest.
"Don't move." It wasn't a suggestion and just the tone had Seamus embarrassingly hard.
Harry bit his lip, anticipation everything as his fingers hurriedly pushed aside the boys cloak to get to where they really wanted to be. He glanced down, grinning when he caught sight of the slack jawed, rather glazed attention he was receiving. Harry swallowed with difficulty, his mouth appallingly dry as he continued to be admired. He was almost flattered enough to forgive him for his past behaviour... almost.
Seamus tried to switch him off, but it was futile. The makeup was having the opposite effect on him now that he was the sole beneficiary of all that subtle artistry. Okay, so there was nothing subtle about it, all of it was a tease. There to enhance and ensnare. Fuck, he was fighting a losing battle.
Harry smirked as he took his sweet time releasing each button from Seamus' trousers. He watched with delight as the Gryffindor came undone before his eyes... in so many ways.
Seamus could admit he was a mess, quite without the will to save face. He was completely in Harry's hands now. Oh boy was he ever.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned long and very loud. Oh goddamn that was good.
Harry had introduced Seamus' hard cock to the flutter of buttery silk, draping the material lightly over the length of his dick, enticing a whimper from deep in his throat.
Seamus arched his back, head thrown back on the floor. This was unfair, devious even for Potter. He had a lot to learn obviously. He'd expected that it would be up to him to be the aggressor, how staggeringly wrong he was in that respect. Potter was in charge and he was the putty in his fist.
Speaking of fist, Seamus gasped when the hand tightened around him, the slide of cool silk rasping over his sensitized flesh- murder on his nerves.
Harry leant forward, their breath mingled as they panted into each other's open mouths. He was merciless, twisting his hand and jerking hard until Seamus sobbed, eyes watering with the strain of not being able to howl out his pleasure.
How did he know just what to do to get to him?
He scratched his painted nails over his balls. Seamus jerked violently, Harry grinning wickedly at the reaction.
A flutter of wings and a squeal of claws had both their heads swivelling towards the nearest window. Moonlight highlighted the brilliance of Hedwig's wings as she batted against glass demanding to be let inside.
Harry's attention swung back to the boy under him, debating whether to open the window or stay right where he was.
Seamus held his breath. He wouldn't beg, he wouldn't beg...
Inching forward, dipping his head to the side as Seamus reached for him. Nose, tucked into the junction between shoulder and neck, Harry used the flat of his tongue to lick a broad path up Seamus' throat, nibbling on his chin before gracefully rising to his feet and letting Hedwig into the common room.
"No, no, no..." Seamus chanted softly, offended that he had been passed over for a ruddy bird.
The owl looped around the room once before settling on the back of a chair. The letter could only be from one person as he had sent a note to the Burrow upon his return to Hogwarts. Seamus was forgotten as he eagerly tore into the envelope.
Seamus fixed his trousers with shaky hands. He was still painfully aroused. Disturbed by the silence that had fallen over the room, he moved over to where Harry was seated on the overstuffed couch. Seamus touched his shoulder and Harry slowly raised his head to stare icily up at him.
"What on earth is the matter?"
Harry flexed his fingers over the paper, creasing its crisp whiteness.
"Malfoy is staying at the Burrow. Ron has written some feeble excuse, but it's a lie. He's lied to me all along." He growled, balling the letter in his fist and hurling it into the flames.