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He heard them first, and flushed at the sounds, which really couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Indistinct whispers, followed by wet sounds of the sort that mouths make sliding across skin, followed by low moans. Harry would have gone another way, if there was another way to go. If he'd known what he would see when he turned the corner, he wouldn't have gone another step further, even if it meant spending the night out of his dorm. But once he saw them, it was too late to go back.
Harry prayed that it was an illusion, a nasty practical joke, an evil horrible, awful spell. He knew they couldn't see him, even if they'd been paying attention to things other than lips, and oh god, tongues, and skin slick enough to shine strangely in the candlelight. Harry was wearing his very-useful-every-time-except-this-one Invisibility Cloak - convenient for slipping back to the Gryffindor Tower after assignations elsewhere. Assignations elsewhere, as in not in public, as in not -
He tried not to watch, but like any innocent bystander to a horrible car, bus, or cauldron accident, Harry couldn't look away. Ron was facing the wall, which at least eliminated the chance of him seeing any, um, bits (bad thought, bad thought). Except it also meant that he had a clear view of Ron's arse, and the smallish, sturdy, undeniably male hands with a firm grasp on it. Plus, it decreased the chance that Ron was an unwilling participant in such a really deeply wrong and disturbing thing, since usually the unwilling participant would have to be the one up against the wall, not the one doing the (bloody hell!) wall-directed thrusting.
Later, Harry would consider what sort of catastrophe would have to occur for him to feel that Ron being the victim of sexual assault would be preferable. For now, he was too focused on the catastrophe at hand to worry about it.
The catastrophe was part and parcel of the third, and most crucial downside to not being able to see Ron's face, namely Harry's all-too-clear picture of Ron's partner. Partner? Boyfriend? "Fuck-buddy, lover, darling, fair-haired boy," came the extremely annoying sing-song voice from some disturbingly well-lit recess of his mind. Harry resolved to stay far away from the thesaurus in the future, no matter how much he needed a synonym for "despicable" - a word that applied quite nicely, in fact, to the fair-haired boy in question - a gasping, flushed, undeniably hot Draco Malfoy.
While Draco's (shapely) hands were busy with Ron's (shapely) arse (shut up, brain), Ron's hands seemed to be on Draco's back under his unbuttoned shirt, and Ron was - oh, don't, Ron, you're exposing your neck to him, that can't be a good idea, he'll rip your throat out or something - bending to follow his hands with his mouth. Ron put one hand against the wall for support, and trailed his tongue down Draco's chest, pausing to bite at one nipple. Harry tried not to wonder what color the nipple (Draco's nipple, Malfoy's nipple) would be in better light.
Now he was heading - no, no, Ron, oh Merlin, get off your knees! Harry stifled a horrified gasp with his fist, and then reached out blindly for support. He managed to grab hold of the nearby wall before losing his balance. His eyes didn't leave the two boys for a second.
Ron turned his head to look up at Draco briefly. Harry couldn't see his expression, and couldn't imagine what it could possibly be to make Draco smile like that. It was kind of soft, and almost sweet. It was absolutely horrifying. Harry wanted to throw up. At least he hoped that was what the falling sensation in the pit of his stomach meant.
Ron was having trouble getting through Draco's numerous layers of clothing, and that was Harry's salvation. The pause in the action gave him time to collect himself and then drag himself off down the hall (luckily, in the proper direction), going so quickly he knocked a priceless artifact of some kind over with a distinctive clatter.
Ron and Draco started at the sound, and Draco made to push Ron away. Ron grinned up at him, "Don't worry, it's probably just Mrs. Norris, and no one can see us anyway. You put up that shielding spell, right?"
"Of course. What do you take me for, Longbottom?" Draco rolled his eyes as Ron went back to what he had been doing, and mourned how far he'd come down in the world. Putting up a selective shielding spell was hardly evil at all, really.
The sacrifices he made for a good blowjob.
It was a week later when Harry finally found the courage to bring up the Incident, as he was now referring to it, with Ron. This happened before he had managed to even look Ron in the face, let alone talk to him normally, which was, in retrospect, not the best idea. He could tell that Ron thought Harry was mad at him for something, but he had no idea what, and since Harry wouldn't (couldn't) tell him, Ron was getting a bit miffed himself.
When Harry pulled him to the side after class one afternoon, Ron looked like he was about to explode, but Harry cut him off before he got a full word out. Not that Harry managed to say anything coherent.
"Draco - you - hallway - what the fuck - how could you? - evil little bastard!"
"Are you calling me an evil little bastard? If anyone's little here -"
"No, not you, you dunce, Draco!"
"Wha- . . . What does Draco have to do with anything? I mean, of course he's an evil little bastard, haven't I always said so?" He seemed ready to go on an anti-Draco tirade, and Harry thought that if Ron got any further with it, he might explode.
"Don't even try, Ron. I saw you."
"You . . .?"
"I saw you. In the hallway. A week ago yesterday." And six days ago, and five days ago, and four - in fact, every day since, Ron and Draco had showed up in Harry's dreams, or, as he kept trying to convince himself, horrible, awful nightmares. Of course, that would have been easier if he hadn't let the memories linger on for quite some time after awakening . . . Perhaps he was a masochist. The Dursleys did call masturbation self-abuse. That was it, he was abusing himself with such sordid, repulsive images. Torture, really. Quite terrible. He should be in therapy.
A tentative voice called him out of his reverie. "Harry?" Oops. He'd gotten distracted, but he easily slipped back on track. Ron. Draco. Right.
"You and Draco, and you were . . . You were -" Harry shuddered, remembering. "Forget it. Just forget it, and let's not ever talk about it again, and we'll both pretend it never happened. Got it?"
"Wait, you saw us? In the hallway? With . . . umm . . . doing, um, stuff?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it, or think about it, or dream about it, or anything else about it ever again, so drop it, Ron!"
"Dream about it? No, I don't want to know. But -- you saw us? What were we doing?"
Harry glared, but Ron glared right back, and Harry knew which of the two of them was more stubborn, not to mention more ruthless in extracting any information he needed, and it wasn't him. "You were kissing, and his hands were, you know." At this point, Harry gestured vaguely at Ron's midsection, "and then, you started licking him, and I can't imagine anything more disgusting. I mean, Ron! Malfoy? What were you thinking?"
"Oh, that poncy little bastard! I'm going to kick his arse! No, I'm going to kill him! No, I'm going to kick his arse, and then I'm going to kill him."
"Yes, Ron, we've known since first year that Malfoy is definitely evil, and deserves arse-kicking at best. So why were you shagging him up against a wall?"
"He's going to get it, the prick! He promised! I trusted him!"
"You trusted Malfoy?"
"It won't happen again," Ron muttered darkly. "But, fuck, no one was supposed to be able to see! I mean, it's not like it would do his reputation any more good than mine if this got around, you know?"
"Since when do you care about Malfoy's reputation?"
"Well, I don't, exactly, but if he lost his standing with the Slytherins, he'd be really mad, and especially mad at me, and when he's mad he uses teeth, and let me tell you, some people might be into that, but -"
"RON!"
Ron had the grace to look ashamed. "Um, sorry."
"I do not want to know anything about Malfoy's sexual techniques. I would rather not know that Malfoy has sexual techniques. And if you hadn't been having sex with him in the hallway, I wouldn't have to think about Malfoy's sex life at all!"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to have wounded your virgin ears, I was just having a minor crisis here, what with the possibility that everyone and his brother saw me and Malfoy going at it all over the school!"
"All over the . . ." Why the first image that brought up was Draco bent over his Potions desk, followed promptly by the two of them in the Great Hall on top of one of the tables, Harry would never know. He shook his head rapidly in a futile attempt to erase the repugnant image (and, purely coincidentally, to distract himself from his sudden erection).
"Come on, I'm going to give the bastard a piece of my mind before I cut him into tiny pieces and feed him to his owl!"
And that was how Harry Potter found himself being dragged off to confront the last person he wanted to see anytime soon - Draco Malfoy.
"You altered the shielding spell so `certain people' could see through it?"
"Yes, and . . .?"
"And what made you think that could possibly be a good idea, Malfoy?"
"Oh, it makes me so hot when you call me Malfoy, Weasley."
Harry wondered if they'd notice if he slipped away quietly.
"Oh, don't worry, Potter," Malfoy suddenly said. "It doesn't make me hot when you call me Malfoy. It's just that edge of centuries-old rivalry that comes through when Weasley says it."
Or maybe he could just run screaming.
"Fuck it, Draco, you're avoiding the issue. Why'd you fix the spell?"
"Oh, now I'm Draco again? So glad to see you care. Or maybe you just don't want to get me hot and bothered in front of Potter, here. Weasley." Ron glared, but arrHaHarry wasn't entirely sure that there wasn't some lust in his eyes along with the malice. The combination was disturbingly appealing.
Draco paused, seeming to weigh the consequences of not answering. Harry flashed back to earlier - "and when he's mad he uses teeth" - and was, for the first time in his life, grateful when Malfoy spoke up, as he really didn't want his mind going anywhere further on the what-consequences-might-Malfoy-be-considering train. "I thought it might be fun."
"Fun? You thought it would be fun? Have I ever mentioned that I think exhibitionism is fun? I don't think so. In fact, I think I asked if you put the shielding spell up, and you asked if I thought you were Neville. Apparently that was one of your cute little tricks. Of course you're not Neville - he messes things up accidentally. No, you're Draco Malfoy, and you do it on purpose!"
Ron was flushed and breathing heavily. This image of him reminded Harry of Quidditch practice first, and second of Malfoy's face during The Incident. Unfortunately, once Malfoy's face (open mouth, shine of teeth, damp hair stuck to his forehead) flashed across his mind, he couldn't manage to get the Quidditch memory back to replace it. No matter how hard he tried. And he really did try. Quite hard. "Hard, hard, hard," the sing-song mental voice chose this extremely convenient moment to make its reappearance. Harry cringed.
Ron had paused to take a breath, and since neither Harry nor Draco had anything to say to that, he continued. "What made you think that it could possibly be `fun' for someone to catch us going at it?"
Draco glanced lazily at Harry, who responded by staring fixedly at the wall and ignoring the buzzing that had started up somewhere near the base of his spine. "Well, it was a rather specific alteration. I mean, I didn't fix it so just anyone could see us."
"And you thought Harry would be a good person to put on the list of not-just-anyones? Who else was on there? Snape? Dumbledore? How about Pansy Parkinson, she'd be sure to keep it quiet!"
"No, it wasn't keyed to anyone specifically. There were . . .conditions that needed to be met."
Ron was turning redder by the second. "What conditions?" Harry was kind of curious about that himself.
"Oh, you know. It had to be someone I wanted to fuck, and someone you wanted to fuck, and someone who'd get turned on by us fucking."
"WHAT?" Ron had passed red, and was heading for purple. Harry noticed how badly his purplish face clashed with his hair, and wondered if he would pass out. Then Harry noticed Malfoy was also watching Ron turn colors with the oddest speculative look on his own face. Malfoy caught Harry watching before he could turn away, and his knowing smile made Harry want to sink into the floor. Or maybe hit him. Ron couldn't complain about that, could he? Malfoy deserved it.
Except Harry's feet seemed glued to the floor, and his spine was feeling half-melted. Sinking into the floor would be easier. It was a nice floor. Looked comfortable. Harry stared at his shoes and tried not to think about anything in particular. Ron spluttered incoherently. Draco snorted. It should not have been an appealing sound.
"Harry?" Ron had finished spluttering, but his voice still sounded funny - kind of wobbly. Harry responded with a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. "Harry, please tell me Malfoy's full of it. You can't possibly want him. Can you?" Harry's shoulders dropped, and he fidgeted a bit, but he didn't take his eyes off the floor. It was going to swallow him up any moment now, he hoped.
"It shouldn't be shocking for you, Weasley. I mean, how could anyone not want me?"
Cocky little bastard. Completely unsexy cocky little bastard.
"He hates you, Draco. I'd think that'd be a good enough reason not to want to have sex with you, wouldn't you?"
Draco stared at Ron as if he'd just said that Voldemort was a lovely, pleasant gentleman, and maybe they should have him over for tea. "No, actually, I wouldn't. And unless I've been fucking some other red-headed git who happens to look just like you for the past six months, neither do you."
Six months?
Harry, having given up on the floor obeying his wishes anytime soon, chose this moment to rejoin the conversation. Sort of. "You know, I think I should be going now. There's a test tomorrow, and I should study, and I think Hermione said that a good time for her would be, well, right now, actually. Coming, Ron?"
Draco seemed about to make some pointed comment about cowardice, or Hermione, or the fact that tomorrow was, in fact, a Saturday, but Ron stopped him with a quick look that spoke volumes, particularly about what might happen if Harry left the two of them alone, and how it would be a good idea for Draco to not delay his departure.
Harry pretended that he didn't notice any of these things.
"No, thanks," Ron said. "I think Draco and I have some more things to work out. You go along, though."
"OK, then. Right. Bye." Without acknowledging Draco's presence in the least, Harry escaped the room. In his haste, he knocked over a bust of some famous wizard he'd have heard of if he'd paid closer attention in History of Magic, but all it reminded him of was the last time he'd knocked something over in his hurry to get away from Ron and Draco. He sped up his pace.
Meanwhile, Draco was trying to convince Ron to follow up on his suggestive look. Draco struck one of his poses, the ones that were supposed to be sexy but were actually kind of ridiculous. It had the intended effect anyway, because for some reason, Draco being ridiculous was hotter than anyone else being genuinely sultry. Ron was keeping his distance, but his willpower was slowly weakening. "So, Weasley, I didn't hear you say anything about not being interested in the Boy Who Peeps At Keyholes."
Ron blushed, and shrugged. "He's my best mate, and he's bloody gorgeous. It'd be stranger if I didn't think about him sometimes."
"Of course. The whole world wants to shag Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Quidditch star, hunk of Hogwarts and insufferable ponce."
Ron thought briefly about defending Harry, or himself (he didn't like Harry because of all that, he liked him because he was Harry), and decided that either would be a waste of time better spent in other ways. "Well, right now I was kind of thinking of shagging Draco Malfoy, if that would be all right with you."
Draco pretended to deliberate over this proposal. For about 10 seconds.
Ron ended up flat on his back with a hungry-eyed Draco on top of him. As soon as he got his breath back, he gasped out, "Wait - Draco - spell." Draco started to pull out his wand, but Ron stopped him.
"I think I'll put it up this time."