Cho Must Die a Horrible, Painful Death

Chapter Ten: The Naughty Things a Parselmouth Can Do

Harry's palm against Draco's bare hip felt sweaty and sticky, but coupled with the sensation of Harry's tongue, it seemed erotic and not as uncomfortable as it might be.

Draco threw his head back and flailed his arms about, searching for something on which to brace himself. Though Potter had only just started, Draco was already feeling a bit weak in the knees and didn't want to fall should his legs give out. Unfortunately, Draco found himself standing in the middle of the bathroom with nothing tangible nearby. He'd have to settle for clasping onto Potter.

He splayed the fingers of his right hand in Harry's messy black curls and grabbed hold of them. Dear God - Potter did condition well. Though they looked a mess from afar, his hair was soft to the touch and not at all tangled as Draco had expected.

Harry glanced up at Draco at the added pressure, his green eyes peering over the rim of his clunky glasses.

Why'd he have to look up? Now Draco *really* knew that this as real - Harry Potter was going down on him. Shouldn't he be protesting? He didn't like this; he was being violated, he - fuck - he loved every bloody second of it. Pansy was never this good; Potter was a fucking expert.

"God, yes Potter!" Draco groaned, slapping his left hand over his mouth as soon as the words escaped his lips, as if to hold them back. Why did he say that? He wasn't supposed to let Potter know that he had power over him.

Jesus Christ - was he talking with Draco *in* his mouth? Draco could feel the vibration from Harry's vocal chords in the back of his throat and his tongue was doing some very naughty things to him - well, as much naughtier than before as they could be. He strained to hear what Harry was saying.

It wasn't in a language Draco understood, that much was sure. Or maybe he was losing all ability to speak English in lieu of the situation.

Harry moved back and continued to converse against him.

Nope, that definitely wasn't English. It was... it was -

"Potter! Are you speaking fucking Parseltongue?" Draco spat.

Harry stopped. Draco whimpered at the loss of pressure.

"I didn't mean to," Harry mumbled as he wiped his mouth with his hand. "You, um, - you have a snake tattoo on your hip. I guess I just... sorry."

"It's not a snake you idiot - it's the sign of the Slytherin house. A serpant."

"Oh." Harry blushed and looked away.

"Well, keep the fuck on, Potter," Draco demanded. "That was bloody brilliant."

Harry smiled sheepishly and went back to what he was doing. Draco sighed contentedly. Where had Potter learned this? And why did he still have his clothes on?

"Potter!" Draco commanded.

"Hmm?" Harry questioned and looked up at Draco, but didn't abandon his pursuits.

"Take your clothes off."

"What?" Harry pulled back from Draco and stumbled in an effort to stand.

"I said take your clothes off. I refuse to be the only one naked here."

"You're not..."

"Naked? I have my trousers round my knees and my friendlier parts in your mouth. I'd say that makes me quite naked. Now have at it, Potter."

Harry's mouth flapped open and shut like a fish out of water, then he nodded numbly. He clumsily started to unknot his tie and pull his elbows towards his sides so he could get his vest off. He did this while toeing his shoes off, hopping around on one foot as he tried to coordinate it all.

Potter was so adorable when he was nervous. Adorable? No - sexy. He was hot, so shag-worthy. Fuck. No he wasn't - he was stupid prat who was taking altogether too much time getting his clothes off.

"Christ, Potter! I don't see how you ever get anything done at all, at the rate you're going," Draco chided Harry and grabbed hold of him harshly.

"Arms up!" Draco demanded, yanking the sweater vest over the boy's head as he complied. He yanked down the zipper on Harry's trousers and forcefully pushed down both his trousers and boxer shorts in one go.

Harry stepped out of the garments clumsily and Malfoy tossed them aside before standing back up. On the way, he noticed that Potter was covering himself nervously, and Draco strained even further, if possible. Fuck. This was just a convenient blow job, Draco told himself, not a turn on. Harry Potter was not a turn on. Hell - the only reason Draco wanted him naked at all was because he knew it would embarrass the hell out of the smug Gryffindor, not to mention degrade him a bit.

The fact that seeing the boy naked quickened Draco's heartbeat a bit was just a side affect. No big deal at all. For all he knew, Potter had used another nasty charm on him. He'd already messed with his memory and had him waking with a hard-on every morning, why not use a spell to make Draco think he actually liked this?

"You're incapable of the simplest things, you half wit." Draco shook himself from his internal rationalization and finished Harry off by unbuttoning his shirt, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it aside. "I don't see how you ever defeated the Dark Lord, unless he's as daft as you are..." Draco drifted off in thought. "On the other hand, yes, I do see. Okay, down you go again."

Draco pushed down on Harry's shoulders, sending him to his knees.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry questioned indignantly, looking up at Draco with his eyes narrowed.

"What do you think it means? It means you're going to put your mouth back where it belongs - on me."

"Not that, Malfoy, the bit about Voldemort."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It means nothing, Potter. Less prattling, more sucking."

"No! It does mean something," Harry smirked. "You think he's daft."

"And if I do?" Draco huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

"Then you wouldn't be the sheep I thought you were."

"Shut up Potter. Talk of Voldemort and farm animals does nothing for my libido."

"Doesn't look like it to me...do you always get this excited discussing evil Overlords?"

"I am *not* excited!"

"Malfoy, you're leaking."

"I am NOT leaking!!! Malfoys do not leak. We...secrete."

"Secrete?"

"Yes Potter! Now fucking get to taking care of my... secretion."

Harry shook his head with disdain and went back to work.

Dear God - Potter was going at him like he would an ice lolly. Draco wondered where Potter had learned this. Sure, he'd heard that those two Gryffindor prats Finnegan and Thomas were poufs, but somehow he couldn't picture a Gryffindor teaching orgy. They were too prim and proper for that kind of thing.

Maybe someone from another house? Probably a Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff ponce would be hard and begging for The Boy That Sucked (Well) before you could say "Ooh, something shiny!"

But as far as he'd heard, Potter only had been with girls. Draco and everyone else knew about the Chang disaster, but it was sure that Potter had learned nothing about blow jobs from her - she was rubbish at it. No matter what she tried to tell Draco, he just couldn't buy tears as an excellent lubricant.

And the word all through sixth year was that Potter hadn't gone anywhere near a girl. That's when the rumors started that he might be a pouf. But no one could confirm that he had actually been with any boys, so where had he learned this? Who could have -

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed at the sudden loss of warmth as Harry retreated. "What are you.... Oh, yes, yes, that's brilliant, Potter."

This gave new meaning to the term blow job - Potter was blowing air gently over Draco's lower body, moist from Potter's earlier ministrations. This produced a pleasant cooling sensation. But it wouldn't get him off.

"Potter, as lovely as I find your creative efforts to be different, I would appreciate it if you go back to sucking me off, okay?"

He nodded numbly and in a moment Draco found himself in the warm recesses of Potter's mouth once more.

"You know, Potter - uh, yeah - you're really - mmmm - quite good at this." Draco spoke snarkily through his arousal. "I wonder how many boys you had to get off with before you got this good. I bet you've had every boy in Gryffindor, which, I must say, is a bit of a turn on. So, Potter - did Weasel scream your name, or was it mine?"

"Oh, yes," Draco muttered as Harry mumbled deep in his throat. "Mmmmnnnn... hey, fuck!" Draco jumped back from Harry. "You bit me, Potter. You actually fucking bit me!"

"I didn't bite you Malfoy, you drama queen," Harry retorted.

"There were definitely teeth involved, Potter."

"I barely scraped you... besides, you deserved it, you prat!" Harry spat at him, wiping at his mouth and staring at Draco, eyes aflame. "How dare you talk about my friends like that, you bloody sodding arsehole!"

"Touchy, are we?" Draco smirked. "But, really, Potter - "scraping" that hard - not fucking cool!" His smirk shifted to a sly grin. "But that nice little technique you used earlier was lovely. You might like to practice a bit more. I don't know about you, but NOW would be a lovely fucking time." Draco snapped his fingers and pointed to his groin.

"We're not finished with this, Malfoy," Harry seethed.

"Well," Draco rolled his eyes, "obviously not."

"Not *that*," Harry rolled his eyes back.

"You're going to finish *that* before I'll discuss anything further, Potter."

Harry shot Draco a look before returning to his pursuits. He went at it with such fervor, that Draco was knocked back on his heels. Thrusting a hand into the Gryffindor's dark curls, he steadied himself.

"Christ, yes Potter!" Draco cried out, finding himself beyond all rational thought.

"I... um... yeah..." Draco trailed off and eventually chose to remain silent.

******

Harry couldn't believe that he was doing this. Here he was on his knees, holding onto Draco Malfoy's hips until he was practically white at the knuckles, and he was doing horribly naughty things to the other boy with his mouth.

Hermione hadn't told him how uncomfortable this would be. Malfoy was of a reasonable size, so Harry's mouth was open a good deal, his jaw popped in such a way that after five minutes or so, Harry's entire mouth ached. Moreover, Malfoy had become a bit aggressive, and was currently rocking his hips in rhythm to the Gryffindor's movements. Harry kept trying not to gag. Hermione had told him something about swallowing, with which he was having a tough time, what with the total lack of air that he was receiving.

At least Malfoy had stopped talking. The last thing Harry needed while he was trying to be sexy and alluring was being reminded of how much he hated Malfoy, the snarky bastard. Currently, the only sounds coming from Malfoy were the occasional unintelligible murmur and an odd moan here and there.

From Malfoy's moans and fervent exclamations of "fuck yes," and "God Potter," Harry gathered that he was doing all right. And once he got past the initial discomfort, he almost liked this. Malfoy may not have tasted quite like an ice lolly, but he certainly did have his own appealing taste, of sorts.

Harry had never been overly keen on sweets, anyway, having not gotten many as a child. He had always preferred salty things, like crisps. Malfoy tasted... tangy, yet sophisticated, like a delicacy.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Malfoy was grunting now and had settled into a steady rhythm.

So what did this all mean? Harry was incredibly aware that pretty soon Malfoy would finish, and they would suddenly be at a point at which they had never been before. Up til now, it had just been teasing, flirting, taunting. It doesn't count if he didn't finish. Harry had said that before, hadn't he? Well, this was about to count.

Then what? Did he want a relationship with Malfoy? He didn't think so. Well, probably not. How would he go about doing that anyway? He somehow couldn't picture them dating, giving into all the corny traditions of hand holding, gifts, and making out at the movies. Though the making out part did sound nice.

But he still hated him; he definitely did. Malfoy had been nothing but a constant source of irritation for Harry for the past six years. He was always there, sneering at Harry and making life at Hogwarts impossible. His sole occupation seemed to be to torment Harry at every possible moment. And whether Harry liked it or not, it was impossible to have a civilized conversation with him; no matter what Harry did, Malfoy always got into a flap.

And as far as he was concerned, it had always been like this and always would be. But then the sex got in the way. Well, not actual sex, just sex in general. He was attracted to Malfoy, that was quite obvious at this point, and Harry's wanting to shag him was a moot point.

At first, Harry had thought he could keep real life and a sex life separate, but he was beginning to think that wasn't possible. How could who you were shagging - the person who occupied your thoughts twenty-four hours a day - not affect the other parts of your life? Harry couldn't play the hero, fighting a war against Voldemort, and go about shagging Malfoy as well. They were past the intangible bits - the harmless flirting and teasing. It was about to be real, and they would have to deal with the consequences.

At that moment, most appropriately, Draco cried out, "Potter!"

Harry's eyes went wide and he panicked, trying to pull away. Malfoy held him fast, though. Harry forced his throat muscles to swallow, though he grimaced at the sour taste.

Okay, they would have to work on that finish if they were to continue with this shagging thing.

Malfoy threw his head back in satisfaction and smiled wearily.

"That," he articulated, "was fucking brilliant Potter."

Harry leaned back on his haunches, massaging his aching jaw with his hands and gazing up at Malfoy skeptically. "A compliment from you? That's rich."

"Don't look so pleased," Malfoy placed his hands upon his hips, "I'm always a bit off after orgasm. You know, a bit out of my head and the like. Don't worry, Potter, in every other way you are still entirely inadequate."

"Thanks," Harry answered wryly.

They both fell silent.

"Well." Draco huffed nervously and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"Well," Harry countered, looking away from Malfoy.

After realizing that he must look ridiculous, still being on his knees, Harry got up. For a moment he was torn between standing with his hands on his hips, showing Malfoy that he was every bit as manly as he, and covering himself with his hands. In the end, he went for the former, standing with one hip cocked to the side and raising an eyebrow at Malfoy expectantly. He could play at this sexy thing as well as anyone, right?

"I really hope you weren't expecting any reciprocation, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "because, frankly, I'm not really keen."

"Not keen?" Harry seethed. "What do you mean, you're not fucking keen?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Draco looked around nonchalantly. "Just don't feel like it, really. After all, it is you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, it's me! Do you think you're a bloody picnic? Fuck off, Malfoy!"

Instead of responding, Malfoy simply smirked. Harry snapped.

"Why do you always have to be such an arse?" He threw his hands up as seethed at Malfoy, who looked pleased at having got a rise out of the Gryffindor.

"You stand there, all snarky and superior, and all you ever have to say is something cutting and negative. I don't see how you have any friends at all," he paused. "Do you have any friends, Malfoy?" Harry gestured at Malfoy to answer this, although it was clearly meant as a rhetorical question.

"You know," he continued, softening his tone slightly, though not in a reassuring way, "I don't think you do. Because nobody likes you." Harry finished harshly.

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Harry cut him off.

"No! You always have to say something, don't you? Well, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear about what your father thinks, or how stupid you find me, or how your fucking Lord Voldemort is going to kill me. It's old, Malfoy. And I'm just sick of it! And in case you haven't noticed Malfoy, your father is in Azkaban for attempted murder, I'm in the same bloody NEWTs level courses as you, and I bloody well know that Voldemort is going to kill me, thank you very much. I don't need to hear it from you."

"Well, Potter," Draco finally managed to get a word in edgewise, "allow me to interrupt your little tirade for a moment, if I may."

Harry simply narrowed his eyes at him and stood trying to catch his breath and compose himself.

"Right. Lovely." Malfoy smirked. "You're very entertaining when you get worked up, you know. I was just waiting for a vein to pop or something."

Malfoy took a step towards Harry, smirking. "Don't worry, Potter, if you want a blow job, I'll oblige. No need to shout about it."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Did you hear anything that I said? You... I don't get you. You go on and on about being so superior to everyone, but then you can be so dense."

"Some people, Potter," Draco suddenly spat, losing the amused front from a moment before, "simply choose to ignore the more crude and unpleasant effects of social interaction. I'm not dense - I'm guarded, you idiot."

"Guarded? Is that a new word for 'being a poncy self-absorbed arsehole'?" Harry sneered at him.

"God Potter, with all the schooling we get, I'd expect you to have a wider vocabulary," Draco returned wittily.

"Stop being funny, Malfoy," Harry pleaded crossly. "Can't you just stop and be serious for one minute?"

"Serious about what?"

"Serious about the fact that we're standing in the Prefect's bathroom, naked, and you've just had your... erm, 'manhood' in my mouth," Harry proclaimed, throwing his arms up. He caught the bemused look on Malfoy's face and calmed down. "I seem to... fancy you, and you seem to fancy me as well. We have a serious problem."

"Sure as hell does sound like a serious problem, Potter. You seem to think that I fancy you. You're mad," Draco wagged his finger at Harry and shook his head facetiously.

"I'm not mad, I'm trying to have a serious, civilized conversation with you and you just don't get it."

"You call that a civilized conversation?" Draco pointed emphatically to his side and arched his eyebrows. "What do you call it when you're not yelling erratically at the top of your voice? Dainty whispering?"

"Please, Malfoy, you wouldn't know how to carry on a civilized conversation if it came up and bit you in the arse."

"First of all, Potter, you're really crude, you know that? And second, I'm a Malfoy, raised to the highest social standards. I could kick your arse in the civilized conversation department."

"It doesn't count as civilized conversation when you smirk and condescend to the person, carefully insulting them through humor," Harry countered archly.

"Maybe not where you come from." Draco smacked his lips together haughtily. "Afterall, growing up in a hovel with dirty Muggles does tend to skew one's perception of the social graces."

"What do you know about 'where I come from'?" Harry sneered.

"I know that you grew up with... Muggles," he emphasized derisively, "and that, judging from your bizarrely misguided hero complex, that they kissed your arse every way to Sunday for ten years."

"Then you clearly know nothing about me, Malfoy, if that's what you think."

"What? Did they dare to ignore poor, precious Potter? What a pity. Why don't you cry about it?" He waggled his eyebrows up and down once in challenge.

Harry lunged forward and shoved Malfoy back a good five feet against the marble wall. "Don't you dare presume to know me!" He pinned Malfoy's lower body against the wall with his hips and weight, and held him fast by the shoulders with his hands.

Malfoy whimpered slightly at the contact, and Harry cursed his arousal. For a moment, the Slytherin looked torn between anger and another swell of arousal himself, but before Harry could discern which it was, Malfoy sneered at him defiantly and pushed back against him.

Pressing his fingers dangerously close to Malfoy's windpipe, Harry scowled at him and pushed him up against the marble one more time for good measure. Malfoy gasped, his eyes bulging in shock and pain, before he settled his gaze on Harry, torn between defiance and fear.

"You've come unhinged, you psycho!" Draco rasped, struggling against the boy who had made it clear, time and time again, that he was stronger.

"What do you think you know about my family? What do you think happened to me after Voldemort," he paused for emphasis before hissing, "your Lord, murdered my parents?"

Malfoy half shrugged, as best he could, his eyes flaring with definite anger this time.

"Yes, Malfoy, Dumbledore whisked me off to a Muggle paradise, where my family worshiped the ground I walked on. That makes sense. That's why I hate going home. Why I come to school every year wearing oversized hand-me-down clothes. Why the best I can get for a Christmas present from them is one of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Because I'm treated like a hero at home."

Harry glared at him. "You have the worst fucking deduction skills I've ever seen. You're completely ignorant about anything going on around you if it has nothing to do with your precious ego."

Harry ceased his ranting, waiting for a response from Malfoy.

"He's not my Lord," Malfoy started in a small but defiant voice.

"What?" Harry questioned incredulously.

"He's not my fucking Lord!" Malfoy almost shrieked this time, though Harry's hold on his throat was obstructing the air in such a way that it came out no louder than a squeak.

"You're one to talk about prejudice, Potter," he hissed. "You make all sorts of presumptions about me based on my father. Do you think that's any different? That because you're Saint Potter, with sparkling morals and courage, that your view of things isn't fucking skewed? Stop being such a hypocrite and get your hands off me!"

This time when Draco pushed, Harry relinquished his hold and stepped back several feet. He crossed his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes at the blonde angrily.

"I don't need to look to your father to make presumptions about you, Malfoy. I need only look at you. I make judgments about you, based on your actions," Harry sneered at him. "You practically have 'Die Mudblood, Die' tattooed on your forehead. It's more than a fair assumption that you're a Death Eater," he paused, and peered at Draco's left arm.

"Can I not see it because it's not there, or because Voldemort isn't snapping his fingers for you just now?"

"Fuck off."

"What?" Harry smirked at him. "Can't handle the tough questions? You can't accuse me of presumption, of hypocrisy, if you actually have the Mark. What's the answer, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's mouth was set in a straight line and he was visibly straining against his anger. Then, suddenly, he looked confused for a moment and then smiled wickedly.

"Why are you here, Potter?"

Harry looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Seriously," he continued, "why would Harry Potter want to shag a Death Eater? Why would Dumbledore's prodigy want to suck Draco Malfoy off? It all seems a bit funny to me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "Or maybe you want to feel a bit closer to the dark side. Maybe you're not so opposed to Voldemort, after all?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Now who can't handle the tough questions?"

Harry breathed roughly through his nostrils, incensed at Malfoy's questioning.

"Maybe I just needed some, and you were convenient."

"You think I'd actually let you get some of anything from me, Potter? I'm not a pouf like you," Draco spat the word 'pouf' out as if it were a vermin on the tip of his tongue.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You were practically begging me for it last week." He raised an eyebrow defiantly. "You're as queer as I am."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry, quietly stewing.

"No more of this, Potter," he spat suddenly. "No more cryptic messages, no more late night trysts in the Prefects' Bathroom, no more kissing, no more touching." He shook his head in disgust. "You're a filthy pouf and you'd do good never to come near me again."

Malfoy, his clothes bundled in his arms, stalked out of the Prefects' Bathroom naked for the second time in a few short weeks.

End Chapter Ten