Sweet and Sour

"So Potter, do you like my toilet water?" asked Draco, trying to be seductive but only managing a hungry leer. Harry sniffed unappreciatively.

"I wondered what that stink was," he replied, trying not to look at the other boy. Draco blushed.

"It's not really toilet water," he mumbled, obviously embarrassed. "It's 'eau de toilette'. It's French."

"That explains a lot."

They lay together on Draco's bed in total silence for about eight minutes.

"You don't have to do thins if you don't want to, you know," said Draco finally, an air of disappointment in his voice. Harry let out an exasperated sigh.

"Let's just get on with it. But I'll need to know a bit about you first of all."

"Of course," Draco replied, albeit hesitantly. "What do you want to know?"

"Favourite colour, favourite ice cream flavour, favourite hot beverage, favourite animal."

"Green, Coffee Cream, Cappuccino, Llama." Harry looked slightly puzzled.

"Your favourite animal is a llama?" he asked incredulously. Draco blushed for the second time that night, with a force rivalling that of a Weasley.

"Well, I thought 'Goat' sounded a bit gay." Harry resumed his look of exasperation.

"You willingly agreed to a joke offer of sex with a man. I don't think 'gay' is going to be too much of a revelation to me."

"Point taken."

"Can we just get this over and done with, Malfoy?" asked Harry finally. "I'm not looking forward to it."

"I am," replied Draco, accentuating his words. Harry shuddered as he felt an all-too-familiar sensation between his lower cheeks. Surprisingly, Draco was pretty good. A lot better than his father.

"You know," said Harry casually. "This isn't half bad."

"It gets better," the blonde replied. He wasn't wrong. A warm and unfamiliar sensation flooded Harry's body, it was the biggest rush he had ever had, better even than Quidditch.

"Ohhh, Lucius," he said. "Do that again!" But nothing happened. In fact, the pleasure had stopped. Harry turned around, and was confronted with a very angry blonde indeed.

"You-" said Draco, his hands clenched and his voice trembling with anger, "-called me Lucius! That means you either want to be with my father, who is, quite frankly disgusting, I mean have you seen him? He's like forty-something! Either that or you've actually been with him! Which one will it be, Potter? Sick fantasy, or something entirely worse?" Harry slowly backed towards the door, afraid to answer. Draco became, if it was possible, even angrier.

"Get out. Get out of here now, you sick, sick person," Draco screamed, and Harry was willing to comply until he was hit with a wave of inspiration.

"I don't know why you think it's so sick," he said calmly. "It's not like you never slept with him yourself." Judging from Draco's reaction, his guess had been right.

"Who told you?" he asked, in a lethal tone. "Was it him? Was he trying to get back at me?"

"I'm just a very good guesser," Harry replied, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. "Now if you'll excuse me, you incestuous little bastard, I will be off now. 'Night Malfoy. Sweet dreams!"

*

'Dear Mr Potter' began the letter,

'In retrospect of the wonderful marvellous magical shagtastic night we spent together, I would like to meet up with you again. Send word with Severus (the owl, not the scary man) about possible times, dates and venues. Much love, Lucius Malfoy.'

The Lucius screwed the parchment up and threw it at the waste paper basket. It missed by several inches. He then began again.

'Dear Mr Potter,' Or does 'Mr Potter' sound too formal? he thought. Harry, maybe? Or a sexy nickname? Mr Jiggle-pants? Bunnikins? Frowning and biting the end of the quill (which squeaked in pain), he began again.

'Dear Harry,

Fuck me like I've never been fucked before.

Eternally yours,

Luce.'

Maybe not. He screwed the parchment up again and threw it across the room, using a particularly ugly house-elf as a moving target. Finally he settled on a simple letter arranging to meet Harry. As soon as possible.

Lucius flicked his hair behind his ear and twitched slightly after he had tied the letter to Severus' leg. He wasn't obsessed. Nope, not one bit. Not him, not Lucius. No way.

"Ciss, dear, I'm just going to Harry the garden. No, I mean, I'm going to water the Potter. No, I'm going to water the garden."

"We have elves to do that, honey," she replied. Poor man, she thought. He's obsessed. At least it's that cute Potter kid this time, instead of some bloated old geriatric in a green hat. Then she made a mental note to check Lucius' wardrobe for any green hats. Just in case.

*

"Hello, Severus!" said Harry as he saw the owl land on the windowsill of his dormitory.

"Where?" shrieked Ron, woken from his dozing.

"Owl, Ron," Harry explained, pointing at it.

"Oh. I thought you meant the greasy guy."

Harry shook his head at his friend, who had fallen asleep again, and untied the letter from the owl's leg.

'Meet me outside the great hall at eight o'clock tonight. Come alone.' Harry glanced at his watch. It was ten to eight. He got up and grabbed his invisibility cloak. Just in case.

*

"Potter! You...came. How nice!" Far from the cold and sullen tone he had come to expect from male Malfoys, Harry found that Lucius was speaking in a quick and excited manner. He looked around nervously to make sure no-one was watching, and when he was sufficiently satisfied they were alone, he crossed the hallway and stood next to Lucius. Then, the doors of the great hall burst open, and Dumbledore came out, somewhat unusually attired in a pair of sunglasses, Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.

"Ah, Harry!" the old Headmaster exclaimed after squinting at him for a little while. "And you brought a friend!" Who is this, then?"

"It's Mr Malfoy, Professor. Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine, my dear boy!" he blustered cheerfully, then pointed to the sunglasses. "It's just that I think the vision-enhancing charm that I put on these blasted muggle things has worn off!"

"Maybe you ought to go and put your glasses on, Professor," replied Harry, trying not to laugh.

"An excellent idea, Harry!" He trotted off happily in the direction of his office, and Lucius and Harry exchanged looks. After a few minutes, they heard a soft exclamation of "Alas, It appears I have tripped over a suit of armour," from the distance.

"Please come outside, Harry," said Lucius, making a mental note to inform the board of governors that the Headmaster was a loon.

*

The astronomy tower, 8:17pm, GMT.

Up in the astronomy tower, unbeknownst to the two people walking around the lawns of the school, there sat a pale, blonde boy. With a telescope. And a heart full of rage and jealousy.

Ever since Draco had started bringing boys home a few years ago, he had noticed a less than subtle change in his father whenever his new 'friends' were around. Lucius became sexier, even seductive in cases. And he had done everything in his power to lure Draco's partners away from him. Every single boy Draco had ever loved, or even liked, had been stolen by his father. And now, when he thought he had finally found someone that his father would show no interest in whatsoever, his heart had been broken once again. This time it was Potter, the object of Draco's affections since long before they had ever met, the boy he had fallen in love with through books and magazine clippings. The boy he had had to hide his love from because he felt sure that Harry could never feel the same way back.

And what had happened? The sleazy bastard had already slept with Draco's father. Of all the times Lucius had picked him up and kicked him in the balls (emotionally speaking, of course. Not that he hadn't beaten Draco. The rod had not been spared but the child had still been spoilt), this had to be the worst. It was time for some serious revenge. Slytherin style.

*

"You've been so understanding about all of this. I'm really glad I've found someone to talk to about everything. Sometimes it just gets to be too much, I mean, you're in a stable, happy relationship one minute, and crying to your pillow at night because it's all gone terribly wrong the next." Fudge picked up his handkerchief, wiped his tears and blew his nose. Narcissa looked distinctly bored. She absolutely hated the man, but he had come to her crying his eyes out, begging for an insight into Lucius' mind from the woman who knew him best. She had allowed him to waffle for nearly an hour. Now, she was going to give him that insight. And she was going to enjoy it.

"Minster...Cornelius...I'm afraid I can give you no hope. Of all the relationships he's had, the ones that ended in the way that you described never continued much further. He's a perfectly adorable man, but he does have a tendency to temper. And he's as stubborn as a mule! I wouldn't talk to him if I were you, especially if he's still angry. I hear he's pretty proficient at the Cruciatus Curse."

"Oh. I'd better go then. If he found me here...well, there's no telling what he might do." Fudge looked at Narcissa gravely, the kind of look one gives when discussing a particularly volatile inmate of a secure centre for the criminally insane. Something sparked inside of Narcissa.

"You pompous old fool! What right have you to judge him? As if you're perfect! Take that! And that!" Fudge ran from the house, clutching his hat and dodging Narcissa's well-aimed curses.

"So finally zee ugly politician he is gone, mais oui? Can I remove zis silly - how do you say it? - ah yes, underwear?" Narcissa looked indulgently at the almost-nude Frenchman (body of a god, prone to nudism, typical of Narcissa's conquests).

"Bien sûr, Jean-Pierre, bien sûr."

*

"You want to do it again?" said Harry, in a flat tone of disbelief.

"I want to do it again," said Lucius.

"You must be joking. You must be absolutely insane," said Harry. Lucius smiled.

"I have flirted, albeit it briefly, with insanity. In my youth, of course. I was sectioned under the Wizarding Mental Health Act, deemed a danger to the public." Harry raised one eyebrow.

"What did you do that was so dangerous?" Harry asked suspiciously, panic rising in his throat at the thought that he might have lost slept with a madman.

"Nymphomania," replied Lucius matter-of-factly. "But I recovered. I'm fine now. So what were we talking about? Oh yes. I want to have sex with you again." Harry wasn't sure whether it was the word 'want', the word 'sex', or the word 'again' that suggested to him that Lucius might not be entirely recovered.

"What happens if I don't?" he asked.

"Then I give you a dose of my old friend Mr Imperius. Although, if you're controlling them, it's less fun. Maybe Mr Cruciatus would be more appropriate."

"I can fight them. I can fight the curses."

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Frigid."

"Whore."

"True," said Lucius, unable to think up a better comeback.

"I have homework to do. I don't have to deal with horny, middle-aged, fathers of my worst enemies who I have also had sex with." Then he clamped his hand to his mouth as the realisation of what he had admitted to dawned upon him.

"You? You and Draco? I thought you hated him!"

At the worst possible moment, Draco came running towards them, out of breath with his telescope in his hand.

" I can't stop myself any longer. I finally find a guy that I think my father won't sleep with."

Lucius interrupted him.

"I finally find a boy that I think my son won't sleep with."

"And he did!" they both finished together.

Harry could tell something was wrong. The Malfoy men were facing each other, pacing the floor in angry circles. It suddenly reminded Harry of a nature programme he had seen at the Dursleys' house once, a long time ago. He could hear David Attenborough's voice even now.

"And the male antelopes are performing a traditional ritual; after fighting, the winner will mate with the female." But this time it wasn't a female. It was Harry. And that was sick.

"Want to fight for him, Draco?" mocked Lucius. "Are you man enough to? Do you love him? You always were the emotional kind. Just wait until you grow up a bit, you'll soon realise that there is no such thing as love, that sex is just for fun." Draco's lip quivered, and Harry saw his pale eyes brim with tears, but then his expression changed.

"Yes, I do love him. And maybe if you had a bit more compassion you'd realise that love is what matters. You thought it was just about mindless shagging, about the feral desire to please yourself? Hah!" Draco was trying to laugh, but he looked angry, clenching his teeth in a snarl.

"You love him? You love him? You love him? The Boy who Lived? Hah!" replied the older man, his 'Hah!' sounding exactly like Draco's had done. "Do you really think he could love you? This boy, the embodiment of everything that simpering gits like Dumbledore think is good and true, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord? How could he love a twisted, bitter little scrap like you, who writes to his mother about how he never really had a father, how I was never there for him. Potter, this boy, this filth in front of me that I am ashamed to admit is of my noble lineage, is not a good child. He is not even an evil child, as he may have led you to believe. He is a pathetic little sissy, a complete waste of space, and if I had had my way he would have been left to die in a cave somewhere, as is the Malfoy tradition when runts are produced. Bloody Narcissa."

Draco looked as though he could quite easily kill his father, and was reaching for his wand when the man spontaneously combusted right before his eyes. Harry stepped out from behind the smouldering pile of ashes.

"This doesn't mean I like you better," he said, smiling slightly. "But I'm damned if I'm going to just stand here and let your father insult you without cursing him into oblivion." Draco, lost in a moment in which his heart had gone "Squeee!" and overflowed, ran over to Harry and kissed him on the cheek.

"Wow," said Harry, taken aback slightly by the public demonstration of affection.

*

"Bastard!" cried Colin Creevey, as he peered out of the window of the Charms Classroom, where a meeting of the all-male Charms Club was taking place.

"What?" asked his brother from across the room.

"That Malfoy bitch is kissing Harry. My Harry!"

"Your Harry?" asked Dean Thomas in angry astonishment. "Excuse me, Colin. But he's my Harry."

"No way!" shouted Neville. "My bed is almost next to his. I could have had him any time I wanted."

"Yeah right, Neville. Dream on, mate. He'd at least pick a talented wizard. Like me for example," said George Weasley.

"No, George, me," said Fred angrily, and the twins began brawling on the classroom floor.

"Sorry to interrupt you fellows," chimed Professor Flitwick squeakily. "But I do believe he's mine. I do, after all, have the most experience around here. And I taught him everything he knows!"

"What's all this commotion about?" asked Snape, who had just entered the room.

"Potter and Malfoy just kissed on the lawns, Professor. Malfoy and my Harry." Dozen pairs of jealous eyes darted over to Lee Jordan who had made this statement, and the rest of the males in the room joined the twins in the scuffle on the floor. Snape rushed over to the window.

"Potter and Malfoy? Not my Potter?"

"Apparently he's everyone's Potter," replied Flitwick angrily.

*

"Ah," said Dumbledore as he watched the scene through a magic mirror in his office. "It appears that Harry Potter has become a gay icon in the school. Bastard. He's mine."