The Ivory Tower

3

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3

Don't know how you do it

Like there's nothing to it

You just look my way

I lose my composure

Don't know what to say

I'm overwhelmed

"What a catch, Draco: Potter. Who would have thought?"

Harry found he couldn't glare at Blaise, for the hazel eyes held him in an unblinking stare that knew far too much. Besides, he barely knew this Slytherin, and wouldn't judge any of them according to how nasty Draco was to him, as he used to do. There was no escaping or trade of petty insults, what with Blaise present.

"Enjoying your little act of voyeurism, hmm, Potter?" Draco pulled harder on Harry's hair, making the Gryffindor clench his teeth so as not to make a sound of pain, revealing weakness. He would defeat Draco Malfoy with his refusal to give in to the pain, or insults, or anything of the like.

"What made you come here?" asked Blaise, even as Draco muttered a violent expletive beneath his breath.

Averting his gaze to the floor, Harry found he was able to lie without looking the Slytherin in the eye. "I just wanted to study in quiet. The common room was too loud." That last bit, he noted proudly, was actually true. Ron and Hermione's bickering had been too loud. Harry quickly banished thoughts of his friends from his mind, however, for it was too hurtful at the moment. It seemed wrong to think of them in such a hostile atmosphere, when hope was gone and he had gotten himself into the situation, had looked for his enemies on purpose.

On his knees, held captive by his hair, with no where to go, Harry backed up into Draco as Blaise bent down to look him straight in the eye, and then leant to whisper in his ear, "There is no desk. If you really required studying materials, regardless of the Room of Requirement already being in use, a desk or something relating to studying would have appeared. In case you haven't noticed - nothing has appeared. Obviously, you didn't require anything to study with. I don't think the Boy Who Lived should study without a desk, hmm? All a person needs to spy is their own two eyes. Besides that all proof goes against your lame excuse, you wouldn't say the same if Draco wasn't here, would you?"

Harry could barely breathe.

Blaise knew. He knew everything. He knew that a simple glance down would reveal the truth about Harry's state of mind and body; he knew that Harry had thoroughly enjoyed spying, and had come with the purpose of spying of some sort, although not expecting to spy on such intimate, passionate things. He knew that Harry couldn't deny that his fast breathing and lowered gaze were due to more than fear or anger.

But what Blaise didn't know was that Harry was not bothered by watching his school enemy be involved in such activities, and that, in fact, the sight of two notorious Slytherins getting it on was quite...stimulating. Harry could not deny this.

Harry knew that his curiosity had brought him to this, that it had all begun innocently enough with wanting to make sure the Slytherins weren't up to anything. But now it had come to this, and his interest in Blaise and Draco had gradually grown. He could not escape, and he desperately did not want to be found out. There was nothing Harry could do, and this brought a rare feeling of despair inside him. Usually there was a solution to something, even really horrible predicaments. Then again, this predicament was unlike others Harry had faced before. How to avoid letting them know he was randy as hell?

"Let go of me, Malfoy!"

Harry repressed the shiver that silky whisper affected on him. "How about not? I propose we make a compromise, Potter. And no, don't think you'll get away with one of those 'don't tell anyone and we let you leave' things. Oh no. I think instead something more like 'chain you to the bed and torture you till you scream, then let you go with the remembrance of shackles and nightmares for months' sounds much more delightful."

"How is THAT a compromise?"

"Why, simple," Blaise butted in, just before Draco would have replied. "It's a compromise because, instead of torturing you with pain while you're chained, we torture you with pleasure. And you walk--or perhaps crawl--away in utter humiliation, but alive."

Draco let go of Harry's hair, and crouching down, Harry looked up and managed to not miss the utterly entertaining look of supreme horror on Draco's face as the Slytherin King stared across at Blaise. "What the fuck kind of a proposal is THAT? We don't want him like that! Potter is gross enough as is with his tacky clothes on."

Fingering the sleeve of Harry's shirt, Blaise murmured thoughtfully, "Are you sure about that? After all, he does play Quidditch. And just think of it--he'll be utterly humiliated and angry. Chained and taken by his worst enemy! His first time, probably his first time doing more than snogging, and with me and you, of all his worst nightmares. It will be fun! Especially as he's a virgin, and Harry bloody Potter."

Repressing the urge to scream in rage or collapse with exhaustion, Harry bit his lip, looking back and forth apprehensively from Draco to Blaise. Did they really mean it? No, no way. He was just being paranoid about it. But then why was Draco grinning in an all too malicious way?

One word sealed his fate.

"Deal," said Draco, and the next thing he knew, Harry was pulled onto the bed, even as the clink of handcuffs met his ears and the metal chilled his skin. Yelping in protest, Harry's eyes widened as he saw the chains attached to the cuffs on his wrist, and that the still evilly grinning Draco was securing the chains to the bedposts.

Draco turned to look at Blaise, flipping back his hair in a way that disturbingly looked all too frequently practiced. "What about his waist? Do we pin him down there, too?"

"No," replied Blaise, grinning. "He needs to feel your mouth everywhere. And I'll do the job of making sure his moans and squeals of pleasure are accompanied by semi-groans of pain."

A hurt expression twisted Draco's features. "What if I want to make him groan in pain?"

"Don't worry, Draco. We'll take turns."

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HERMIONE'S POV

"Hermione? Where's Harry?"

"I don't know Ron, shh. I'm studying."

Frowning, Ron went to stand behind Hermione, looking over her shoulder to look at what she was studying.

"Transfiguration? Oh, c'mon, Hermione, that stuff is easy for you! You don't even need to study. Help me find Harry."

Hermione turned around to look at Ron. A light flush colored his cheeks, making the many freckles blend together. His hair was mussed from his constant scratching at his scalp, and there was a hole in one sleeve of his robes. The boy seemed to get taller every day.

"Why are you so eager to find Harry?"

"Well, I...I think he's angry with me. I've barely seen or talked to him all day, and earlier when we were waiting for you outside of the classroom, he didn't talk to or look at me at all. I think it might have something to do with the whole Malfoy thing after Dumbledore made that announcement, but...I don't get it. Do you, Herm?"

Smiling, Hermione patted the place next to her, and as Ron sat down, she said, "Well, Ron, he's not angry with you, but he does have a lot on his mind, what with everything happening with the Committee. He always feels so responsible for everything, you know? Anyway, I think what you said that day was...awfully uncalled for, and well, Ron, I'm not going to chew you out, but I want to talk to you about it. Someone I know really well was telling me the other day about how maybe all the Slytherins aren't so bad, and you see..."

And so the half hour progressed, with Hermione trying her best to make Ron see such discriminatory acts against the Slytherins from a different point of view. She did it for Harry's sake, of course, and for her own enjoyment at seeing the freckled boy's facial expression change every five seconds.

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HARRY'S POV

Biting his lip hard, Harry suppressed the groan of arousal that threatened to spill from his lips. He lay on the bed, still chained, and shirtless. Once he was firmly secured and there was no chance of him escaping, and he was rendered wandless, Blaise had taken great pleasure in relieving Harry of his robes, jumper, and t-shirt, while all the while Draco watched in a mix of discomfort and amusement.

The cuffs bit coldly against Harry's skin, chafing his wrists as he tried again and again to escape. The Slytherins had been about to get to torturing him, but had become distracted by each other, and, ironically enough, it was watching the two boys snog and fondle each other from opposite sides of him that had given Harry his current erection and acute need to verbalize such forbidden pleasure.

Finally unable to hold it in, lip bleeding, Harry groaned loudly when Blaise's leg moved ever so slightly to press a knee at his crotch. Then Draco pulled reluctantly away from a furious kiss with Blaise, the sight of that mouth making Harry painfully aware of his arousal. Closing his eyes tightly, knowing that they both stared at him, Harry's cheeks burned in humiliation as he wriggled--an attempt to distract himself, as escape was now obviously impossible.

Leaning over Harry, Draco's silky whisper aroused him even more, but his words caused the fear from being found out to broil to anger. "Captivated, you lie helpless and submissive, an unruly creature that we will tame with such ferocity you won't know if it's the pleasure or pain that you long for."

Snarling in protest, Harry arched his back in reenergized attempts to escape or at least unsettle the Slytherin. He refused to be treated as an animal, as something to be owned and toyed with. There was no way he would allow Draco Malfoy to defeat him. Taunts would get nowhere. Harry firmly refused to let his pride and bravery be stripped from him--all their attempts to make him feel ashamed would be fruitless, he vowed.

But then a hand slid slowly up Harry's torso, the warmth of another's skin there unfamiliar, and Draco lunged downward to meet Harry's cut and bloodied lips with the bruising force of his own. Defiant, Harry tried to push Draco away, but to no avail, forced to allow that smooth, full mouth to press harder and harder against his own.

It was unlike any kiss Harry had ever been given. It hurt for what seemed like forever, and yet there was no way to deny that that mouth and tongue's brush against his lips was a caress, however harsh. It seemed like that mouth drank every drop of energy and anger from Harry's body, as well as every breath, for suddenly, even as he gasped for air, his gasp transformed into a betraying moan of satisfaction. Harry found that kissing, if done right, was the sort of thing one wanted to do over and over again.

Even as Draco's tongue, hot, quick, and hungry, slid into the cavern of Harry's mouth, the bite of Blaise's teeth, delightful, and yet giving shocks of pain to Harry every few seconds, nipped trails here and there on Harry's skin.

They were emblazoning their imprints upon him, leaving marks inerasable as they memorized his every curve with parts of their own bodies, firmly showing him that the burning fire inside him was what he had been so sorely missing. Caught between the need to fight and the urge to succumb to lust, Harry's tongue swiped at Draco's in an attempt to respond to the pleasure and simultaneously do battle.

Fury blazed through Harry as, kiss finished, Draco withdrew, and throwing back his head, the boy laughed loudly. It was a laugh that brought shivers down Harry's spine. Furious with himself for showing weakness, as well as for being laughed at, Harry squirmed beneath Draco and against the cuffs. He knocked Blaise's chin hard with his knee when the Slytherin tried to move in closer.

Satisfied seeing both Slytherins now glaring at him, Harry sat up to the best of his abilities and glared back at them. As he did he couldn't help but notice details. Draco's body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his lips swollen and slightly bruised-looking. That fair hair of his stood out from his pale face in a messy flurry of wisps. The boxers he wore, Harry could tell, were silk, and the body upon him was toned from years spent playing Quidditch. The hands were delicate and aristocratic, but regardless of repeated nail manicuring and other unnecessary grooming, Draco's knuckles were the red and bruised of hands that repeatedly strived to catch a Snitch; the skin of his palms was rough and callused against Harry's chest.

Although not an altogether contrast from his pale, pointed, cunning Housemate, Blaise was different in appearance and demeanor from Draco. While the Slytherin King sauntered around like he ruled not only his common room, but also the entire castle, Blaise slinked around in the shadows. He rarely met gazes with anyone, but when he did, it was enough to make a game of stare against those fearsome eyes end soon. Unless, of course, that person happened to be someone like Harry, who was accustomed to stares, hostile and friendly, and never had backed down from a challenge given in a glance.

Blaise had a habit, as well as sinking into shadows, of sinking into his clothes. Although not baggy or messy like Harry's, the clothes he wore were also simple and somehow managed to cover almost every inch of his skin, causing him to easily blend in, what with the blacks and dark grays. His coat was long and thick, his boots almost knee high, and his hair long, so it seemed as if the only thing really visible of Blaise was that narrow, passively wise face with those predatory, analyzing eyes. When Blaise looked at Harry, it seemed as if the boy could read his very soul, everything deep within him, and when that gaze swept away, it left Harry breathless, wondering if the Slytherin had taken away all those eyes had seen, and if they had, how he would ever get them back.

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HERMIONE'S POV

Stepping out of the common room, Hermione looked around, brows furrowed in worry. Where was Harry? It had been an half an hour since either her or Ron, as well as, apparently, most of the other Gryffindors, had seen him. What had made him walk off, and why had he been gone so long? She knew he wasn't at Quidditch practice, for that started in a half an hour, and there was nowhere else to go, really, since dinner was afterwards.

After walking up a stairway and past a few doors, Hermione rounded a corner to find Harry walking slowly towards her. His steps heavy, head held down, the boy's face was flushed, his eyes half closed, face haggard in a way that spoke of more than just immense exhaustion.

Running towards him, Hermione quickly caught Harry as he fell against her. Muttering worried questions, she quickly put a hand to his forehead. It was burning. Was this a just a horrid fever, or Harry's scar? Brow furrowed in worry, Hermione quickly got about to alerting the staff about Harry's condition and getting her friend to the hospital wing.