A Flawless Plan

IX. [Make Me Forget]

I didn't see Potter the following day. Another of Father's letters reached me by noon. Actually, it was more a brief note than a letter. It said:

Meet me at the Hog's Head, in six days time, ten o'clock in the morning. Talk to Snape. He will give you permission to leave.

I had a bad feeling about this. Or, to be completely honest, though honesty suits me just about as good as ballet suits a giant, I simply dreaded to face Father. For a second, the thought crept into my mind that he would look in my eyes and know everything about me and Potter. About what it had taken to get to him.

So... denial seemed a good idea right then. I resolved not to think about the scheduled meeting until its time would actually come. It wasn't easy. I needed a distraction.

~''~

Only the next day, around noon, I saw him, I mean, Potter. I was hungry and on my way to lunch. And when I saw him, I suddenly lost my appetite and had to struggle to swallow the lump in my throat. Potter was sitting on the stairs, nibbling a very large, delicious-looking, golden apple. I looked at him, questioningly and expecting a glare, or a disgusted face, but, to my surprise he made a small gesture with his head that invited me to join him. I sat down.

"How the hell did you get an apple in this season?" I heard myself inquiring all of the sudden, after several long minutes filled with nothing but the sound of Potter taking small bites of his apple.

"Dumbledore." His voice was composed and it betrayed no anger, yet, no amiability. "He said it might cheer me up. Said I hadn't been very happy lately." He shrugged. "Wanna a bite?"

Of course it was surreal. Sitting with Potter upon a stair step and sharing an apple with him like we were best pals. After all that had happened between us, after how much I'd hurt him and after how much he'd hurt me in return, after the cruel words spoken between us, after the punishing kisses we'd shared, it shouldn't have been anything more but surreal. Yet Potter was only inches away, offering me a bite from the apple Dumbledore had given him.

The apple was indeed every bit as delicious as it looked.

"Nice," I said, after Potter had held the apple up to my lips, so I could taste it. He nodded and took another bite of his own.

Potter looked different. Not that he'd somehow miraculously Transfigured his external appearance. He wore the same pair of glasses, and the same pair of oversized jeans, and an equally oversized grey sweater that looked familiar, and his hair was just as bad as always, but he was nonetheless changed. The way he used to hold his shoulders, and the way he used to curl his lips every two seconds, and the way he used to keep his face open and sincere, and many other small details, which made him so... well, so him, before, weren't there any longer. And yet he hadn't changed enough to be a different person, which was even worse. Again, I felt a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow back and, before having time to wonder about it, I found myself urging to tell him I was sorry. I didn't. Words meant nothing, after all. Not to mention that, if he'd asked 'What for?', I wouldn't have been able to answer. Because I couldn't tell what I was sorry for, myself.

~''~

Later on the same night, the door of my room burst open and Potter stumbled in. I didn't have time to wonder how - in the name of Hell and All Its Demons and Other Nasty Soul-Sucking Creatures! - had Potter managed to discover the entrance to our common room and find out the password, because as soon as he was inside, he spoke.

"I want to see you naked, Malfoy."

I'm not an easy to shock person. Really. But I'm only human.

"I think you've just dropped your quill."

"What did you say, Potter?"

"I think you-"

"No, before that, you idiot!"

"Oh. I said I wanted to see you naked. So?"

"I don't know, Potter. Will you return the favour?" I sneered, trying my best to hide the slight shaking of my body.

"Maybe. But not tonight. Well?" he asked again pointedly.

I couldn't say another word. My hands moved almost mechanically to upper button of my shirt, while my eyes refused to live Potter's face.

"No, no, no, allow me." Potter's hand gently took mine away from the buttons, and then it descended upon my shoulder. He guided me to the bed and made me sit. Then he carefully started to unbutton my shirt, very absorbed in the process. And, still, my voice was stuck somewhere along my throat and refused to obey me. Not to mention that Potter's touch burned my skin and the heat slowly dissipated from the places caressed by his fingers into my entire body. I couldn't remember being more aroused in my life.

Of course, I'd always known my body was perfect - oh, sod modesty, it never worked for a Malfoy! My body was a bloody work of art. And yet I was nervous. The way he looked at me made me shiver. He didn't seem very eager, and certainly not lustful. I had no idea where this was going, but I knew pretty certainly where it was not, which was disappointing. Potter's eyes were determined, like when he was chasing the Snitch. I abandoned the thought, because comparing myself to the Snitch wasn't at all flattering.

And then he smiled. All my clothes had been discarded one by one, and he had taken a step back, gazing at me like one gazes at a sculpture inside a museum, as I was sprawled completely naked on my bed. It unsettled me even more.

"Your body is a work of art, Malfoy." At least he could acknowledge that. He was slightly ironic, I could tell, but there had been also a hint of admiration in his words, and it caused a wave of heat to pass through my skin. "But I imagine you already knew that, didn't you?" He stepped closer again. "I could get used to touching this body." His hand caressed my chest. "Taste it."

He leaned to my lips but didn't touch them. I understood then, this wasn't at all about me, but about himself. Potter wanted to know if he was really attracted to me, and by extension, to members of the same gender. I stifled a chuckle. Wonder Boy hadn't totally overcome his little denial crisis! Well, I was more than glad to help him out of it.

"Don't move, Malfoy!"

My hand, that had been reaching for his chest, froze mid air. "You're scared, aren't you, Potter?" I mocked him. "But you also wanna play, don't you?"

"I told you," he hissed, pressing my hand down onto the mattress. "Not tonight. Tonight, if there'll be any touching done, it will be done by me."

As to prove his point, his hands slid over my shoulders. The touch was exquisite, though it shouldn't have been. You know how it's like - you dream about something so long, and you imagine every little detail, that when it's finally happening, you face one of those Big Disappointments Life's so keen to throw on us every once in a while - because She is, I'm sure I've already mentioned it, a Bitch. With Potter, it wasn't like that. Every thought or expectation I might have had regarding him before, suddenly ceased to matter. Not only that, but all thoughts and expectations had vanished completely, so if I'd ever imagined something else, something better, it was completely forgotten, because there was no place left in my mind for that 'something else', for anything else in fact, except the intense pleasure that Potter's hands were delivering so adeptly.

The touches had been gentle and shy at the beginning, like he was afraid to feel too much of my skin under his palms, but grew bolder, more sensuous in a matter of minutes. His fingers travelled slowly over my chest. Past my stomach, against my hipbones, around my navel... There he paused shortly, hesitating, before going lower, caressing the inner side of my thighs. And I wondered, though in not so many words - because I wasn't in a state to formulate coherent words, not even in my head - I wondered, how could Potter hate me and at the same time touch me like that, like he could feel what I expected of him, like he could read my mind. No, not like he could read my mind, but like he could read my skin. I opened my eyes, which had snapped closed at a certain point, to look at his face. After all, the answers were there, on his face, most of the time.

But I hadn't been prepared for the sight that met my eyes. The look on his face was so intense, it almost made me come in his hands at the very instant. He looked achingly ecstatic, like he enjoyed to do the touching as much, if not more than I enjoyed being touched. Our eyes locked, and, for a brief moment, we shared something else than hate and pain, for a moment, there was only ecstasy and his hands wrapped around me, driving me to the edge, ready to burst.

Then he looked away, his hands leaving my body, and took two steps to the door.

"See you tomorrow, then, Malfoy. Maybe we'll have breakfast together," he offered in a voice that clearly spoke of disinterest. But his face and hands earlier, they had spoken of completely different things.

"Aren't you going to finish what you've started, Potter?" I almost stammered.

"Oh, that." He gave my hard-on a long, guarded look, then shrugged. "Take a cold shower."

He hated me. But, as long as he wanted me as well, it didn't matter. And he definitely wanted me.

I also hated him. Because he could control all the emotions I couldn't.

~''~

Strangely enough, we did have breakfast together the next morning. I couldn't rest very well after the previous night's events (cold shower or not), and I don't know about Potter, but the fact remains that we were both in the Great Hall at a very early hour, without anyone else around to disturb us. I almost chocked on pumpkin juice (you noticed how the blasted pumpkin juice is always around? That's because we bloody got it every morning!) when Potter dropped unceremoniously by my side at the Slytherin table.

"What... are... you doing?" I asked, somewhat incoherent with surprise.

"Having breakfast with you and pointing out the obvious, Malfoy," he answered in a bored tone, filling his plate.

"This is the Slytherin table, Potter."

He snorted, with his mouth full, which was disgusting and I'm pretty sure I scowled at him, I don't remember. If I did, he didn't look too impressed, because he went on with a forceful cheerfulness,

"Oh, great, so I'm not the only one pointing the obvious around here."

"You know what I meant, Potter." Of course he knew. Gryffindors don't eat at the Slytherin table. Never. It's one of those Things That Never Change - can't think of a good example now. But. Slytherins and Gryffindors. They don't mix (at least not in public).

"Y'know..."

"Stop speaking with your mouth full, Potter, it's disgusting!"

He swallowed and I watched, fascinated, his throat contracting and his tongue brushing past his lips, licking away bread crumbs and traces of butter.

"You know, the Sorting Hat fancied putting me into Slytherin. So I'm just trying to imagine how it would have been like on this side. You don't have a very nice view from here."

"I find it harder and harder to understand that mind of yours, Potter."

He frowned. "What about understanding? I thought you wanted to shag."

I didn't trusted my hand with a knife right then. I put it down by my plate.

"Well, I thought you didn't." I placed a hand on his thigh and drew closer. "Apparently, I've been wrong. But I'm curious, Potter... What made you change your mind?"

His voice sounded bitter when he responded. Our plates laid forgotten on the table, none of us much in the mood for eating now. I shouldn't have asked the question. It hang above us like a heavy rain-cloud, and then Potter finally answered, with an eloquence which suited that early hour very ill and chased away the last traces of my appetite.

"In an way, you. Remember when I told 'her' that 'she' was enough reason to make me wanna live? I expect so, you probably had the laugh of your life! Well." He pronounced the words distinctly, as people generally do when explaining things to little, square-headed kids. It was insulting, really.

"You're enough reason to make me wanna die. So, as dying by the hand of Voldemort is a sure bet for me, none of this matters. I can kiss, lick, bite, suck and screw you like it's the end of the world, and no one will ever find out, and I wouldn't care anyway, because I'll be dead." His expression suddenly softened and his voice lowered to a mere whisper. "Just make me forget, Malfoy."

"I love it when you talk dirty, Potter," I whispered in return, complying with his request and kissing him hard. Just to make him forget.

~''~

He wasn't the only one who wanted to forget. I was also doing my best not to think about meeting Father as the day approached. And we discovered pretty soon that we could make each other forget quite easily. That's how, on the fifth day after Father's note (or, I should say, night), after several other occasional snog sessions, Potter and I were desperately ripping each other's clothes up, down in my room.

"Eager to get those rags you call clothes off, Potter, or plainly eager?"

He didn't bother with a verbal answer. Instead, he pushed me hard, causing me to fall over the bed, and landed himself over my body. I winced in pain, but the next moment we were kissing again, and it suddenly didn't matter. The black turtleneck I'd been wearing that evening, already laid discarded on the floor, while Potter's more uninteresting sweater had somehow ended on my desk, spilling the ink bottle over my Herbology notes. My left shoe flew through the air, crushing into the opposite wall and cracking the paint.

"Redecorating, Malfoy?" His voice was muffled against my mouth. I ignored his words, deciding that tugging at his trousers was by far a more entertaining activity. Potter writhed against my body, obviously trying to help me in my current exploit, but he succeeded only in distracting me. The friction between out lower bodies was too much to stand, so I renounced getting him out of the pants, and took the more direct path, sliding my hand into them. Potter moaned and bit my shoulder. I screamed, and it wasn't with pleasure. The idiot had bit me quite nastily.

"That hurt, Potter!"

The kissing and writhing ceased for a moment. Potter took advantage of this interlude to kick his own shoes off his feet and slip out of the stupid pants, before straddling me and having me pinned on the bed firmly.

"I've never done this before, Malfoy." For someone who was admitting his absolute ignorance regarding sexual matters, Potter's voice had sounded way too confident.

"How lovely, Potter. Do you mean 'never' as in 'never with another bloke' or 'never' as in 'I'm an innocent, inexperienced, helpless virgin, please-shag-me-senseless'? Though you certainly didn't seem inexperienced. Perhaps you have a born inclination to go professional-"

"Malfoy." He sounded genuinely amazed. "You know very well that I've slept with at least one, erm, 'girl' before. "

Shit, how could I have forgotten about that night? Potter making love to 'her', if that's what it had been. I must've blocked out the memory completely. Thanks for spoiling my mood, Wonder Boy! I felt nauseated only at the thought of that night.

"Stop acting so confident, Malfoy!" he went on, looking straight into my eyes and knowing very well how deep his words sliced into me. "I find it hard to believe you are that experienced! 'She' was quite - how did you say it ? oh, yes - the 'innocent, helpless, inexperienced virgin'?"

"I hate you beyond hate, Potter!" I yelled at him. "As for 'innocent, helpless, inexperienced', I'll let you know it was not and it's not the case! And 'her' virginity was only a side-effect of the ruddy potion!"

"Oh, I wondered how you managed the transformation. What's that potion you used...? Dark stuff, I reckon," he interfered casually.

"You can move your Gryffindor arse out of my room now, Potter. Suddenly, I'm not in the mood anymore," I announced him in a cold tone.

"Yeah, I've wondered about this too... How come a Slytherin Prefect gets his own room?" I glared at him, trying to impress on his idiotic mind just how sick I was of his face at that moment. His voice softened a bit while he spoke again. "Look, Malfoy... I'm sorry."

My face must've shown some signs of wonder, as he continued to explain quickly.

"Oh, not because I humiliated you that night, rest assured. You deserved that. But I'm sorry about how I chose to do it. I truly regret not choosing to beat the hell out of you instead."

He leaned to kiss me, and his kiss was hard on my lips, like always. I didn't have the strength to pull away.

"I'm sorry," he said again, grinding his hips against mine, not sounding at all like apologising, but merely stating a fact. Yet his kisses became softer now, and his lips were tracing wet, warm paths over my cheeks, and nose, and eyes, almost tenderly, and I found myself forgetting once more.

"So how experienced are you really, Malfoy?" he whispered into my ear before letting the tip of his tongue slide over my earlobe, teasingly.

I felt insulted. I actually was 'that experienced'! Well, with girls at least, but it's not like I didn't know what to do with Potter's body as the opportunity presented. Back in those days, the Slytherin common room was, without exaggeration, the Bottomless Fountain of Knowledge for All Things Sex-Related. In theory, I knew very well how to perform an exquisite blow job (not that I necessarily intended to grant Potter the favour) or what it took for two guys to shag, like lubrication spells and preparatory stretching, and so on, so forth.

"Fuck you," I snapped at Potter. What's shagging without dirty words, anyway?

"Eloquently put, Malfoy," he sneered.

And then it hit me. Potter was still on top. If he thought it was going to happen that way, the stupid sod...

"Get off me, you idiot!" I shouted and didn't wait for him to comply (which was questionable enough) and threw him on the floor. Oh, whoops, sorry. Potter look baffled.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!!" he shouted in return.

"I'm not going to be a bloody bottom, that's what's wrong!"

"Oh." Just that, and then he was laughing so hard that violent convulsions shook his ribcage. It struck me that Potter was quite an appalling sight when he laughed. I wondered, probably for the hundredth time, what made me desire him like a lunatic.

"Well," he spoke again, after finally calming down, "if it comes down to it, it's not like you really have a choice. I'm stronger than you, Malfoy."

"That's called rape, Potter. You wouldn't... Would you?"

"You're the idiot here, Malfoy! Of course not, it would be more fun to have you completely willing." He was still on the floor, now with his legs crossed underneath him and elbows propped on the bed.

"Do you see me laughing? And do you even know what we're talking about here?" I snorted. I was positive that Gryffindors didn't have Weekly Advanced Shagging Common-Room Seminars, with occasionally live demonstrations. On the other hand, we, Slytherins did, even if it was essentially an illicit affair of which Snape pretended to know nothing.

"You can't be on top, Potter, because you've just confessed you know nothing about how these things work-"

"I only said I didn't do it before, not-"

"As I was saying, you know nothing about it," a look at his face convinced me that I was right, "and that would make the experience rather unpleasant for me."

"So what do you propose? I don't want to be a 'bottom' either."

A certain dream popped in my head, with the memory of a certain Cracking Spell (I might have been Obsessed with Potter, but I was not that stupid as to perform Cruciatus in front of Dumbledore's Saint Boy, what did you think?) and I knew exactly what we were to do.

"We can sort it out with some kind of duel. A test of endurance, more precisely."

"What do you have in that twisted mind of yours, Malfoy?"

"Do you know to cast the Cracking Spell, Potter? Doesn't matter, I'll show you. You, me and the magical word, it's that easy. Oh, and lots of pain. The one who lasts longer gets to choose."

I was surprised that Potter grasped it so quickly.

"Oh, I can see where you're going. Isn't that Spell supposed to be illegal?"

"Not when cast upon inanimate objects you want to tear to pieces," I spoke in my best 'unimpressed' voice. "How good an impression of an old rotten cupboard can you produce, Potter? Might help me focus better."

"Save your sarcasm for later, Malfoy. Might help you cope better when I'll be on top, doing 'unpleasant' things to you. So, just to clear things out... The deal is that I point my wand at you and you point your wand at me, we cast this Cracking Spell and the first to take his wand away goes under."

"Very nicely put, Potter. Almost poetical. Not to mention, always the confident one."

I showed him how to perform the spell, then we pointed the wands at each other and both uttered the magical word at the same time.

"Caessio."

It should have worked. In the dream, I was the one who lasted longer. But the dream was a very weak consolation, when, after precisely two minutes - I know it lasted precisely two minutes because I counted every miserable second as a means of distraction, and it didn't work - Potter landed himself over my still aching body, smirking.

"You have the pain endurance of a two year old, Malfoy," he found necessary to announce me. "Guess I won. Well." He gave me an expectant look. "Educate me."

I was too exhausted - already, and without doing anything significant at all - to speak. I gathered enough strength to raise an eyebrow instead.

"You know," Potter patiently explained, "tell me what to do next with your body."

I snorted.

"You really don't take pain very well, do you, Malfoy?"

"You really are a mood spoiler, Potter!" I finally managed to retort.

"I'll take that - " he leaned to kiss me " - as a sign - " my lips parted, allowing him to slid his tongue inside my mouth " - you feel better."

The response I mumbled was incoherent, because Potter suddenly decided there were too many clothes left on me and was tugging at my trousers. I returned the favour by helping him out of his boxers, before getting rid of mine, as well.

"You need to do more touching, Potter!"

"But I'm touching you already, Malfoy..."

"Idiot, you know what - oh..." Of course he knew what I meant. Potter could do some absolutely wicked things with his hands. It was almost unbearable. And time stopped for us, and there was only pleasure, and Potter's hands, and Potter's lips, and his naked body melting over mine... And did I mention time stopping?

"Malfoy... don't think... can't last any longer..."

I decided I loved it when Potter got incoherent.

"Tell me... Potter..."

"Want you..."

I wrapped my legs around his waist.

"...can you... cast... a Lubrication Spell..."

Before he could asked 'What for?', which, by the dazzled look in his eyes, was going to happen, I silenced him with a hungry kiss and showed him 'what for' instead, casting it myself, both on him and on me. It was the weirdest of sensations.

"Come on... Potter... don't chicken out now..."

He kissed me and slid into me slowly. It hurt, but not as bad as I expected. As he started moving, I wrapped my legs even tighter around him. We didn't look at each other. A quick glance revealed that Potter was staring at my shoulder, where he had bit me earlier and I was probably bruising already, and I watched his lips, pink and swollen, and slightly parted. With the unfamiliar pain, the world had fallen again into focus, but then Potter's right hand began to stroke me, and it felt so bad and so good at the same time, that I closed my eyes and had to bite my lips, because, otherwise, I would've screamed his name so loud Harry Harry Harry...

He lowered the pace without warning, and I opened my eyes, which had snapped closed at a certain point, only to find him looking at me.

"Are you okay, Malfoy?"

Oh, how I wanted to scream dirty words at the idiot! Purely out of anger, don't misunderstand me. Some time to start feeling concerned!

"Don't stop," I managed through my teeth which were gritted for a strange reason, and I thrust my body upwards, into him, deeper, and I drew him closer, to whisper into his mouth, that tasted so amazingly of him. "Too late to stop now..."

And he didn't stop, until much later, or sooner, too soon - I couldn't tell because time had lost its meaning again as Potter and I forgot everything, everyone, ourselves, as our bodies moved, perfectly synchronized and when I finally came, it felt like being thorn apart.

~''~''~