Dirt Revisited

Harry left the dungeon and crossed the Great Hall, which was mostly deserted. He was feeling annoyed after his detention with Snape, which had been the usual atrocious task of cleaning old jars crusted with noxious, sticky, poisonous, or simply revolting potion ingredients. The task had been peppered with the never-ending supply of Snape sarcasm, forcing Harry to bite his tongue ten thousand times to stop a retort before it led to more late-night detentions.

He took the stairs, wishing for nothing more than a hot bath to wash the lingering stink from his hands, and then a soft bed. As he approached the fifth floor, he paused with one foot on the staircase, feeling that he was being watched.

Harry glanced around, shrugged, and started up the stairs again when he was suddenly buried in what felt like a massive, thundering weight that nearly brought him to his knees. When the muffled din subsided, Harry found himself knee-deep in a huge pile of dirt that had been dropped from above. His glasses had been knocked off and now resided somewhere in the mass of soil at his feet. Harry knew who to blame.

He yanked out his wand and Accioed his glasses. It took a couple of tries, but the spectacles finally dislodged from the grime and snapped into his hand. They were filmed with dirt. Harry Scourgified them and put them on, feeling the grit scape his nose where the glasses rested. He expected Malfoy to be nearby, enjoying the spectacle and smirking happily.

Draco Malfoy had been making "dirt" references for the past two weeks, ever since Malfoy's ambush on the Quidditch field had led to an ambush of a different sort in the locker room shower. Harry blushed at the memory—again—and was glad the dirt concealed it when a couple of Ravenclaw girls walked by, giggling. They skirted him and the soil, and went upstairs.

Harry extracted himself from the pile and cursed Malfoy. Draco considered it some sort of victory that he had been able to… able to… God. Harry's mind tried to shy away from what Malfoy had done to him in the shower, but the memory of Draco's body slick with soap, the feel of Malfoy's hands in his hair, the taste of Draco's tongue in his mouth—

"God damn it!" Harry yelled aloud, not caring who heard. He started up the stairs, leaving a trail of dirt in his wake. Fuck, he was even dreaming about the Slytherin bastard these days. Just seeing Malfoy in the halls brought an uncomfortable fist-in-the-stomach sensation and difficulty breathing. Draco's smirk had taken on epic proportion and Harry wished to hell he didn't want to slam the bastard up against the wall and kiss the fucking grin off his face…

Harry spied the entrance to the prefects' bathroom as soon as he reached the fifth floor landing, and made the instantaneous decision to divest himself of his dirt blanket.

The place was completely deserted, for which he was thankful. He did not feel like explaining why he had been deluged with dirt. It was Malfoy's little idea of a joke, no doubt. Harry shed his filthy clothing as he walked.

The swimming-pool sized tub was already full of water and covered with a thick layer of lavendar-scented foam. Harry set his glasses and wand on the edge of the pool and stepped into the water. He sank down and allowed it to cover his head. Harry kept his eyes shut as he scrubbed at his face and dug his fingers roughly into his hair. He emerged to breathe and paddled to the edge of the pool. Harry tried to remember which of the multitude of golden taps released shampoo.

A face suddenly emerged from the foam in front of him, startling an involuntary cry from his lips.

"God damn it, Malfoy, you nearly gave me a fucking seizure."

The grey eyes glinted at him as Draco smiled.

"Bubble Head Charm, Potter," Malfoy said. "Took you long enough to get here."

Harry flushed scarlet when he realized several things at once. One, Malfoy had set him up. Two, Harry had walked straight into the trap like an idiot. Three, Harry was completely naked. Four, Malfoy, being Malfoy, was probably also completely naked. Five, Harry should get out of the tub and escape as fast as humanly possible…

"Thinking about running, Potter?" Draco taunted.

"No," Harry lied angrily. He blushed again, realizing he had wiggled out of one trap and into another with that statement.

"Good. You seem to have had a dirty mishap."

"Imagine that," Harry said dryly.

"You've got mud in your hair again. Would you like me to wash it for you?"

"No!" Harry said adamantly and cursed himself when he heard the edge of panic in his voice.

"All right." Malfoy smiled and Harry wished to hell his teeth weren't quite so straight and white, and his lips weren't quite so perfect. "I'm just going to assume that everything you say tonight is a lie. Dunk your head, Potter."

"Absolutely not. Why are you even here? I think you should—" Harry's words were cut off when Draco shot a fountain of water up and over his head, drenching him. Harry sputtered. He felt Malfoy's hands in his hair a moment later. He could not form a coherent sentence after that, because Malfoy's hair-washing skills were brain-melting. Damn it, how did he know about that tense spot just above Harry's temples? And was it absolutely necessary to slide his thumbs… oh, God, that felt so good…

"Rinsing time," Draco said in a sing-song voice and Harry was deluged in water again. Before he could breathe properly, Malfoy kissed him and pressed Harry against the edge of the pool with his lithe body. Draco was naked, and just as aroused as Harry. Potter groaned miserably. This was wrong, so very, incredibly wrong. Draco's hands were in his hair again and Potter banished the annoying voice of reason—fucking hell, where had Malfoy learned to kiss like that?

Draco broke the molten kiss and pulled back to look at him smugly—a look he had earned, the bastard. Malfoy suddenly vanished the foam. He cast an Accio and a small vial snapped into his hand. The silver eyes gleamed wickedly as Draco set his wand next to Harry's.

"Water breathing potion," Draco whispered and pulled the stopper with his perfect teeth before sending it across the floor with a quick purse of his lips and a puff of air. God, he even managed to make that simple gesture look sexy. Draco tipped the contents into his mouth. His throat moved as he swallowed and then he pressed his lips to Harry's—wet and tasting of lemon and something bitter from the potion. Harry squeaked when he felt Malfoy's hand grip his erection, and then the silver head slipped beneath the water.

Harry yelped when his erection was covered by Draco's mouth and his teeth scraped gently on Harry's flesh.

I should really stop him doing that, Harry thought absently and his hand tightened on the lip of the pool, but he gasped and thrust his hips forward involuntarily.

He felt Draco's hands on his pelvis, pressing him back against the stone and holding him in place. Draco's mouth, lips, and tongue caressed, teased, and coaxed Harry's cock. Harry had never felt anything so incredible in his life. Malfoy's hair tickled Harry's abdomen as it floated around his head in a pale cloud. Harry put one hand down to touch it and felt it twine through his fingers like a gossamer net.

The delicious friction built the pressure until Harry could not hold back and he tried to muffle his shout as the orgasm sent his body scraping hard against the stone of the pool. Fuck; Draco kept it up until every last spasm ripped though Harry and he sagged like a wet blanket, panting. His arm shook from holding the edge of the pool so tightly.

Potter was suddenly dragged under water and Draco kissed him again, tasting of salt and extract of Harry. Malfoy held him down until Harry's lungs screamed for air and he wondered if the Slytherin planned to drown him.

Draco finally released him and Harry surfaced gratefully to inhale the steam-laden air. Malfoy climbed from the water on the other side of the pool and coughed painfully until the water emptied from his lungs and his body readjusted to breathing air. Harry was surprised, and almost flattered, that Malfoy would go to such lengths just to… to… what? Prove to Harry that the Slytherin could turn him into a melted puddle of mindless lust?

"I still hate you, Potter," Draco said roughly as he got to his feet and walked to his clothes. An absent Accio snapped his wand into his hand.

"I hate you, too, Malfoy," Harry said lightly, watching the Slytherin's bare ass and lithe body as he pulled his clothing on. Draco smirked over his shoulder and Harry flushed at being caught admiring the bastard. He shut his eyes tightly.

Harry sighed in relief when he heard the door close. He leaned his head back against the stone, realizing he felt absurdly content, and more relaxed than he had in days. He rolled his head slightly and looked at the empty vial that lay next to his wand. He picked it up.

Water breathing potion, eh?

Oh, the possibilities…

Harry thought it was about time for Malfoy to get dirty.