Chapter Text
Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. “Damn, bloody Potter anyway!” The Slytherin cursed. His stupid eyes, and his stupid hair and his absurd shy smile – how could anyone that growled and smirked and snarled so still contort their mouth into such a happy moue and not look fake. Somehow the Gryffindor had ruined Draco's carefully affected mask of indifference in the mere week they'd been back at Hogwarts. What had made Draco think that this Eight Year business was a good idea anyway?
A vision of his mother sitting at the dinning table, surrounded with scrolls from eligible witches – like some absurd marriage CV – her careful blue script ticking down the margins.
Oh, yes. A wedding or a graduation. Narcissa's new mantra. Draco was an upstanding adult and he needed to prove that to the wizarding world. So, she decreed, either he needed to be responsible and finish his education or marry and start putting down roots.
Mothers.
Draco shifted restlessly against the rough masonry in the hidden stairwell willing his arousal to fade. He could have held out at the Eight Year's soiree if it were not for the blatant erection. Maybe had he been less well proportioned, or his dress robes a little more generously cut...
At least he'd escaped before anyone took notice. Draco tried thinking unsexy thoughts but no matter how vile the notion, lurking underneath was the image of Potter with his robes abandon, body outlined in painted on leather.
Draco groaned and gave up. He cast warning spells at the landing above and below so he wouldn't be surprised. Not that Draco thought anyone else knew about the stairwell, he certainly hadn't told anyone, but a little paranoia was good for the soul.
He made quick work of this dress-robe's buttons, tucking the sides under his hips so they wouldn't be in the way. He jerked open the laces of his trousers and shoved them down. Draco's movements were rough and almost too fast – this wasn't exactly the venue for a leisurely wank. Draco lost himself in a fantasy of Potter.
The Gryffindor pealing himself out of that leather outfit. Begging Draco to touch, laying down on a bed -Draco's bed, Harry's voice demanding and needy, shaggy hair whipping around as he tossed his head. Draco's hips jerked as the voice changed, a long forgotten memory of Potter speaking parseltongue surfacing. That breathy hissing had captivated Draco even at twelve.
Draco tightened his fingers, moving over himself faster, swiping the drops of precome from his head down the shaft. The friction lost some of it's burn. Draco was so close. Behind his eyelids Harry writhed on the bed, golden skin glowing against the black sheets, fingers hidden as he stretched himself for Draco. The world went white as Draco came, the sound of his heart beating too loud in his ears. Daydream-Potter pouted and rolled into the dark sheets as the fantasy faded away.
Draco's breathing evened out and the sounds of the castle filtered back in. The echo of footfalls had him pulling his robe around himself, eyes searching the dim light of the stairwell to the lower landing before the treads turned out of sight around the corner. He could have sworn he'd heard footsteps on the stairs just then. Draco relaxed after a moment. His warning spells hadn't been tripped and they were nearly impossible to get by. It was probably just some fools disturbing the suites of armor in the hall below.