Warning(s): Slight OOC and attempt at banter. Smitten!Harry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Thanks to my wonderful betas dracogotgame, and josephinestone for all the help and love. The title of the story is from the song "Get Lucky." Also, I cannot take credit for the summary, it is somewhat paraphrased from a blog post a friend wrote ages ago.

Title: A NIGHT OF GOOD FUN

Harry closed his eyes and just breathed. He was in a room full of nearly half naked "models," and twice as many wizards and witches, waiting to bet on them.

What did I get myself into?

"It'll be fun," Hermione had said. "Think of all the good it'll do!" she'd added when Harry rolled his eyes.

Harry should have just donated the two hundred Galleons like he'd planned and not allowed Hermione to convince him into joining this crazy ordeal.

He was Harry Potter. Saviour of the wizarding world. The Boy Who Lived—Twice! And, he was up for sale. For a night anyway.

He looked at his almost see-through lime green coloured shirt that was sticking to his upper body. It was decorated with an IX. He was Bachelor No. 9.

At least it was a silent auction, he thought to himself. He didn't have to get up on stage and have the wizards and witches shout out his worth to the officials. His task was simple. He had to walk around the room, smile, shake hands, and walk away.

He was sure he wouldn't be bought for too much money. There were definitely more good-looking and more fit blokes in the room.

"Why are you so nervous?" Hermione asked, finally, as she gave him a passing glance.

"I'm not nerv—"

She glared at him.

"Okay. I just don't like this. I don't understand why you just didn't take my donation."

"Just stating that you were going to be here had the interest peeked through the roof! A lot more wizards have showed up, and that meant I had to get more volunteers—"

Harry snorted. Volunteers. What a joke! They were mostly young men, late teens to early twenties that liked showing off their body. Harry just wished he didn't have to be there. With any luck, some old woman would buy him just to do some yard work.

No, luck was not on his side.

"Harry, someone bought you for 600 Galleons!" Hermione announced a few hours later. After it was supposedly over and he was allowed to wear normal clothes again.

"What? That's crazy!" Merlin, and he was only going to donate two hundred.

"Yeah, it's more than anyone else here! I told you. You'd help raise twice the money for the orphanage!"

"Who is it? Who bought me?" Harry was more than curious. Was it a fan? A stalker? Surely, no old witch would spend 600 Gs for yard work!

"I don't know yet. It's Buyer Number 605. You have to go the lounge where only the Dates and the Buyers meet for a drink. That's when you find out!" Hermione could barely suppress her giddiness. As happy as Harry was for her, he couldn't help but wonder who had bought him. Could it be a bloke? Could Harry be so lucky? At least if it was someone good looking, then his night wouldn't be a total waste.

He shook his head with his silly fantasy. No young and good looking wizard would hang around a charity date auction, or have 600 Galleons to spend on Harry.

Grateful for the fact that he was allowed to change into "normal" clothing, Harry headed to the Date Lounge in his favourite pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt. He noticed that the other blokes that were also "bought" had also changed, but none of them looked as comfortable as Harry. Harry reckoned that it was too late for his Buyer to back out anyway. It was a night of normalcy with Harry or nothing at all.

The person was out of 600 Galleons and Harry really owed them his courtesy.

He entered the Lounge and was a bit overwhelmed with the gaudiness of it all. It sparkled everywhere, from the chandelier that was nearly fifty feet wide, to the glasses of champagne that the servers were carrying around. He quickly grabbed a glass for some liquid courage before meeting his Buyer, hoping to take the edge off.

The receptionist at the check-in desk told him that Buyer Number 605 was waiting by the bar. He—Harry didn't miss the designation—was wearing dark green robes and a silver watch. Harry thanked her and made his way to the bar.

When he arrived, Harry saw a man with dark green robes with his back to Harry who was sipping Firewhisky. Another thing Harry noted, was the man's impeccable blond hair. The kind of blond hair that Harry was all too familiar with.

No! It can't be! Harry's heart nearly jumped down to his stomach. Could it have been possible? Did Draco Malfoy buy him for a date?

"Please tell me this is a joke," Harry said, as he approached the bar and took a seat next to Malfoy.

"Potter! What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" Malfoy, dear Lord—was it Malfoy—asked.

"I'm wondering the same question myself," Harry answered, nearly scowling, as he motioned to the bartender for a drink.

"I saw that you were out there," Malfoy said, "didn't really peg you for the Date-A-Hunk type."

"Is that why you bought me?"

Malfoy frowned with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Buyer Number 605. That's you isn't it?" Harry asked and Malfoy nodded. "Well, it's your lucky night!"

"I did not bid on you, Potter," Malfoy snapped, slamming his drink on the counter and almost spilling it.

"I'm afraid you did," Harry answered, calmly. "I'd like to know why."

"I did not!" Malfoy argued. He seemed resolute in his decision, and Harry didn't understand. How could there have been a confusion? There were thirteen men being auctioned off, and how could Malfoy had made a mistake?

"Who did you bid on, then?"

Malfoy scanned the room and pointed towards a bloke, nearly twice the size of Harry in muscle and about three feet taller than him. "Marcus, I believe the name is."

"He wasn't number nine," Harry answered.

"Yes. I'm aware," Malfoy answered, almost scoffing. "I did not bid on number nine. That's you."

"I don't understand." Harry believed Malfoy and did not understand the confusion. How was this mistake made? "Let's go see Hermione," he offered.

Malfoy nodded curtly and allowed Harry to take the lead. As they walked through the crowd, Harry took a moment to notice Marcus. He was speaking with an older witch, she must have been around eighty years old or more—the kind Harry thought would have picked him.

"He is a delight, isn't he?" Malfoy asked, almost licking his lips.

"Yeah, if you're into that sort of thing," Harry answered, shrugging. He was almost jealous of that Marcus bloke. Anybody else would have been happy to bid on Harry, leave it to Malfoy to ruin even that for him. Also, 600 Galleons? Malfoy bid 600 Galleons on tall, dark, and dumb?

Malfoy rolled his eyes and followed Harry. "You wouldn't understand, you're straight." Harry almost snorted and tripped. "What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Nothing," Harry answered and kept walking. He really wasn't in the mood to argue with Malfoy about his sexuality.

When they'd finally found Hermione, both Harry and Malfoy talked at the same time. Malfoy was acting exasperated as though it were the biggest inconvenience of his life that he'd "won" Harry, and Harry was going on about how he couldn't believe Hermione had made him sign up for this silly auction in the first place and now he was stuck with the last person in the world he wanted to see.

"Last person, really?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow, almost offended.

"Biggest inconvenience?" Harry retorted.

Hermione sighed rather audibly. "Malfoy, let me see your ticket," she said and snapped her fingers at him. Harry chuckled at the way she treated him, which only earned him a glare from her. He shut up immediately and caught Malfoy smirking. Harry made a face at him, and Hermione made another unpleasant sound.

"I'm afraid you did bid on Harry," she said.

"What?" Harry and Malfoy both yelled.

"You put your bid on number nine."

"No, I put it on number eleven!"

"Follow me," Hermione said, turning on her heels and didn't wait. Both Harry and Malfoy rushed after her. She led them to the main auction room and had Malfoy pick out the bidding box he'd put his offer in.

"This. See, number nine."

She shook her head, looking as though Malfoy was the most ridiculous thing in the world, or that's what Harry thought any way. Because he was. The most ridiculous thing in the world—even if he looked rather fit in his dark green robes and his hair parted on the side...

"Malfoy, that's number eleven." She pointed at the box on her right, the one with the Roman Numeral: XI. Then she pointed to the one on her left. "This is number nine. I'm afraid you were looking at it upside down."

Harry couldn't believe it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh at Malfoy's stupidity or cry at his own bad luck. He settled for grinning at Malfoy like the prat he was.

Malfoy looked like he was going to faint. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought that Malfoy's face was turning green. "You can't be serious!" he shrieked. "How is this possible?"

"Bad luck?" Hermione offered, shrugging. "Unfortunately, it's a done deal and we can't really do anything about it—I mean—it's for charity and it's not like we can give you a refund."

"I can give you a refund," Harry said, and both Hermione and Malfoy looked at him with a surprise. Harry shrugged before continuing. "I'll just consider it donating to the charity—"

"I don't need your pity, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"It's not pity," Harry said. It really wasn't. Truth be told, he was actually feeling bad for Malfoy. If it had been him, he would have been disappointed. He was just offering to do what he thought was the right thing. He would have done that for anyone, even if that anyone, was Malfoy.

Malfoy scoffed and walked away.

Harry frowned at how insolent Malfoy was being. He looked at Hermione who looked just as equally flustered. "What should I do?" he asked her and she shrugged again.

"I don't know. Maybe offer to buy him a drink?" she suggested. "If he still doesn't bite then I think you're home free. That should make you happy." She smiled and walked away mumbling something about paperwork for the charity. She must have assumed that Harry was following her, but he just stood in the room alone.

She was right, he was supposed to be happy about this. He didn't want to be part of the auction in the first place, and it had only become worse when it had turned out that Malfoy of all people had bid on him. Now he was free. Malfoy didn't want him. That was a good thing, right?

Then why was Harry feeling so disappointed. Surely a night of drinks, conversation and dancing with Malfoy wasn't exactly appealing. Was it?

Harry rested against the back wall of the empty room and bit his tongue. Was he attracted to Malfoy? Fuck. He was attracted to Malfoy. Not only that, he was feeling rejected and that upset him. Malfoy. What the hell was wrong with him?

Harry groaned and made his way to the lounge. He needed a very large drink and he needed it fast.

Unfortunately for him, when Harry arrived back at the bar, the only empty spot was next to Malfoy.

"Come here often?" Harry asked, and immediately grimaced at perhaps what was the worst pickup line in the history of wizard flirting. Come here often? Might as well ask him if it hurt when he fell from heaven!

Malfoy scoffed and turned away from Harry.

Harry gestured towards the bartender for a round and pointed at Malfoy's drink. Then he threw a few coins on the counter. "Come on, Malfoy. The least I can do is buy you a drink," Harry said. "Make up for all the bad luck—for both of us."

Malfoy's expression softened and he turned to face Harry. "Fine," he said. "You're buying drinks for the rest of the evening."

"Should I be scared?" Harry asked, smiling. "How much can you drink? I doubt it's very much given your..." Harry struggled for a word and Malfoy scowled again. Fragile state? No. Delicate—no! "...physique," he said.

"What does that mean?"

"I mean," Harry drawled. "You clearly watch what you eat and drink." It was the best compliment Harry could come up with given he didn't want to offend Malfoy again. It would be just his luck to strike out again. "It's too bad Marcus is going to miss out," he added.

Malfoy smiled again, but it was different than before. This time, he'd actually accepted the compliment. It was a nice smile; so non-Malfoyish.

"He really is dreamy, isn't he?" Malfoy asked again and Harry tried not to vomit.

"Yeah, if you like that sort of thing," he said, again.

"What sort of thing?" Malfoy asked, sounding almost offended.

Harry downed his drink before speaking. "You know. Tall, dark, Italian. Chiselled jaw—" May he'd said too much.

"Potter, you're bent?" Malfoy asked, surprised.

"Last time I checked, yeah," Harry answered; he was still looking at Marcus who looked rather bored speaking with the old lady that had won the bid on him.

"Oh, I didn't know," Malfoy said and finished the last of his drink. Harry turned to the bartender and gestured for two more. "Sorry about—"

"About what?"

"I didn't mean to offend you—"

Harry had no idea what Malfoy was talking about.

"I thought you were cross that I'd bid on you because you were straight, not because—"

"Well, you were cross you bid on me—"

"That's because I thought that any chance I had for getting lucky was gone—"

"Because I was supposedly straight?"

"And you're Potter!"

"Most people consider that lucky."

"I'm not most people."

"Isn't that the truth," Harry mumbled as he finished his drink again in one go. He was getting tipsy, just as fast as he'd wanted, but a little too fast, he reckoned. "I don't understand…."

"What?" Malfoy turned to look at Harry, again. His grey eyes were piercingly determined and Harry gulped and looked down at his empty glass. "Another?" Malfoy asked and Harry nodded. This time, Malfoy gestured for two drinks and asked for water as well.

Harry was grateful. He really needed to slow down. He was already three drinks in, had found Malfoy attractive when he was sober, and now he was finding it hard to speak around him…. When did that happen anyway?

"What don't you understand?" Malfoy asked, interrupting Harry's thought.

"Uh—If you just wanted sex, why don't you just get yourself a rentboy?" Shite. Harry immediately regretted asking that question. If the look that Malfoy had on his face was any indication, Harry was sure that Malfoy was going to punch him. If he was lucky, only in the face and not in his balls.

"Sorry," Harry said, before Malfoy could say anything. "That was perhaps the crudest thing I could have ever said. I'll just leave the tab open and feel free to drink as much as you feel—"

"Simmer down, Potter," Malfoy said, much to Harry's surprise. "I like Marcus. I've been following his career, and yeah I'd like to shag him, but I wanted to get to know him to. See if he's really worth it."

"Worth what?"

"Well..." Malfoy paused as though he was thinking through the words and he made the most interesting face. His face scrunched up a bit, and Harry wanted nothing more than to just smooth it over with his hand. The idea of touching Malfoy's face became more intriguing by the minute and Harry abruptly turned, grabbed the glass of water and started drinking it. Merlin, he needed to sober up.

"The Galleons to begin with," Malfoy said, completely not realising Harry's mini-panic. "I reckoned I need to pay money to get company to begin with. It would require him to speak to me as a person and not just a former Death Eater that everyone takes me for…."

"Malfoy, it's been years—"

"Yeah. But not for Death Eaters. There are people still out there that hate me. Just like there are Purebloods still out there that hate Muggleborns, and..." he chucked for a brief moment, "...homosexuals."

"Well, sod them!"

"Says the Saviour of the Wizarding World."

"Hey," Harry said, placing his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. His one and only opportunity to actually touch Malfoy. Malfoy didn't seem to flinch so Harry was relieved. "Go and get him. Just talk to the bloke—he'll love you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, as much as anyone can actually love a Malfoy," Harry said sneeringly. He removed his hand and grabbed the shot glass of Firewhisky that the bartender and conveniently refilled for them.

"Wouldn't that be against the rules?" Malfoy asked, again, completely oblivious to Harry's anxiety.

"What?"

"Speaking to another bid?"

"Oh," Harry said; he hadn't thought about that. "Erm...I can talk to the old lady to distract her. If you want."

"You'd do that?" Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry almost forgot to breathe.

Fucking hell, Malfoy. What did you do to me?

"Sure." Harry shrugged. "It's not like I have anything better to do than listen to you talk all night about Marcus." Harry rolled his eyes and grinned. It was clear that Malfoy wasn't interested in him, and Harry really didn't want to continue drinking and eventually make a fool of himself. He might as well put himself to good use. He'd just chat up the old lady and let Malfoy get lucky.

At least one of them had a chance.

"Potter—"

Before Malfoy could say anything else, Harry walked away from the bar and walked up to the lady and Marcus. "Hi!" he said excitedly and grinned at them. "Harry Potter." He offered his hand for Marcus to shake who looked both confused and relieved by the interruption.

"Of course, we know who you are," the lady said, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Marcus, right?" Harry said, shaking the man's hand next. "My friend over there is a huge fan and was wondering if he could buy you a drink?" He smiled and looked at the old lady. "If that's alright with you, of course, Ma'am. I wanted to know if you'd take a photo with me. You remind me so much of my grandmother!" Harry was lying through his teeth, but he also had no idea what he was doing.

He'd just had some liquid courage in him, hoping he'd be lucky in his endeavour of no longer pining over Malfoy for the night. He hoped whatever this was, this stupid unexpected crush on Malfoy, would be over by the morning. Hermione must have put something in his drink before the event to make him feel this way.

Harry nearly gasped with the idea of it. Maybe she did! She probably wanted him to have a good time and become friendly with whoever had bid on him, and the potion clearly counteracted making him feel attracted to Malfoy. That had to be the reason, he was sure!

"Oh, aren't you a doll," the old lady said and took his arm, gesturing him to lead towards the event photographers. Harry happily obliged and nodded at Marcus then looked at Malfoy and nodded again.

As they reached the area where the party guests were posing for photos, Harry couldn't help but glance over the bar repeatedly. After he'd taken a few pictures with the old lady, other guests wanted to get a picture taken with him as well. Keeping Harry, and in turn, the old lady rather occupied, and Marcus busy with Malfoy. Lucky bastard.

An hour had passed when Harry had finally become free of all the attention. The old lady, whose name he still didn't catch, was also apparently winded and was resting on one of the chairs. He made his escape to the bar.

Harry spotted Malfoy sitting alone and got worried. "Where's lucky bid number eleven?"

"Oh, he said he needed to use the loo," Malfoy answered, rather uninspired.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, curious about Malfoy's state. Was Marcus not all he'd expected?

"He's rather—" Malfoy sighed and took a swig of his drink. "I don't know. It feels like before I got here he'd be perfect and now—"

"What happened?" Now Harry was really interested.

"He talks about himself, a lot," Malfoy said.

"More than you?" Harry teased, and Malfoy glowered at him. "Sorry," he said, biting his lip.

"I just asked him a question and he went off for ages, about nothing, then he paused and I said 'right', and then he continued...I mean, who knew a person could talk forever about...nothing!"

"It's a rare talent," Harry said, nodding.

"Sod off, Potter," Malfoy grumbled and turned his seat.

"Wait," Harry said, almost panicking. He went around to the other side of Malfoy to face him. "Sorry, I'm being rather insensitive. I just had to spend an hour being polite to everyone at this sodding party, so I'm just—" Harry sighed,"—regrouping."

"Oh, right," Malfoy said, looking acquiescent. "I forgot you did that for me."

"I wasn't—Oh, never mind. So besides that, any chances of getting lucky?"

Malfoy shrugged.

"Clearly he's a fool," Harry said.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

Harry nearly panicked again. "Well, I actually have to use the facilities as well, so—" He nodded at Malfoy and all but ran away from him. He thought perhaps if he washed his face with some cold water, he'd feel better and not act like a complete dope.

When Harry reached the loo, he saw Marcus speaking with another one of the men that was auctioned off.

"Mr Potter," Marcus said and smiled. The other bloke walked away a moment later. "Thanks so much earlier, by the way, for rescuing me," Marcus added.

"Oh, sure. So how has your evening been?" Harry asked, turned towards the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his hand through his hair and turned the faucet on, letting the water run for a bit.

"It's good. Could be more interesting, though."

"Oh?" Harry turned the tap off and looked at Marcus. "How so?"

"I can see why you ditched your date. What a boring bloke!"

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, just to be sure, and Marcus nodded. "I didn't ditch—He's not boring!"

"Gods, he doesn't talk at all does he? He asked me a question and just let me do all the talking, and he didn't even look like he was interested. Kept on glancing towards you. I reckon he was just feeling sorry for himself that you'd forsaken him like that. Again—I don't blame you."

"I did not forsake him, you bloody wank—" Harry calmed himself down and turned the water on again. Marcus stayed there while Harry threw some cold water on his face and then placed a Drying Charm.

"He said he liked you so I gave him—gave you—an opportunity to get to know him. I did not ditch him. If you had actually bloody stopped your rambling and listened to the man, you would have realised that he is in fact, rather interesting, and funny, and charming, and hot. He's hot. Did you see the way his robes fit his body? Merlin, you look like that because you're a Quidditch player. He doesn't even have to try. He's bloody brilliant—"

Harry stopped when Marcus looked shocked, and Harry realised that he wasn't looking at him. He was looking past Harry's shoulder.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?" Harry asked, and Marcus nodded. Harry released an exasperated sigh. "Brilliant." Now he knows that I think he's bloody hot, and—and Harry didn't even know what.

He spun around and saw that Malfoy was in fact standing near the door to the loo and he'd most likely listened to Harry's little speech. "Hi," Harry said, running his hand through his hair again. "I was just—"

"Marcus, your guest has requested your presence," Malfoy said, looking past Harry at Marcus. His voice was curt and Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking. Was he cross with Harry? Was he cross with Marcus? Was he just being Malfoy—because he didn't know how to be anything else?

"Right," Marcus said and rushed out of the loo, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy.

Brillant.

"You think I'm charming?" Malfoy rested against the wall next to the door.

"Erm, I'm drunk." Harry took a step back from Malfoy.

"And funny?"

"I'm friends with Ron. I'll laugh at anyone's jokes."

"And interesting?"

"I have low standards."

"And hot?"

Fuck. Harry gulped. "Yes." He closed his eyes and dropped his head. "Yes, Malfoy. I think you're hot." Bloody hell, now he would never hear the end of it.

"That's interesting," Malfoy said, and Harry looked up. Malfoy had decreased the distance between them rather significantly. "Because, I think you're hot too."

"Yeah? Is that why you were so angry about winning me as you date?"

Malfoy shook his head and frowned. "You don't listen, do you, Potter?" he asked. "I told you, I was angry because I thought you were straight. Not because I didn't think you were hot."

"Right. So if you knew I was bent, you would have bid on box number nine?"

"Probably not." Malfoy made a face, as though he'd realised he was being too honest.

"Sod off," Potter said, and tried to brush past Malfoy.

"Potter—" Malfoy pulled on Harry's arm and his grip only tightened with each moment of Harry's resistance. "I probably wouldn't have bid on you because I probably would have accidently bid on number eleven instead." He smiled, looking rather proud of his little joke and Harry could help but burst out laughing.

"Right. I'd forgotten for a moment that you're an idiot."

"Lucky idiot," Malfoy said and bit his lower lip.

Harry watched Malfoy as he bit and licked his lower lip. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Malfoy's mouth, unable to resist. Malfoy kissed him back, pulling Harry into an embrace as his grasp around Harry's waist tightened.

A moment later, Malfoy had Harry pressed against the wall as he struggled with Harry's tie and was thrusting into him at the same time.

"Malfoy…" Harry struggled to break away. As much as he was relishing in the fact that Malfoy wanted him, he also didn't want to get caught by a Prophet reporter in the men's loo.

"Oh, I thought you wanted—" Malfoy pulled himself back and a disappointed look flashed across his face.

"No, I do," Harry said, hurriedly. "I just don't want to get—I mean I'd rather—" Harry pulled Malfoy towards the closest toilet stall and locked them inside it. "I just don't want anyone to see." He smiled and all but ripped Malfoy's robes open. "Besides, I think a private show is in order."

Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry's neck and pulled him into a kiss. His leg wrapped around Harry, as if Malfoy was afraid that if he didn't have a tight lock on Harry then Harry would escape.

In between the kisses, Harry wasn't sure how, Malfoy had managed to unzip Harry's trousers, and his hand had wrapped around Harry's cock. Harry moaned into Malfoy's mouth, unable to breathe as all the blood rushed into his groin. "Maybe…I should…home…" Harry was struggling again; his words being half devoured into moans and deep breaths as Malfoy continued to tug on his prick. "Fuck, Malfoy," Harry managed to declare before he realised that there really was no stopping at that point, and he worked on unbuttoning Malfoy's trousers.

"Now you get the idea," Malfoy whispered in Harry's ear and his hot breath caused Harry to shiver. He was close, but he didn't want to come before he even got a chance to touch Malfoy.

It was too late. After two more strong strokes, Harry's hands slammed against the toilet stall door, and he was spilling all over Malfoy's hand. He must have banged the doors harder than he realised, because he saw a look of fear slightly flash across Malfoy's face. Harry immediately leaned in and kissed him; his own hand lazily stroking Malfoy's erection.

He wasn't sure what he wanted more. He had half a mind to drop to his knees and suck Malfoy off; but a part of him wanted that cock inside him before his luck changed, or before Malfoy changed his mind.

"Do you still want to get out of here?" Malfoy asked while his hands massaged Harry's arse and his fingers were definitely searching for Harry's entrance. He slightly pushed a finger in and out, and Harry clenched his arse cheeks around Malfoy's finger.

"We can't Apparate," Harry said, nuzzling into Malfoy's neck and still tugging slowly on his cock.

"Why?" Malfoy asked, almost scornfully, as if it was the most ludicrous notion in the world.

"To avoid theft," Harry said dryly. He really wasn't in the mood to discuss Hermione and her anti-Apparition regulations to evade any robbery. He stroked Malfoy's cock harder and then dropped to his knees. "This will have to do for now," he added and licked the head of Malfoy's cock before wrapping his mouth around it completely.

"Right," Malfoy said, before his head slammed against the door, and Harry was glad that now it was Malfoy's turn to lose control as Harry pleased him. "Well, as long as there will be more shagging later on a bed," Malfoy said and locked his fingers on Harry's hair to set a rhythm.

Harry was certain—there definitely was going to be more shagging later. Definitely on a bed, and if he was lucky, even in the shower.

fin

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