All Bets Are Off

All Bets Are Off

Chapter Six

Wizarding viagra

Thank Christ for Potions, Harry thought, taking his customary seat in the back of the classroom for Friday afternoon's class.

Harry had never expected to hear those words in his mind, but there you go. Extenuating circumstances and all that - after all, there was nothing as non-sexual as Professor Severus Snape, and after the day Harry had had, he needed the relief.

The morning had started well, he supposed. He had vowed not to think of Draco Malfoy all day, and in an effort to cheer himself up, Harry spent an extra half-hour in front of the mirror, tousling his hair and practicing a sexy pout. That is, it had cheered him up right up until the point that he had started to turn himself on, at which point it had just become odd. And a little frightening also.

Breakfast had been a tatty affair, hardly held together by exceptional food. Harry felt like his face was going to explode from the effort of holding an unconcerned smile in place, as student after student came up to him and asked him 'how it was going'.

Fucking bollocks, he had wanted to shout. That's how it's going! I'm on permanent fuck-alert, I'm lusting twenty-four-seven about the biggest prick in the school, I can't eat my breakfast without speculative looks that don't even have to do with people wanting to shag me, and I woke up alone this morning! How would you fucking be?!

He supposed it was the frustration that was making him so very violent and excitable. Privately he thought it was quite a good look for him.

Herbology had gone swimmingly, right up until the point they had started to deal with phallisium roots. Needless to say, the visual was not a necessary addition to his day. He was supposed to have had Divination after Herbology, but instead had hidden himself away in an empty Charms classroom, reading about Cunning Plans and plotting Draco Malfoy's death. He emerged from the room into a stream of Divination students who looked at him very askance, and told him that Trelawney had said that the position of the full moon in conjunction with the exposure of Uranus had meant that anyone with black hair and green eyes born on the thirty-first of July would most likely die within a week of either sexual frustration or auto-erotic asphyxiation, he couldn't remember which. She was becoming rather unsubtle, actually.

Harry was quite unable to cope with the idea of lunch after that.

Thus it was that he had come early to Potions, hoping to find a few moments to himself to gather his wayward impulses and relax a little.

No such hope, of course.

Draco Malfoy entered the room with his customary flair. The effect was only marginally lessened as he caught sight of Harry sitting in the back of the room and was so busy shooting him a smirk that he tripped over Neville's cauldron and fell into Professor Snape, who was also making a grand entrance. It was all rather hilarious and unfortunate, but Harry couldn't even raise a smile at the expression on Draco's face as Snape accidentally groped him in an attempt to prevent them both falling arse-over. He was too busy sulking.

Ron, running late, did not share Harry's lack of amusement as he entered the room just in time to see the whole production unfold, and corpsed against Hermione with hysterical laughter. Snape, who had by this time removed his hand from Draco's groin, noticed and was happy to dock ten points from Gryffindor for loitering, and another fifty for Ron having the most irritating laugh on the face of the planet.

Ascendency restored, Snape moved around Draco to the front of the class and shouted for order. The class fell silent.

"Today," Snape drawled in his flat, bitchy voice, "we will be covering something that should have been discussed in fifth year. I'm sure we all recall the reason why classes were somewhat...interrupted, during that period of time, therefore I will not dwell on it."

He shot a loathing-filled glare at Harry, who returned it serenely. Harry had managed to upend the entire school during his fifth year, running around after Voldemort who had been acting as a school nurse's assistant with the benefit of Polyjuice potion and a very revealing white uniform. Whilst everyone was smitten with the 'woman', Harry had seen right through 'her' (mostly because he was watching her so closely and hoping for a shag, mildly irritated that everyone thought she was prettier than he was), and slipped 'her' some mouse hair in 'her' potion. As it was, before Harry could catch Voldie, he had managed to escape into the kitchens and had not been heard from since. Harry half-suspected that he had been diced up and served in the Mystery Meat they had eaten for Christmas dinner. It had been quite gross.

Snape continued with an evil smirk in Harry's direction. "Aphrodisiac potions," he said simply, and waited for a reaction. He was not disappointed.

Harry went white. The entire class looked at him and then collapsed with laughter.

Snape affected not to notice and went on, "Properly used, they can be far more powerful than the Imperius curse, and, of course, far more enjoyable than a Hazen-hallucinogen potion. Please turn to page 69 of Most Potente Potions and retrieve your ingredients for the Shagmesidewaze potion, which is what we will be producing today."

Harry remained still as the class erupted in a flurry of movement. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Drop it did -- right on his head.

"Each of you will test your finished product as you finish brewing it. We will finish early, of course, because I really don't find the idea of horny teenagers necking in my classroom particularly appealing. It will take until tomorrow morning for the effects to wear off, but do not become complacent. I expect a full two parchment essay on Monday detailing the ingredients and effects of the Shagmesidewaze potion. 'I was too busy shagging' will not be considered a legitimate excuse."

"Any questions?" he continued maliciously.

Hermione raised her hand, looking bolshy.

Snape sneered at her. "A problem, Miss Granger? Surely you would want to produce this particular potion. I'd have thought you'd need all the help you can get," he said nastily.

The Slytherins sniggered.

Hermione subsided with a ferocious blush. Ron murmured soothingly to her as he turned the colour of eggplant and fingered his extremely sharp ingredient knife wistfully.

"Now, are there any real questions?"

Everyone looked at Harry.

Harry turned to his hardly touched copy of Most Potente Potions and thumbed through it nonchalantly.

"Get on with it then."

Snape sat at his desk and started grading third year papers on the dangers of using the Dreamless Sleep potion. 'No, you stupid prat' he wrote emphatically on one that claimed Dreamless Sleep's primary use was in keeping one awake during long nights of Potions study. Then, seeing it was a Slytherin, he erased his comment magically and replaced it with a tick. 'An interesting and original thought' he wrote with a smirk.

Snape risked a glance at Potter. The boy was slicing his salamander tongue with unusual violence. His hands were shaking. Snape grinned into his collar. Potter was right to be nervous. The Shagmesidewaze potion was the Wizarding equivalent of Muggle Viagra. Or, perhaps more accurately, an entire bottle of it in a single drop of the potion. Which was not quite the same thing.

Harry Potter was going to lose the bet tonight.

Snape fingered his quill complacently. He had heard from Trelawney this morning that the pool was up to fourteen thousand Galleons, and as far as he knew, no-one else's name was written down for today, although of course that would change when people heard about the aphrodisiac Harry had been forced to swallow. He congratulated himself on his cunning, and estimated that he should end up with about two or three thousand Galleons. He wondered idly how many times fourteen Galleons went into three thousand.

Oddly enough, fourteen Galleons was the exact price tag of magical vibrators down in Knockturn alley.

* * * *

Half an hour later, most students were adding the final ingredients to their vibrantly ice-blue potions.

Harry's had somehow turned out quite orange. Possibly because he'd deliberately added twice the quantity of wormwood essence that was required, and conveniently forgotten to add the powdered burdock entirely. He also congratulated himself on his cunning. Snape, being Snape, would force him to drink his botched potion regardless of the consequences. Harry was certain that whatever side-effects he might have to endure would be nothing to the agony of more arousal. I really am very clever, he thought smugly. Even I want to shag me.

He was grinning along with everyone else when Snape announced that they would be testing their potions in thirty seconds, ready or not.

Snape prowled the room, glancing in everyone's cauldrons, sniffing here and there, satisfying himself that no-one was going to die from drinking what they had concocted. Pausing in front of Harry's bubbling orange mess, Snape raised an eyebrow. Clever boy, he thought. But not clever enough. He continued on without a word, leaving Harry to breathe a premature sigh of relief.

Returning to the front of the class, Snape whirled to face the excited seventh years with a menacing expression.

"Please take your potion measure and extract one half cup from the cauldron immediately to your left," Snape said with a barely suppressed gleeful grin.

Harry looked left. And gulped. Hermione was sitting there beaming and looking impressed with herself for brewing the most perfect-looking Shagmesidewaze potion in existence. Snape was watching Harry like a hawk. As was most of the class, except for Ron who had turned green and was eyeing Harry's potion with an expression of terror from Harry's right.

Raising his eyes to heaven, asking if not for a break then for a lightning bolt to end his misery, Harry dipped his cup into Hermione's cauldron and drew out a half measure. A very small half measure. He looked around the class. Everyone was waiting for him to drink. Harry's eyes met Draco's over the rim of his cup. He inclined his head mockingly at his ex-nemesis-turned-lust-bunny and raised the cup to his lips.

Everyone held their breath.

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed his potion like a Firewhiskey shot.

It tasted like everything going pear-shaped.

* * * *

In the ensuing excitement, it took quite a while to notice that Ron, after drinking from Harry's cauldron, had fallen into a convulsive stupor and started frothing at the mouth.

Whisking him off to the infirmary, Harry was grateful to be told that his best friend was only suffering from a severe neurological dysfunction and would probably end up with brain damage.

It seemed tame in comparison to what Harry knew he was about to face.

The Shagmesidewaze potion would kick in in exactly twelve minutes. Which meant Harry had exactly twelve minutes to find some gaffa tape and a Really Good Hiding Place.

Leaving Ron in Madame Pomfrey's excellent care, Harry took himself off to the Gryffindor tower to pull the spare magical hand-cuffs and tape from his trunk, stowed under his bed in the dimly lit seventh year boy's dormitory. The cuffs had come in handy over the years, Harry thought fondly. They were the kind that could be undone by the user, but only with a spoken spell. Harry figured that if he taped up his mouth, he would be unable to speak, and therefore, once he was locked up securely, would be incapable of escaping his hiding place and of touching himself, even if the potion he had consumed made him horny enough to shag Albus Dumbledore. All in all, it was a Really Cunning Plan, he thought with much self-congratulation.

It didn't occur to him to wonder how he would actually escape from his self imposed prison once the effects of the aphrodisiac had worn off.

A moan from behind him alerted him to the presence of others in the room. He turned, swiftly tucking the cuffs and tape into his robes and opening his mouth to tell whomever it was to sod off.

Harry's eyes widened as he took in a shadowy, heaving, moaning shape collapse on Ron's bed. "Lumos," he said, pointing his wand at the monster, which was revealed to be Seamus Finnegan wrapped around Neville Longbottom in a most disturbing way.

"I never knew you were into boys, Neville," Harry said, remarkably un-shocked. This sort of thing had happened before.

One of the heads looked up, eyes unfocussed. "I'm not," Neville said, confused, as if that explained everything.

"Oh," said Harry. "That would explain why you're shagging Seamus."

Neville looked at Seamus and shrieked. "You said you were Hermione!" he said in a Very Affronted voice.

"What are you gonna do?" Seamus asked cheerfully.

"Absolutely nothing," Neville said without hesitation and attacked Seamus' mouth with his own. "Buggered if I know why."

"You will be, mate," Harry said with a sly grin and waved at the two of them indulgently. "Have fun guys."

A muffled 'mmphff' was all the answer he got.

Harry took his 'precautions' downstairs, planning to make a quick getaway before the rest of his housemates came home. He could feel the potion starting to pound in his veins; his loins felt heavy and throbbing and his head was starting to stop working. The earlier scene with Harry's dorm mates had had rather...er, disturbing effects on a particular part of his anatomy that shall remain nameless. Harry didn't want to meet anyone who might offer to fix the problem. He wasn't sure he'd be able to say no.

Alas, as he cautiously poked his head around the door to check that the common room was clear, he was accosted by shocking scenes of absolute debauchery that might have terrified a lesser man.

Someone had turned on the music, a slow, throbbing beat that pulsed into Harry's brain. Sex...Sex...Sex...Sex. Couples were dancing around the common-room...well dancing was too strong a word really, it was rather a lot more like a pelvic gyration competition with the respective halves of each couple trying to asphyxiate their partner with their tongue. Harry stared, open-mouthed.

Hermione was snogging someone on an armchair who most definitely did not have red hair; her skirt was around her waist and her blouse unbuttoned and she was moaning like a dying woman. Harry was shocked to find himself instantly aroused. By Hermione! Ew-w-w-w...thought Harry, even as his traitorous body betrayed him.

Hoping to find relief, Harry looked elsewhere. Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil were glued together on the rug by the fire. Her hands were down his pants, his on her arse. Harry whimpered.

Over in another corner, a faceless boy had his head in the lap of a girl that was most likely Lavender Brown. Maybe he was just sleeping, Harry thought hopefully. Lavender let out an almighty shriek of ecstasy which put that thought to death.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think about the ache in his groin. Hard to do, really, when one finds one's brain has actually relocated to that area.

He opened his eyes and looked dumbly from couple to couple to threesome to couple. There were a few faces he didn't recognise, even a few Slytherins among the thrashing, pulsing mob of aroused humanity. He smiled grimly. Nothing like mindless sex to improve inter-house relations. He suddenly had an image of a certain blonde Slytherin he'd love to...er, inter-relate with in a very non-PC way, and shook his head fiercely.

He needed to get the hell out of there.

Running through the room with a burst of speed that would've put most racehorses to shame, Harry beat an undignified exit through the portrait hole and skidded into the corridor beyond.

He didn't stop running until he reached the fifth floor reading room. When he saw who occupied his Really Clever Hiding Place, he stopped in his tracks, violently cursing God and also useless authors who rely on serendipity to make their plots work.

God, and an unamused author were listening. Momentum caught up with Harry, and he found himself sprawling inelegantly onto the stone floor.

Draco Malfoy nearly fell off his armchair laughing.

Oh, this was going to end badly.

* * * *

"Potter," Draco drawled, disdain dripping from his voice. "Absolutely smashing to see you again. Why is it, d'you think, that whenever we meet, at least one of us falls over?"

"Mmphfin fmuphf mophff," Harry said, his face remaining where it was smashed against the floor.

"Missed that," Draco said, amused. "Care to translate for those of us who didn't take 'Muffled Cursing 1.01' as a second language?"

Harry lifted his head and eyed Malfoy mutinously. He was remarkably unscathed for someone who had hit the equivalent of a brick wall at about fifty miles an hour.

"I said," Harry winced, lifting himself from the floor gracefully, "fuck you Malfoy, you unspeakable great git. I hate you completely and utterly, and I am sick of inadvertently running into you around every corner I fucking turn. You are the absolute last person I need to see right now, so why don't you fuck off and find someone else who is less horny, and more patient, to fucking irritate!" He had a bit of a tantrum, actually. Complete with foot-stamp and head-toss. It was quite dramatic.

Draco smirked. "Goodness...all that, in three little muffled syllables? Rather expansive language, this Muffled Cursing. Must remember to learn it when I get a chance. Probably only take me an hour." His face didn't show the hurt.

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "I am trying to shatter your illusions here, Malfoy. You are making it awfully difficult."

"Sorry," Draco said with utmost sincerity. His eyes lingered on Harry's face, gloating over the perfect bone structure and the angry flush that stained his cheekbones. His eyes drifted lower, and lower. He found himself hardening with every inch of Harry's body they covered. The potion had started taking effect fifteen minutes ago. Draco had sought this room as his house-mates had started disappearing to their various dorms. He found the idea of another Pansy-incident, as he had taken to calling it, extremely distasteful.

But of course, then Harry had to show up. Bloody Harry Potter with his amazing eyes and fucking Greek God body, who hadn't strayed even once from Draco's thoughts these last few days. Harry had been avoiding him, Draco knew, but he couldn't decide if this made him mad or made him depressed. He missed Harry when he wasn't there.

Bloody fucking Nora, Draco thought viciously. If I'd known that not only were I going to fall for Harry, but also be both ignored by him and having him haunting my thoughts as well, I'd've never started this whole bollocks bet malarkey. Hindsight is a crying bastard.

Draco didn't want to want Harry this much. He just couldn't help it. His eyes strayed lower, and rested on Harry's groin.

Harry, thinking of a certain incident in the shower, which had started in a very similar fashion and ended very badly, decided that now was a very fine time to leave.

"Leaving so soon, Potter?" Malfoy said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Bastard Potter, showing up, turning him on, and leaving again. It was becoming irritating.

"I suddenly find the company not to my taste," Harry said dismissively, the ache in his loins telling him otherwise.

"How do you know?" Draco asked suggestively. "I might just be better than Baked Alaska, Potter."

"I doubt it," Harry said, unexpectedly adding, "it's a well known fact that you taste of soap and bean-sprouts."

"Who said that?" Draco roared, leaping to his feet and looking furious, momentarily affronted right out of seduction mode.

Harry grinned. "No-one, but it was worth the image in my head just to hear you freak out like that." He found himself laughing despite the horrendous arousal and his aching face.

Draco reluctantly joined him.

"Only one way to find out if it's true, Potter," Draco invited, eyes raking Harry up and down. He grew a little feverish at the thought, amplified by the Shagmesidewaze potion that had taken a firm hold in his blood. His face flushed appealingly as the visual image of Phantom Potter 'finding out' hit him full force. Really, what a time for the cheeky bugger to stage a reunion tour.

Harry closed his eyes and whimpered. He had a very similar image of himself doing unspeakably wicked things to a writhing, naked Draco in his head, and he was finding it nearly impossible to evict. Bloody Malfoy, making Harry want him like this. Bloody Malfoy only wanting Harry because he was trying to make him lose a stupid bet that all of a sudden didn't matter anymore.

Bloody Malfoy, making Harry fall for him when he couldn't give a flying fuck about Harry at all.

Bloody Malfoy.

Harry turned without a word and walked away. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. He waited until he was around the corner, and then started running blindly, gasping for breath, feet pounding against stone, taking entire staircases in two great bounds. He had no bloody idea where he was going, only that it was away. Away from him. Anywhere but where he was. Because he was making Harry forget everything bad that had ever passed between them, and making Harry want so much more than it had ever been. And that was not all right at all.

* * * *

Draco followed Harry at a slightly more sedate pace. He was extremely Put Out, and pouting mightily. He had had many reactions in his life when he asked people to...er, do that to him, but Potter's was by far the most insulting. Really, who just leaves when a gorgeous blonde seeker offers them mind-blowing sex? Draco thought indignantly.

Stupid, unbelievably attractive bastards who run around Hogwarts in the evening with equal disregard for decorum and direction, Draco thought miserably. That's who.

* * * *

It was quite a few staircases later that Harry decided he had had enough of running, and should probably stop and hide or something. He pounded to a screeching halt and looked around him, trying to figure out where he was.

His heart sank when he realised he was about three doors down from the Slytherin common room portrait hole. A sense of doom invaded him. Oh, this was not going to be pretty. Perhaps Draco had not followed, Harry thought optimistically, and he could just sneak off...

Harry heard footsteps behind him and turned to face his blonde pursuer with a wince that was hardly theatrical at all.

"Glad to see you were so eager to get to my dorm, Harry," Draco attempted to drawl, but failed miserably because he was panting. It was quite a long run from the fifth floor to the Slytherin dungeon, and he reckoned they had made it in record time.

Harry was silent.

His way was blocked. The Slytherin corridor was a dead end. Draco was standing in the middle of the entrance-way, braced for attack.

Harry, desperate and wild-eyed, like a rabbit in the headlights of a road-train named desire, stood still for a second and then ran straight at Draco, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"Potter, what the..." Draco got no further as Potter ploughed into him, fists flying. He was not sure how it happened, but somehow Potter had managed to hit him in the heart. Or at least that's how it felt. Possibly it was just several broken ribs. Draco, ever temperamental, swung a punch at Harry and hit him square in the jaw, sending the other boy sprawling into a wall. Harry slumped to the bonelessly to the ground.

He lay very still.

Draco was faced with the very real possibility that he had perhaps killed the boy he was in love with. It was not a very nice feeling.

"Harry?" he asked tentatively, reluctant to approach the corpse (for he was sure that was what it was).

Harry didn't move.

"Oh for fucking bollocks sake!" Draco exploded temperamentally.

* * * *

Harry was dreaming. It was quite a nice dream all told. He and Draco were in a very charming meadow, surrounded by flowers and shagging each other's brains out. It was all very innocent and lovely, with the birds singing, the insects humming, the flowers blooming, and two very horny teenage boys going at it like they had less than an hour to live. Perhaps they had, Harry thought hazily. He certainly felt like he was about to die.

Possibly it was just because he was actually about to come quite explosively.

"Draco," Harry groaned in agony. "Please."

Phantom Draco wound his hands around Harry's neck and kissed him wildly, using his tongue seductively against Harry's with the parry and thrust of a master swordsman. And speaking of thrust, he did so again, rocking Harry's world around him and making Harry cry out once more.

And then - oh, oh, oh, oH, oH, OH, HOLY-MOTHER-OF-GOD - and it was all over.

Harry was going to need a cigarette.

* * * *

Harry came awake to find himself surrounded by green and silver, gasping for breath, and feeling like a great shroud had been lifted from his body - as well as his clothes. He found he could suddenly think clearly again. It was wonderful. Except that his face hurt quite a lot.

Harry rolled to his left and started as he saw Draco Malfoy lying beside him, looking relieved, and also somewhat satisfied.

Harry looked at Draco through narrowed eyes. Funny how all of a sudden, he could stare at his ex-nemesis and not want to die of arousal. It was quite surprisingly nice, he thought. Harry stood unselfconsciously and regarded Malfoy down his nose.

"I am no longer subject to your wicked wiles, Draco Malfoy. I have broken through the barrier of the physical and come to transcend all that is mortal. I am invincible," Harry crowed triumphantly.

"Only because you've just come all over my silk sheets, Potter, you absolute dick," Draco replied with a half-indulgent grin. Poor sheets. Second time they'd been violated like this in a week, he thought fretfully, remembering again the, erm, 'Pansy incident'.

Harry looked down and was forced to reluctantly agree.

"We didn't...?" he asked in panic.

Draco toyed with the idea of saying 'yes, we did'. The stupid berk would probably cry, hand over a thousand Galleons and run off to shag the nearest person that wasn't named Draco Malfoy. Draco suppressed a laugh when he remembered that Crabbe was snogging Goyle somewhere in the corridor outside his room. Perhaps the second, or third person he saw then.

But then Draco caught the absolute terror on Harry's face, and he relented.

"No, you idiot, we didn't. I've never been into necrophilia and I wasn't actually sure you weren't dead, so I decided to keep my filthy, wicked Slytherin hands to myself," Draco said mockingly.

"You did say some very interesting things whilst you were comatose, though," Draco continued with a smirk, the memory of Harry moaning Draco's name fresh in his mind. It had almost been worth the effort of dragging Harry's surprisingly heavy body all the way through the Slytherin common room and into his dorm.

Harry looked suddenly boot-faced. "What? What did I say...?" he asked nervously, obviously remembering.

"Oh, nothing of great importance," Draco said airily. "You must have been having quite nice dreams..." He trailed off and looked significantly at the conspicuous wet spot where Harry had been lying.

"There was nothing in the bet that said I wasn't allowed to lose my load," Harry said sulkily. "Just that I couldn't deliberately cause it to occur."

Draco thought about that and miserably concurred, he hadn't specified that particular clause. Dammit.

For the first time, Harry looked around his surroundings and became distracted. "What in the hell am I doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

"In my room?" Draco questioned blithely.

"This is your room?" Harry squeaked in panic. Really, Draco thought. For a sex god, he was surprisingly insecure in new sex-related environments. Shouldn't he be eyeing the exits and potential sites for securing bondage equipment?

"Relax, Potter, really there's no need to have a very unflattering seizure," Draco said, amused. "We fought a little, and you hit your head. I didn't want anyone thinking I'd killed you, so I brought you here to sleep off your concussion."

"And I'm naked because...?" Harry questioned, expecting a logical explanation.

"Erm, well..." Draco stalled. How did one explain that it had actually seemed like a good idea at the time to remove all the clothes from one's worst enemy in one's bedroom in order to check for injuries? Or something like that...in fact, it felt quite a lot more like checking for assets, but did Potter really need to know that?

"Wait on, you took off my clothes?!" Harry yelped. He suddenly turned amused. "That's a bit pervy, really. Even for you, Malfoy..."

"Actually," Draco smirked and lied, "ihey were torn from your helpless, comatose body by a large, horny bunch of seventh-year Slytherin girls who decided that it was high time you were shagged...I was quite unable to stop them."

Harry looked dubious. "And my robes came to be on your floor how, exactly?"

Draco changed the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I used my face to stop Goyle on his way to the dinner table," Harry said irritably. He thought for a moment. "You hit me, didn't you?"

"You were quite hysterical, Potter," Draco said defensively. "You were trying to utilise my unwilling body for a boxing bag."

"You really are a fucking bastard, Malfoy," Harry said resignedly. "I hate you quite a lot, you know."

"I notice, though, for all your pretty protestations, Potter," Draco drawled, equally stung and impressed with himself for getting out all those 'p' sounds without stuttering, "That you haven't left yet. And you are remarkably...er...chipper, for someone who has just come all over the very expensively-clad bed of someone you supposedly despise." Draco gestured at Harry's unabated erection. Apparently the Shagmesidewaze potion had not worn off.

"So are you," Harry pointed out reasonably, taking a good look at Draco, who had tossed his robes aside and was clad in a rather tight pair of designer jeans that left little to the imagination. It was beginning to dawn on Harry that he had rather more of an effect on his nemesis that he had previously thought, and stored that interesting little bit of information for future reference. Cunning Plan here we come, Harry thought maliciously. This could be fun.

Draco wasn't privvy to this little bit of mental byplay, and instead blushed when he realised Harry had an exceptionally good point. "And...?" he asked pointedly, making no move to shield himself from Potter's view.

"And what?" Harry asked in confusion, trying to keep his eyes off the rather interesting sight.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I suppose I had best rectify the entire situation immediately," Harry said with a feral grin and advanced upon Draco. Draco retreated back against the headboard and flushed with surprise - was Harry going to do what Draco thought Harry was going to do? This basically equated to pushing Draco up against the nearest wall as soon as possible and having his incomparably wicked way with him...? Was he really going to deliberately give up the bet? Just to have Draco?

No, Harry was not.

Laughing at the suddenly hopeful expression on Draco's handsome features, Harry detoured toward his clothes and picked them up, tossing on his robes, casting a carefully aimed flaccidus hex and turning to the door. He noted the barely audible dispirited moan from the blonde who was sprawled disappointedly across the bed.

Harry turned back for a second, and had to close his eyes momentarily against the temptation to join Draco on the bed and shag him absolutely senseless.

Regaining his equilibrium, Harry felt compelled to make a Really Nasty Comment. He supposed Draco must be rubbing off on him. Er...figuratively, of course.

"Hey Draco," Harry said with a forced chuckle. "Better take care of that..."

"Fuck you, Potter. If you can't come up with anything original, don't say anything at all," Draco ground out, unimpressed to have the tables suddenly turned.

"I meant the bed," Harry laughed. "I hear that silk stains horribly." He exited with a sexy swagger that made Draco groan in agony.

Draco forgot he was a Malfoy that night.

After all, real Malfoys don't shag their own hands thinking about other boys. For three hours straight. Really, you'd think once would be enough.

* * * *

Harry was completely unruffled by the whole affair.

In fact, he was so unconcerned that he spent the entire weekend locked in a broom closet with six Potions books and a stack of blank parchment, writing an essay he couldn't actually see. Broom closets are quite dim, really, when one seals the door with about sixty wards and a lot of Gaffa tape.

He didn't think about Draco at all.

* * * *

Draco and Harry were not the only ones who didn't sleep much on Friday night. Severus Snape was so excited about the possibility of riches that he also, temporarily, became an insomniac. He was waiting for the alarm to go off, indicating to the whole school that Potter had been unable to keep it in his pants. Snape smiled triumphantly. Bloody Potter, he thought vindictively. Just like his father - completely without a semblance of dignity or self control.

Snape was still bitter that James Potter had rejected him during their school years. How was Snape to know that James was heterosexual? I mean, he had actually worn leather trousers one day. It was an honest mistake! But those trousers...oo-er, Snape thought, fanning himself with PlayWizard and losing himself in the memories...

He waited. And waited. Goodness, this latest issue of PlayWizard really wasn't cutting it in terms of usual entertainment value... And waited. And waited. There were exactly six hundred and eighty eight bricks on the east wall of his bedroom.... And waited. And waited. And waited. Oh, look, there was a strange cat outside his window...And waited...

It was quite a long wait.

When the clock struck midnight and Snape's day was over, he went slightly apeshit. Two hundred Galleons wasted just because that imbecile Potter had been unable to manage to find a willing partner. Bloody, bloody Harry Potter.

Snape was highly unimpressed, and subsided into a mighty sulk that lasted the entire weekend.

* * * *

Snape was even less impressed when an overtly cheerful Harry, wearing a surprisingly sexy, and also hideous, gold and red patterned shirt, sauntered lazily into Monday morning Potions with a neatly written, four-parchment essay on not only the Shagmesidewaze potion, but on the effective ingredients and uses of all the Aphrodisiac potions.

Snape looked shocked and took ten points from Gryffindor for Harry's shirt.

It was only later that night, when he was pretending to grade Harry's paper, when he realised that every third sentence read:

"I am NOT in love with Draco Malfoy..."

Denial, much?