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XIX

XIXIX "Really Bloody Spectacular" XIXIX

Draco was having a fantastic time of it in the Room of Requirement, where he was having lots and lots of really bloody spectacular sex with "Harry Potter". It was, he would even go so far to say, one of the better afternoons he'd had so far this year. After awhile, he was even beginning to grow a little fond of the Prick-Who-Lived-And-Whose-Room-Of-Requirement-Double-Was-A-Bloody-Good-Lay-And-Who-Was-So-Spectacularly-Hot-Writhing-In-Ecstasy-And-Begging-For-Mercy-That-Draco-Really-Was-Feeling-Less-And-Less-Put-Out-Over-The-Fact-That-The-Room-Of-Requirement-Had-Seen-Fit-To-Provide-Him-With-This-Prick-To-Begin-With.

And his fondness only grew when he realized that for the first time in days his inexplicable horniness was beginning to subside. Harry bloody Potter of all people was actually satisfying him. And that idea, which surely should have outraged him, really just made that fondness grow.

It would have been utterly bizarre, he supposed, except that he had, to be fair, had really bloody spectacular sex all afternoon with this guy.

But keeping that in mind, it really did kind of make sense that Draco should maybe not hate the Gryffindor quite so much anymore. And feeling fondness for the Goody Two Shoe's Room of Requirement Double maybe wasn't such a bad thing.

And boy, the little bastard really was hot.

And you know, Draco really didn't have to get to the job fair just yet.

There was time.

XIXIX

Harry shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. There really wasn't time for this. He'd bolted from the job fair, no doubt giving the Aurors a really bloody spectacular idea of who he was as a person. He had to get back and fix things. He had his whole future riding on this weekend. He couldn't spend it locked in his room babysitting this… this… abomination!

Huge green eyes blinked up at him, and the little naked boy smiled. Cute as he was, Harry was not endeared to him. Because he knew that this boy was about to make his life a living hell.

"Okay," said Harry as kindly as he could muster. "These are the rules."

"You're not my dad!" screamed the kid suddenly. "You can't give me rules!"

"Yes I can," said Harry sternly, trying his best to imitate Professor McGonagall. The kid actually quieted down and listened, and Harry made a mental note to thank his Head of House for being so inflexible when it came to his own rule breaking.

"I'm in charge of you as long as you're here," Harry continued. "That means that you must do as I say. Do you understand?"

The little boy nodded.

"Okay. The first rule is that you must always wear clothes—unless you are taking a bath," he added quickly. Ginny had warned him that he must be specific, and Harry suddenly had visions of the kid refusing to take his clothes off ever.

He walked over to his trunk and pulled out a set of muggle clothes he'd inherited from Dudley. He made quick work of shrinking them down, more or less, into the kid's size. He turned around and the boy was wearing a full set of Neville's robes—completely oversized, and hanging off of him adorably.

Harry bit back an 'awww' and narrowed his eyebrows.

"I just made you these clothes. This is what you have to wear today."

"I can't!" said the little boy.

"Yes you can. Put these on now."

"I can't! I can't take these off because I'm not taking a bath. So I can't put those on."

Harry blinked. This was going to be harder than he thought.

XIXIX

Ginny stood at a stretch of blank stone wall and thought aloud. "Pure blood. No. Mudblood? No, of course it wouldn't be that. Wealth is power. Dumbledore sucks. Kill Harry Potter." She bit her lip.

"Open Sesame?"

It would, of course, be easier if some second-year Slytherin came through and said the password right in front of Ginny, who was hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak. But lacking that good fortune, Ginny would just have to stand here and guess.

"Salazar's Pride. House Champions. Potions class is cool. Dark Magic rules. I'm an evil bastard." Ginny took a deep breath.

She began to pace back and forth, and thought. The password wouldn't be something she considered to be Slytherin. It would be something that the Slytherins considered themselves to be. Something smart and clever. Something cunning or even devious. It would be a word that no one would ever consider the Slytherins using.

Ginny grinned.

"Please."

The stone wall opened, and Ginny walked in.

Finding Malfoy's room was actually easy enough. She just had to wander down the dormitory hall until she came across the very ornate golden 'M' placard on a door. The strange thing to her was that once she entered, it was clear that four boys shared this dormitory room. It was not Malfoy's personal quarters. So why exactly the Malfoy seal was on the door was anybody's guess. It was likely just an ego thing.

No matter.

Ginny flung off the invisibility cloak and reached into her robes' pocket. From its depths, she pulled out a weighty bag of The Powder of Love, and nearly couldn't stop herself from giggly maniacally. She felt like a kid in a candy store.

Malfoy's bed was clearly the one with the ornate 'M', his trunk the one with the ornate 'M', his closet the one with the ornate 'M', his desk the one with the ornate 'M', his personal bathroom sink and mirror, lined with all his personal toiletries, the ones with the ornate 'M'…

Ginny was honestly quite shocked at how easy Malfoy was making it to prank him by clearly marking all of his belongs with the Malfoy seal.

How stupid could he get?

No matter. Time to get to work.

Ginny set about spiking everything that he might possibly consume with The Powder of Love. Over the next half hour, she spiked his mouthwash, toothpaste, candies from home, case of butterbeers, and (ooh!) illicit stash of fine wines. The problem, she realized, was that there was no way to insure that he would get enough of The Powder of Love through toothpaste and mouthwash each day. And he likely did not eat candy or drink butterbeer or wine everyday.

The only way she could insure that he got a proper dosage was to spike his food. But she couldn't do that on her own, because it would look rather suspicious if she made her way past his plate at least one meal each day.

Well, there was nothing to it. She would simply have to enlist the help of a House Elf.

XIXIX

Harry suddenly felt like he was the laughing stock of the whole school. Mostly, he felt this way because the moment he stepped foot back in the job fair at least half of the student body crowded around him—and began to point at him and laugh.

"Harry Potter has a little brother!"

"What an idiot! I can't believe he let the egg imprint itself on him!"

"This is the guy who saved the wizarding world!"

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. He hadn't felt so uncomfortable and embarrassed in… well… hours. How was it that anyone else at the school would have know what that egg was besides him? Why was it always him? Why?

His new little brother, for his part, was cowering sheepishly behind Harry—hiding from the crowd. Harry instinctually placed his hand on the little boy's head and glared at the crowd.

"Hey! That's enough now," he shot at the masses. "You're scaring him. He's still brand new!"

His chastisement did not have the desired effect. Rather, everyone burst out laughing all over again.

"He's protecting it!"

"Is he stupid or something?"

"He can't feel sorry for it! It's gonna ruin his life."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and let his head droop. This was awful. This was the worst day ever. No. This was the worst week ever. Harry wouldn't even have been surprised at that moment if God itself had opened up the skies, looked down and corrected him that no, as a matter of fact, Harry had the worst life ever.

He really should just hide out the rest of the weekend. He couldn't go back to the Aurors' booth with a little brother. Then they'd know what a dunce he was. What a completely inept wizard he was. What a horrifically naïve loser he was. He should just go back in….

A tiny hand twisted itself into his sleeve and pulled urgently. Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking down into huge, absolutely terrified brilliant green orbs. He couldn't help it. His heart melted.

"Harry," the little boy whispered in a frantic whine, "Please, please, please, please, please don't make me go out there."

"What's the matter?" asked Harry.

"It's too many people. It's overloading my senses. I can't be around this many people yet." The miniature Harry gulped visibly. "It hurts!"

Harry shook his head. "You know the rules," he said, "You have to stay with me at all times."

The huge green eyes began to water threateningly. And then Harry's little brother began to whimper, casting terrified glances at the throngs of people that continued to point and laugh, and who seemed to Harry all of the sudden to be rather loud and scary after all. He could see why the little tyke was having such troubles. But still….

"Please, Harry," he sniveled. "Just let me go play. It hurts with all these people around."

Harry's shoulders slumped a little.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease. I'll be good. I swear."

"Okay," said Harry. "You may go play for fifteen minut… Hey! Come back here!"

But his charge was already gone, bounding back into the castle, and, Harry realized, probably going straight to his room to go through everything, including his trunk. Harry would never be able to catch him now. The kid was much faster than he looked.

But he would have to try.

XIXIX

As soon as Ginny was out of the Slytherin corridor, she pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and shoved it into her pack. She wasn't too far from the kitchens, and it tended to startle the House Elves when she appeared out of nowhere—they weren't too fond of the students randomly becoming invisible. And Ginny had a big favor to ask of one of them, and she'd have to be pretty crafty in how she presented her case. It wouldn't do to start off upsetting them.

She rounded the corner and ran smack into Blaise Zambini.

"Ow! Watch it!" snapped Ginny, shoving past to continue on her way.

"Gryffindor bitch," muttered Blaise as he rubbed his forehead.

He moved to continue walking toward the Slytherin common room—he'd been looking for Draco for hours and was beginning to get worried—when a thought occurred to him and he stopped dead in his tracks.

He turned around slowly and followed with his eyes the streak of long red hair as it strutted annoyingly down the hallway and disappeared from sight.

She wasn't just a Gryffindor bitch. She was a Weasley bitch. She was sister to those two assholes that were blackmailing Blaise with those so-incredibly-obviously-faked-that-only-a-complete-moron-idiot-dunderhead-could-possibly-believe-they-were-real photographs.

And the twins said they were expecting Blaise to get revenge. They counted on it. They thought it would be fun.

And their brother who was in Blaise's year was always, always, always with Harry Potter.

And this girl apparently had no problems walking around Slytherin territory unescorted.

And it would really get to the twins if he sought his revenge against them through… her.

Blaise continued on to the common room with a new sense of purpose in his steps. He had to work through an ultimate plot. This revenge would have to be something really bloody spectacular.

XIXIX

Draco was whistling as he headed through the halls to the job fair. He'd had a really bloody spectacular day. He was in such a good mood that he couldn't even be bothered to hate the annoying little Hufflepuff first years that had dared to walk past him without falling silent and trembling in fear.

Whatever. Good day. Nothing could ruin this mood.

He turned a corner to the corridor that led to the Entrance Hall and was nearly bowled over by a tiny blob of oversized red and black robes. In the moment that it took for Draco to register that this particular person seemed much smaller than the first years he had just failed to intimidate, he actually was bowled over by a much larger blob of oversized red and black robes.

Draco stumbled at the impact, but was able to keep from landing on the floor by executing a particularly agile move he'd been practicing all day—and landing on the person who'd run into him.

"What the hell's the matter with you!" he snapped as he pushed himself up. But then he couldn't speak because his heart had leapt into his throat. Instead, he grinned goofily. It was Harry Four-Hours-Of-Great-Afternoon-Shagging Potter.

But Harry The-Surprisingly-Gryffindor-Sex-God Potter did not even spare him a second glance. Rather, he scrambled to his feet and took off running full tilt after the tiny student who now had a very good lead. In two seconds flat his hurt at being snubbed at turned to self-righteous anger, and then straight back into the old habit of hatred.

The thing is, Draco Malfoy is not a stupid person. He was very well aware of the fact that he had not actually slept with Harry Potter—many times—this afternoon. It was a figment. A recreation. And Harry Potter had no idea that this had happened.

And for that reason, Potter didn't actually have reason to stick around and say two words even to Draco.

But really.

What the hell?

He can't even say two words to me!

Draco Malfoy was not about to accept that kind of snubbing from the idiot Gryffindor.

He took off running.

"Hey Potter! Potter! Get back here and apologize to me!" he screamed as he ran down the hall.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" yelled Harry over his shoulder as he rounded a corner.

A second later, Draco rounded the same corner, raised his wand, and yelled, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry's arms and legs snapped to his side and he hit the floor with a thud, but continued to slide for several more feet.

"Oof!"

Draco slowed his pace, and sauntered easily over to where Harry lay. With his foot, he rolled him over. Harry's robes pulled tight across his front, and as much as Draco hated him at that moment, he really found himself wanting to shag the guy all over again.

He glanced down and was grateful for his own robes. He turned his attention back to Harry.

"Well, well, well, Potter. In a rush, are we?"

"Rr-hrrh-rrh, Rrrh-rr."

"Tsk, tsk, Potter. I have a feeling that was some pretty foul language you were attempting there. Can't have that, can we?"

He really was so bloody hot, though. Draco could see the anger in his eyes. The frustration. The hatred.

Well, that was mutual, at least.

But still. It was rather turning him on.

"Hi!" said a voice brightly. Draco turned around quickly and found himself looking down at the red and black blob that had almost run him over. It was little, with an innocent look about it, messy black hair, huge green eyes, and, wait a minute…

Draco reached out and brushed the fringe of hair that toppled precariously over the kid's forehead.

"Oh Sweet Lady Fortune!" he exclaimed. "You are the most blessed of all Goddesses, and I will love you for the rest of my life!" He couldn't help the joy that washed over him. "So the Great Harry Potter went and got himself a little brother!"

Draco doubled over and laughed.

Harry made noises of anger and frustration, and would likely be threatening Draco right then had he been able to move at all. But also, Draco noted through his laughter, he seemed to be whimpering slightly.

"What's happening?" asked the kid, pointing.

Draco braced himself with his hands on his knees and looked up, following the imaginary line from the kid's finger to… a bulge at Harry's crotch. Draco began to laugh again. But he struggled for control. This was too good to screw up for some silly reason like hyperventilating laughter.

"It's ah… ahem… I'm going to teach you a few new words, okay? To describe what's happening to your big brother here?"

The boy nodded solemnly. It was ready to learn.

"Okay, what's happening to your brother is that he is developing a boner. Got that? Say it for me."

"Boner," said the little boy dutifully.

Harry began struggling to speak all over again. And failed. He seemed so pathetic and helpless and angry. It was awesome.

"And if you get tired of using that word," said Draco, attempting to mimic that condescendingly friendly tone Professor Sprout used with first years, "You can tell everyone that he has a hard-on. Can you say that?"

"Hard-on," the kid repeated.

"And also," continued Draco, enjoying his lecture, "What this means is that your brother gets really aroused whenever he is bound up and helpless."

Harry's little brother nodded.

"And if anyone…" Draco cut off and turned his head back toward the Entrance Hall. He could hear strong footsteps coming their way. It was the sort of purposeful stride that only a teacher would make. He quickly pointed his wand at Harry and muttered, "Finite Incantatem," and slipped into a shadowy corner where he could hide from view behind a statue of a gnarled-looking Forest Elf.

Harry spared one glare in Draco's direction. And if looks could kill, this one would have been homicide. He then turned to his little brother and hissed angrily, "Shut up, brat! Don't you dare say a word to anyone about—"

Just then, Professor McGonagall made her appearance in the corridor. Harry's brother took off running straight for her. "Guess what! Guess what!" he screamed. "Harry's got a boner! He gets really aroused whenever he's bound up and helpless!"

Draco shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Professor McGonagall came to a complete stop and stared down at the kid. Hard. After three seconds, the kid's smile faded. Two seconds later, it took off running and went to hide from her behind Harry.

McGonagall came forward.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I see you have a little brother."

Harry looked down at his feet. "Yes, Ma'am," he said.

"I assume you had no idea what it was until it was already yours?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Harry.

"I see." Her mouth thinned into the second dimension and she began tapping her foot. "And did it never occur to you that perhaps it would be a bad idea to touch an unknown magical item that appeared out of nowhere with your name on it?"

Harry's head migrated further toward the floor.

"No, Ma'am."

McGonagall was silent. Time seemed to freeze while she stood there, disappointed. Finally, after an eternity of shame had passed, she said, "Well, go ahead then. What did you name it?"

Harry looked up. "Name it?"

The Professor's eyebrows shot together. "Yes, Potter! Name it. What did you name it?"

"I… I didn't think to name it anything, Ma'am," he stuttered.

"What have you been calling it? Its name will be whatever it was that you first called it."

"I haven't called it anything!" whined Harry, as though he were trying to excuse himself from terrible trouble.

"You called me Brat," corrected the boy.

Professor and student both turned to the small head that was sticking out bravely from behind Harry's back.

Harry's mouth slacked open.

"You mean to tell me that I named my little brother Brat?" he said incredulously.

"It would seem so, Potter," said McGonagall. "I suggest you let it ransack your life as quickly as possible. I do not want this dragging out for days, or—Merlin forbid—months! Do I make myself understood?" She glared down her nose and Harry seemed to crumble under the weight of her stare. The small head disappeared from view once again.

Harry nodded submissively and McGonagall stalked off.

"Months?" said Harry weakly, staring once again at the floor.

Draco finally let out the laugh he'd been holding in throughout their exchange.

Yes, yes. Harry The-Bastard-Snubber Potter had a little brother. Good things were surely to come.

XIXIX

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