Whispers In The Dark

"Potter! Wake up!"

The words hissed in his ear made little sense as they appeared in his dream, but Harry allowed them to guide him out of the nightmare and into consciousness. He was lying on his bed; the covers were thrown back and he realised to his intense embarrassment that he was aroused. This in itself was bad enough given the nature of his dream, but what made it worse was that Malfoy was sitting on his bed. Without his glasses, Harry couldn't see the expression on the other youth's face, but he suspected it wasn't pleasant.

Harry sat up, feeling a burning anger rise from his arousal and embarrassment. While he understood that Dumbledore had decided to make all the male prefects swap houses for one term to encourage cooperation and unity at Hogwarts, the fact that Malfoy of all people was the outside prefect who replaced Ron had made the last few weeks hell. Harry still couldn't shake the feeling that Malfoy might murder him in his sleep one night.

"Get off my bed, Malfoy," he hissed, reaching to pull the covers over himself.

Malfoy's face was blurry in the dim light, but Harry could tell that the boy was smirking. He also noticed that Malfoy's pyjama top was loose, uncovering a triangle of flat white chest. Following the line of his body, Harry's eyes strayed to the front of the boy's pyjama bottoms, before coming back to his face with a start when he spoke.

"You were calling out for Sirius Black, Potter," drawled Malfoy in a low voice. "You woke me up. I thought you were having one of your famous nightmares, but I see you were actually having a wet dream about your dead godfather. That's a bit kinky, isn't it?"

"Sod off."

"Oh, I see," whispered Malfoy with glee, making no effort to move. "You want some privacy. Fancy a wank, do you?"

"You offering?" sneered Harry, though he felt a sharp stab of desire at the thought.

Malfoy ignored Harry's taunt; he leaned back on his arms and chuckled. "I always suspected you were a perv, but that is just too funny. A wet dream about your dead godfather. Did you have some about Diggory too?"

"Shut up!" exclaimed Harry.

He wanted to hurt Malfoy, crush his smirking white face and force all the laughter out of him, but he knew the boy was deliberately trying to provoke him. Any attack on the Slytherin would prove that Dumbledore was wrong to believe that the four houses could unite in this hour of need. Worse than that, Hermione and Professor McGonagall would be disappointed in him; they had both made it clear that it was up to Harry to be mature and ignore Malfoy's taunts.

"I was not having a wet dream about Sirius," growled Harry, leaning closer and keeping his voice low. He saw the Slytherin lick his lips nervously and was surprised at how erotic the gesture seemed.

"I've heard you moaning too, Malfoy," said Harry, his arousal making him feel reckless. "What do you have wet dreams about? Snape?"

"Snape? Ugh!" Malfoy's reaction was so childish that some of Harry's anger abated. "No, thanks. Worst I've had was Trelawney, and that was pretty disturbing."

Harry guffawed. "Trelawney?"

"Yeah, well, at least she's female," drawled Malfoy in a voice that was almost sensual. "I'm not a filthy broom-polisher like you, Potter."

Harry felt a renewed surge of anger; he'd never asked what the insult meant when his classmates used it, but he could guess. He was so close to Malfoy that he could see the boy clearly now; his pale face, his long-lashed grey eyes, his lips twisted into a mocking smile, the masculine line of his jaw and Adam's apple. He still wanted to hurt the Slytherin, and make him cry out in pain, but, unable to lash out in anger, Harry leaned forward to kiss him instead.

The kiss was awkward, Harry's lips only briefly brushing against Malfoy's as the Slytherin sank away from the touch. Frustrated, Harry hooked an arm around Malfoy's body to hold him upright, using his other hand to cup his head. The Slytherin squirmed and pulled himself out of Harry's embrace, but fell back crosswise on the bed. Although Malfoy was slightly larger than he was, Harry had the better position, and used the weight of his body to pin the boy before he had a chance to escape. This time, he pressed his mouth hard against Malfoy's, revelling in the sensation of the soft warm flesh against his lips and the tickle of stubble around the boy's mouth. Malfoy struggled again, his lean muscles tensing against Harry's chest as he tried to push him off. The idea that he was hurting Malfoy aroused Harry further; he pressed his hand against the boy's neck, just hard enough to threaten him, and slid his tongue into Malfoy's mouth. The Slytherin bit down. It wasn't hard enough to do any damage, but enough of a warning to make Harry draw back.

"Okay," said Malfoy breathlessly. "But no kissing, no fingers and definitely no buggery. I'm not a bloody witch."

Malfoy's unexpected capitulation made Harry's head spin with arousal. He'd sometimes wondered if the other boy was toying with him since his arrival in the Gryffindor dormitory. Malfoy always undressed on Harry's side of Ron's bed, rather than Neville's, and Harry had glimpsed the Slytherin changing into his pyjamas a couple of times. Although wizards condemned same-sex relations as a general rule, Ron had said that it was normal for boys their age to be turned on by each other, as long as it wasn't a "queer" thing -- and didn't involve himself and Harry. Since Ron was Harry's main source of information about sex, he assumed it was all right to watch Malfoy and indulge in the pang of arousal it provoked. After all, Malfoy wasn't a friend of his, and it did no harm to sully him with a little mental lust.

More to the point right now, Malfoy was warm, alive and in Harry's bed. Oh, and it turned out he was horny too. This was Christmas come early.

Determined to make the most of this momentous occasion, Harry propped himself up on one elbow, letting his free hand roam over Malfoy's body, pulling the warm flannel away from his smooth skin until his chest was bare, gleaming a fuzzy white in the dim dormitory light. Tired of seeing everything through a myopic haze, Harry straightened up and reached for his glasses.

"I'm not a bloody dirty parchment either," whispered Malfoy, pulling Harry back onto the bed. "You don't need the specs."

That was disappointing, but Harry complied. They shifted so that they were lying length-wise on the bed, and Harry took the same position as before. He ran his hand over Malfoy's warm, pale skin, gradually inching it downwards, towards the bulge in the boy's pyjama bottoms, aware that his own increasing arousal was audible in each panting breath. Malfoy's eyes were closed, but he was lying still now, his arms at his sides, his breath shallow and uneven. Licking his lips, almost dizzy with excitement, Harry cupped the bulge in Malfoy's trousers and was rewarded with a stifled moan.

Perhaps remembering that it was customary to reciprocate in situations like this, Malfoy half-opened his eyes and reached for the front of Harry's pyjamas. The touch provoked an immediate tightening in Harry's groin and he had to pull Malfoy's hand way to avoid coming on the spot. Even in fuzzy vision, Harry could see the smirk on Malfoy's face, but the erstwhile Slytherin said nothing and slid his arm around Harry's waist, resting his hand on his lower back.

Spurred on by Malfoy's acquiescence, Harry snaked his hand under the waistband of the other boy's pyjama bottom and gripped his warm, hard flesh, pulling at it with the regular, rough movements he enjoyed most himself. Malfoy bucked against him, his pointed face now serious in his body's pursuit of pleasure. Harry could tell he was close; perhaps he had already become aroused watching Harry have his nightmare. The thought excited him even more. Malfoy's hand on Harry's back tensed, gripping the material of his pyjamas. Then Malfoy shuddered, arched his back and let go.

Harry felt the warm viscous substance on his hand and watched blurry spots appear on Malfoy's belly. He pulled his hand out and wiped it on the sheet. His own erection strained painfully against the rough material of his pyjamas. Coming on the spot seemed like a good idea now; he took Malfoy's hand and pulled it towards him. The Slytherin opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow, placing his free hand on Harry's crotch.

One of the other boys stirred in his sleep, and Malfoy froze, looking in the direction of the noise. The interruption seemed to break the unmagical spell; to Harry's chagrin, Malfoy sat up and slid off the bed. Frustrated and angry, Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and tried to pull him back.

"Let go!" said Malfoy out loud.

The Slytherin yanked his arm away; his pyjama top was almost off, and the sight of his naked chest made Harry even more desperate to get him back on the bed. Aroused, furious and terrified of being caught by one of the other boys, Harry raised his hand to grab Malfoy again.

But before he had even touched him, the youth fell back towards the bed, falling face first beside Harry. A silencing spell blocked out Neville's snores and the curtains closed, plunging them into darkness. The two boys lay on the bed in silence for a moment, their heavy breathing the only sound in the silenced cocoon.

"Bloody hell, Potter, what did you do?" Malfoy sounded frightened.

"Shut up, Malfoy," hissed Harry. The fear in Malfoy's voice made him feel powerful; a strange reaction he decided not to inspect too closely. It had been a while since he'd produced involuntary magic on such a large scale.

He felt the mattress move as Malfoy sat up. Concerned that he might try to leave again, Harry reached out. The other boy's pyjama top had fallen away when he was knocked onto the bed, and Harry felt the bare skin of Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy caught his breath, but didn't move any further, and Harry leaned over to replace his hand with his mouth. God, he had never felt this aroused.

Harry darted his tongue out between his lips, tasting Malfoy's skin, still sweaty from his orgasm. Ron had never mentioned licking, and Harry wondered if his impulse was normal behaviour, though at that point, he didn't care. He knew fondling his childhood nemesis wasn't normal, and whatever Ron had said, being so turned on by another boy's bare skin probably crossed the line of what was "queer". The thought of pressing his own bare skin against Malfoy's tugged at Harry's arousal again and he straightened up to remove his clothes.

To his surprise, Malfoy didn't jump off the bed, even though it had to be obvious what Harry was doing. In fact, Malfoy shuffled a little on the bed and by the time Harry touched him again, the Slytherin was also stripped to the waist. It seemed he wasn't the only who had some fantasies to work out.

The realisation made Harry lose all sense of propriety. He lunged at Malfoy in the darkness, knocking him onto his back and kissing his mouth with no regard for the boy's moan of protest. Harry was lying on top of him now, chest to chest and groin to groin, his tongue in the Slytherin's mouth. This time, Malfoy didn't bite, but his tongue fought back, struggling for supremacy in a way that made the kiss all the more exciting for Harry. He wondered if girls could possibly kiss like this. Cho certainly hadn't, but she'd been too busy snivelling to be a good example. And he hadn't been lying on top of her at the time.

"What exactly are you trying to do, Potter?" asked Malfoy breathlessly when they broke the kiss.

"Oh, do shut up," breathed Harry.

"You don't know, do you?" sneered Malfoy, his breath tickling Harry's face. "You mount me like some bloody bitch and you don't know what to do."

Of course, Malfoy was right. Harry didn't know what to do next. He knew he liked the sensation of Malfoy's body beneath him; it excited him to dominate a boy who was his equal in physical strength. He felt powerful and, despite the mental alarm bells that went off, he knew he enjoyed the feeling. However, he wasn't sure how to relieve the desire he felt. The only method that came to mind was disgusting. Besides, Malfoy had already explicitly listed it as something he didn't want, and Harry doubted he would be as flexible about that as he had been about kissing.

Stalling for time, Harry kissed Malfoy again. For all his protestations, Malfoy seemed to enjoy this; his hands rose to Harry's shoulders, just touching, as if he couldn't decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. Harry instinctively shifted his hips, pressing his erection against Malfoy's groin. The Slytherin made a noise, but Harry couldn't tell if he was complaining or enjoying the touch. At this point, Harry didn't care.

Holding his head up to kiss Malfoy required too much effort. Harry moved his mouth onto Malfoy's cheek and down to his neck, pressing his tongue to his sweaty skin. This time, the "Oh" Malfoy breathed was an unmistakable sound of pleasure, and Harry could even feel a hard lump forming in the Slytherin's pyjamas. The idea that Malfoy was getting turned on by being 'mounted like a bloody bitch' gave Harry a semblance of a plan. He struggled to push down his pyjamas, an awkward manoeuvre which obliged him to roll off for a moment. Then he did the same to Malfoy and lay on top of him again.

Even though he couldn't see anything anyway, Harry closed his eyes, drowning in the sensation of his naked erection against Malfoy's slippery belly. He thrust his hips, sliding in the sticky residue of Malfoy's earlier orgasm. He thought he was going to come from this sensation alone.

"If you tell anyone, Potter, I really will kill you," muttered Malfoy.

Harry heard him spit, and was surprised to feel Malfoy's hand slide between them, trapping his erection against the Slytherin's stomach. The tight, wet sensation vacuumed all thought from his mind. This was exactly what he wanted, he realised; he could feel Malfoy's large hand on his back, smell the masculine scent of the other boy's sweat, imagine his erstwhile enemy beneath him, trapped under his body and desire. He gripped Malfoy's strong shoulders, gaining the leverage he needed to move faster, just right, just perfect... Something incoherent escaped his lips and he collapsed, his head buried against Malfoy's neck.

"God, that was just--" he breathed. "Wow, that was--"

"Yeah, I know. Now get off me, you pervert."

Harry obeyed, too exhausted to protest. The bed was not quite wide enough for the two of them. Since Malfoy was taking up most of the space, Harry had to lie on his side, one arm across the Slytherin's chest to keep from tumbling onto the floor. The closed confines of the four-poster bed reeked of sex, but Harry was too tired and content to care. He could feel Malfoy's heart beating beneath his warm, flat chest and reflected that he wouldn't die a virgin after all. How bizarre that his first sexual experience involving more than a fumble should happen with Draco Malfoy. Somewhere, Fate was having a good laugh at his expense.

"God, I'm such a bloody mess," said Malfoy mournfully.

"Me too," said Harry, and he wasn't sure if either of them was referring only to their physical state.

Driven by some perverse curiosity, Harry moved his hand down Malfoy's stomach, dipping two fingers in the warm substance on his belly. Knowing that the other boy couldn't see him, he lifted his fingers to his lips before realising what he was doing. He wiped his hand on the bed cover.

"I don't suppose you can Scourgify with the force of your personality, can you?" sneered Malfoy.

"No. That would actually be useful," said Harry wryly. "I usually just blow things up."

He opened the curtain, retrieved his wand, and cast the Scourgify spell on both of them. With the curtain parted, he could see Malfoy's stomach shining white and blurry in the starlight. Something inside him twisted itself into a knot as a realisation struck him. It was not a surprise, but it didn't exactly make him jump for joy either. Malfoy was right about the broom polishing.

The Slytherin sat up and reached for his pyjama top at the foot of the bed, holding it up to the dim light to make sure he had the right one. Harry pushed off his pyjama bottoms, which were caught around his ankles. He leaned against the headboard, still gripping his wand, and watched Malfoy pull up his pyjama trousers. The moment had passed, and he wanted the Slytherin gone so he could concentrate on the realisation he had just made.

"Was that your first time?" asked Malfoy without looking at him.

"None of your business, Malfoy."

"I'll take that as a yes," said the other boy with amusement. Though he couldn't see him clearly, Harry was sure he was smirking again. "I just wondered if you'd got lucky. Being so famous and everything."

"Oh, and I suppose you have, being so rich and everything," sneered Harry.

"Well, yes. I suppose you could call it 'lucky'." Malfoy paused, as if he were thinking about something, then added in a more jovial tone, "You don't think I went out with Pansy for her personality, do you?"

Harry thought about what Malfoy had said and felt a flush of anger. "Is that why you-- because I'm famous?"

"Hey, you jumped on me!" exclaimed the Slytherin.

"You seemed pretty turned on yourself!" It was fortunate that the silencing spell still held; they would have roused the whole dormitory. Harry gripped his wand more tightly, trying to control his anger.

"I was having a dream about Her-- a girl, when you woke me up with your sick little fantasy about Black. I'm not a bloody broom-polisher like you, Potter," said Malfoy, spitting out his name with disgust. He snorted. "Though I suppose that makes sense, really. Riddle was a bloody perv as well."

He leaned towards the curtain, but before he could break through the silencing spell, Harry caught his arm. "What?"

"Will you stop doing that!" Malfoy shook his arm out of Harry's grasp. "What are you trying to do, rape me? You've had as much of me as you're going to get!"

Harry pressed the tip of his wand to Malfoy's throat; the Slytherin gulped nervously.

"What did you say about Riddle?" said Harry as calmly as he could muster, his heart hammering in his ears and his mouth bitter with dread.

"My grandmother went to school with Riddle." Malfoy leaned back to avoid Harry's wand, but it followed his throat and he swallowed again. "She reckoned he didn't like girls either. I guess he chucked that in as a bonus when he made you a Parcelmouth."

"You're lying."

"'Course I am," sneered Malfoy. "It's not like we Malfoys know anything about the Dark Lord."

Harry realised he was trembling with the shock. If Malfoy was right... He couldn't be. Life just couldn't be that unfair. Not wanting Malfoy to know he had rattled him so much, Harry pressed his wand harder to the Slytherin's throat.

"So that's the master your father serves, is it, Malfoy?" he said through clenched teeth. "A half-blood broom-polisher?"

"You know what master we serve," said the boy quietly. "You've met him and it isn't Tom Riddle."

Of course, Harry had always known that Draco Malfoy would become a Death Eater. He embraced Salazar Slytherin's racist ideals, and as an only child, he was probably expected to follow in his incarcerated father's footsteps. But as he gazed at Malfoy's pale indistinct features and remember the warmth of his skin, the beating of his heart, the taste of his fear and arousal, Harry couldn't help feeling very sad. He lowered his wand.

Malfoy slid through the curtains, returning to Ron's borrowed bed. Harry closed the curtains and lay down, naked save for the wand he still clutched in his hand. He looked up at the darkness and thought about everything he had learned that night.